Thoughts from "Peace and Justice Sunday"

Mr. Kissinger, as the Church, our job is to ensure that justice flows down like waters and righteousness like an ever-flowing stream; and, your job as the State is to irrigate the fields. (William Sloane Coffin, on Amos 5:24)

Back in the '60s, two school reformers wrote a book in which they defined education as the fine art of "crap detection." That's not a bad way to describe good theology. (Rev. Dick Watts)

On Sunday, I heard one of the best-ever Christian responses to the current economic crisis and the resulting bailouts. For McKinley's Peace and Justice Sunday, the entire service was devoted to calls for justice in our world, including music by Stephen Foster and Pete Seeger and an incredibly powerful sermon by Rev. Richard (Dick) Watts. His fifty years in ministry and social justice have given him an incredible vision to some of the roots-of-sin in this financial and economic melt-down. He put into words what I have felt in my heart but have not been able to coherently express.

I have posted the full text of his sermon at the bottom of this post. The core of it was pointing out the sins of idolatry, greed, and pride in our culture. Those sins have led to deifying the preservation-of-net-worth of a few, on the backs of those who can least afford to do it. Many of us who represent the Church - those who claim to follow Christ - have stood silently by as the market has been declared our economic Higher Power, have watched as the protections of bank regulation (which were put in place to preserve the-least-of-these) were dismantled in service to that idol, and then watched as those who created the crisis have been bailed out, floating high on the corpses of those who have been devastated by the flood.

There have been a few voices in the wilderness, to be sure. But in large measure, the voice of the Church has been silent.

I agree with Dick Watts wholeheartedly. It seems that Unending Profit has become our Pyramid, and far too many of us has been enslaved to build it by the Pharaohs of Commerce - with no regard to who suffers or dies in the meantime.

Let me just ask you folks - have you heard any of this from Focus On The Family? David Jeremiah? Or any of the other well-known preaching voices? I've checked the websites of several of the ELCA mega-churches (including some of those who have planned to leave the ELCA over that other topic). Denouncing the sins of the wealthy and powerful few in this country (and their roles in devastating our collective wealth) are strangely missing from the list of sermon topics. (If I'm wrong, I will gladly retract...but I'm not finding it.)

Much like in World War II, when many in the Church establishment turned a blind eye to Hitler, I think the Church universal has turned a blind eye to the powers and principalities of this age. And I think that it's going to be to the lasting shame of the Church - because this Jesus person that so many of us claim to follow has clearly told us to do otherwise.

He will reply, 'I tell you the truth, whatever you did not do for one of the least of these, you did not do for me.' Then they will go away to eternal punishment, but the righteous to eternal life. (Matthew 25:45-46, NIV)

Woe to those who call evil good and good evil,
who put darkness for light and light for darkness,
who put bitter for sweet and sweet for bitter.
(Isaiah 5:20, NIV)

Who will sound the trumpets, if we will not?

- - -
[The text of Reverend Dr. Watt's sermon follows:]

"Shocked!" – A Theological Perspective
On Our Economic Meltdown

Yahweh says: Let not the wise man glory in his wisdom, let not the mighty man glory in his might, let not the rich man glory in his riches; but let him who glories glory in this, that he understands and knows me, that I am Yahweh who practice steadfast love, justice, and righteousness in the earth; for in these things I delight, Yahweh says. (Jeremiah 9:23-24)


You might well feel that a sermon about our economic meltdown is like warming up last Sunday's meatloaf for today’s dinner – isn't healthcare reform today’s big issue? – though I'll suggest later why it's more than a leftover. Or you may be asking other questions: "What are your credentials, Dick, for talking about economics?" "Why bring into worship about what we can hear about on the evening news?" "What can a 'theological perspective' mean to a 'secular' subject like economics?" Good questions - so let me say a few things by way of introduction.

First, I promise that this won't be a lecture on credit default swaps, derivatives, collateralized debt obligations, sub-prime mortgages, bank bailouts or Detroit bankruptcies.

Second, I make no pretense to be an expert in economics - though I've noticed that the track record of such "experts" hasn't inspired much trust lately. I have, however, been doing my homework, because I take very seriously Reinhold Niebuhr's warning that "consecrated ignorance is still ignorance."

Third, I believe that for democracy to flourish, we cannot simply hand over our fate to pundits and politicians. Just as war is too serious to be left to generals, the economy is too important to be left to "the powers that be." We are all obliged to reflect and to speak out on matters that affect our common life.

Fourth, "theology" is not just about "churchy" things. Someone has rightly said that "Christianity is not a way of looking at certain things, but a certain way of looking at all things" – and that includes politics and economics. I realize that when we talk in church about our core values - reverence, integrity, generosity, compassion, kindness, and the like - we are tempted to limit them to our personal life and close relationships. That's understandable enough, since the personal sphere is one over which we have substantially more control than the public arena. But to be Christian is to be heirs of a story that also focuses on social sins and virtues – from the liberation of an economic underclass in Egypt to Micah's denunciation of the unjust rich, from Jesus' sovereign indifference to imperial power to Paul's subversion of ethnic loyalties. When we reflect on personal issues only and let the wider society go merrily on its own way, we do only half our job as the church.

And so we can't leave it to Fox News or The New York Times – or even Tim Geithner and President Obama - to tell us how to think about the economic mess our country is struggling through. As church, we have not only the right, but the duty, to ask what light our religious tradition can shed on our predicament. And the name of such reflection is "theology."

Where, then, should we begin. With David Brooks, perhaps, a conservative pundit who titled a recent column "Greed and Stupidity?" Or the review of a book about the meltdown, a review titled "Greed layered on greed, frosted with recklessness?" Well, greed and recklessness, certainly, along with corporate arrogance and congressional collusion. But I want to begin at a more basic level yet. And I want to get at it by calling your attention to an amazing event that occurred last October when the former chairman of the Federal Reserve, Alan Greenspan, appeared before a Congressional committee.

No one has had a more central role in American economic life for the past quarter century than Alan Greenspan, appointed to that post by Ronald Reagan, continuing for 18 years under presidencies both Republican and Democrat. A true believer in the Reagan philosophy that "Government isn't the answer; government is the problem," a staunch foe of regulation, he was supremely confident in the wisdom and virtue of Wall Street. But now his faith was shaken.

"Those of us who have looked to the self-interest of lending institutions to protect shareholders’ equity – myself especially – are in a state of shocked disbelief." [This failure at self-regulation was] "a flaw in the model that I perceived as the critical functioning structure that defines how the world works."

He had lost faith in what he saw as "the critical [model] that defines how the world works." As one critic commented, "that's a hell of a big thing to find a flaw in." "Shocked!" – shocked to discover that the titans of finance put self-interest ahead of the common good. And we Christians are often called "naïve"!

The dogma that has defined U.S. economic policy for the last quarter century – that the Market is god, and will ceaselessly bless us as long as we keep it free from the sin of government regulation – has proved to be a false faith. Congress had for nearly two decades treated Greenspan as beyond question or contradiction, as he said "No" to almost every attempt at financial regulation. He was consulted like the Delphic oracle - in fact, his nickname was "the Oracle" – and of course an oracle is one who brings messages from the gods. That's why I believe that our present peril is the end result of bad theology, of what the Bible calls idolatry. When you hear that word, don't think simply of an ancient temptation to bow before an image of Baal or Asherah. Idolatry means giving to any human being, ideology, or system, an ultimacy that it does not deserve. Alan Greenspan was in "shocked disbelief," but no Christian should have been. For we have always known that the human mind is a factory for the making of idols, that we are all prone to cloak our self-interest in the garb of divinity. Greenspan's testimony was about one more god that failed.

People of wealth and power have done their best to persuade us that our economic system is part of the natural order of things, like gravity or the speed of light. But that is a lie, and has always been a lie. When we hear hymns to the "magic of the marketplace," we need to remember that magicians deal in illusion. Human beings create economic policy, and those who manipulate it for their own benefit are always eager to baptize it with the holy water of natural law. Like the banker who recently consoled a wage earner being thrown out of his home, with "Nothing personal. It's just the market."

No it isn't. The financial movers and shakers want to talk about our crisis as a financial "tsunami," that is, a force of nature no one could either see coming or do anything about. Wrong. The current mess cannot be blamed on an "invisible hand" directing market forces, but on quite deliberate human efforts to rig the rules for the benefit of a tiny elite. I won't bore you with too many statistics, but I do want to remind you of how far we've moved toward plutocracy. In 1981, the ten most highly paid CEOs had an annual salary of $3.5 million. By 1988, their average salary was over $19 million. In 2000, it was $154 million. By 2007, the fifty highest paid investment fund managers averaged $588 million per year – 19,000 times the pay of the average worker. All this was regarded as a positive good: let wealth accumulate at the top, and its benefits would "trickle down" to the bottom. A New Yorker cartoon got closer to the truth, I think. Two business tycoons are sitting in their overstuffed chairs at the Club. "And I say," argues one, "if there’s a trickle down, there must be a leak somewhere!"

So how did we get here? For starters, Congress tossed aside a regulation born out of the Great Depression, that kept banks from also becoming investment houses and insurance companies, thus encouraging them to take new risks with other people’s money. In 2000, Congress passed and President Clinton signed a bill exempting from most oversight those Byzantine new instruments called derivatives – gambling that houses and everything else would keep increasing in value, and they'd never have to pay their gambling debts. Regulators fell asleep at the switch, leaving to agencies like Moody's and Standard & Poor's the rating of financial offerings, ratings on the integrity of which investors depended. But when Congress looked into the email files of Standard & Poor's, they found one staff member writing, "...that deal is ridiculous. We should not be rating it." To which his colleague replied, "We rate every deal. It could be structured by cows and we would rate it."

Analysts and forecasters caught the exuberance; in a column called "Confessions of a pundit," one of them wrote, "While I have always said what I believe, what I believe sometimes has been subtly shaped by who pays the bills." In the case of the rating agencies, there was nothing subtle about it - they were being paid by the very firms whose offerings they were rating. And it's not true that no one knew what was happening: six years ago Warren Buffett warned of the new "financial weapons of mass destruction." The cost to us all of this wild excess? Well, consider the Wall Street bailout alone - $700 billion. To picture that, said an article in the International Herald Tribune, imagine counting to 700 billion, one number per second: it will take you 21,000 years.

But now it's all over, right? Well, not quite. Not for the millions out of work, or who have lost their homes, or have seen "retirement" savings go up in smoke. And now the financial industry is waging a full-court press in Washington to nip new regulations in the bud. From 2007 to 2008, securities and investment concerns gave $152 million in political contributions to move that "invisible hand" along in their direction, and in the same period the top five firms – companies like Citigroup and J.P. Morgan Chase – spent some $215 million on lobbying activities. Just a few weeks ago a frustrated Senator Dick Durbin lashed out: "And the banks – hard to believe in a time when we're facing a banking crisis that many of the banks created – are still the most powerful lobby on Capitol Hill. And they frankly own the place." Yesterday's headline in The New York Times read: "A Year After A Cataclysm, Little Change on Wall St. – Progress Is Slow on Regulatory Overhaul, Posing Risk of Even Bigger Crisis."

From a Christian theological perspective, have we anything to say about the way forward? During the Vietnam War Bill Coffin confronted Henry Kissinger, who asked, "What do you want me to do?" "Our job," replied Coffin, is to say 'let justice roll down like waters.' Yours is to build the irrigation system." He was right, of course: it's not possible to draw a straight line from a critique of idolatry to particular public policies. Nothing in our tradition can tell us, for example, whether a given "stimulus package" is too little or too much, whether federal dollars are better spent on mass transit than on solar energy, whether ethanol production costs more in food prices than it saves in greenhouse gas emissions. These are all prudential human judgments, on which people of integrity may differ. As Thomas Jefferson said, "Not every difference of opinion is a difference of principle." But I believe that we can offer some help in the designing of the "irrigation system" - we do have some principles to guide us through the thicket of policy options.

First, no social entity should be trusted to regulate itself, since we all have an infinite capacity to rationalize our self-interest. That is what sin means. Second, any corporate entity "too big to fail" is too big, period, and should be broken up, so that it cannot hold the wider society hostage to its needs or demands. Third, the purpose of economic policy is to promote the common good, not the enrichment of the few, and government exists, among other reasons, to make sure the rules of the game are fair. Adam Smith, whose Wealth of Nations has been the market's Bible, wrote of government that "when the regulation...is in support of the workman, it is always just and equitable; but it is sometimes otherwise when in favour of the master." Advocating for these principles is a part of our calling individually as Christians, and corporately as church.

Is there no good news to be told today? Of course there is, because there are always people who do the best things in the worst times. I think of the business owners and workers who slashed their own earnings and hours so as to avoid having to lay off any of their colleagues. Or the MBA graduates of Harvard Business School, who took a voluntary oath "to serve the greater good," to bring a moral dimension back into their besmirched vocation. Or the group calling itself "Wealth for the Common Good" – people with incomes over $235,000 a year – urging Congress to repeal the Bush-era tax cuts immediately, because, they say, having profited from the boom years, "Now is the time to give back." You will know of other such stories.

But I make no apology today for focusing on analysis. Back in the '60s, two school reformers wrote a book in which they defined education as the fine art of "crap detection." That's not a bad way to describe good theology. Because we know what the primal sin is – the Greeks called it hubris, the Bible calls it idolatry, theologians call it pride – our antennae are sensitive to the perennial human attempt to mask self-interest in noble language, to take some relative good, whether religious, political or economic, and make it absolute. I believe that we have no greater contribution to make to our society than to unmask such pretension. Alan Greenspan may be shocked to discover that gambling has been going on in the casino, but we are not. John Gardner long ago called us to be "loving critics" of our institutions. We can help our fellow citizens to see our current crisis for what it is: the inevitable result of putting trust in a false god.

And then perhaps we may move together toward a new economic model - more humble and realistic, less driven by the interests of the few, more oriented toward justice and the common good.


A Reflection by Richard G. Watts, D.Min.
McKinley Memorial Presbyterian Church
Champaign, Illinois
September 13, 2009

Is this really an improvement?...

The mainstream church, Driscoll has written, has transformed Jesus into "a Richard Simmons, hippie, queer Christ," a "neutered and limp-wristed popular Sky Fairy of pop culture that . . . would never talk about sin or send anyone to hell." (Pastor Mark Driscoll of Mars Hill Church, quoted in the New York Times)

This article paints Mark Driscoll as the next new voice of the evangelical church. It showcases Driscoll's penchant for being cool and vulgar, and images him as a success. And then it delivers the worst news: But what is new about Driscoll is that he has resurrected a particular strain of fire and brimstone, one that most Americans assume died out with the Puritans: Calvinism, a theology that makes Pat Robertson seem warm and fuzzy.

Oh, goody. That's sure an improvement, isn't it?...

Of course, I could get irked about Driscoll's pre-occupation with all things masculine and sexual, showing disdain for anything that does not come from strength and testosterone. He tosses around language like "queer" and "chickified dudes with limp wrists” with abandon, and that still annoys me. But that's just not central, here.

The thing that is central to my concern is that predestination is one of the most un-Godly theologies I can imagine. I cannot believe, as the article states, that "Reducing God to a projection of our own wishes trivializes divine sovereignty and fails to explain how both good and evil have a place in the divine plan." This is the kind of nonsense that says that since God is sovereign, supreme and omnipotent, then it was God's will that directed the tsunami to kill a quarter of a million of His kids, believers and unbelievers alike. (Presumably the believers who died were predestined for hell, anyway.)

I have, in fact, always had a problem with the idea of predestination - mostly because of the annoying tendency of those who believe in it to believe that they are, in fact, among the predestined themselves. Thus good things that happen to Calvinists are proof of God's favor, and bad things just show who's really in and who's really out.

In short, they don't win any points with me.

Maybe I'm all wet, but as I remember, Jesus didn't spend a lot of time telling anyone that they (specifically) were going to hell. He spent a lot of time telling the Pharisees (who LOVED telling people they were "in" or "out") that they were liars and "vipers' brood" and other complex theological names.

I find no humility, no scrap of Christ in this "evangelical" theology. I find no trace of the Sermon on the Mount here. I admire some of what Mark Driscoll has done, even agree with some of what he has written.

But I'm afraid that the core of the message he shares is how Max Lucado described the soldiers who crucified Jesus - "close to the Cross, but far from Christ."

Done with....graceless politics

(see the original here)
I have been taking a bit of a blogging sabbatical. And, as Pete Seeger once said, "it turned into a Mondical, and a Tuesdical..."

It hasn't been that I haven't had anything to say; quite the contrary. But I have been so overwhelmed with so much raw emotion that I really couldn't put my thoughts into focus until today. Two blog posts have brought the issue into sharp focus.

I know the author of one of the posts. In it, a person who considers themselves a Christian spews every kind of poison and vituperation about the US president-elect, forecasting a fall into socialism and communism, doing the whole Osama/Obama thing, and basically predicting the end of American democracy and capitalism. This person basically echoes the most absolutely divisive, abusive portions of the weeks-before-the-election nonsense - including the nonsense that Barack Obama is a Muslim and is sold out to al-Quaeda.

It's clear that this person is so blinded by party-line hate that they have lost all sense of proportion - and that there is no sense in confusing them with any facts, or indeed any questions about what they believe to be facts (like, what was a Muslim doing as a long-term member of Trinity United Church of Christ in Chicago?).

I won't even link to their post; I don't want to give them any more traffic than they get already. But it brought into sharp relief the divisiveness and hatefulness that has stampeded into the American psyche in the last ten years - a hatefulness that seemed to swell and crescendo in the last three months.

And, God help me, I started to buy into it. Those hateful bastards!, I found myself shouting at the radio in the car. How could morons like that be that way?!? I found myself listening to news programs and getting furious - absolutely furious - about the misinformation and the sheer evil that was being spewed in the name of "righteousness" and "defending America."

That's when I realized it: I was getting hateful - about hatefulness. How sick is that?

That's when a voice of pure grace came through - courtesy of this post from the I Am Done with... blog. It put into clear focus just what I've been "done with."

Graceless politics.

Look at these faces:

These are not the faces of two enemies, no matter how much some people would like to paint them as such.

These are not the Godless Muslim Socialist and the Right-Wing Whack Job.

These are not the Right One and the Wrong One, or vice-versa.

They are two men who are, I hope, dedicated to their country and to their ideals. They both profess to believe in God.

And - despite language about "landslides" and "mandates" - both of them would have been leading a nation that is neither red nor blue, but decidedly purple.

So what I am "done with" is this idea of " Us" and "Them." I am done with the idea that people who disagree with me - regardless of the topic - are The Enemy. I am done with the idea that the world is going to end because of the results of the election. And I am really, really, really done with the idea that we could be any worse off in 4 years because of the election than we are now (James Dobson and Focus on The Family notwithstanding).

The fact is, regardless of who won the election, we are very likely to be a lot worse off in 4 years than we are now. I don't believe that any one president could possibly undo the evil that we have done to ourselves in the name of greed and selfishness in the last decade.

And I believe that the so-called Christian church, in their rush to focus on their own very specific agenda of the last dozen years, has absolutely failed to address the fundamental sins of selfishness, self-centeredness, and conspicuous consumption that have led us to this point. Yes, we may be safe from same-sex marriage in the near term - but I hate to tell you: that's not what got us to the edge of economic and social disaster, folks.

I found this passage from the "I am done with..." post particularly appropriate:

What I am saying is we don't have to vote for someone we disagree with, we don't have to support them but we do have to love and extend Grace to them if we are going to call ourselves followers of Christ. The Religious Right is known as a legalistic, moralistic, loveless, extreme of the Republican Party because there is no Grace shown to anyone that opposes them. That is not Jesus.
(emphasis added)

Are you hearing this? You and I are not simply proponents or opponents on this topic, or that one. We are individuals. Human beings. Members of families. We are your brothers, sisters, parents, neighbors, and co-workers. We are all "children of the Heavenly Father," as the old hymn says (even the group of us who don't believe in that same Heavenly Father and won't sing that hymn). And those of us who profess to follow Christ need to remember that Jesus came with a new set of instructions:

A new commandment I give to you, that you love one another; as I have loved you, that you also love one another. 35 By this all will know that you are My disciples, if you have love for one another. (John 13:34-35, NIV)

Note that it doesn't say "that you love the folks who look like you" or "love the folks who vote like you, or go to your church." But it does say that everyone else will know that we are Jesus' disciples - if we have love for one another. Not if we vote the right ticket; not if we go to the right place to worship or listen to the right preacher or exclude the right undesirable folks.

I'd issue a challenge to every person who is both a believer in Christ and a politically-active person: that we read those two verses - twice, slowly - before we write or speak anything (anything) - about those who might disagree with you.

It will be interesting to see how the political landscape would change if we all would practice that tiny little portion of what we preach.

Time for a dose of rigorous honesty...

For years, I have felt increasingly out of touch with American culture, even as I have felt guilty about being infected by it, to some degree. It started with the wrench in values that said that you weren't having fun going to the prom unless you arrived in a $160-an-hour limousine. It spread to the concept that killing a human being in high-school to steal their Starter jacket or designer sneakers somehow became acceptable. (We won't even talk about the acceptability of $175 tennis shoes...)

It accelerated when we bought the lie that "we are what we drive" - so it made perfect sense for a four-foot-ten woman who weighed 96 pounds to be driving a Chevy Suburban to work - alone - "because it makes me feel safe." Or that somehow Hummers and Expeditions and Land Rovers (not to mention Ram or F150 pickups with enough horsepower to pull a hundred-year-old tree-stump out of the ground) were suddenly de rigueur for the commute through the wilderness of our downtown parking garages...

And suddenly you couldn't be caught dead buying a house without a Corian kitchen countertop. And then, in no time at all, anyone who "settled" for Corian instead of marble or granite may just as well have stuck down self-adhesive carpet tiles in the foyer, too. The idea of a $50,000 SUV parked in front of a $400,000 house with a $60,000 kitchen seemed, well, completely acceptable to some folks...

But I was absolutely astonished - hell, beyond astonished - to hear the May 6th announcement that Fannie Mae and Freddie Mac were providing special mortgage availability for what they called "jumbo mortgages ... for people who wanted to obtain mortgages up to $729,000!!

When the hell did it become necessary to ensure that people could get government help to buy a three-quarter-million dollar house??

I realize that I and my family, however, are also part of the problem. I myself labor under the weight of stupid, stupid consumer debt. My sister and brother-in-law were sold a mortgage they could just barely support, long-term. They were encouraged to take an adjustable-rate mortgage, even though the initial payment was at the absolute outside edge of what they could afford - let alone any rate adjustment in 2-1/2 years. Common sense would have said they couldn't do it - but everyone else was, and "it'll all work out..."

Then my sister got injured, and her cost-conscious employer ushered her out de' do' - saying goodbye to 18 years of service and the income they desperately needed to stay afloat, not to mention her very affordable health-care benefits. Now their monthly drug co-pays are just as much as their car payment - if not more - and my sister's replacement job only pays 2/3 what her old job did. Gas has gone up 50% in two years... and people are wondering why we in middle America are in trouble?

I'm tired of a war that should never have started, taking lives and draining resources from a country that so desperately needs to be building infrastructure of our own, not blowing up others'. I'm sick to death of the daily butcher's bill; of personal liberties and rights guaranteed in the Bill of Rights being trampled in the name of "national security." Such a damn waste...

I'm tired of the majority of Republicans chanting about the "defense of marriage" against those scheming homosexuals and their "agenda" - when the people who are helping to destroy marriage are the straight white Christians who can't stay married, not the gays who would choose to be married if they could. And I'm even more tired of everyone pointing at that one issue as the primary reason for the "downfall of America" - when in fact the fault is laying at the feet of almost every single person who is pointing the finger...

One person, I think, is closer to the truth than others.

Thomas Friedman's editorial in the online New York Times on May 4th addresses an awful lot of the hows, and whys, of our current political and economic mess. He captures much of what I've been feeling for years - and just so the NYT doesn't archive this piece of wisdom, I include the text of it here, with all due credit to Friedman and the Times.

Who Will Tell the People?
By Thomas L. Friedman
published May 4th in the online New York Times

Traveling the country these past five months while writing a book, I’ve had my own opportunity to take the pulse, far from the campaign crowds. My own totally unscientific polling has left me feeling that if there is one overwhelming hunger in our country today it’s this: People want to do nation-building. They really do. But they want to do nation-building in America.

They are not only tired of nation-building in Iraq and in Afghanistan, with so little to show for it. They sense something deeper — that we’re just not that strong anymore. We’re borrowing money to shore up our banks from city-states called Dubai and Singapore. Our generals regularly tell us that Iran is subverting our efforts in Iraq, but they do nothing about it because we have no leverage — as long as our forces are pinned down in Baghdad and our economy is pinned to Middle East oil.

Our president’s latest energy initiative was to go to Saudi Arabia and beg King Abdullah to give us a little relief on gasoline prices. I guess there was some justice in that. When you, the president, after 9/11, tell the country to go shopping instead of buckling down to break our addiction to oil, it ends with you, the president, shopping the world for discount gasoline.

We are not as powerful as we used to be because over the past three decades, the Asian values of our parents’ generation — work hard, study, save, invest, live within your means — have given way to sub-prime values: "You can have the American dream — a house — with no money down and no payments for two years."

That’s why Donald Rumsfeld’s infamous defense of why he did not originally send more troops to Iraq is the mantra of our times: "You go to war with the army you have." Hey, you march into the future with the country you have — not the one that you need, not the one you want, not the best you could have.

A few weeks ago, my wife and I flew from New York’s Kennedy Airport to Singapore. In J.F.K.’s waiting lounge we could barely find a place to sit. Eighteen hours later, we landed at Singapore’s ultramodern airport, with free Internet portals and children’s play zones throughout. We felt, as we have before, like we had just flown from the Flintstones to the Jetsons. If all Americans could compare Berlin’s luxurious central train station today with the grimy, decrepit Penn Station in New York City, they would swear we were the ones who lost World War II.

How could this be? We are a great power. How could we be borrowing money from Singapore? Maybe it’s because Singapore is investing billions of dollars, from its own savings, into infrastructure and scientific research to attract the world’s best talent — including Americans.

And us? Harvard’s president, Drew Faust, just told a Senate hearing that cutbacks in government research funds were resulting in “downsized labs, layoffs of post-docs, slipping morale and more conservative science that shies away from the big research questions.” Today, she added, “China, India, Singapore ... have adopted biomedical research and the building of biotechnology clusters as national goals. Suddenly, those who train in America have significant options elsewhere.”

Much nonsense has been written about how Hillary Clinton is “toughening up” Barack Obama so he’ll be tough enough to withstand Republican attacks. Sorry, we don’t need a president who is tough enough to withstand the lies of his opponents. We need a president who is tough enough to tell the truth to the American people. Any one of the candidates can answer the Red Phone at 3 a.m. in the White House bedroom. I’m voting for the one who can talk straight to the American people on national TV — at 8 p.m. — from the White House East Room.

Who will tell the people? We are not who we think we are. We are living on borrowed time and borrowed dimes. We still have all the potential for greatness, but only if we get back to work on our country.

I don’t know if Barack Obama can lead that, but the notion that the idealism he has inspired in so many young people doesn’t matter is dead wrong. “Of course, hope alone is not enough,” says Tim Shriver, chairman of Special Olympics, “but it’s not trivial. It’s not trivial to inspire people to want to get up and do something with someone else.”

It is especially not trivial now, because millions of Americans are dying to be enlisted — enlisted to fix education, enlisted to research renewable energy, enlisted to repair our infrastructure, enlisted to help others. Look at the kids lining up to join Teach for America. They want our country to matter again. They want it to be about building wealth and dignity — big profits and big purposes. When we just do one, we are less than the sum of our parts. When we do both, said Shriver, “no one can touch us.”

The strangers and aliens among us

"Do not mistreat or oppress an alien; you yourselves know how it feels to be aliens, because you were aliens in Egypt." (Exodus 23:9)
><>

It's Good Friday, and any good devotional writer would have his face, and his pen, turned toward Golgotha, and the cross. But somehow, my heart is pulling me in another direction...


Good Friday. Easter Vigil. Easter Sunday. "The Three Days." Along with Christmas, this is one of the two most sacred and revered Christian feast days on the calendar. Crucifixion, death, silence, resurrection and celebration. The very pinnacle of the Christian story. In virtually every Christian pulpit, the focus will be on the cross and everything it stands for.

But in my mind's eye, I'm standing in my home congregation in Kansas on Easter Sunday morning. In the huge, glass-walled space outside the sanctuary, I'm standing by the glass wall of the sanctuary near the top of the entry stairs, and I'm looking down the stairs at the faces coming in. There are the church members and their families - confident, well-dressed, and assured that no matter what special effects or special music or liturgical dance or procession or whatever, they will know the basic shape of the service they are about to experience. They've grown up with it all their lives, or at least for a long, long time. This is familiar, joyous territory for them.

But then, there are the others. They come in the door somewhat tentatively, looking about. Not quite sure where to go, they follow the crush of members up the stairs into the lobby (which everyone keeps calling a "narthex," for some reason). There are incredible images of color, powerful sounds of celebration - all of which seem completely unfamiliar to them. Not sure where to go or what to do, they go into the sanctuary, and take a seat near the back, so they won't be noticed if they do something wrong or say something out of place.

They are the outsiders. The non-Christian or non-practicing Christian visitors who swell the ranks of almost every Christian church on Easter weekend. And on this Good Friday I'd like us as a community of faith to start praying for them.

Some of them are there because they have to be; their parents or siblings or spouses or partners have dragged them to the "just this once, please" service. Some of them are there because they believe Christian folk are supposed to have a corner on what's right in the world, and there isn't much going right in their world right now. And some of them have heard just enough of the story of this Jesus person to want to be there - to see what all the big deal is about.

All this talk about "the Lamb of God" and "the King of Kings" and the organ music and the fanfares and shouting "He is risen, indeed!" makes them feel like they have landed in a different land, like the children landing in Narnia for the first time. They haven't been there throughout Lent, so they haven't understood the times of preparation and transformation that many congregations go through. The liturgical colors, the significance of the white linen, the lyrics of the hymns, none of it makes sense to them. And all this strangeness will leave them feeling tense, ill at ease, and adrift in a place with a slightly different language and an entirely different landscape.

How do I know this? Because I was "one of them," once upon a time. And that's how I felt.

And that's why, today, I'm going to ask you to do four powerful things.

First, pray for your church's visitors, all weekend long. Whatever draws them to your place of worship, literally pray them off the streets and in the doors.

Second, look for them, and be aware of them, in each of your services. Their first urge (as mine was) will be to not get noticed, to not draw attention. But look for the strangers among you with your heart, and they will not be hard to find.

Third, realize that your visitors very well may have no clue what's going on around them, this weekend. If you see someone fumbling with a hymnal or wondering whether to stand up or sit down, give 'em a hand. They will be grateful.

Lastly - welcome and encourage your guests whenever you see them. A friend of mine says that when dealing with visitors or guests, "Our primary purpose is to show them that we don't bite; that they are safe here among us." Perhaps that is near the heart of what a welcoming community does - they smooth the road, light the pathway and make things a little more comfortable for those that don't know the way.

Our sanctuaries and fellowships halls will fill this weekend. Not everyone will come in as friends, and many will feel as strangers. With our help, and our prayers, and our loving actions, perhaps they will leave feeling that they might just be able to come back and find a place among us. That they might find a home. That they might know we are Christians - by our love, and by our welcome.

I know I did.
><>

He who was seated on the throne said, "I am making everything new!"
(Revelation 21:5, NIV)





(Shameless plug: the images used on this post, from Atonement Lutheran Church in Overland Park, KS, have been lifted from the archives of my brother and friend, Timothy Bredow of Kansas City. He is a talented photographer, father, and all-around great guy. Go check his stuff out at his KCinFocus flikr site. Tim, I love you, but I get a very un-Christian case of envy looking at your stuff, bro. Your photography captures what one songwriter called "the rhythm and rhyme of the poem of your life." Thank you for allowing your images to bless these meager words.)

The part that remains

For at least a dozen years, I have been telling a story that I remember from thirty years ago. I remembered it from before I ever called myself a Christian; before I came to belief in God; before I could even pretend to have faith.

I don't remember the details any more, and I've been asking questions of folks involved, and no one seems to remember them either. All I can tell you is that sometime in the late 1970's, two churches on Glendale Avenue in Toledo were torched on the same night, just about a week before Christmas. My memory is foggy, but I thought one congregation was east of Byrne Rd., and one was near Green Valley. One congregation's fellowship hall burned down; one church was a complete loss. Thousands of dollars of Christmas presents for needy kids were lost in the two conflagrations.

The memorable part, for me, was a TV news broadcast that occurred the day after the fire. One of the pastors was being interviewed by a TV news reporter about the effects of the fire, as they were standing in front of the wreckage of the church. The reporter asked, "How does it feel to know that your church has been destroyed, less than a week before Christmas?"

Unbelievably, the pastor smiled, and replied, "Oh, no - it's not as bad as that."

With a stunned look, the reporter glanced over his right shoulder at the still-smoking remains of the sanctuary, and then back to the pastor. The pastor, however, kept on smiling and said, "No, you don't understand...they destroyed the building, not the church. The church is what remains after your sanctuary has burned to the ground. "

I can't tell you why or how that idea stuck with me, but it has, for three decades.

The reason that story comes to mind is that probably dozens of Christian bloggers I know have published items in the last several months talking about searching for church communities and what "communities of faith" might/could look like. There are lots of people who are searching for what Michael W. Smith would call "their place in this world," and right now, I'm one of them, again/still.

I know that one thing that I believe true "faith communities" don't do is what my friend Natalie would call "worshiping the barn instead of the Savior." There are some congregations of which I've been a member who were more concerned with getting coffee stains on the narthex or sanctuary carpet than with welcoming strangers into the presence of faithful friends. In fact, those experiences have led me to believe that the more reverence a congregation puts on its building, the less impressed I am with 'em.

Which brings me back to the fire.

What I remembered, too, is that I've been a witness to several congregations whose buildings have been destroyed since that weekend. Living in Kansas, there are lots of stories of tornado damage - including one year-old building that was picked up whole by a tornado, and dropped exactly one foot off of its footings. The amazing part in all these stories was that "the part that remains" became only more enthused, more servant-oriented, and more engaged in the community. They took care of each other, but they took care of the community, too. I know that doesn't always happen; sometimes "the barn" is the last thing holding a shaky community together, and when the building goes, so does the church.

I do remember being a part of a church back in the mid-90's that had a problem. They had a long-standing dream of building a pipe-organ for their sanctuary - the choir loft had been designed especially for it when it was built years before, in fact. And the education wing needed upgrades, and an elevator. And they'd raised most of the money for the organ, and the worst-needed upgrades.

But then voices were raised that the pipe organ was an extravagance, and we'd be "worshiping the damn organ, eventually." There were lots of good arguments, pro and con - but it split the congregation, split the women's circles, you name it. Longtime friends were not speaking to each other over this thing - it was pretty bad.

One of the pro-organ people cornered me after worship one day, and asked me what I thought they should do. I hadn't learned a lot of tact and diplomacy at that point, and I didn't want to get involved, to be honest. But the poor soul kept pestering me, and so finally, I blurted out, "You wanna know what I think you should do? You wanna know what I think would solve all these problems?"

"Yes, of course I do! Tell me!"

"I think you should burn the damn sanctuary down."

"What?!?"

"YOU heard me! You people are so damned spoiled, you have no idea what a real problem IS! You've got most of a half-million dollars raised for your building - and you can't agree on how to spend it. Aww, poor babies! What a damn tragedy that is! You're so blinded by your riches, you can't SEE your blessings, and you're setting brother against brother and friend against friend over this thing. So just burn down the damn sanctuary - and then you'll know what real problems are!"

Needless to say, no one ever bothered me about the topic again.

So when I'm visiting your church, don't bother telling me about your beautiful building, or your wonderful sound system. Tell me about your prayer team; tell me about your community outreach. Tell me about how you are serving "the least of these" in according with Matthew 25. Tell me how you are building the kingdom of God, one soul at a time. That's the stuff I want to hear about.

But if you start talking about your beautiful barn/mauseleum, I might just suggest that you burn it down.

Thoughts on communion and "Jesus as bread"

This post is directly in response to Bobbie's post about "Jesus as bread" over at emerging sideways. So it would help you if you read her post, and the follow-up post she did, listing some comments...

Sister Bobbie, I wrote a half-epistle on communion topics back here, more than 2 years ago. Maybe some of it will apply, maybe not...

I'm also very, very curious about whether you have read Take This Bread: A Radical Conversion by Sarah Miles. The image of sharing Jesus as bread drives her to do mighty things on behalf of God's kids - if you don't like it, I will buy it from you. Promise. It's that good, in my humble opinion.

It's strange - in my Catholic upbringing, all the emphasis was put on the "THIS IS..." portion of the Words of Institution (whereas much of the Protestant practice is centered on the "DO THIS..." portion - "do this in remembrance of me"). From my Catholic youth, I understood that they believed THIS IS the body, THIS IS the blood, and the emphasis was on "the elements," the bread and wine, and reverently protecting their holiness and purity. This affected even the architecture - the elaborate structures built over the Tabernacle were designed in part to protect the elements from dust, dirt, bird droppings, you name it.

In the olden days, if someone dropped a host, the priest had to eat it (don't know if that's still the case). The congregation never got the wine back then, but even now, the practice in Catholic churches I have visited was that a certain amount of wine was consecrated, and if more people showed up than that, they just didn't get the wine, because you couldn't redo exactly pour the Blood of Christ back in the bottle with the wine... In short, it seemed to be all about an enhanced reverence for "the stuff" - because it was really, really, really the body and blood of Christ.

The Lutheran take on Jesus as bread seemed more reasonable - because the "elements" only became the "real presence of Christ" (a) in the presence of the community of faith, (b) when the Gospel had been spoken, (c) when the Words of Institution and the epiklesis - the calling down of the Spirit of God on the elements - had been spoken, and (d) the elements were given as Eucharist.

Otherwise, they were just bread and wine. That's why the same fresh bread which had been on the Altar as the body of Christ at Communion could be taken to hospitals and nursing homes by un-ordained lay-people and given as Eucharist (because (a), (b), (c), and (d) were still in effect), while the rest could be used in a brunch after the services. Outside of that setting and that specific space, there was no transformation. The "real presence of God" was "in, with, and under" the elements (if I remember my Lutheran dogma correctly) - but the elements themselves remained unchanged.

While I don't know what their "Eucharistic theology" is, I know that the distribution of communion is a big,big deal in the gay-friendly Metropolitan Community Churches (MCC). When I've attended there, I find a dozen "stations" for communion, and each person who "comes to the table" is prayed for, and communicated with, in a very reverent and personal way.

The MCC, by comparison, didn't seem to focus so much on the "stuff," but on the interpersonal transaction - the "come to the table" invitation. When I knelt to receive the elements at the MCC service, it flat did not matter that the person handing the elements was actually a cross-dressing man (if an extremely attractive, "gee, would you have guessed" one). It didn't matter what "she" was wearing, who else was receiving the elements or who happened to be holding hands with them at the time - things that would have absolutely scandalized folks in other denominations.

But when I knelt down, this person (a "Magdalen," if ever there was one) put her hand on my shoulder, leaned down, and spoke to me as though I was the only person who was receiving communion that day. I don't remember the exact words she said, but she made sure that I knew

- that a loving God was glad that I was there
- that this "table" belonged to Christ, and that I was welcome at it
- that this was the body, and the blood, of Jesus Christ, and
- it was given for me, as a free gift of grace, for everlasting life.

It was a moment frozen in time, pressed-down-and-overflowing with meaning. And I think I can safely say that, with the exception of the outdoor Communion services we had in Kansas with the Holden Evening Prayer service, it was probably the single most powerful Eucharist I've ever received.

It didn't matter whether the bread was leavened, or whether it was made of wheat or rice or cardboard. It didn't matter whether it was wine or grape juice. It didn't matter whether it was a woman or a man saying the Words of Institution, or that it was a cross-dressing gay man giving me the elements. Despite everything, I knew what "this" was, I knew in Whose name that they "did this"...

And you'll have a real hard time telling me that Someone didn't say, "And it was good..."

Dullness and dangerous wonder

There are very few times when I will abdicate this space to another author. But today, I am called beyond doubt to share with you the words of the late Mike Yaconelli - author, pastor, and founder of Zondervan's Youth Services. These few paragraphs hit my heart like none other in recent months.

These are not my words, though I wish I had written them. They echo the cry of my heart, however, and are a powerful cry out to the Church. Preach it, brother Mike:

The most critical issue facing Christians is not abortion, pornography, the disintegration of the family, moral absolutes, MTV, drugs, racism, sexuality, or school prayer.

The critical issue today is dullness.

We have lost our astonishment. The Good News is no longer good news, it is okay news. Christianity is no longer life-changing, it is life-enhancing. Jesus doesn't change people into wild-eyed radicals anymore, He changes them into "nice people."

If Christianity is about being nice, I'm not interested.

What happened to radical Christianity, the un-nice brand of Christianity that turned the world upside down? What happened to the category-smashing, life-threatening, anti-institutional gospel that spread through the first century like wildfire and was considered (by those in power) dangerous? What happened to the kind of Christians whose hearts were on fire, who had no fear, who spoke the truth no matter what the consequence, who made the world uncomfortable, who were willing to follow Jesus wherever he went? What happened to the kind of Christians who were filled with passion and gratitude, and who every day were unable to get over the grace of God?

I'm ready for a Christianity that "ruins" my life, that captures my heart and makes me uncomfortable. I want to be filled with an astonishment which is so captivating that I am considered wild and unpredictable and...well... dangerous. Yes, I want to be "dangerous" to a dull and boring religion. I want a faith that is considered "dangerous" by our predictable and monotonous culture.

A. W. Tozer said a long time ago, "Culture is putting out the light in men and women's souls." He was right. Dullness is more than a religious issue, it is a cultural issue. Our entire culture has become dull. Dullness is the absence of the light of our souls. Look around. We have lost the sparkle in our eyes, the passion in our marriages, the meaning in our work, the joy in our faith.
(Mike Yaconelli, Dangerous Wonder: The Adventure of Childlike Faith)

God of all creation, burn away the scales in our eyes, and on our hearts. Help us see the wonder and the astonishment of what you have given us - this day, and every single day. Let this wonder ignite our souls in ways both old and new. Restore us, renew us. Let your holy fire descend once again. Amen.

A rallying cry

OK, I blatantly stole this from this post by Wayward Drifter, which I found quite by accident following a Sitemeter link. Sheer genius. (Forgive me, Lord, for not finding this when it's almost 4 months old, already...)

It's a quiz. I promise you, it will be time well spent.

Watch these two YouTube videos in full (yes, all the way to the end), and then decide who is calling the Church Universal forward in leadership. Select:

a) Bono, an unordained musician


or
b) Dr.Nina Gunter, Nazarene General Superintendent


Here's a clue: if you choose (b), go read this until you can choose differently...

This is not a slam at this one denomination; they are not alone here. My own denomination has been known to fiddle while Rome burned, too. It's the fundamental question we must address - can we become "fundamentalists" about what's really important, here?

The world is sleeping in the dark
That the church just can't fight
'Cause it's asleep in the light
How can you be so dead,
When you've been so well fed?
Jesus rose from the grave - and you! -
You can't even get out of bed!
(Keith Green, "Asleep in the Light")

I'm sorry, I need to go pray and confess my selfishness...

Unable to buy the insanity of church culture

Once again, my virtual friend [rhymes with kerouac] has hit a home run with a posting. It hit home, especially, because my friend and former pastor Joe Crowther (from Atonement Lutheran in Overland Park, KS) leaves today on a sabbatical to study "missional leadership." So I decided to share some struggles I'd had with church life and supposedly "missional" leadership in church. This is from my email to Joe:
---
...I really, really want you to take the time to read this powerful blog entry. (Make sure you read the comments as well - there are some powerful recognitions there.)

Now, here's why this is important...this quote from the post:

In the last few years I've been surprised at the number of mature, faith-filled Christ followers I've met who have stopped going to church altogether. All of them are simply unable to buy into the insanity of the church culture anymore.

Those lines hit home - because I'm afraid I'm becoming one of them.

Over the last several months, I have been struggling to attend a nearby Lutheran church. I mean, really, really struggling. I can find just about any excuse to not go to church - just about anything makes it OK to skip Sunday worship.

Now, I have to confess: if I should be having this feeling, it shouldn't be with this church. Because this isn't your everyday Lutheran church; this is not a congregation of "the frozen chosen." They have a mission; they have a mission statement; they have contemporary worship. They have been through a building program that transformed their "shotgun" sanctuary into a more welcoming "fan-style" worship center. The pews are gone, the movable seating is in. They have an outreach congregation specifically focused on people who don't want to go to church. It is, in short, everything that I was desperately searching for when I found Atonement; in fact, it is everything I wished Atonement was when I got to Atonement! On the surface, it's everything that I hoped a congregation that I pastored could have been.

And it leaves me cold.
And I don't know why.

You see, I need this "community" you talked about in your newsletter to the congregation. I need people to draw me in, to involve me, to welcome me. I need someplace where they know my name. Someplace where I am needed and wanted and able to make a difference. Some place where it would matter if I'm sick; where it would matter if I'm well. Someplace that would miss me if I died.

This place has that, seemingly. They have the energy; there are things happening there.

But somehow, I don't feel the invitation.

In the summer of 2000, when I (and the other members of the Faith Lutheran diaspora) landed on the shores at 99th and Metcalf, it might have been that things were broken and needy enough at Atonement Lutheran that we felt needed. There were things to do - places to fill, songs to sing, children's sermons to do, a class to teach, Alpha to start, etc...and there were places where a hand was needed. Maybe I don't perceive the need, here. Maybe what I'm feeling is that the expectation at this place is to sit down, do the worship drill, hand in the check, have some coffee, and leave. And maybe I want, or need, something more than that.

I actually wondered if I'd just forgotten how to be "just a member"? Had I, by virtue of being on worship teams and vision boards and leadership and church councils - not to mention two years at seminary - become so codependent that I only know how to be a part of an organization if it's in crisis? Had I somehow caught a bad case of Dudley Do-Right Syndrome - always starting off my membership with "I'll save you, Nell!" ?

I don't think that's it. Otherwise, I would have done that very same thing with my AA membership. I would have instantly leapt into saving all the newbies when the came in, and getting into the service organization (intergroup committees and the like). At AA meetings around the city, I feel welcome, I feel engaged and "a part of," so somehow it's different at church.

I also asked myself the other obvious question - am I feeling uncomfortable about going into a church now that I'm "out"? - but I really don't think it has anything to do with it. I don't get a homophobic vibe from this place. I don't feel the need to don a rainbow-flag patch and start demonstrating a' la "Queer Nation," shouting We're here, we're queer, get used to it! I believe I'm quite capable of confronting the church if the fact that I'm gay gets out - I understand my faith enough to do that. But I'm not going into this place as "a gay Christian." I'm just Steve, looking for a place to land. So I just don't find that it's an issue here.

I do know this: I'd really, really, really encourage you to pick up a copy of Take This Bread, by Sara Miles, and read it cover to cover. It takes a bit for her to get going - but every word is setting her up for an amazing conversion of an admitted church outsider.

You will find a story of an admittedly fringe liberal church who encounters someone who learned missional out in the world - who then heard the message of the communion table, and thought (somehow) that God really meant what he said. There are a whole bunch of folks who are hearing, in Sara Miles' expereince at St. Gregory's, the call of what they want to see the church look like. I know I am.

You're in my thoughts and prayers for a powerful, transforming time away, brother. May it be everything you've prayed for!

$3 worth of God, please

I would like to buy $3 worth of God, please, not enough to explode my soul or disturb my sleep, but just enough to equal a cup of warm milk or a snooze in the sunshine. I don’t want enough of him to make me love a black man or pick beets with a migrant. I want ecstasy, not transformation; I want warmth of the womb, not a new birth. I want a pound of the Eternal in a paper sack. I would like to buy $3 worth of God, please.

Source: Wilbur Rees, Leadership, Vol. 4, No. 1

I originally found this quote on Erin's Biscotti Brain, where she had gotten the hat-tip from Inward/Outward. I've seen this quote spring up a number of places since then, and it's evidently pricked a number of consciences of their respective readers. I'm not entirely sure why, but I have, perhaps, an inkling.

There is a medical term - prophylaxis - which (aside from the birth-control usage, which makes teenagers smirk) simply means preventative. If I step on a nail, I get a shot as a prophylactic for tetanus.

I think that many of us have had church training which presented church life - church membership, weekly worship, and other practices - as a prophylactic for Hell. Certainly I never saw my church life as "fire prevention," but more as "fire retardant." Especially in my youthful, legalistic (and wildly inaccurate) upbringing as a rule-bound Catholic, I saw everything I did - from crossing myself with holy water, to eating fish on Friday, to daily Mass, to weekly confession - as layers of fire retardant standing between me and Hell.

(I now know Catholicism differently, thankfully.)

I've come to see that somewhere between 50% and 90% of traditional American Christendom is precisely the same way. We want just enough God and just enough grace to qualify for the get-out-of-Hell-free card. I believe it's the reaction to this same minimalist idea of "$3 worth of God" that's driven every single act of renewal in the church - from the Protestant Reformation to the Wesleyan movement, to the Azusa Street revival, to Willow Creek and Saddleback, and the entire postmodern/emergent conversation.

Roaring over the mutterings of "$3 worth of God" religious minimalism is the sense of fully-on-fire, burning, sold-0ut faith. I've had that faith; I've lost it several times - and right now, I'm struggling back toward it.

I know that "on-fire" is where I want to be; not blazing and incinerating everyone around me - but burning brightly, letting "my light so shine before others that they may see your good deeds and praise your Father in heaven" (Matthew 5:17, NIV). I want my faith to be bigger than that prophylactic dose of grace and salvation. I want it not only because I know it feels better there, but because God calls me there, to be present there.

I can't speak for the others who have reacted to this quote as I have. But I suspect that they either see where they are, and want to be elsewhere - or see themselves where they were, and are grateful not to be there today. Or perhaps they see that their capacity for faith might well only hold $3 worth of God today, and they see the need to open wider, to grow in capacity for faith.

That, I hope, is where I am today - a large man with a small capacity for grace, seeking to be stretched and opened wider (in a spiritual sense only, please - I'm wide enough otherwise). I can hope, anyway...

Here is bread, here is wine

In this bread, there is healing,
In this cup is life forever -
In this moment, by His Spirit,
Christ is with us here.
(Graham Kendrick, "Here Is Bread," from the ELCA Worship and Praise hymnal)

Sara Miles was an atheist and a lesbian who had been a war correspondent, writer, community organizer and chef. Food had been at the heart of each of those experiences - whether feeding South American resistance fighters or working as a prep cook in swanky New York restaurants. At 46, when her story begins, she had no desire to discover Christianity.

Yet a random encounter with the Eucharist at an Episcopal church in San Francisco created an amazing conversion experience for Sara, uniting the image of God feeding His children with her desire to be of service to others. She became active in the church, drawn ever deeper into the imagery of God's table being a place where all could be fed. She describes her conversion this way: "I took communion, I passed the bread to others, and then I kept going, compelled to find new ways to share what I’d experienced. I started a food pantry."


Her story is detailed in the recently published book, "Take This Bread: A Radical Conversion." Sara hears that Jesus said, "Feed My sheep", and she actually answers the call to do this, and chronicles her journey. Under her guidance, every Friday their altar space becomes a food pantry, sharing the gift of food to the needy from the same space that the Eucharist is served on Sunday. Sara describes how she saw that "the meal" on Sunday actually begins with feeding "the least of these" on Friday.

She is the kind of Christian I want to be, not excluding anyone, but faithful to the radical inclusion of the Gospel, which is violently at odds with the way faith is sometimes practiced today. Her story is an incredible testimony that, as the song says, "In this bread, there is healing - in this cup is life forever."

Lord God, work in me as you have worked in Sara Miles! Take the lessons and images throughout the life, death, and resurrection of Christ, and kindle my heart with your flame. In this day, may I be your servant in whatever way that I can, to build your kingdom here on earth. Amen.

The day after...

Finally the other disciple, who had reached the tomb first, also went inside. He saw and believed. (They still did not understand from Scripture that Jesus had to rise from the dead.) (John 20:8-9, NIV)
---
Then Jesus said to Thomas, "Put your finger here; see my hands. Reach out your hand and put it into my side. Stop doubting and believe." Thomas said to him, "My Lord and my God!" Then Jesus told him, "Because you have seen me, you have believed; blessed are those who have not seen and yet have believed." (John 20:27-29, NIV)

It's the day after Easter. (The "first Monday of Easter," for those of you who love liturgical calendar references...)

The flowers and banners still stand in the sanctuary. Sheet music for "Jesus Christ is Risen Today!" still sit on the organ bench. But the trumpets have been packed away, and even the echoes of the hymns and the congregations shouting "He is risen indeed!" have died away. And we are left with these two poignant images: the disciples who still did not understand, and the disciple who had trouble believing.

The world is not that different, today, than it was on that first Resurrection Monday, is it?

There are still people in the church who wonder why Jesus had to die to make this life complete. There are still people in the world who say, "Hey, unless this Jesus guy shows up here, and speaks to ME, how do I know he exists?"

In Easter version 1.0, the answer is simple. Jesus appeared to the apostles, to the women, in the Upper Room, and to hundreds of people around Judea. People saw Jesus, heard his encouragement for them, and his call to reach and teach others what he had taught them.

Perhaps - just perhaps - the answer is the same for us in the light of Easter 2007.

Perhaps we, as followers of a risen Savior, need to ensure that people see Jesus - in us. Perhaps we are the ones to make Christ's loving, caring, healing presence known in the world. Perhaps God's hands and feet need to be seen at the ends of our arms and legs. Perhaps the light needs to shine on the Cross, and the empty tomb, and not on us as the Church. Perhaps the doors of our churches need to be flung open as wide as the tomb was - so that the world at large can join us sinners on the inside, and come to know what we know about our own sins - and about redemption.

God, this day, let your Son's eternal life be seen in my life. Let my actions reflect the light of your love into the world. Let me live this day in the light of the empty tomb. And may each of us, as followers of Christ, be someone that will let the world see your good news: "He is RISEN! He is risen INDEED!"

Amen.

Maybe it's time to try something different...

One of the few real gifts I have been given, over the years, has been to be surrounded by young people - both in church and in recovery - who want to both talk and listen. And when I can listen with even a mustard-seed's worth of humility, some amazing awakenings can happen...like tonight. Grab a cup of coffee and brace yourself, though - this one's gonna go a while...

Really, though, it's all Kyle Wetherald's fault. A young man from nearby Bluffton, Ohio, he found his way here, and left a comment here on an earlier post, and his profile led me to this great post of his. And he got me thinking - and you know where that gets me...

Kyle wrote as if he'd been reading my mail. His words echo every plaintive cry for church renewal I've listened to (or been a part of) for 15 years. Whether you listen to Brian McLaren and the Emergent folks, the folks at Relevant magazine, Youth Services, or if you listen to some of my heroes of faith, you'll see a thousand different attempts to change "the church." But while there are isolated successes, there are still people like Kyle (and like me) who keep asking the same questions:

What if church wasn't the Pastor Tim show? What if Church was more like the Bible study on Wednesday night (which is very sparsely attended), where people were actually engaged in their spiritual journey and not just going to church on Sunday because that's what you do...

What if it was okay if someone missed Corporate Worship one week because they were living a Christ centered life and offering love to their neighbor in need?

What if we were actually able to see that we don't go to church to meet God? God was there before too. God is in the parking lot. God is in the bars. God is in the workplace. What if we were able to connect our spiritual life with our physical life because thats where church was?

What if? What if? What if?

I could go on all night.

So could I, Kyle. Thank you for putting into words what I've been struggling with ever since I became a Christian.

I have come to believe this, though: Mennonite, Lutheran, Methodist, Catholic, Baptist - we all stumble around the edges of the mystery, Kyle. Some get closer than others. And many faithful, dedicated pastors (including yours) are trying to make things better - mostly within their context, but some with radical changes, which can bring their own problems. We try, through a thousand variations of speaking, music, Scripture, and all kinds of stuff (from multimedia to drama to lectio divina) to convey the unbelievable and unfathomable love of God in 60 or (God forgive us) 90 minutes. And then we wonder why we fail...

We fighting against the inertia of seventeen hundred years of Christendom (organized Christian religion approved by the authority figures of the times) weighing us down - and we wonder why we aren't making progress. So much of what "church" is today is based on what grew out of Emperor Constantine's conversion in 312 AD, and the building of the institutional church as a castle of righteousness, rather than as a M*A*S*H hospital for sinners.

But somehow, despite all the brokenness of the church, I managed to find God's presence. So as I read Kyle's comments, I had to ask : what did I do - what did God do in me - to help me get it? What were the parts that worked? So I looked at the three different faith communities in which I grew up - and how each one of them had a part in forming and re-forming my faith. It's helpful to see how each one synergized with the others...

The first one was the community of recovery - the 12 step world of AA. Immediately following that was a group of Lutherans - both a group of 20- and 30-somethings and another group of "mature" folks in several congregations in Shawnee Mission, Kansas, who wrapped themselves around me and mentored me in Christian faith. And the last one was a marvelous project called the Alpha Program, with which I am still in love (even though they wouldn't like me very much if they knew the truth about me...)

The heart of my awakening tonight is this: I am coming to believe that it is a loving, caring, accepting community that builds faith. Not worship (and the endless worship wars over various stylistic aspects of it). Not liturgy, or the lack thereof. Not sermons. Not architecture or symbols or icons or salvific theology. All of that helps, but in the end, it will count for nothing. Though conservative Christians will whimper in pain when I say the words, they are still true: it really does take a village. But it took some time to figure out where I'd figured that out from...

In the AA tradition I came from, we were encouraged to attend lots of AA meetings. And there, I found absolute, unconditional acceptance. It didn't matter what laws I'd broken; who or what I had (or had not) slept with; what I looked like, where I lived. None of that mattered. The question was: Do you want to stay sober today? Just for today? Yes? Then welcome. You're welcome here. And the more I came around, the more acceptance and welcome I found.

Then I got introduced to "the three-meeting meeting." The wise-o's in recovery would say stuff like this:

Steve, every time you go to an AA meeting, there are three meetings. There is "the meeting before the meeting," where people get together, meet, and spend time setting up chair and tables, making coffee and stuff. Then there's "the meeting," where people don't tell you what you should do; they tell you what they did, and how it worked for them. (It's called "sharing experience, strength and hope," rather than giving unsolicited advice.) And then there's "the meeting after the meeting," when people clean up, go out for coffee, and continue the fellowship. At "the meeting after the meeting," our primary purpose is to show folks that we don't bite. Make sure you go to all three meetings, Steve...

Strangely enough, I found this group of "young adults" at my first church who did the exact same thing. We met before church, had coffee and talked and sang and prayed together. They put up with my vulgarity, my theological stupidities, and my endless questions. They told me about how to buy my first Bible. And they showed me that you didn't need to be a Bible-wiz in order to go to a Bible study. They invited me into their community, then to be a part of their worship, and before long I was drawn in by the welcome and acceptance they shared. God's hands and feet were at the ends of their arms and legs...

And then, months after I left my first Kansas congregation, I was introduced to the Alpha program. And gee, can you imagine? What was at the heart of Alpha? Well, it was just like my other successful faith experiences:

- It was specifically designed for people who were unchurched. If you were willing to make a commitment to come, you were welcome. No theological litmus test. Heretics and apostates welcome.

- It followed the "three-meetings" rule almost to the letter. Every Alpha session started with a meal, and the #1 rule at the meal was: no church talk. The goal was to make people feel welcome.

- Every effort was to make the hosts (the church folks) as normal and everyday and inclusive as could be. Then there was a presentation - either video or in person - about some question of faith. There was humor, pathos, and honesty.

- And then there was the meeting afterwards - discussion groups where the stated rule was "no question too heretical to be asked, or answered."

In recent years, the Alpha Program and their founder, Nicky Gumbel have become associated more centrally with the folks who "love the sinner but hate the sin" when it comes to gay/lesbian issues, so if I ever went to an Alpha session, I'd more likely be an "outsider" rather than a member of "the faithful." But it was still a blessing - to me, an Alpha program was a sign that a church had a heart for outsiders. It might be fun to see how Alpha is working in the Buckeye state...even as an apostate...

Ten years ago, I was blessed to read one of the most amazing (and under-appreciated) texts ever put out by Augsburg Fortress: What NeXt? Connecting Your Congregation to Generation X. Though it's 8 years old at this point, it's still an amazing text (and video) on looking at church differently. (Augsburg is just about to remainder all these books, it seems. At $6.30 for the book and video, they're cheap at the price.) It spawned a conference at Lutheran Church of Hope in 2000 which was a big deal for me...

I read and heard Pam Fickenscher (the original pastor at Spirit Garage in Minneapolis) speak there, and later read her article in the book and in this article about the founding of this amazing satellite church. Over and over, I heard this message: unchurched folks are not going to come in the front door of your church. For years, Spirit Garage's new members came from Habitat for Humanity projects, food drives, work at homeless shelters, and the like. They came because they found a place where they could meet Christians, outside of church, and found that this particular group was pretty non-toxic, after all.

Needless to say, given some of the changes I've come through, I've been searching far and wide for "non-toxic Christians." And then there have been times when I didn't even want to look, to be honest. Getting back into a traditional (or quasi-traditional) congregation and fighting the same old battles has as much appeal as a traffic accident for me. I keep wishing that there was something more.

For decades now, my own denomination-of-record has believed in the power of bricks and mortar. It's been a kind of Field of Dreams syndrome: build it, and they will come. But so far, that has meant thousands of near-empty congregations, who'd rather die than switch or change.

Kyle, I think there's hope. But I think the hope is with you, and people like you, who are willing to step out of the box that we've allowed to hide the church and God. Keep asking the questions; keep questioning the answers. And thanks for sparking this extended rant. It's been coming for a while...

Thoughts about the church

My friend Natala over at and that has made all the difference has posted these questions - by her own admission, BIG questions - about the church:

I'm in the midst of writing something, and need a random kind of 'survey'. I know these are not exactly light questions... but you can amuse me if you like :)

1. Is Church relevant ? (Can it be?)
2. What is the biggest reason that you believe people do not go to Church?
3. Likewise, why do people go to Church at all?
3. Does Church follow what Christ taught?
4. What does Church need to be/do?
5. What should the Church's first priority be?
6. Any other thoughts on the matter?

go ahead - anything you want to say. [you can respond at her post over here.]

I believe each one of these questions are important - each one could well be a chapter in a book, for that matter. But in my oh-what-the-hell, shoot-from-the-hip mode, this is how I responded to her. Comments, discussion welcome...

1. Is Church relevant ? (Can it be?)
What the church is called to be - a MASH hospital for sinners, and the voice of God's love, acceptance and forgiveness to a sinful, broken world - is incredibly, desperately relevant.

How the church often ends up - a country club for "the faithful," a symbol of "we've got it made" spirituality and respectability, and a place from which sinful people can set up hierarchies of sinfulness, and look down on people "lower on the ladder" than them - that place is horrifically irrelevant.

2. What is the biggest reason that you believe people do not go to Church?

When the church is seen as the seat of holiness and respectability, the last place broken and hurting people will go is to church. Steven Curtis Chapman's For Who He Really Is, Susan Ashton's Started With A Whisper and Casting Crowns' Does Anybody Hear Her? are powerful testimonies on this topic.

3. Likewise, why do people go to Church at all?

It sounds simplistic (even to me) - but the simple fact is that if there's a chance of finding people who know about God and God's love, most of us keep on hoping that they will be in "God's house," and that they will be acting like "God's kids" rather than "God's judge, jury and prosecuting attorney."

(This, by the way, is one of the major arguments I have with folks who say "Sunday is for worshiping God; it's not about seekers, it's about WORSHIP." Like it or not, the primary time that seekers are going to come to us is on Christmas Eve, Easter morning, and on "any given Sunday." It's like Jesse James, when asked why he robbed banks - he said, "'Cuz that's where the money is..." We keep hoping "that's where the true Christians are...")

I appreciated what one of the commenters said about people going to church because they feel guilty. It made me think of the man in recovery who said he had low self-esteem, and he hated himself and what he'd been. His AA sponsor said, "Well, no kidding, bubba. We're alcoholics, but we're not stupid. We know what we have been; knowing that, who could POSSIBLY have reasonable self-esteem?..."

Part of the humility needed to accept God's gift of redemption is the knowledge that I am broken enough to need redeeming.

But I also think that a significant portion of church-goers go because that's where good, respectable, "former sinners" like them are supposed to be on Sunday. Not because there's a relationship with God, but because "it's what we do on Sunday..."

3. Does Church follow what Christ taught?

I would say that some Christians,, some church goers follow Christ's teachings. I'd say that for the last 100 years, the church has been following the traditions and pieties of Christendom, not Christ. Most churches are too afraid of being persecuted to follow Christ too closely.

So instead we find a way of facilitating life for those who are Respectables, the socially-acceptable folks, and try not to hear the call to abandon the nets, the buildings, the pipe organs, and the mission-endowment funds and just GO and SERVE.

Now, to be fair, it would be important to note that even when the apostles had Jesus right there with them, they still managed to do this us-n-them thing. The dirty, the lepers, the children, the Gentiles - the original apostles treated Jesus the same way modern-day publicists treat Brad Pitt. They tried to run interference for him, to be kept away from the untouchables.

Human beings like to associate with folks like them. The shared background, expereinces, and customs make it easier to keep odd-balls out, and keep "folks like us" in. It also makes church into an insider's club, rather than a place to land for the the folks (like me) who need to find Christ...

4. What does Church need to be/do?

The hardest thing for the church to do is to be prophetic in service to the world, rather than being a voice of condemnation to the sinners of the world.

We can talk God's holy word to each other ad nauseum. But when we start loving the untouchables and stop keeping our eyes trained on some unattainable holiness or perfection, that's when we will know that God is down here with us, rather than up there waiting on a cloud for us to "get better. and it will be much better.

5. What should the Church's first priority be?

To be the voices, hands and feet of Christ on earth. To be the ones who stand by the door and motion unbelievers and seekers into meaningful relationships.

6. Any other thoughts on the matter?

About 30 terabytes - but it's late, and I need to leave room for others!....