And the part of Peter will be played by...me

Some rigorous honesty for Good Friday....

I hated The Passion of the Christ.

You heard me. I wanted to love it, but I. Just. Hated. It.

Know why? Because I'm a wimp. A puss. A pud. A softie. I get weak in the stomach and the knees at the sight of blood. I despise violence, and yet I fear getting involved. I hated it for the same reason I hated Saving Private Ryan - because deep down, I never wanted to know just how bad it really was, back then.

A terrible admission, remembering Saving Private Ryan: there is a scene in that movie where one lone American solidier and German soldier fight, and wrestle, and the stronger German soldier gets the upper hand, and slowly drives a knife into the chest of the American soldier...all the while softly urging him to relax and just let it happen. Watching the film in the theatre, at that moment I found this murderous rage boiling within me...mostly because I identified with the weakening, dying American. You see, to put it oh-so-mildly, I am a physical weakling: a 14 year old with a letter opener could have done the same thing to me. And I hated to watch it...because I knew, in the same situation, it would be me. It just made me want to run screaming from the theatre, because I just did not want to face that truth about myself. And if I had not been absolutely center-of-the-packed-theatre and surrounded by friends, I would have done just exactly that.

Here's where it gets bad. Watching that scene on-screen, I had this mental flash of being in the real-life scene, and coming upon the German soldier immediately as he finished driving that knife into the American. In my mind's eye, I would have shot the German in both legs and both arms to brutally, painfully disable him, and then I would have gutted him like a fish...all the while quietly whispering to him to let go and let it happen, just as he had done to his victim.

That's the kind of hate it aroused in me. And God help me, but that's the kind of Monster that lives in me, at times. I hate to admit it, but both the Monster and the Coward are still very much alive in me. Only a very thin veneer of civilization and compassion separates the me I want to be from the me I'm terrified I could become.

On Good Friday? It wouldn't have been The Monster you'd see - it would have been The Coward that showed up. I would have been with the disciples, running like hell from Gethsemane - mostly because I wouldn't want to be arrested and killed, but at least partly because I wouldn't want to witness the barbarity that Jesus was sure to endure - let alone endure it myself. After all, I love being on the side of God and good and right - but I'm enough of a coward that I really, really don't want to go to jail for it - let alone die for it. I wish I could tell you otherwise - that I would somehow be braver, nobler, and stronger - but that would be at least three complete lies.

(An aside: I think last year was the first year that I didn't receive the perennial email that supposedly contained a physician's graphic description of the physiological effects of crucifixion. We no longer needed it; we'd seen acres and acres of footage of gore to show us just exactly what it was like. No speculation or imagination required. It still sends shivers up my spine. Thanks a lot, Mel...)

The person with whom I most identify in the tale of Thursday and Friday, however, would be Peter.

"You will never wash my feet." "OK, then wash ALL of me!" "I will lay down my life for you!" Falling asleep when the Son of God begs for wakefulness and companionship. Forsaking everything about loving one's neighbor to slice off the ear of the high priest's servant...go with what you know, eh Peter? Following Jesus (but only at a safe distance...) on the way to the high priest's house. "Do you know him?" "Not me, sir, no way..." knowing the truth all the while, and feeling the truth scorch the soul. The rooster's crow like a laser, cutting straight into his heart. Look what a disciple you are, eh, Pete? What a piece of work you are...

Oh, yes. I know that role well. I have been there. In some ways, I am there tonight. I don't have to look hard at my life to know that I have not been the disciple I should have been. I am not the disciple I could be. On ninety-nine days out of a hundred, I'd much rather switch than fight. And I'm terribly afraid that when push comes to shove, I might still abandon you to save myself - and then hate myself for all time afterwards.

The Monster, and the Coward. On Good Friday, I face them both. And my only hope resides in this: that Jesus went to the cross for me - not for the person I'd like to be, not for the church member, or the seminarian, or the employee, or the neighbor - but for the Monster, and for the Coward. In the words of Max Lucado, Jesus died and descended to Hell for me rather than go to Heaven without me. And for this child of God, it is that truth - and only that - that makes anything about this Friday "Good."

“I have told you these things, so that in me you may have peace. In this world you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world.” (John 16:33, NIV)

God, or the Devil?

In his challenging work Naked Before God: The Return of a Broken Disciple, Bill Williams tells a story that is worth retelling this Holy Week. It's a story of an encounter between his wife, Martha, and one of her Sunday school students. Martha had built a powerful rapport with her students - they felt safe and loved in her presence, and they worked hard...and they developed a very special rapport with Martha. That trust, and that love, are probably why this piece of truth got spoken.

These words are Bill Williams - and yet they are also mine:

One Sunday, Martha asked her kids what they thought about God. They did what kids usually do when you ask an open-ended question. They rolled their eyes and looked dumb. It always takes some work to get the water flowing.

"Well," she said, going for the most basic thing she could think of, "is he good, bad, or what?"

One of them - we'll call him Timothy - looked at her and said something a lot of Sunday school teachers will never hear, because they are not Martha.

"Well," Timothy said, "God killed his son."

Shut your ears, Timothy! You're listening too well. That fig tree won't bear you any fruit, Tim. You just hold on to the notion that God is good, not evil, and that loving you doesn't mean he wants to kill you. If you let that filth in, you'll spend the rest of your life trying to scrape it off. When they start to bleat their poison in the big room, you just plug your ears and chant with me: God is good. God is good. God is good. That will be our measuring stick, you and me. If anything doesn't measure up to that, you'll know it's broken. This is your basic wiring, child. You won't be able to bulk-erase it later - take it from me, I've tried and tried. Tim you just stay away from that piece of hate and don't ever let it touch your heart or you'll end up as crippled as I am can't you see the way I've struggled and I'm still being dragged down to hell....

Don't believe that God is the Devil, no matter what your church says.

God is good
God is good
God is good
God is good
God is good
God is good...

I'm chanting right with you, Bill.

Tragedy conveyed by two numbers

2b This is what the Sovereign LORD says: Woe to the shepherds of Israel who only take care of themselves! Should not shepherds take care of the flock? 3 You eat the curds, clothe yourselves with the wool and slaughter the choice animals, but you do not take care of the flock. 4 You have not strengthened the weak or healed the sick or bound up the injured. You have not brought back the strays or searched for the lost. You have ruled them harshly and brutally. 5 So they were scattered because there was no shepherd, and when they were scattered they became food for all the wild animals. 6 My sheep wandered over all the mountains and on every high hill. They were scattered over the whole earth, and no one searched or looked for them.
10 This is what the Sovereign LORD says: I am against the shepherds and will hold them accountable for my flock. I will remove them from tending the flock so that the shepherds can no longer feed themselves. I will rescue my flock from their mouths, and it will no longer be food for them. (Ezekiel 34:2b-6,10, NIV)

30 and 45.

Those are the numbers of worshipers present last weekend at a congregation in suburban Kansas City - one that I was a member of for just over 10 years. Thirty at the first service; forty-five at the second.

Once upon a time, in the 1991-94 time-frame, people in that church thought they would need to expand the sanctuary...there were so many folks, it was gettin' snug in there, at times. But then there were pastoral changes: a beloved pastor retired because of his health; an assistant pastor drew a number of worshipers to a neighboring congregation when he left; and the new senior pastor did some things in the name of "preserving the ancient traditions," which polarized (and ultimately schismed) the church. Lots of things drew the average attendance from over 400 a decade ago down to near 200 by the time I left in July, 2001.

But when my friend visited last week, and told me of the devastation of my former church home, I was stunned. It was like not seeing a favorite aunt for four years, and then to visit and see her dying of cancer. In a way, it felt like what the crew of the Titanic must have felt as they saw its bow sinking lower into the Atlantic..."this can't be happening...I know I expected it to happen, but not so fast..."

I left that church - with a lot of other folks - because of behavior by the senior pastor that many folks felt was unacceptable. Leaving that church was as painful for me as my divorce had been - amputational, at best - but I knew that staying, for me, would have been far worse. So I left, and wished them well. I resolutely put them out of my mind, and moved on to the next community of faith.

My friend spoke for me when she said, "You know, I stopped praying for that bunch a while ago. But I really need to start that up again." Her comment, directed at her own life, burned in my soul, too. So here I am - praying for my former congregation, and for the shepherd who led them to this wilderness.

I've had harder assignments in my spiritual walk, but this one is right up there near the top of the "hardest tasks" list...

Look around - can you see me?

It's amazing - very, very few people who read this blog have ever met me. Most of us in the blogosphere share a fellowship and friendship which is digital-only. In fact, I get very envious of fellow bloggers who tell how they manage to hook-up in the real-world at this conference or that gathering.

But no matter where you are, I guarantee you'll see me this week...if you look.

See? Over there, on the edge of the street? The heavy-set guy with the beard, waving the palm frond and shouting "Hosanna!" until he's hoarse? That's me...

Look - there in the back of the temple, with Judas? Wondering whether all this hype will last, and if this Jesus guy is all he says he is? Asking himself whether we can still get an appointment with the High Priest? Yeah, that's me...

I admit, my name's not on the reservation card at the Upper Room Grill, but you'll see me at the dinner table Thursday night - wondering just what the heck Jesus is talking about, and making a stink about my Rabbi washing my feet. And it'll be my snoring you hear - a little louder than the rest, probably - while Jesus prays, and weeps, and begs for his cup to pass.

And as big as I am, I don't run much...but you'll see my heels flying when the Roman guards come for Jesus. Faithful follower that I am, when it comes down to the hard places, I'm a track-star just like the rest of 'em. Watch me run...

My hand is right next to Judas' on the money-bag - flinging it back in disgust at the way I've betrayed my Lord. And the rope will be in my hands, fashioning my own noose right alongside Judas, too...but I'm too much of a coward to jump. I should, though...I'm every bit as guilty of the betrayal.

I'm there, a couple rows back from the front, in Pilate's court, yelling "Crucify!" just like the rest of 'em. God knows that I'm good at jumping on bandwagons...I was there shouting with the rest of the yo-yo's on Sunday, and I'm good for some more shouting on Friday. Always wanting to be at the center of things - yup, that's me...

And it won't be hard to pick out my face up at Golgotha. I'll be the one standing about 20 feet away - giving John and Mary their space - but weeping at the horror of the Son of Man's blood-drenched body hanging on the cross. You see, my hand was on the mallet as it drove the nails in. Look at what you've wrought, Steve...

Oh, yes...you'll see me around a lot this week. No matter where you look, there I'll be...because it's my story.

Why isn't it just "Palm" Sunday any more?

Those of you who have been reading here a while know I'm not the biggest advocate of the liturgical calendar. (Those who have joined us recently can catch up here.)

But in the church communities where I've visited the last two years, there seems to be this trend to make Palm Sunday into "The Passion of Our Lord Sunday," and tell the Good Friday story on Palm Sunday, and squeeze the "Palm Sunday" imagery into a pseudo-procession at the beginning of the service. And for some folks, that seems to work. I've just got one question for folks who encourage this kind of liturgy-planning....

What were you thinking?

The whole idea of the liturgical calendar is to provide both structure, symmetry and symbolism to our worship. And, to be honest, even in the Catholic church I despised as a child, I figured some stuff out:
- Palm Sunday began "Holy Week" with a monster pep rally - everybody is "on the inside" with Jesus, and everything is groovy.
- The last supper (or what storyteller Ed Stivender would tell us, "the next-to-the-last party...") starts the great adventure for us.
- Good Friday is where the passion happens - and that's where it belongs.
- "Holy Saturday" is a time of being "between" - between death and eternal life, between crucifixion and resurrection. It's supposed to be empty.

It may have been that most of the Christian world used Palm Sunday as "Passion of the Christ" Sunday, but to me, it just seemed repetitious - and forced folks to mainline a whole mess of Scripture just so we could say we got all the lectionary readings in. It seemed strange to me, especially given the framework I grew up with.

Yeah, I know - some people don't come to church on Good Friday...when are they going to hear the Passion texts? Well, that may be a minor point - but it just doesn't cut any ice with me, I'm afraid. So I'm going to side with the traditionalists, for once. Give us back the beauty of Palm Sunday, so that we can experience the joys, and the depths of sorrow and sadness, and celebrate the story of Holy Week in sequence. Just my two liturgical cents worth...

Lutherans without "Purpose"...

Several articles appeared in the February '05 issue of the ELCA's The Lutheran magazine concerning Rick Warren's The Purpose-Driven Life (click the link to see the article index). While I don't believe for a minute that Br'er Warren is the 14th apostle or anything, I do believe that there are definitely broad concepts in his book that can enrich faith practices across denominations. I've actually read the P-D-L, and was curious what the official voice of the ELCA had to say about it. So I started reading, and was brought short by the very first paragraph of the lead article, The man with the 'Purpose':

In 1980, Rick Warren started his church with a time-tested formula used by thousands of up-and-coming Baptist pastors. He moved to a Sunbelt city, started a Bible study in his condo and taught aimless baby boomer suburbanites how to connect with God — simple seeker-sensitive stuff, the sort of message that has built prosperous congregations for ambitious ministers nationwide.

Now that really irked me. Maybe it's just the large-ish chip I have on my shoulder about my denomination in general, but the tone of this article sounded really condescending.

Call me crazy (won't be the first time) but the idea of a pastor starting a Bible-study in his condo (be it Sunbelt, Snowbelt or Rustbelt) and teaching aimless people how to connect with God sounds like the kind of pastor I'd like to shepherd my church. It also sounds an awful lot like the church of Acts 2:

They devoted themselves to the apostles' teaching and fellowship, to the breaking of bread and the prayers...Day by day, as they spent much time together in the temple, they broke bread at home and ate their food with glad and generous hearts, praising God and having the goodwill of all the people. And day by day the Lord added to their number those who were being saved. (Acts 2:42,46-67, NRSV)

Or am I missing something?

I hate to point it out, but reaching out to non-believers or nominal believers, and sharing the word of God with them, doesn't just build "prosperous congregations for ambitious ministers nationwide." It builds something called the Kingdom of God, in obedience to the gentle suggestion of a Galilean to his unordained flock of fledgling evangelists:

And Jesus came and said to them, "All authority in heaven and on earth has been given to me. Go therefore and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, and teaching them to obey everything that I have commanded you. And remember, I am with you always, to the end of the age." (Matthew 28:18-20, NRSV)

Any of this ringin' a bell with you Lutherans? Any of you want to check out the Scriptura that you're so Sola about, and tell me I'm wrong?

Now, the rest of the article does quite fairly point out some of the book's (and the author's) flaws. I always thought that the whole "40 days of purpose" was kind of a stampede through a lot of territory, and I agree that there is a bit of an "infomercial" quality to it. And yes, I don't have much use for Br'er Warren's view on Biblical infallibility, or the Southern Baptists' views on women (especially in ministry) and other issues of fundamental Christianity. As I said, I'm not advocating joining Saddleback Church, nor becoming Rick-Warren clones.

But as usual, the Lutherans have missed several key points:

- Most of the ELCA churches that I have encountered have no real heart for reaching out to "aimless" people of any kind. (Now, admittedly, there are some - but they are few and far between, in my experience.) A careful reading of Matthew 28 shows that it does not say, "Fling open the doors of your church, and if anyone wanders in, make sure they get a good, solid liturgy and the eucharistic elements, properly consecrated." It does, however, say "GO" - as in "get off your lutefisk-laden behinds and go find the ones who are LOST!" Sadly, however, in most congregations with which I've been connected, fully 90% of their new-member intake is from other Lutheran congregations (as opposed to the unchurched or nominally-churched) - adding new definition to the term "vampire evangelism"...

- Literally millions of people in hundreds of churches across the US found there to be enough value to commit to the "40 Days of Purpose" as congregations. Are we going to deride the transforming power of the Holy Spirit because (once again) the idea was "not invented here" (meaning in "our camp")?

- A disastrously-telling set of images come from the study guide that The Lutheran published to go along with this article. One can only wonder: what the heck were they thinking when they wrote these questions?

Which is a better goal for churches: to be faithful or successful? When do you have to choose? Can you have one without the other? Why can’t you have both? Is it better to be successful even if it means being less faithful to your tradition?

These questions are completely ludicrous, especially when asked by the folks whose founder was forever immortalized as the "both...and" guy (Martin Luther's "both saint and sinner" concept).

The big question they won't ask, I think, is this: "To what are we being faithful? To the core of the Gospel - two Great Commandments (love God, love one another) and one Great Commission (Go, make disciples...)? Or are we being faithful only to the tradition - the hymnal, the liturgy, and the cultural icons like pipe organs, lutefisk and potlucks?"

Could converting 16,000 "aimless suburbanites" into disciples, and retaining them through the use of "seeker-sensitive" church services really be considered "not being faithful"? Are we Lutherans really so afraid of the sin of pride that "successful" is considered the antithesis of (or at least the other end of the continuum from) "faithful"? Is it more virtuous, or more faithful, to have 40 saints gathered in a sanctuary that seats 800, performing a perfectly executed eucharistic liturgy?

Can we learn from Rick Warren's hugely successful publishing adventure without actually having to become "nouveau Baptists?" Can we utilize the tools of the P-D-L without buying into every concept being presented? Can we, as a denomination, and as the church universal, stop and recognize that if twenty million people bought the book, that there might be 20 million people around us who are not finding the answers to fundamental faith questions like "What on Earth am I here for?" within our walls and our liturgies? Can we at least buy into Article VII of the Augsburg Confession (which all ELCA churches are required to incorporate into their constitutions) and agree: "Nor is it necessary that human traditions, that is, rites or ceremonies, instituted by men, should be everywhere alike"? (It's tragic that another NIH (not invented here) idea, the Alpha program, often gets blown this same kind of smoke...)

Then comes the coup de grace:

How is your church doing? Are your finances stable? Is membership growing bit by bit? Or are things in decline? How about churches in your area? Are programs needed to energize church life? Is Purpose-Driven good for that reason?

How very tragic, eh? Sounds like we've bought right in to the message of the world, doesn't it?: Should the first question about the health of a church really be, "Are your finances stable?" What does that say about the focus of the denomination, and the need for disciple-building in our congregations?

Again: Rick Warren is no saint. But neither is he the devil...nor is he someone worthy of receiving playground-quality deriding. I give thanks for bold Lutheran pastors like Eric Burtness, the pastor of St. Matthew Lutheran Church, Beaverton, Ore. (who is featured in a second article about their use of the "40 days of Purpose"), as well as women and men of vision across dozens of denominational boundaries who have used this to great effect. They speak for the hope that "dinosaur heart transplants" are just some of the miracles that are happening when committed disciples try to tell "the old old story" using new words, new images, new songs and new settings. For them, and for the renewing and transforming power of the Holy Spirit, I give thanks today.

(It'll be interesting to see if any Lutherans actually bother to comment...)

My favorite Easter card this year...

...comes from Ben Bell's blog. Check it out here... wish I could afford to print a couple hundred and pass 'em out. Hopefully posting here will be the equivalent! Thanks, Ben, for sharing a very powerful vision.

Make sure you read this...

...because it is bloody brilliant - just inspired from God. I wish I'd written this...and I really wish I had read this before I wrote "the post." Check out "What Jesus Never Said."

Over my shoulder, a backward glance...

Last Sunday, it was 65 degrees, sunny, and we were all in short sleeves, ready for crocuses to start popping up. Then, the denizens of Chicago weather struck...
Monday: clouds, sleet
Tuesday: clouds, cold, snow
Wednesday: sunshine, pretty cold
Thursday: cloudy, rain
Friday: sunny, bright, snow

For someone who suffers from mild-to-medium depression, and seasonal affective disorder, this kind of stuff can make one crazy. I guess we get the good days (what my friend Natalie would call "my one good day in a row") to keep us a safe distance away from mental-health professionals!

I've been struggling with sinus and ear infections. The cure (a good-sized dose of amoxicillin) has played hell with my digestion all week - and that, on top of the earaches and runny nose, has (a) given me opportunities to feel like a whimpering baby and (b) to lose all kinds of sleep. So I've been struggling that way for the whole week.

Add to this the fact that my employer's email and internet connections have been down all week (8 business days, to be exact), and I have to admit I've not been firing on all cylinders. But there are enough other things in my gratitude hopper to keep me fractionally right-sized, I guess.

While I'm sure that the topic will pop up and again, I promise that this is the last time I'm going to mention "the post" for quite a while - in many ways, this explains exactly why...

As John McCutcheon would say, "Alleluia, the great storm is over..." It's pretty clear that I'm between 14:30 and 16:00 into my "fifteen minutes of fame" on this topic.

I am, however, tremendously grateful to everyone who stopped by, who shared encouragement, and especially to those who took issue with what I wrote politely (a rarity in some parts of the blogosphere, to be sure). I hope whoever stopped by found some things worth reading besides "the post." I'm not really looking for fame, but friends (even long-distance, virtual ones) are the things for which I'm really grateful. Peace!

Just remember to let me go home

But the souls of the righteous are in the hand of God,
and no torment will ever touch them.
In the eyes of the foolish they seemed to have died,
and their departure was thought to be a disaster,
and their going from us to be their destruction;
but they are at peace.
For though in the sight of others they were punished,
their hope is full of immortality.
(Apocrypha, Wisdom of Solomon 3:1-4 (NRSV))

I'm not a "hot-button preacher," and I've never been a Fox-News let's-find-a-hip-topic-and-argue-about-it kind of guy. So even though tons of ink, quintillions of bytes and all kinds of hyperbole have been spilled over the issue of a woman on life support in Florida, I've tried to stay away from that topic.

I still am. The fact is, there's no answer for the family and friends of Terri Schiavo. Her plight has been politicized to the point where all people can do is shout words like "Murderer!" and "Torturer!" at each other, and the only people benefitting from the circus are the lawyers and the media/pundit cartels. They are picking at the carcass in a way that would make vultures look like Disney characters, and "being right" means winning the battle. :::sigh:::

Wednesday night, the Chicago Tribune posted this article, saying how more medical tests are required "to determine if she has more mental activity than previously thought." So now, scientists, doctors, and theologians start again the wicked battle to define how dead you have to be in order to be allowed to die. And, perhaps the most chilling sentence I've read in a while is at the end of the article: "In Washington, Rep. Dave Weldon and Sen. Mel Martinez, both Republicans from Florida, introduced legislation Tuesday that would require that incapacitated people be represented by their own attorneys."

(We won't even touch the whole Republicans-from-Florida issue. That's just too cheap a shot, even for me.) But here's my battle cry:

You mean I'm going to need an attorney in order to die, for cryin' out loud?

Not me. Not gonna play that game - and I'm here to declare it publicly.

I do not hold with the idea that because you can keep my brain alive (even though there's no way for your thoughts to get in, or my thoughts to get out), that somehow you should do so, anyway.

This is not about Dr. Kervorkian or the Hemlock Society or "physician assisted suicide." This is not even about quality of life. It's facing life (and its end) as a very mortal, very human being and person of faith.

In December 1990, I was only having the occasional thoughts of suicide. But if you had killed me at that time, I would have welcomed it as a mercy killing. God gave me a second shot at life - and several since then. To be honest, I've had more than fourteen years "in the bonus round." So if I were to have a heart attack or stroke tonight, and it were to paralyze me such that I couldn't eat, drink, or communicate in any way, I'd still be one of the most amazingly blessed men I know.

If I have lost the ability to feed and hydrate myself...if I have lost the ability to communicate, and share what God has given me with the world...then I don't care what my EEG or EKG or any-other-G tests say. If the only way you are keeping me alive is by technology and the intervention of man, then my life is already over. Period.

Which brings me back to this passage from the 3rd chapter of the Wisdom of Solomon. Biblical scholars will argue about whether this is "Scripture" or not; I won't even go there. But this beautiful passage, read aloud at my mother's memorial service by a sensitive priest, reminds me that in a community of faith, death is truly only a disaster to those who are left behind.

If as a result of accident, sickness, or trauma, you find me unable to draw breath, sustenance, water, or share my experience strength and hope with others, then I would ask you to just "let me go home." Just stop fighting the inevitable, and let me go home. Please don't fight over trying to keep me here...

...because I'm bound for better things.

And so it begins...

I heard the news yesterday from my friend Sandy M., who's still in Kansas... though I really wasn't surprised, I was particularly saddened.

As this article in the Kansas City Star indicates, Christ Episcopal Church in Overland Park, KS has agreed in principle to withdraw from the US Episcopal Church. As I read that, three words came to mind.

Damn, damn, damn.

You see, this is personal. Christ Episcopal is about 2 miles from my former home congregation, Atonement Lutheran in Overland Park. Atonement's Alpha program, a core piece of congregational revival at my former home church, started as an offshoot of Christ's program. They helped our congregation out when we were going through our re-visioning process; their rector, Ron McCrary, spoke at one of our council retreats. And their congregation has always seemed to have a heart for the unchurched and the nominally-churched. All that to say this: there is much to recommend one to the ministry of Christ Episcopal Church. I can't deny that.

The bad news is, as Bishop Wolfe points out, that this church has been headed out the door for a year, and now (assuming the congregational vote in April follows the pastors and council's recommendation) they're all but gone.

While the article says that there are a number of issues underlying the split, the triggering episode sure seems to be the election of an "actively" gay bishop two years ago. It seems that Christ Episcopal has decided to hang their congregation's future on the theory that "The translators of the [fill in your favorite] Version say that God said it, and I believe it, and that settles it."

The greater tragedy is that when the church schisms over issues related to homosexuality, the two camps invariably look across the divide at each other with loathing, splitting into "How can you tolerate THAT awful sin?" and "How can you leave us over such an inconsequential issue as THAT?" camps. (This sounds like a wild generalization - but in fact, this has been my personal experience with other congregations, too.)

Once again, a church that claims to follow the "love God, and love your neighbor" guy has allowed acceptance of GLBT people and lifestyles to become the ultimate litmus-test of faithfulness, rather than issues of substance like I dealt with over here.

And what's sad is that the churches that seem to have what I want - spirited, contemporary worship, powerhouse preaching, and a heart for welcoming the unchurched (well, the str8 unchurched, anyway) - also seem to have this same hardline understanding about homosexuality. (Chicago's Fourth Presbyterian seems to be an exception to this rule, although their worship style is pretty "traditional.")

The next time Atonement Lutheran calls on Christ Episcopal, will the answer be "Of course, we'll help you out...just tell us what your church's position on gays and lesbians"?

This crap makes me crazy. God, grant me the serenity....

A church with a sense of humor

Check out this link...it brought a smile this morning. Thank God for the UCC.

Bob Vila and "This Old Soul"

The LORD is my shepherd, I shall not be in want.
He makes me lie down in green pastures,
he leads me beside quiet waters,
he restores my soul. (Psalm 23:1-3, NIV)

The 23rd psalm is one of the most recognizable pieces of Scripture there is. People who have never set foot in a church, folks who have never heard about Jesus, folks who can't even pronounce the word "psalm" all know these words. In movies, in literature, on greeting cards - it's hard not to find it somewhere. And that's too bad...

...because it can become so familiar that we don't pay attention to what it actually says. It's possible for us to hear "The Lord is my shepherd..." and to say, "Oh, yeah...that stuff. Yeah, it's good," and tune out.

I heard the 23rd psalm in church yesterday, and verse 3 just kinda leapt out at me: "He restores my soul."

I had this image of Jesus as Bob Vila, the old host of "This Old House," walking into my own soul with his familiar banter. "Folks, we've got a big restoration project starting up this week...we've got weakened resolve in the faith foundation, prayer rot on the 2nd floor that needs to be cut out, we've got toxic spiritual asbestos that needs to be removed...oh, and we're going to put in a new bay window upstairs, to let the Light of the World shine in a little better. All this, and more, on 'This Old Soul'..."

There are times...like this weekend...when I wonder if even Norm Abrams and a Holy-Spirit-powered reciprocating saw can restore this soul o'mine. It sure can be a mess. Challenges and fears and doubts and you-name-it can knock against the I-beams and cinder-blocks of my soul, and I wonder whether the whole structure can possibly stay standing through this pounding.

Then I'm reminded: I don't have to do anything. Just step out of the way, ask the Master Craftsman (with all those cool Crafstman tools!) to come in and go to work. Lie down in the green pastures, beside still waters, and simply say, "Loving Carpenter, I need to be your remodeling project today - every day, in fact. Come in, and restore my soul."

And then watch the transformation take place.

Let the work begin, Lord...

A thought-provoking question...

In backtracking to see where folks visiting my blog were coming from, I found this post from Todd Hiestand's blog. In it he asks a simple, yet dramatic question: "What are you REALLY living for?"

I think it's a powerful question - one that people in general (and we in the church in particular) don't ask often enough, or answer honestly enough. I started to post the answer on his blog, and then thought that I really needed to answer the question here.

I come to this question with a couple frames of reference. Forgive me for rambling even more than the usual bit. (For relative newcomers, now you know where this blog gets its name...)

I come to this question first as a member of the community of recovery. My first day back in a church was on Reformation Sunday, 1990 - forty-some days before I got sober. But I really didn't get connected with a faith community until the first week of May, 2001 - so I was almost 5 months sober when I came to faith (literally, at Faith Lutheran Church in Prairie Village, KS).

As a recovering alcoholic, almost by definition I start my day out selfish, self-centered, and self-seeking. It's no big surprise - those are classic character defects of addictive personalities. I'm not proud of it, nor am I making excuses. But the truth is that even after an extended period of recovery, that's just where I boot-up. Absent the transforming love of God and the power of prayer, that's probably where I would spend my every conscious moment. Needless to say, that colors a lot of what I think and do...

You see, I'd love to tell you that I was drawn to Christian community out of a love for the truth I found in Jesus Christ...but it would be a big, fat lie. As a self-seeking person, I at least started off my Christian life just not wanting to be lonely. Truth be told, I desired their acceptance, and accepted their hospitality, long before I accepted their Savior.

I didn't come to Faith Lutheran because I was "a cradle Lutheran." In fact, I'd been away from church for half of my 34 years, at that point, and I'd been raised Catholic before that (even being "most valuable altar boy"). The only reason I came to that Lutheran church was because a fellow AA member was a member of that congregation, and he invited me to go with him. Left to myself, I never would have gone.

I came to that congregation in Kansas so broken, so "apart-from" that I really believed I would never, ever fit in. You see, all the folks in that church looked so good, on the outside...and I was so terribly broken on the inside. I made the classic mistake of comparing my "insides" with their "outsides," and decided that I'd probably never, ever fit in there. I was sure that if the folks in that church ever found out what kind of "damaged goods" they had on their hands, they would either run away screaming...or drive me from their midst. The fear of rejection almost made be quit going - because it would hurt less to reject them than for one more group to reject me.

The second Sunday I was there, I let it slip that I sang, sometimes, with my ex-wife. (Whoops...didn't mean to let them know I was divorced. Damn.) They skipped right over that little detail, and invited me to choir. (OK, that's a lie. There was no invitation, whatsover. Two ladies grabbed me, one on each arm; one of them said, "Last week, you were a visitor. This week, you're family," and they duck-walked me down to the choir room.) I hadn't read choral music since I graduated high school; it didn't matter to them. They simply said, "If you want to be here, you're welcome." And I was willing to be anywhere, with anyone, rather than be alone. So I stayed, and I sang.

Interestingly enough, that was exactly what the people in the 12-step communities told me, too. I didn't have to be good enough, sane enough, or anything-else enough to be in their meetings; if I wanted to stay sober that 24 hours, I was "in." Nothing more than willingness was required...

Over the next months, those church folks welcomed me over and over again - into Helpmates, a divorced/widowed support group; into Friends of Faith, a somewhat-"contemporary" worship music group; into Bible study; and into their homes. Their pastor, Tom Housholder, and his wife Delphine, became the surrogate parents I needed so desperately. I found the same welcome the prodigal son found in his father's arms - and I believed them, and their Savior. Like Naomi and Ruth, I'm not sure I had any faith of my own, but I decided along the line that "their God would be my God."

So my very first answer to "what are you REALLY living for?" became to be of service to the community that welcomed me, and to the Savior to whom they re-introduced me. Even when I'm filled with lust, greed, anger, and sloth, I know that's where I'm supposed to be.

The more I became a part of that community, however, the more I realized how different my faith experience was from most of theirs. Many, if not most, of them had grown up right, lived right, married right, and attended church all their lives. The halls that held their kids' first-communion pictures also held their own. I'd never had that kind of permanence; I'd attended 3 high-schools, and had more addresses in my first five years of sobriety than some of my church-mates had in four decades. Ninety-nine percent of them never knew what it was to "find faith in Jesus," because they had grown up believing they were saved. I had this hunger to be able to give away the gift that I'd received to those who were still outside the community of faith - an urgency they didn't share, because most of them didn't hang around with unchurched folks, period.

So my second answer to the question was to encourage and welcome unchurched and nominally-churched people - people like me - into the community of faith. And a third developed out of it: to share my experience, strength, and hope - as a follower of Christ and a person in recovery - about my journey of faith: where I've been struggled, where I've sailed-through, and how I've been carried by the God of my misunderstanding. I think that it's in my sharing of the very brokenness that I experience - even today - that the unchurched see us both as we are, and as we are called to be.

Much later - when I first started considering going to seminary - a friend introduced me to the poem that's at the end of this posting, called So I Stay Near The Door, by Rev. Sam Shoemaker (an early clergy friend of AA). If you've not encountered it before, it's worth reading...

Lastly, in the 2nd step of the 12-step program, it says [We] came to believe that a power greater than ourselves could restore us to sanity. A Jesuit priest in recovery once told me that sanity was "the ability to work, play, and love successfully, and in balance." I believe the pursuit of that - by itself - is a worthy goal for a lifetime. But combined with the others, they seem to strengthen and reinforce each other.

I also come to this question with more than 15 years as a student of Martin Luther. I've found much in the power of "justification by grace, through faith;" I've found my identity in the "both...and" of Luther's idea of "both saint and sinner;" and though I'll never be ordained by the ELCA, I'll always be a member of "the priesthood of all believers." These concepts, and so many others, form and frame my faith experience.

Sharing the faith I was given...helping to build and support the faith community in which I participate...learning to work, play, and love successfully and in balance. When I clear away all the external nonsense of my life - my sin, my addictions, my obsessions and fears - this is what God has left as my foundation.

And when I can stay focused on that, my life goes so much better. Which, in a completely self-serving, self-seeking way, still manages to point me toward God's will...which brings me full-circle, again...

An overdose for an applause-hog

Wow.

I've been humbled and awed by the feedback on my post on the woman at the well. I've found at least 3 different blogs that have it hot-linked...which I don't think has ever happened before. As I told both my nouveau readers at One Hand Clapping and parazeloo: provoked, linking back to another persons's post is the highest praise one blogger can give another - for which I'm really, really grateful.

In a spirit of shameless self-promotion, I'm going to offer one of my first posts, on a similar topic, might be of interest, over here. Though it was only my second blog-post, it's something I still believe in mightily.

I have to admit, this kind of attention is kind of like what I'd imagine a hit of coke would be like: instantly addictive. My fundamental character defects are being self-centered, self-seeking, and believing "it's all about me," and any kind of praise and "Woo-hoo!" just feeds into this, as you might imagine. The good news is, the original post practically wrote itself...so I know there's much more of Someone Else in this, and not a lot of me.

As I posted a couple days ago at RickinVa's Brutally Honest, I was once told by my pastor-mentor, Tom Housholder,"If it's good, it's probably God; if it's slop, it's almost certainly Steve." I think that's pretty much true today, too. And I'll rest in that grace, while I'm at it. "Praise God from whom all blessings flow..."

More on "the woman at the well"...

My friend Eric called me on the fact that I have too often said, "I need to write more on this..." and then don't. So, fulfilling my most recent promise, here are some reflections on Pastor John M. Buchanan's sermon last Sunday on the John 4 story of "Jesus and the Samaritan woman." (By Friday March 4th, his sermon should be available at the Fourth Presbyterian website.) I wish I could say that these were my insights - but I'm glad to pass Pr. John's wisdom around. Let me start off with a personal insight into one of his points.

My friend Barb hates driving down 55th St. in Chicago. It's a straight shot, dead west, to Midway Airport from the LSTC neighborhood - in good weather and traffic, maybe 20 minutes. But it runs through some admittedly sketchy neighborhoods - where a young white woman would be more than a little nervous breaking down or changing a tire. So, now imagine an equilateral triangle. The bottom right corner is LSTC. When Barb drives to Midway, instead of driving west across the base of the triangle, she takes Lake Shore Drive way up north, then picks up I-55 near McCormick Place (the top point of the triangle), and drives south to Cicero, and down to Midway Airport (the left bottom corner).

In short, she'll go way the hell out of her way not to go through bad neighborhoods.

In the same way, the way my map of the Bible lands looks, going from Judea in the south to Galilee in the north would run straight through Samaria. But Pr. Buchanan pointed out that to the Jews, Samaria is a bad neighborhood. They didn't have to go through it; they could have just as easily gone around. But it seems Jesus isn't put off by bad neighborhoods - or cultural prejudice, either.

Samaritans and Jews had been part of a mutual despising culture for seven centuries. Imagine race relations in the southern US states - with segregated bathrooms and drinking fountains and public transportation and rejection of basic civil rights for blacks - and then imagine it going on for seven hundred years instead of 230. Sadly, US history is full of white women and men who befriended blacks in those days - and how they were shunned, rejected, often driven from their homes, businesses destroyed, even killed. That is the role Jesus plays in speaking to the Samaritan woman:

- a man, talking to an unmarried woman
- an unmarried rabbi, talking to an unclean, outcast, immoral woman
- a Jew, offering to drink from the same cup as a despised Samaritan

Jesus breaks through cultural taboos and seven centuries of prejudice in speaking to this woman. And then he shares with her what no one has yet heard - that he is, indeed, the One who both Samaritans and Jews have been waiting for.

(A personal aside: the closest thing to this I can think of in our current day would be Pat Robertson going to an AIDS clinic, offering to drink from the same cup as a gay patient, embracing him, and inviting him into the Kingdom, without first telling him to repent of his orientation first. To me, it's that outrageous an idea.)

Pr. Buchanan also pointed out that Jesus didn't say to the Samaritan woman, "You need to come to Jerusalem, start worshiping right, be cleansed, and then I'll tell you a big secret." There was no "Become like us, and then you're 'in'" requirement. This triggered something in me.

For years, I have struggled with a lot of fundamentalist theology which says, in effect, "You need to get right with Jesus, and come to him." Just yesterday, I heard a female radio preacher talking about how "You need to be holy, as Christ is holy. Practice holiness, so you may approach the throne of God."

I have news for you - if that's true, I'm screwed. Utterly and completely screwed. There is about as much chance of me being "holy, as Christ is holy" as there is of me sprouting wings and flying to the sun.

Now, I'm not saying that I am not in the process of growing in Christ, of sanctification; not in the least. In the recovery community, they have a saying: "If you take a drunken horse-thief, and just sober him up, what you're left with is a sober horse-thief." I believe with all my heart that I am called to grow closer to Christ's example than I am - and that this growth is part of the process of "discipleship" or "spiritual formation."

But I am saying that I'm never gonna "get there" this side of the final trumpet. And I also believe that "straighten up your life and follow Jesus" rejects the good news from the book of Romans: "But God proves his love for us in that while we still were sinners Christ died for us" (Romans 5:8, NRSV). A Lutheran pastor, speaking at the 1995 AA International conference, said, "A pastor who says 'you need to quit drinking and come to Jesus' is just like saying 'you need to get clean enough to get in the bathtub.' That's not what the message of Romans says. Just get in the bathtub, and be clean."

Puts an entirely different spin on "Just As I Am," doesn't it?

The last point I'll share from Pr. Buchanan - and one that I'm sure he gets a lot of flack for, this week - is the idea of difference and diversity. Quoting Rabbi Professor Jonathan Sacks' book The Dignity of Difference: How to Avoid the Clash of Civilizations, he suggested that the church needs to change from a mentality of "You need to be like me before I can validate your right to exist" to one of "you can be as you are without my needing to destroy you."

Isn't it interesting? Since the Crusades, we've been waging war against the infidels. In the fifties in the US, it was "godless Communism." In the 70's, it was Spiro Agnew against the "nattering nabobs of negativity." Rabbi Sacks, and Pr. Buchanan, both ask: is there space for difference? Is our faith authenticated by exclusivity, by who we are and we keep out?

Do I withhold love from my neighbor until they become like me, and vote like me, and live and love like me? Did Jesus really command us to "Love your neighbor as long as he is like yourself"? Hmmm... maybe not.

I hope his words made people wonder about how we are and how we love those who are not like us, both individually and as "the church." I know it's made me think - and even pray - differently.

Just how shocking is the Gospel?

Sunday morning, I went to hear Rev. James Buchanan preach at Fourth Presbyterian Church, "a light in the City" in the shadow of the Hancock Building, at Michigan and Chestnut streets on the Magnificent Mile. It was an amazing experience - one of the first places that I have felt really welcomed into a church in almost 2 years. I'll be quoting some of his sermon - an incredibly powerful preaching on "the woman at the well" passage (John 4) - later on this week. But as a result of his preaching, this image came to me, almost completely, as we prayed the prayers of the church.

Pastor Buchanan started his sermon with the prayer, "Startle us, o God..." - and I admit, I prayed that prayer with him. (I'd say it was the first time one of my prayers had been answered that directly in a long, long time...it certainly worked for me.) Thank you, Pastor, for the inspiration...and with apologies to the author of the Gospel of John, I offer you...

Jesus Talks With A Gay Man - (John 4:1-33, 39-42 - more or less...)

1 In late July, the Metro Chicago Synod heard that Jesus was attracting more first-time visitors and baptizing more adults than any other ELCA pastor in the city, 2 although in fact it was not really Jesus who had baptized them, but his irregularly-commisioned staff of unordained lay ministers. 3 Now when Jesus learned of this, he left the seminary community in Hyde Park and went back once more toward the ELCA headquarters on Higgins Road.

4 Now to get there, he had to go through an area just north of downtown called Boystown. 5 So he came to a part of Boystown called Northhalsted, not far from the plot of ground where Emperor Mayor Daley had ordained that the Chicago Cubs should play baseball. 6 Cub's Stadium was near there, and Jesus, tired as he was from the journey on the Red Line, sat down at a sidewalk café table outside the bar called Hydrate. It was just about lunch-time, and though the rainbow flags were fluttering in the breeze and the music inside the bar was pumping, there weren't many people around (because it's often hot and miserable outside, at mid-day in late July, in Chicago).

7 A waiter came to the table, wearing a bright pink "His+His" t-shirt and a "Silence=Death" armband, and raised one eyebrow at the man seated at the table in front of him in the "Come Follow Me" t-shirt. Jesus said to him, "Will you give me a drink?" 8 (All the lay ministers had gone down the street to pick up Subway sandwiches for the rest of the journey.)

9 The gay man said to him, "Hey...you tell me. After all, you appear to be a straight Christian, and I'm a gay man. Let's face it - we don't get many religious folks in Boystown, let alone places like this. And I'm not only a gay man, but I'm a Muslim gay man. So where does a guy like you get off asking someone like me for a drink?" (For Christians do not associate with gays, nor with Muslims if they can help it.)

10 Jesus answered him, "If you knew the gift of God and who it is that asks you for a drink, you would have asked him and he would have given you living water."

11 "Hey, mister," the gay man said, "I'm the waiter here. I don't see you with an order pad or a serving tray, and it's tough for customers to even get close to our fountain-drink station, let alone our bar. So how are you going to get anything for me to drink, let alone 'living water'? Where can you get this living water? 12 Are you somehow greater than the folks who own this place, who let us drink have free water and soda (and snitch the occasional mixed drink) whenever we want?"

13 Jesus answered, "Everyone who drinks your water, or your soda, or your beer will get thirsty again, 14 but whoever drinks the water I give him will never thirst. Indeed, the water I give him will become in him a spring of water welling up to eternal life."

15 The gay man said to him, "Yeah? Mister...you know what, I have no idea who you really are, or even what the heck you're talking about. But you're the first Christian man in 20 years that hasn't spit on me, or called me 'an abomination' to my face. Somehow, I think I want some of what you're offering. Give me some of this water you keep talking about, so I won't get thirsty and have to keep coming here to get something to drink."

16 Jesus told the man, "OK - just call your wife and come back here, and we'll talk."

17 "Who are you kidding?" the gay man said. "Don't you know where you are? You're in Boystown, for cryin' out loud. I don't have a wife, or a girlfriend. Heck, right now I don't even have a boyfriend," he replied.

Jesus said to her, "You're right when you say you have no boyfriend. The fact is, you've had five boyfriends, and the guy you're living with now isn't even your boyfriend. He's just a guy you picked up in the club - some guy who doesn't even know your real last name."

19 Whoah, buddy," the gay man said, "that's pretty intense! How'd you know that about me?" Jesus was silent. "OK...I get it. Maybe you're one of those folks who can see right through people - maybe one of those guys with 'second sight.' Maybe you're one of those folks who 'have the Spirit,' like those televangelists say. 20 I don't know anything about that. My family - my people (the ones who are observant, anyway) - think that you have to pray five times a day to Allah to get that kind of power. The rest of the people I know don't even bother with that spiritual mumbo-jumbo...they just think you have to work out a lot, look good, live fast, die hard and leave a good-looking corpse. And all the Christians I've met think that I have to pray their way, and start living life their way, or I'm 'going to hell.' Either way, my day-to-day life is so empty, I'm not convinced that I'm not already in hell. What's a guy supposed to believe?"

21 Jesus said, "Believe me, my friend, a time is coming when you won't worship God in Mecca, or in the gym, or in the club, or in a church sanctuary. 22 You and your friends worship what you think you know, but do not know. Christians worship what they do know, for salvation is promised in Scripture. 23 Yet a time is coming - and has now come - when the true worshipers will worship the Father in spirit and truth, for they are the kind of worshipers the Father seeks. 24 God is spirit, and his worshipers must worship in spirit and in truth."

25 The gay man said, "I know that the church folks say that their Savior is coming. Maybe when he finally gets here, he will explain everything to us."

26 Then Jesus declared, "Then wait no longer. I'm the one they're waiting for."

The Irregularly-Commissioned Lay Ministers Rejoin Jesus

27 Just then the lay ministers returned and were more than a little surprised to find Jesus apparently talking with a gay man - one who appeared to be Middle-Eastern in origin, to boot. But no one asked, "What do you want?" or "Why are you talking with him?"

28 Then, leaving his tray and his order pad behind at the table, the gay man went back to the bar, and even next door to the gym and to the other clubs, and said to the people, 29 "You gotta come and see this... come see a guy who told me everything I ever did, and didn't run away or act disgusted. Could this possibly be 'the Christ' all those religious folks keep talking about?" 30 People came out of the gym, and out of the bars and clubs, and made their way toward him.

31 Meanwhile the lay ministers (the ones who considered themselves Jesus' disciples) kept saying, "Hey, padré, you may walk on water, but come on - even Michael Jordan's gotta eat something." 32 But Jesus said to them, "I have a source of energy that you know nothing about."

33 Then his disciples said to each other, "Did someone slip him some Mrs. Field's cookies while we weren't looking?"
....
Many Gays and Lesbians Believe

39 Many of the gays and lesbians who gathered from all around Boystown believed in Jesus because of what the waiter said: "You gotta come and see this... come see a guy who told me everything I ever did, and didn't run away or act disgusted." 40 So when the people of that area - gay men, lesbians, bisexuals (even people in civil unions from Vermont and Episcopalians visiting from New Hampshire) came to him, they urged Jesus to stay with them. So rather than continuing the ride out to Higgins Road, the irregularly consecrated lay ministers found some rooms at a nearby bed-&-breakfast, and he stayed in Boystown - amidst the people with whom most Christians would not associate - for two days. 41 And because of what Jesus spoke to the men and women there, many more became believers.

42 The people who heard Jesus said to the gay man who first encountered him, "We no longer believe just because of what you said; now we have heard for ourselves, and we know that this man really is the Savior of the world."
+ + +
Yes, Virginia - yes indeed...the Gospel really IS that shocking.

-------
March 17, 2005

Over my shoulder, a backward glance...

Never, in my wildest dreams, did I ever expect the attention this entry has received. It's been humbling, and gratifying.

Over the last three weeks, I've followed Sitemeter links to many, many blogs that have linked to it, and read loads of comments. As a result, I feel I need to address a couple things that have been major themes in those comments.

First of all, this entry just poured out of my soul the night after I heard Pastor Buchanan's sermon. In it, I hoped to share a contemporary context for a story that still stuns and amazes me. I haven't gone back and edited the original post, because I truly believe that I was driven to write it by a Higher Power - that's all I can say. In many ways, this is not my writing. I took the NIV text of John 4, and worked from that.

A number of people have quite rightly gotten irate about the image of Christians spitting on a gay man. They have been justifiably angered by a broad-brush tarring of all Christians as homophobic - and I truly do regret that. However, in the same breath I have to admit that many of my gay friends have experienced that kind of behavior, and for several of them, I was the first Christian they had met who hadn't shouted at them, spit at them, or screamed, "You're going to HELL, faggot!" In addition, for 12 years I lived in suburban Kansas City, and repeatedly experienced the Gospel according to the so-called Rev. Fred Phelps as he and his followers protested in front of churches, and even at funerals of gay men.

Even in my own tradition, there is a strong sense that homosexuality is "the rhinoceros in the living room" - so long as we don't wake it up, it won't gore us. It has only been recently (after experiencing the worship communities at Trinity UCC and Fourth Presbyterian in Chicago) that I've found Christian churches that have gone beyond the "don't-ask-don't-tell" level of acceptance. So if you felt this reaction, accept this apology: if I were re-writing it today, I'd do it differently.

I mentioned that I took the NIV text as my starting point. One of the most frequent criticisms of this telling has been, "So where is the repentance? How come you left out the 'go and sin no more' portion of the text?" The fact is, I left it out simply because John left it out.

(Interestingly enough, there are lots of behaviors that I haven't repented of. I still struggle with lust, gluttony, and lying (white and otherwise); I can still be a particularly vulgar individual (especially in Chicago traffic); in short, I have not repented of a lot of the sins I committed before I accepted Christ as my savior. That doesn't mean I don't believe; that doesn't mean I don't strive. It's the difference between justification and sanctification, I guess. And frankly, people have been arguing models of soteriology for hundreds of years. I'm not going to solve those battles here...)

Another recurring comment is, "What's so freakin' shocking?" The answer, surprisingly, should be "Nothing." After all, in churches that have been using the Revised Common Lectionary, the story of the woman at the well has come up every three years for a long, long time. And the commentaries on the Gospels talk about just how much despising there was between Samaritans and Jews. So we've known all this for a while. It shouldn't surprise anyone.

But people are shocked, and startled. One man wrote, "It's like opening a bottle of ginger ale and finding Bushmill's Irish Whiskey inside; it's not bad, but it is a bit of a shock."

I think a part of this is because so much of the media and conservative Christianity has painted homosexuals as the destroyers of marriage, families, and all that is good - and the image of Jesus talking to one of "them" has been mind-blowing to a number of folks. We forget how scandalous Romans 5:8 really is: "But God demonstrates his own love for us in this: While we were still sinners, Christ died for us" (NIV).

A number of people have pointed out that Jesus was a Middle-Easterner, and no one would have talked to Jesus about being "Christian" or being connected with them. You're right on - point taken. If I were re-writing it, I'd probably have changed the word to "religious people."

A few comments have been made about my use of the term "irregularly-consecrated lay ministers" instead of "disciples." This is a particularly un-subtle dig at my denomination, who regularly claims "the priesthood of all believers," but sets up sacraments (such as baptism) as things only done by regularly consecrated and ordained ministers. Call me a heretic (get in line, if you do...) but I believe the presence of the Word, the water, the people, and the Holy Spirit was enough for Jesus' time...what's different now?....

I posted some additional reflections a couple days after writing this - you can find them here and here.

Finally - to everyone who has written, and commented, and linked: I give thanks to God for you, for your affirmation, and for the time you spent to comment, to encourage, and to challenge. I'm grateful for all the attention - and hope that my few scratchings here point people back to the Gospel, to an outrageous Jesus, and to the endless love that is in Christ. Soli Deo gloria.

A much-needed gift

It'd been a long day...and lots of questions rolling around in my head. Do I continue to stay where I am working, try to make it permanent? Is there a future for me in ministry? Do I even bother to spend the time and money to finish this degree, or is my call really in some other direction? And so on...the hamster in my mind evidently had a good dose of crack, and the little exercise wheel had been spinning all day, fast enough to set the bearings on fire.

And then I came home, checked my email, and found this simple message. A fellow denizen of the blogosphere, who I've never met in person, gave me this gift:

Hi.
I just wanted to say hi and that I was thinking about you and that I'm glad you're alive in this world.
peace to you tonight.

Out of all the nights to receive this, I got it when I rather desperately needed it. Of all the schmucks shoveling words in the blogosphere this person could write to (and that number is huge), it came to me.

An affirming gift like that is "a jewel of rare price."

Who do you know who might need to hear those words today? Whose world might you change?

Thank you, my friend. I am blessed beyond words to have you in my life.

"Both...and" in Lent

Happy Second Wednesday in Lent.

"Ah, sorry," a wise man might say, "but you're off a bit. Isn't this the 'Third Wednesday in Lent' (if we ever counted such things)?"

"Ah, sorry indeed," a much wiser woman might say, "but we don't count Ash Wednesday as a 'Wednesday' in Lent. It's the feast day (or famine day, depending on your view). So, yes, this indeed is the Second Wednesday in Lent."

Church folks who follow this "church calendar" thing find these kinds of discussions very interesting. For those of you who could give a rat's patootie about this stuff, a brief explanation. The liturgical calendar, or church year, is a cycle that starts with Advent (anticipating the birth of Christ) through Christmas (Christmas and the 12 days following) and Epiphany, then the Easter cycle (Ash Wednesday, Lent, Holy Week, Easter) and then what is either called "Common Time" or "The Time of the Church," after Pentecost.

It mirrors, in some ways, the life of Christ - birth, death, resurrection, and living in the world after the resurrection. It also brings a great deal of structure and symbolism to the worship life of churches who follow it. That's a hideously-simplified description (through which I'm sure my truly-seminary-trained friends will poke endless holes), but it's close enough. Folks who care about the church calendar also care a lot about where they are in it - that's why they note that November 13, 2005 is actually the 26th Sunday after Pentecost (!). According to them, it's important to know where you are in the liturgical calendar. (I've never been one of those people, in case you wondered.)

Now, two years ago, on the First Sunday of Lent (the Sunday after Ash Wednesday), my pastor in Kansas did an odd thing. He, along with the Sunday school kids, buried the word "Hallelujah." On the church grounds.

You see, among some churches (the Lutheran tradition among them), the time of Lent is a time for reflections on our sinful selves, a time (for some) of fasting and physical mortification. Part of the Lutheran worship tradition is that for Lent, there are no hymns or songs sung in a major key - they must all be minor-key. And these Lenten observers also forbid the use of the word "Alleluia" (or "Hallelujah") during the time of Lent. So the word "Hallelujah" went "into the tomb" - to be dug up and rise again with Jesus on Easter. It's an interesting image, and Joe pulled it off well.

But I really struggled with it. You see, there's something wrong, here. (Forgive a little lecturing...)

We understand the season of Lent to be 40 days - 40 being a number of great significance (Moses spent 40 years in the desert, Jesus spent 40 days and 40 nights fasting in the desert, etc.). But Lent starts with Ash Wednesday (this year, February 9th) and finishes on Saturday of Holy Week (this year, March 26th) - forty-six days later.

"Ah, that's an easy one," says the local liturgi-geek. "Sundays aren't considered a part of Lent. There are six Sundays in Lent (five "Sundays in Lent" and Palm Sunday), and (six Sundays) + (40 days of Lent) = 46 days. Ta-da!"

Here's where we get back to Pastor Joe, burying the little box with the word "Hallelujah" in it. The question becomes, "But why are you doing that?"

Because it's not "Lent" on Sundays.

On Sundays in Lent, we still celebrate the Eucharist. "Christ has died, Christ is risen, Christ will come again." Death is not in the future; resurrection is not pending. All the joy of eternal life with the risen King of Kings is still very much present. So why the long faces and songs in the key of moping-around?

It is, perhaps, the best indication of the "Both...and"-ism of Luther. We are doomed and we are saved; Christ is on the way to the cross and Christ is risen. We are examining our sinful selves and yet we rejoice in our justification and impending sanctification. We are a mess - and we are made white as snow.

This is true every Sunday. We are all of these things every day of the year. So why don't we focus on our "both...and" status every day of the year? Why don't we live in the tension between Good Friday and Easter Sunday every single day?

I'd suggest that the Church would be much more relevant in the world if we acknowledged our sinfulness and brokenness more the other 325 days of the year, and found more joy in the resurrection during these 40.

I know - it's heresy. It's probably a damn good thing the Lutherans won't ordain me. But there's at least a grain of truth in every heresy, isn't there?

One of the best brush-off's I've ever received...

Hi. This is the qmail-send program at yahoo.com.
I'm afraid I wasn't able to deliver your message to the following
addresses.
This is a permanent error; I've given up.
Sorry it didn't work out.

It's bad when the intelligent systems in one's life is more polite than many of the people therein...

Lights in the darkness

Jesus Christ, you are the light of the world...
...the light no darkness can overcome;
Stay with us now, for it is evening...
...and the day is almost over;
Let your light scatter the darkness...
...and shine within your people here.
(The opening of "Evening Prayer," from Marty Haugen's
Holden Evening Prayer

It's been a frustrating 24 hours - but it's also been a great evening.

Having ranted about my former school last night, I was all set to continue blasting the ELCA for a couple articles in The Lutheran magazine about Rick Warren's The Purpose Driven Life - articles which I really feel just prove how out of step this denomination is with Christ's call to the church. So by the time I was done reading their nonsense, trust me - I was smokin'. (Trust me - that article is still on its way...)

Added to that, continuing work on electrical power systems where I work during the day today meant that there was no power to one wing of the building - which also meant no access to our shared server files (where, of course, all my critical data is stored) or the internet for the entire day. By 4 PM, I'd done all the useless make-work I could ...and besides it was starting to get cold, so I went home an hour early. It wasn't a bad day - after all, no one was drunk, high, shot at, or naked in public, and no obscenities were used in any memos - but it was frustrating.

However, the day's blessings were two-fold - both taking the form of warm floods of memories. First, in shopping over the weekend, I found a blast from the past in a bottle of Yoo-hoo chocolate drink. Now, you may never have even heard of this stuff - it's got a kind of cult following. But Yoo-hoo was a big deal in my mother's family - she always loved chocolate drinks (even the ghastly diet chocolate soda, which I'd rather suck drain-cleaner than drink). I don't think I'd had a taste of Yoo-hoo in 25 years - if then - but I resolved that I was going to buy just one Snapple-sized bottle for old-times' sake.

So instead of Oreos or Thin Mints after my salad topped with cocoa-chipotle-mole' chicken (a leftover from our Chocolate Fest), I settled down with some relaxing Windham Hill music, a copy of the New York Times (the physical paper, not their e-nonsense), and my bottle of Yoo-hoo. I almost drowsed off, so high was the serenity quotient (or maybe it was just my blood-sugar levels hitting exponential notation...). It's not something I'll do every day - but just for a bit, Mom (and an easier, softer time) felt a lot closer this evening.

Then, about 9:20, I walked down to the seminary to meet with another old friend. Back in 1992 or '93, my dear friend Don Pieper introduced my congregation to Marty Haugen's Holden Evening Prayer, and I just fell in love with it (as hundreds of thousands of people around the world have done). Haugen composed the work as part of his musical residency at Holden Village, and it originally was simply titled "Vespers '86." But thousands of visitors to Holden carried the music home in their hearts, and the evening prayer service became a staple of worship, particularly in the ELCA Lutheran community.

When my first "home congregation" in Kansas was on its way to schism, the one thing that all sides found in common was the beauty and simplicity of the Holden service. One of my most beautiful memories is that of our "Diaspora" group, gathered around the pool at Bev & Jerry Amundson's home in Shawnee, KS, sharing the Holden service as floating candles drifted around the pool in the deepening dusk, driven by the circulating currents under the surface. The group of 40 or 50 communed each other in a great circle around the pool, passing bread and grape juice from person to person in an outdoor Eucharist that was truly an expression both of the Body of Christ and "the priesthood of all believers." And I was honored when, two years later, we repeated that service as I headed off to seminary...

The LSTC community has chosen the Holden Evening Prayer as a weekly vespers service during Lent...so we gathered this evening around flickering votive candles on the floor of Augustana Chapel to sing, and to pray. I saw a few faces of students I hadn't seen all semester - and a number of old friends...and it was very, very good. I have no problem admitting that there were a number of times that tears trickled unbidden during the service - and I didn't mind a bit. Tonight, I was surrounded by people who knew me, here...even a few crazy enough to hug me. But somehow, all the deep, close friends with whom I've shared the Holden Service over the years felt just a little closer in the words of the songs, and the glow of the candles. And the presence of friends, both present and across the globe, brightened the evening immeasurably.

...Now as evening falls around us,
We will raise our song to you -
God of daybreak, God of shadows,
Come and light our hearts anew.

Amen.

Fiddling while Rome burns

Back two weeks ago, I wrote about the extremely positive experience I had attending the HIV/AIDS Workshop for Medical and Religious Professionals, put on at LSTC by their Zygon Center for Science and Religion, with the Univ. of Illinois at Chicago(UIC) College of Medicine and the Midwest AIDS Training & Education Center (MATEC). I still am torn about this event - very happy, for the powerful information and witnessing that was shared; and very annoyed, because so few seminarians attended it, especially from LSTC (not to mention the other five ACTS-consortium seminaries within walking distance of us!).

My annoyance stepped up several notches when I picked up my mail later that week, and found that the lead story on The Door (the LSTC student publication) was entitled "The Modern Importance of Bach’s Theological Library." A pioneering workshop had been held at our school, on a subject whose "modern importance" is magnified by the massive issues of faith and pastoral-care attached to it - and there was not a single peep about it in the host institution's publication. But the "ever-present relevance and importance of Bach’s cantatas concerning contemporary Lutheranism" (a direct quote from the article) was splashed across the entire front page.

Giving the editor and student-writers the benefit of the doubt, I thought, "Surely it's just because the AIDS conference happened two days before the publication date...they just missed the deadline. We'll see it next issue." Alas, the front page of the next issue of The Door was dominated by an article titled "Controversial 'Vagina Monologues' Comes to LSTC." And again, while I'm glad the LSTC/MTS student body put on the Monologues (for reasons which I won't even get into, for now) I'm still more than a little amazed at what The Door's editorial staff deem "important" or "relevant" to the future rostered clergy of the ELCA.

The problem is, as a former (but not current) student, I don't really feel I have the right to call The Door, or the student body per se to task for the immense pastoral-care-education opportunity that they blew off in their own back yard. So I've struggled for two weeks - write? Don't write? Just say "screw it" and go on with something a little closer to life-on-life's-terms?

Now, I have to issue a disclaimer here: I happen to find great beauty and inspiration in the works of J.S. Bach. Whether orchestral, choral, small-ensemble or organ works, I've been comforted, soothed, and inspired by the works of one of the greatest msuical geniuses of the past millenium. So don't peg me for a Bach-hater...'cause it just ain't so. Quite the contrary, in fact.

But I'm not sure that the theological leanings of a composer who has been worm-food for 250-plus years really compares with the real-life pastoral-care issues facing today's churches in the HIV/AIDS pandemic. And I continue to be amazed by those folks in denial (including a sad number of pastors) who don't even see why this whole issue disturbs me. Two different people have said to me, in so many words, "Oh, well, Steve, let's face it: HIV/AIDS is just not an issue in the demographic groups served by the ELCA."

I just have one question: Who the hell do they think they're kidding?

(Especially in an urban setting like Chicago, where the ELCA is headquartered?)

Then people in the church wonder why so many folks outside our hallowed halls think that Christianity is irrelevant to today's world.

:::sigh:::

This is definitely "sinning boldly"...

Check out this article on the "Luther Burger."

Though the subject is R&B singer Luther Vandross' supposed favorite snack (and not my favorite loud-mouthed theologian), I think Br'er Martin would have approved. Somehow, I'm almost positive that a bacon cheeseburger served on a Krispy Kreme doughnut would be a pretty good definition of concupiscence.

It's hard not to feel envious of this....

In the community of recovery, it's often said that if you stick around long enough, you will hear someone else tell your story. Today, I picked up a book and found the church I've been searching for more than 15 years. (Of course - since God has a sense of humor - the only real problem is, it's in Minneapolis....and of course, I'm in Chicago...)

This is directly (and shamelessly) quoted from Reimagining Spiritual Formation - A Week in the Life of an Experimental Church, by Doug Pagitt and the Solomon's Porch Community [El Cajon, CA: emergentYS/Zondervan, 2004], page 17.

We dream of a church where…
1. We listen to and are obedient to God
2. People who are not Christians become followers of God in the way of Jesus
3. Those who are not involved in church would become an active part of it
4. People are deeply connected to God is all of life; body, mind, soul, & spirit
5. Beauty, art, and creativity are valued, used, and understood as coming from the Creator
6. Culture is met, embraced, and transformed
7. Joy, fun, and excitement are part of our lives
8. The Kingdom of God is increased in real ways in the world
9. The biblical story of God is told and contributed to
10. Biblical justice, mercy, grace, love and righteousness lead the way
11. Truth, honesty, and health are a way of life
12. We value innovation, and are willing to take risks in order to bring glory to God
13. Worship of God is full, vibrant, real, and pleasing to God
14. Faith, hope, and love are the context for all
15. The next generation of leadership is built up and leaders are servants
16. Everyone is equipped to do ministry
17. God's Spirit takes precedence over all structures and systems
18. Christian community is the attraction to outsiders and the answer to questions of faith
19. People participate in the Kingdom of God in accordance with their abilities and gifts
20. We are connected to, dependent on, and serve the global Church
21. People learn the ways of God and are encouraged to make it central to their lives
22. Other churches are valued and supported
23. People's visions and ideas of ministry come to life.

Are you ready to go? I know I am.
Two words: road trip.

Thoughts of love

I love you. It's none of my business what you think of me...none of my business. It's my business what I think of you, and I love you. Now, if you happen to love me back, it's a plus. So you can add to my life, but you cannot take away - because I'm not trading with you. I love you, period...because I know who you are, whether you do or not. You're God's children, every one of you. I believe that you can't prove love...if you love someone, you do things for them. Love is not a feeling; it is an action. Love is not 50-50, and it's not 75-25. Love is 1000-to-nothing." (excerpted from Chuck C.'s book A New Pair of Glasses)
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I've heard it said that love's a feeling -
but this is only just the start
'Cause feelings change as fast as weather,
And love's a matter of the mind and will,
a matter of the head and heart...
Suppose I walk a thousand highways
To bring you back, when you are lost - this is love...
Suppose it costs me my possessions
And I gladly bear the cost - this is love...
Suppose I face the soldiers' weapons,
Suppose I climb the prison walls - this is love....
But if I give my life to save you,
This is the greatest love of all.
(Ken Medema, The Greatest Love of All, from the CD "In the Dragon's Jaws")

And now these three remain: faith, hope and love. But the greatest of these is love. (1st Corinthians 13:13, NIV)

For weeks, across cable and broadcast TV, radio, and the Internet, pink and red hearts have been circulating, and millions of words have been written and spoken all to answer the one question of the day: how do I get them (whoever they are) to "love" me? Suggestions include the right toothpaste, the right brand of mattress, the right car (with a pretty pink or red bow, of course), and of course the right jewelry, flowers, greeting card and meal. Even on Christian radio stations, I keep hearing about suggestions for Valentine's Day gifts, as if somehow if I would just do some thing right, then I'd get romance - which so much of our culture equates with love.

Church C. and singer Ken Medema say it best, for me. Romance is a fleeting (if wonderful) experience, but love is not a feeling, but an action - it is both "a matter of the mind and will....a matter of the head and heart." If I am doing things so that I get love, I've already failed - because the action becomes just the means to an end. It is loving acts that says, as Chuck C. does, "it doesn't matter what I think of you...you're God's kids, and I love you" - regardless of whether anyone returns that love.

I have to admit that I'm often not God-centered or self-assured enough to love like that. But I also know that the Source of love is the One who sacrificed all for me...and on this day, when the culture celebrates being together with someone, I know that even though I walk a single life, I am never alone - and I am always loved. And on Valentine's Day - indeed, every day - that's a very, very good thing to know.

Thank you God, for the gift of life, for the gift of your love, and for the opportunity each and every day to show love. May those who encounter me this day see you in my life through my acts of love and caring. Amen.

A bit of humor....

Courtesy of my friend Damien, you definitely need to check this out. But as Damien points out, the heading does say, "Satire/The Borowitz Report." So relax, folks...and thanks, br'er Damien!

Checkin' in and catchin' up

It has been, as a dear friend used to say, a Dickensian week - that is to say, "It was the best of times; it was the worst of times." First, I have been busied beyond even my standard guinea-pig-on-crack-on-the-exercise-wheel level, especially at work, related to my temporary employers' major fundraising event of the year and major pubic exhibition of the year. At the same time, I have struggled with some kind of intestinal bug all week (which sucks by itself, trust me!).

The combination of (a) and (b) (especially given my role as registrar and money-counter for our Winter Gala fundraiser) just sapped most of my best energy, with the result that I have been at work, at some (but not all) my usual AA meetings, then basically have gone home and collapsed into bed.

The result is that I have been absent from the keyboard for five whole days - and not really commenting with my friends in the blogosphere for a week or more - which is far too long. For me, this really sucks, because I find so much spiritual feeding comes from sharing my life with my online community - and through this venue, with friends as close as across the courtyard, and indeed as far as across the world. So to my friends and blogo-sistas-&-bruthas, I can say with a yawn (because I'm still draggin' tail), "He's BAAAAACK...."

A quick, 30,000-foot surveillance of the last week's events:

+ I have spent way too much time at work recently - but then everyone at work has spent way too much time at work, preparing for our Winter Gala and Chocolate Fest. (The Garfield Park Conservatory - the largest "garden under glass" in the nation - has the only fruiting cacao trees in Chicago (or for hundreds of miles from here, for that matter), and the cacao/chocolate pods actually ripen in February.

So this weekend was our Chocolate Tree Cabaret fundraising gala Friday night, and then Saturday (today) and Sunday are our ChocolateFest, where we will host more than 5,000 families each day, and share around a quarter-million pieces of chocolate from Godiva, Fannie May, Ghiradelli, Hershey, and other fine chocolatiers. Friday (gala day) started at 8:00 AM Friday and finished at 1:15 AM Saturday...and I was up at 8:45 this AM to hit my regular AA home-group meeting at 10 before hitting the ChocoFest from 12:30-6. All I can say about that is: nine more hours, and we're done. Then the clean-up starts...

+ My dear Kansas-City friend Tim Ternes visited Chicago last week. He and I went to the closest thing that Lutherans have to a basilica on Ash Wednesday - and I'll be sharing about that little adventure in high-liturgy-land later on in the week. The short version: it was emphatically not the worship service I wanted or needed - but Tim's company was delightful, and what worship service can't be improved with a visit to the Cheesecake Factory afterwards? In fact, some folks would say that the Cheesecake Factory is proof indeed that "God is good...ALL the time..."

+ Two days after a ground-breaking conference on HIV/AIDS drew medical and religious professionals to LSTC, the lead article (consuming the entire cover page) of LSTC's student publication The Door was titled "The Modern Importance of Bach's Theological Library." (Tune back later on this week in to hear a wee bit o'commentary on that editoral choice...as well as thoughts about Lent and seasons in the church in general.)

+ Permanent employment at my current job-site again seems elusive - but there are a couple blips on the horizon that seem to have some promise. So once again there is hope of something more permanent, somewhere.

That's it for now, folks - I'm going to bed, and take time to recharge physically, emotionally, and spiritually before the onslaught tomorrow. In all likelihood, I'll step back into the pulpit Monday night...till then, peace and e-hugs, y'all!

More about HIV/AIDS and the church

Interestingly enough - just 3 days before I went to the HIV/AIDS Workshop for Medical & Religious Professionals, this editorial appeared in the Kansas City Star (my former hometown paper), speaking specifically about the challenges of speaking about HIV/AIDS in the black Christian church. This had also been the topic of Rev. Alberta Ware of the Balm In Gilead project.

The article says some good things - so I'll let you read it. But the points Rev. Ware made last Saturday were also rather pointed:

+ Black gay men will often do anything - including marry, and then carry on with extra-marital relationships - rather than "come out," precisely because of the stigma that homosexuality carries in the black church. In this way, the church of Christ creates more harm than they ever could create hope. (You may hear the slang term "down-low," or "DL's," to describe this culture of secrecy.) Because of this growing practice, women married to secretly-gay black men are becoming a significant transmission vector in the spread of AIDS among the heterosexual population.

+ In the black church (and, to be honest, in many white churches) the pastor's salary is their only income - they don't have the chance to hold outside occupations to help pay the rent. So in many churches, pastors won't address sexuality issues (let alone hot-button topics like HIV/AIDS) because they don't want to raise up trouble around their bread-&-butter. They will, however, respond to the call from concerned church members to "step on up" on a particular topic (which is where the work of Balm in Gilead is so effective).

While I was grateful to Rev. Ware's presentation on Saturday, and I fully support what the Balm In Gilead group is doing, I find there is a horrible tragedy that the first full week of March (the 6th-12th, this year) is designated The Black Church Week of Prayer for the Healing of AIDS. There is just a huge part of me that wants to scream, "So when the hell is the WHITE Church praying for the Healing of AIDS? Huh?!? Can't we do anything together anymore??"

Yes, I know that the black church is hit harder than the white church is. Yes, I know that many blacks still have trouble believing that whites would pray for anything for blacks, other than that they'd all disappear. But there is still that part that says, "Dear God, if we can't get freakin' racism out of the way, how are we ever going to deal with issues of sexuality and disease?" My prayers generally devolve into something approximating, "Maranatha - come quickly, Lord Jesus" (or for traditionalists, "E'en so, Lord Jesus, quickly come").

One other thing from yesterday's post is that I didn't mean to sound like all of the Christian church, except for these few organizations, has been completely averse to caring for people with HIV/AIDS. I simply meant that in my experience, there hasn't been a lot of public support for people living with HIV/AIDS (victims, their families, loved ones and friends) from within the Christian community. As I told a friend earlier this evening, part of the miracle of the workshop this weekend was that medical professionals got to hear religious professionals (especially a number of Christian ones) who were caring, compassionate, and inclusive about the GLBT community - rather than just hearing more of the poison that so many so-called "evangelical" church leaders have spewed over the years about gays and HIV/AIDS.

One disappointment is that I won't be able to get to Jeremiah Wright's Trinity UCC Church (or any other church) this weekend, because of my employer's Chocolate Fest going on Saturday and Sunday 11-5...it's a command performance. But I will be able to watch the web-cast of their early AM service, which will just have to do, for a week or so.

And, to steal a phrase from Steven Curtis Chapman, "while it is still called today..." I'm going to put my big ol' self to bed.