fivestepsdown: living the questions of faith

Three Simple Rules

2008-10-21T14:31:00.002-04:00

Just when it seems that everyone is blogging, I got silent. I've decided that blogging is a spiritual discipline and I need to get much better at such things.

The Young Adult Bible Study that I co-lead (we're all leaders really) has been focusing on a study of Three Simple Rules, a book based on John Wesley's rules for living. I'm amazed at how timeless these rules are - in any context, they are truly words by which to live!

So, you're wondering (I know you are...), "What are these rules?"

For those who don't want me to spoil the ending of the book, stop reading now:

1) Do no harm.
2) Do good.
3) Stay in love with God.

I've decided that the first rule is probably the most difficult (for me at least). There are so many times in our life that we don't even recognize that we're doing harm. Sometimes it's because we're oblivious; other times it's because we're so caught up in systems of being and cycles of oppression that we can't even know/see/imagine the people we are harming.

What about you? How do you do harm? How do we make a conscious decision to Do No Harm?

A Prayer for a Probationer

2007-01-30T22:15:00.000-05:00

My friend Doris recently went before her Board of Ordained Ministry (one of those Methodist hierarchies) for ordination as Deacon. Below is the prayer I sent her - maybe it speak to each of us.

Holy One, Holy Three -
Your voice called through the water and through the fire;
your calling is sustained through wheat and vine;
your servant reaches out to your people with towel and basin.
Hold her. Comfort her. Let your light shine through her.
And when the interviews are over and decisions are made,
may the community called the Church confirm her gifts and graces.
Through the baptism, suffering, death, and resurrection
of the Incarnate one, we pray these blessings.
Amen.

A Messy Birth: Christmas Eve 2006

2006-12-26T11:15:00.000-05:00

How many of us sing “Away in a Manager” each Christmas?
Or “O Little Town of Bethlehem”?

Truly these cherished favorites inform our modern idea of the nativity – a quaint little shelter with plenty of hay, a crude feeding trough that just happened to be there, and a reminder that this was this Son of God because he entered the world without making a sound.

Indeed the birth narrative found in the Gospel attributed to Luke[1] would seem to support our impressions: we’re given a context – supposedly telling us why Jesus was born in Bethlehem instead of Nazareth;

we’re told about the shepherds and the angels – the ones who proclaim the birth of the Messiah;
and in between those pronouncements – oh, by the way, we’ll briefly mention that Mary gave birth and wrapped the baby in bands of cloth. It almost seemed that for Luke it was important for the child to be seen and not heard and that the actual birth be as sterile as possible.

The English language has a number of synonyms for the word sterile: hygienic, spotless, sanitary, and barren. Sterility reminds me of those famous words we sing at this time of year, too. “Silently, how silently” and “no crying he makes.”

Reflecting on those phrases, I was reminded of a poem by Joshua Rollins in which he reflects on the cycle of life and death on the family farm in the middle of winter.

"heard the tractor growl around 4:30 in the morning
the tin garage vibrated with its engine
I slid my shoes on, stretched into a sweatshirt, and walked outside
the first shades of pink were slicing through the sky
as I went into the garage. We didn’t say a word

we both heard the bawling in the distance, and insistent wail that
made the morning wind bite that much harder –
I slid on the back of the orange Kabota and we slowly made our way up the hill
the smell of diesel and his old spice filled me with a knowing comfort
I peered over his shoulder – the sky cast an eerie purple on the wheat

we reached the top and the creek bed, found the mother –
dark and instinctive, standing above, wailing –
as we approached she bucked her back legs, warning us
“It’s alright,” he murmured softly – and she looked right at him, through him
and gently backed away.

the body was there, cold and slick, covered partly by the warm red of
the afterbirth – the water oozing up and over its small form
he slid down the embankment, clay rocks breaking against his side
and rough hoisted it from the freezing cold –
I took off my shirt, wrapping its slick body, my palm
against its cold muzzle—it was silent and still

the mother reached forward, licking its side and nudging it
almost a plea for it to move, to cry

no sound, the stillness was suffocating
I slid against the tractor hood and breathed slow and deep
its warmth felt good against my bare chest—
no sound
silence."[2]

No crying he makes. No sound. Silently, how silently. As a man in his late twenties, I certainly don’t know a whole lot about childbirth, but one thing I do know is that when a child is born and doesn’t make a noise – there’s a problem there.

You see, birth isn’t supposed to be marked by silence and sterility. It’s sweaty, accompanied by moaning, screaming, and bellowing. It’s messy and wonderful. It’s the most human activity I can think of. And I don’t know many mothers out there who would believe that childbirth (even in today’s world of hospitals and epidurals) could be silent and pristine!

The Infancy Gospel of James[3] recognizes the birth of Jesus is marked by both human and divine activity. Mary and Joseph were not happy travelers. They were poor, marginalized, and a long way from home. Most of the time Joseph was confused and Mary just wanted to get the whole thing over-with so they could move on with their lives.

The need for a midwife brings about the image of a birth that was not going to be sterile, pristine, or silent. It was going to be a messy birth – a very human birth. And yet, James’ narrative remembers the prophecy of Isaiah[4] claiming that the light of God was coming into the world. Indeed, the light of God was brought into the world through the most human way possible – a painful, messy birth.

Throughout the season of Advent – the four weeks proceeding Christmas in which we await the birth of Jesus – Dumbarton United Methodist Church has been intentional about praying for peace in those distant places we hear about in the stories surrounding Jesus – Nazareth, Bethlehem, Galilee, Jerusalem – and for peace in our own nation, city, and homes. Just as the prophecy of Isaiah and the Infancy Gospel of James brought light and hope into the world of early Christian communities, so too does it bring hope into our current situations. In the villages throughout the world this very hour, babies are crying, families are expectant, lands are occupied by foreign armies, and hope is needing to be born again and again. I invite you to join us in this task of praying for and working for peace with justice.

Christmas is more than just celebrating the birth of a baby. It’s about celebrating the birth of God-with-us. And if we truly believe that this child is the Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father and Mother, Prince of Peace, then it’s important for us to think about how this child comes into our world each and every day.

Does Christ come to us in silent sterility?

Or does Christ enter our lives when we are in the midst of pain and suffering?

Do we as a Church keep silent when pain and suffering abound, acting as if it’s the duty of a Christian to look pretty and be quiet?

Or do we roll up our sleeves and call for some boiling water?

Are we practicing our breathing exercises of prayer, worship, compassion and justice so that we can be midwives of God’s kingdom here and now?

Are we allowing the light of life to be born and flourish? Or are we keeping it silent and hidden?

Birth is messy. Birth is painful. Birth brings life. It is our hope and our salvation. Though the journey is a difficult one, we share the Good News: Christ is born in Bethlehem! And throughout the world!

May we continue to be midwives of peace and justice, light and hope, in our weary world. Let’s roll up our sleeves, practice our breathing, and shout it out loud – Joy to the World, The Lord is Come! Amen.

[1] Luke 2: 1-20
[2] Rollins, Joshua. “silence” in The Rickshaw, Buckhannon, WV: West Virginia Wesleyan College, 1999.
[3] Infancy Gospel of James 17:10 – 19:2 and 19:12-17. During Advent 2006, Dumbarton UMC utilized non-canonical Scripture during worship, coupled with a study of these texts during Adult Education.
[4] Isaiah 9:2-7

How Did We Get to Be Here?

2006-12-18T09:40:00.000-05:00

Stephen Sondheim's musical, "Merrily We Roll Along," asks the question, "How did we get to be here?" Focusing on a group of long-time friends, how their lives together ebb and flow, how physical distance creates emotional distance, and how sometimes you have to let go before you can go on living. This weekend was a whirlwind, but it forced me to ask that question - "Just how did we get to be here?"

I flew to Columbus, Ohio this weekend in what was quite possibly the craziest idea ever - but an idea that was hatched out of love, friendship, and hope. My friend Matt is turning 30 this week and his partner decided to suprise him by getting our group of friends from high school together for a little reunion lunch. What quite possibly could have been the worst day ever (we liked each other in high school, but twelve years later is a different story), was an afternoon of food, laughter, food, memories, and of course, more food. We hadn't been together since before our friend Clayton had committed suicide in the spring of 1999. We shared stories, memories, and we welcomed new members into the circle: Ryan's wife, Tina, and their daughter, Audrey Ann; and Matt's partner, Matt (yes, it can be confusing).

At the end of the day, I flew back to Washington, DC, aking myself that question. How did we, a handful of band geeks from the hills of Southeastern Ohio, get to be where we are - in many ways I think we're still the same handful - but what is it that defines who we are? In some ways, it's the same things that made the day so wonderful - we got to be where we are - and who we are - through love, friendship, and hope.

As the journey of Advent comes to an end, I can't think of a better way to remind myself of the Incarnation.

Resurrecting the Blog

2006-11-27T10:33:00.000-05:00

I guess I just needed a vacation from blogging. It was a nice vacation. I got to see some sights, but I didn't take any picutures. It was one of those Tourmobile vacations - the kind where you can get on and off the bus at your leisure. But now the final plane has landed and I'm unpacking my bags.

The past few months have kept me busy: a new job, a new ministry setting (well, two new ones really), and a new schedule to my days. And each day, I'm faced with new questions - fewer answers - and yet, I continue to be amazed at the opportunities there are for grace in the world.

New life - fresh fire.
Give us strength and grace and hope.

Transitions

2006-08-09T20:19:00.000-04:00

The way I've been feeling lately, you'd wonder if I'm 18 years old and preparing to leave for college. You might even think I'm moving to a new city, or that I'm getting a divorce. Two major transitions are happening in my life. Since I'm in the midst of transitions, it's difficult for me to even recognize how they are occurring.

To some of my blog readers, my first transition may be a bit of a shock (although my friend Taylor alluded to it in a previous comment). Friday will be my last day managing the Cokesbury bookstore at Wesley Seminary. I've worked for Cokesbury off and on for the past six years. I suppose I could come up with a laundry list of reasons for my leaving - you might discover some of them in future blog postings. But more than anything, it was time for me to take another baby step in my call to ministry. I will begin my new job as Volunteer Coordinator for the Transitional Housing Corporation, a non-profit which seeks to bring transformation in the lives for formerly homeless families. In this new job, I will work to connect individuals and congregations in order to bring a sense of peace and freedom in lives that are chaos-filled.

Likewise, I'll be starting my seminary field placement soon. This means I won't be spending every Sunday morning with my congregation - my home for the past six years. While I know I'll continue to be a part of this very special community, I'm very excited for the possibilities I have with this new ministry: Wesley Foundation at the University of Maryland.

So, I go into these transitions feeling a little bittersweet - this type of transition will be awkward because I care so very much for the places I am leaving. And yet, there's a peaceful calm about it all.

Radiant Light,
show your rays.
Shine, Jesus, shine.
Guide me on the journey -
be near. I might cry for help.

Long Time No Blog

2006-08-05T19:38:00.000-04:00

Almost two months. Wow. I don't think most of my friends could think I'm able to go that long without sharing my thoughs with everyone around me.

The past two months have brought around some wonderful (scary) changes in my life. It's very hard to explain, but it's as if I've taken control of my life again- or at least accept responsibility for how I live my life.

The first major change was the desire to "get real" with my parents. Ever since I left for college, there was just a part of me that wasn't real to them - that was afraid that they wouldn't accept me or my choices in life. Yes, a load of hooey, but it's the construct I lived by for ten years. I even got so hard-headed that I refused to go back home for a visit, simply because my parents are not able to travel to see me. Bad child, yes, I know. But I'm over it. And last weekend I spent five really great days with my parents. And better yet, I got to see my cousins and friends from high school.

And while it sort of felt like I was the prodigal son - which is weird for an only child - it was good to be back home. For the first time since I left home, I felt like I was the adult son, not the ten-year old son. I guess I've reached that certain stage in my life journey - it feels good - it feels honest - it feels real.

Off the Road

2006-06-17T20:07:00.000-04:00

The noisy neighbors are having a party again. My tooth hurts. I think I wasted every bit of energy I have in my travels for work the past two weeks.

First it was New England - just north of Boston to be exact. And then down to Hampton, Virginia. The two events were probably like night and day, but I just sold books. Lots of books. Now I'm back home, half my face swollen, pain shooting every 15 minutes, and there's nothing good on TV. If there is a hell, it's pretty close to this.

For healing and grace,
lay a hand upon me,
so that I may feel love.

Intelligent Christian Life Forms

2006-05-29T23:25:00.000-04:00

With the heat here in Washington nearing 95, and with our air conditioning on the blink, I took my semi-monthly stroll to area bookstores to peruse their religion and philosophy sections. I do this partly because I'm a geek; partly because I like to see what other stores carry. I'll non-chalantly flip over new titles and abscond with an ISBN to order into my bookstore. Today, I was especially sad. Maybe this isn't something new, but I noticed something a bit vexing today.

Of the three major book chains I visited today, I came to the conclusion that unless you read the "Left Behind" series (and honestly believe it), or bathe in the gnosticism of the DaVinci Code, you aren't the type of Christian they want shopping in their stores. God-forbid that someone on the Christian journey would saunter into one of these bookstores looking for a book on prayer and spiritual disciplines, not to mention Christian social action. Orthodox theology can't even be found, nor feminist or emerging theologies; not even a drop of Church history. Plenty of Church fantasy, little of Church history.

All this makes me proud of my employer (no this is not an advertisement). I'm proud that we can be a place where intelligent Christian life can be nurtured, formed, supported, and challenged. Not a lot of booksellers can say that in these Purpose Driven days.

Again, Again

2006-05-13T11:49:00.000-04:00

Last night I went to a wedding preception (yes, preception) for two seminary friends who are getting hitched. About 11:30, I get a call from Metropolitan Police Department. They found my car and arrested a suspect. Today I went to claim it, but it had been towed by a towing company and is locked up there currently. I saw it on the truck bed and I didn't notice any major damage.

Thank you everyone for your kind words and prayers during this time. Please continue to pray for the person who stole the car and his or her family. At a time like this, we need all the prayers we can!

Again

2006-05-12T10:18:00.000-04:00

Well - it was bound to happen. And just like Anne Lamott refers to her prize at the grocery store as "that f*cking ham," I am destined to refer to my automobile as "that f*cking car." Two and a half years ago it was stolen from in front of my friend Joe's apartment. In a freak Seinfeld-esque turn of events, I got it back. This morning I went out to go to work and the car was gone. STOLEN. When I called the police, the dispatcher seemed to know exactly which car I was talking about and even called me back to let me know that an officer wouldn't show up, but that I'd get a call with numbers about insurance information.

I'm in the pit. I wrote my boss and work colleagues. I signed the email like I normally do: Grace and peace. And then, I realized something. Grace and peace was not a blessing in that moment, but a prayer. So in parentheses, I added - in big capital letters: PLEASE!

I am broken, Lord.
Help me to find the quiet space.
So that when my heart stops pounding
and my stomch stops turning
and my head stops reeling,
I can just be.
Amen.

Heal My Heart

2006-05-07T00:34:00.000-04:00

Ever since I moved into this great new house, I've been having neighbor problems. Almost every Saturday night they have a party. The music is so loud you can feel the beat through the walls and the floorboards. Usually the festivities last until 1 or 2 in the morning. Sometimes there is a band; afterwards they congregate on the street and talk loudly so that we can hear them in our bedrooms. Sometimes there is a DJ - that means there is a generator to power the lights and sound sytem adding to the cacophanous noise. From this description you can already surmise that I don't live next to your typical house. It's not a house. Nor is it a bar. It's a church.

The congregation rents out spaces for parties on Saturday nights. I know many congregations do this to raise funds and to reach out to the community. That's not the problem. The after midnight end time is the problem. If we lived in a commercial neighborhood, I say, "Sure - party on." But we live on a street that is residentially zoned. And calling the police doesn't help. Going next door to request that they turn the music down certainly doesn't help either. Tonight I was met with rude comments and a flippant "oh, we'll be finished soon." That was 45 minutes ago.

I tried to stay calm when presenting my request. But when I came home all I really wanted to do was curse and chuck a brick through their windows. I know nothing excuses an action like that, but my heart was - and still is - heavy with sorrow for my emotions and for the actions of my neighbors.

Heal my heart, O merciful God.
Fill me with love and grace and peace.
Guide me to serenity, lead me to speak with authority and compassion.
Be with me, heal me, grow your Spirit within me.

Even Better News

2006-04-22T21:39:00.000-04:00

The following is a sermon I gave for a class at Wesley Theological Seminary on Friday, April 21, 2006.

Do you remember where you were when Martin Luther King was assassinated? Or when the Challenger exploded? Or when you heard about the Pentagon and World Trade Center towers on 9-11?

Do you remember what you did? Who you called? How you felt?

Maybe it wasn’t one of these events, but another experience that has forced you into a situation like the one in which we find the Disciples.

Even though Mary Magdalene announced the Resurrection, we find that “the doors of the house in which the Disciples had met were locked.”

Locked! They knew the Good News – and they knew the Even Better News. Christ is Risen! And yet the doors were locked.

The Disciples didn’t recognize Jesus until after he showed them his wounds. Wasn’t this the same thing they harassed Thomas about? Thomas claimed, “Unless I see the mark of the nails in his hands, and put my finger in the mark of the nails and my hand in his side, I will not believe.”

But yet if we read our text carefully, we find that the other Disciples didn’t even make such an if-then statement. They didn’t even make a statement at all. And in fact, they didn’t recognize him until he spoke to them and showed them his hands and his side.

A week later, Jesus was made known to the Disciples once again. This time Thomas was with them, but the door was still locked. Why, one week after Mary Magdalene had announced the Resurrection, were the Disciples still hiding?

Scripture tells us they were hiding out of fear of the Jewish authorities who had supported Jesus’ trial in front of Pontius Pilate. Even though the Resurrection had been announced, they were still living in a state of fear!

This past Sunday, the resurrection was announced to us:

Christ is Risen!

We know the Good News – and we know the Even Better News.

Christ is Risen!

And yet, like the Disciples, we retreat to our own Upper Room’s. We lock the doors.

When we turn our eyes from the beggar on the street, we lock the doors.

When we are silent in the face of human rights violations across the world, we lock the doors.

When we act as if issues of hunger, immigration, education, and unemployment are issues that don’t affect the Church, we lock the doors.

When we celebrate what God has done for us without recognizing that God is in the journey of the last and the least, we lock the doors.

The Disciples existed in a locked room out of fear. We try and exist in these locked rooms, too. In doing so we’re living out of fear; we are not living in the Resurrection.

Fortunately, the Disciples didn’t have the last word in this situation. And neither do we. Jesus appears in the midst of the locked room. Already gripped in fear, the Disciples are truly perplexed. Recognizing their fear, Jesus announces, “Peace be with you.”

“Peace be with you.” This is the heart of the Good News – and the Even Better News – that in the midst of our locked rooms, our locked minds, our locked hearts, our locked public policies, and our locked denominational practices, Jesus Christ, God-with-us, breaks in.

And when God breaks in, it’s not always the way we expect it. It’s not with flamboyant signs announcing, “Here I am – Look at Me!” It’s not with grand explosions or acts of terror. It’s not even with the great displays of power we often associate with God. It’s small. It’s simple. It’s four little words: “Peace Be With You.”

A week ago yesterday, one of my housemates knocked on my bedroom door and said four little words: “Bill Coffin passed away.” For those of you who don’t know who William Sloane Coffin is, you’ve missed knowing one of God’s prophetic voices. Former Chaplain at Yale University and retired Senior Minister at the Riverside Church in New York City, Coffin was a voice for the voiceless, even as he ministered to the privileged and the powerful. He was arrested as a Freedom Rider, he was a vocal and compelling critic of the war in Vietnam, he visited the Tehran hostages, and he was a champion for nuclear disarmament. Bill Coffin knew that his life could be filled with fear

- of governmental and religious authorities who found him too radical
- of what might happen if war and nuclear proliferation continued to control our lives
- of what the world would be like if the powerful and prestigious turned their heads away from the plight of the poor and powerless.

Instead, he chose to live in the Resurrection: to live a life of hope. A few years ago I was privileged to hear Bill Coffin preach. I was sitting back there where Cannon Sutton is, and Bill Coffin was in this very pulpit. Even then a number of strokes had caused his speech to be slurred – and yet his heart was filled with a passion for what the kingdom of God could become.

When I heard the words, “Bill Coffin passed away,” I couldn’t help to think – “what a great way to start the Easter Weekend” and then “where do we go from here?” Like the Disciples, I wanted to lock the doors. I called a few friends to ask if they had heard the news – but I really didn’t want to share the news – I wanted them to join me in the locked room I had created. And yet, somehow, those words were liberating. As if Jesus had come into my life yet again, and said those four little words: “Peace be with you.”

Such a peace is liberating – it unlocks the doors we have locked. And it allows us to see Jesus Christ as the one who liberates. In today’s world, it’s often difficult to explain how Jesus liberates us. We live in a world wracked with a “show-me” mentality – maybe that’s why it might be easy for us to find common ground with Thomas and the other Disciples. It’s easy to learn to live out of fear; learning to live out of love is tougher.

The Psalmist reminds us of “how good it is for brothers and sisters to dwell together in unity.” And the German author Thomas Mann suggests that “It is love, not reason, that is stronger than death.”

It is love that unlocks doors.

It is love that opens hearts and minds.

It is love that brings calm out of chaos.

It is love that shines light in the midst of darkness.

It is love that creates exuberant hope out of deep fears.

This is the Good News – and the Even Better News. For when the doors are unlocked, and the “Peace be with you!” is proclaimed, we can’t help but share the message again and again and again:

Christ is Risen!

From Sunday's Palms to Friday's Cross

2006-04-15T01:38:00.000-04:00

This Holy Week has been one of amazing depth. A lot of people asking me, "How are you doing?" - and the way in which I want to respond goes something like this: "It's not about HOW I'm doing, it's about WHAT God is doing." In Sunday's Palm-Passion service, our preacher of the day moved us past the fun parade with palms, cloaks, and donkey into the beginning of the week when Jesus cleanses the temple. This is a story we "think" we know. Jesus Christ Superstar made it perfectly clear: Jesus was upset at all the commerce and moneychangers. Wrong!

It's not WHAT was happening, but WHERE it was happening. With everyone gathered in Jerusalem for Passover, there had to be a place for commerce to occur. So, the religious authorities make a space for the commerce: the Court of the Gentiles, a place for those on the fringe of mainline religion. THIS is why Jesus is angered. THIS is consistent with Jesus' gospel message. And yet, THIS is exactly what we encounter in contemporary religious experiences.

How often have we heard pleas for more donations? I get them every time I open my mailbox.
How often have we been asked to give more time or to add one more thing to our to-do lists?
How often are we asked to stop what we're doing so that the oppressed and marginalized are able to praise, pray, and worship?

Resurrecting the Blog

2006-04-05T14:13:00.000-04:00

It's been almost a month since my last blog entry - does that reflect my inability to create time to do this, even though my Lenten discipline has been to create time in my day for prayer, reflection, study, and fellowship? While I haven't miserably failed at this discipline, it hasn't seemed to help me create that space in my life for time with God and God's people. I guess my human nature just expects too much.

At any rate, I'm back blogging. The past month has held good meetings, amazing teaching experiences, busy days filled with work, and busy nights filled with basketball.

My roommates have introduced me to the world of women's basketball. Growing up, I never really liked to watch women play basketball. Even though many of my friends were on our high school team and I occassionally ran the score clock, I always thought there was something weird about the way they played.

I repent.

I thoroughly enjoyed this year's NCAA Women's Tournament - and not just because my roommates controlled the television remote. I learned that men and women do play the game differently. Women focus on teamwork and the fundamentals of the game. Candace Parker proved that a dunk is a dunk regardless of the gender of the person hanging on the rim. It is my hope that the Church might learn something from this March Madness. Teamwork. Fundamentals. Dunking. Think about it.

Red-letter Christian?

2006-03-08T15:15:00.000-05:00

Are you a Red-letter Christian? A recent interview on Nashville radio with Jim Wallis prompted the Jewish-identified talk show host to ask, "Are you on of those Red-letter Christians? You, know, the kind that believe the words in red in the New Testament?"

I remember right before I went to Seminary, having a conversation with my mother, and proudly telling her that I had purchased a new bible. (The now out-of-print Spiritual Formation Bible by Zondervan and the Upper Room - NIV version). My mother was appalled: "But you already have that nice bible we got you when you went to college!" My flippant response was something like this: "M-o-o-o-m-m, it's a King James...(being the erudite scholar I thought I was)." Mom: "Sooo?" Me: "Jesus didn't speak in Red."

But maybe Jesus did speak in red - maybe whoever had the idea to make the words of Jesus stand out from the rest of the cannon of the New Testament understood the deep need to remember that which propels us to deeper faith - not so that we can be more orthodox about our beliefs (just any belief), but so that we can become believers and live out the faith of Jesus Christ.

"for I was hungry and you gave me, I was thirsty and you gave me nothing to drink, naked and you did not give me clothing, sick and in prison and you did not visit me...Truly I tell you, just as you did not do it to one of the least of these, you did not do it to me." - Matthew 25: 42-43,45

Another Celebration

2006-02-13T10:59:00.000-05:00

This past week my great-uncle, Austin, passed away. I don't know why, but I always thought it was normal for kids to have four sets of grandparents: my mom's parents, my dad's dad and stepmom, and his mom and stepdad, and "Pa Pritchett and Grammy Ruth." Austin and Ruth were grandparents to me, and great mentors to my parents. We spent Christmas with them, and many wonderful family gatherings were held at their home.

Ruth passed away when I was very young, but I remember her energy and love for her grandchildren. Austin was the storyteller. If it had not been for him, I never would have learned the history of my family or of the community in which I was raised. These weren't gossipy stories, they were the way history was passed down from generation to generation. And Austin was the keeper of those stories. Even the one's we may have felt ashamed about - or the one's that held great pain. There was something to learn from our story.

Storymaking God,
help me remember Austin and his stories.
Guide me in telling those stories, and
challenge me to become a storyteller, too,
that the story lives on and never dies; that it becomes
something new in each and every moment.
Amen.

Celebrating Rodney

2006-02-05T23:53:00.000-05:00

This morning, the United Methodist Church lost a devoted brother, an ardent advocate for social justice, and vocal conscience.

I met Rodney about six years ago when I started attending Dumbarton UMC. Rodney had been long retired from the UMC's General Board of Church and Society, but Rodney's advocacy didn't end with retirement. Rodney's work for the rights of women and against nuclear proliferation continued well into his nineties. Even from his retirement home, Rodney pushed church and govenment leaders in the fight against nuclear arms.

In the last few months of Rodney's life, I came to admire his tenacious character, as well as the grace and dignity, and maybe some impatience, that he shared with so many people as he prepared to die. Rodney's vision and passion were not only gifts to our congegation, but the the entire Church.

Passionate God,
Brother Rodney responded to your call in his life
by seeking justice, advocating for peace, and standing up when others were sitting down.
Be with us as we mourn our loss.
Help us to respond to you call.
Let us seek.
Let us advocate.
Let us stand.
Amen.

Brokeback Mountain

2006-01-31T23:08:00.000-05:00

During my sophomore year of college, my English professor introduced me to Taiwanese filmmaker, Ang Lee. The Wedding Banquet was a brilliant commentary on sexuality in cross-cultural experiences. Lee's other films have aided in introducing American movie-goers to Asian culture and experimental cinematography. Always cutting edge (in a variety of ways), Lee has created what I find to be the most amazing film I've seen in years.

Brokeback Mountain is what IMDB calls "an epic love story set against the sweeping vistas of Wyoming and Texas" in which two men forge a relationship "whose complications, joys, and tragedies provide a testament to the endurance and power of love."

After seeing Brokeback the first time, it took about five minutes for this story of unrequited love to sink in. During my second viewing, some themes developed that I offer for discussion.

So many fundamentalists have been critical of Brokeback Mountain because of the open and frank ways in which the ebb and flow of sexual exploration is portrayed. Many progressives have praised Brokeback Mountain for the exact same reason. The story is culturally based, though. Would the same individuals that praise Brokeback for the gritty and honest portrayl of same-sex relationships in rural America say the same thing if this was a film about African American men on the "down low" in urban and suburban settings?

As well, Brokeback makes an interesting commentary on men and faith. Ennis DelMar comments that he "don't know nothing about the Pentecost" because he's Methodist, and proves it by equating the Pentecost experience with the final judgement. Religious understanding always seems to be initiated by women in this film. Ennis' wife and daughters ask him to go to a church picnic; he shrugs it off as a"fire and brimstone" bunch. At the end of the film, Jack Twist's Pentecostal parents show differing approaches to their meeting of Ennis Delmar. Jack's father is stoic and cold; his mother gives knowledge of the love shared between her son and Ennis. Her demeanor is one of grace, even in the midst of grief and confusion. For the men of Brokeback Mountain, faith is something that is negative, cold, confused, and harsh. Is this the faith we have today, or do we seek a faith that is creative, compassionate, and engaging?

At any rate, these are the questions that are on my mind. See Brokeback. Let the questions that lay just beneath the surface bubble up.

Irony

2006-01-30T00:05:00.000-05:00

Yesterday, while schlepping books for my job, I was privileged to hear a lecture by Marilyn Robinson, Pulitzer Prize winner for Gilead. Oddly enough, Robinson touched on some of the very issues I blabbed about in my last post. In discussing the issue of particularity (Robinson talked from a Reformed perspective), as well as the decline of mainline denominations, she hit a very important point: somewhere along the way, we have forgotten to talk about Christ's grace and the need to see such grace in each other. As for the decline of the mainline Church, Robinson says, maybe we should focus on proclaiming that grace as a way of attracting people to faith, instead of "acting as if the body of Christ just doesn't have enough bling." Well said, sistah, well said.

Religion and Violence

2006-01-27T19:27:00.000-05:00

This past week a friend of mine studying Peace and Conflict Resolution conducted a survey of seminary students asking what leads people to comit acts of violence against other people. While I have my own ideas about why our society continues to uplift violence, I was interested to discover that not one single seminarian commented that violence against others stems from not seeing the other as created in the image of God.

Maybe this is too easy. Maybe we all think this, but assume it is too obvious and begin to think in more grandeous concepts. And yet maybe this is the problem. Is it possible that we have assumed that those who claim the Christian faith fully understand the concept of imago Dei, and thus have forgotten to teach and preach about it?

Who is beyond the designation, "made in God's image"? Does God set those limits or do we? And do we accept the responsibility for not emphazing life in the image of God?

Not sure what happened to Peter and Mary...

2006-01-17T23:23:00.000-05:00

But today I met Paul.

I was probably ten years old, when public television introduced me to the amazing music of Peter, Paul, and Mary. I distinctly remember, it was the Christmas special, and I loved - LOVED - the song about the toy that went spt, bloop, and whirrrrrr. I think my parents thought I was mad.

In high school, I had a summer camp counselor who sang every afternoon under the pine tree. It was there I learned the songs of the Beatles, the Indigo Girls, and Peter, Paul, and Mary. It was sort of like a hippie commune for middle class white folks. (Oh wait, hippies are middle class white folks trying desperately not to be middle class white folks). At any rate, the music held such power for me, and it still does.

Paul Stookey is an artist-in-residence this semester at Wesley, and his cousin, Larry, is my advisor. I'll be interested in seeing how this amazing talent weaves his words and music into the spiritual life of a seminary.

Taking Hate to a New Level

2006-01-06T22:17:00.000-05:00

I try not to make posts that are polemic in nature...but today I just have to speak out. First, Pat Robertson makes it known that God has smited Ariel Sharon for compromising with Palestinians. And now to make matter worse, the self-proclaimed prophets at Westboro Baptist Church are now claiming that the Sago accident was a message from God. According to the Record Delta, Buckhannon, West Virginia's thrice-weekly newspaper, the picket ministry of the church (I often think this might be the ONLY ministry of the church) will be present at the memorial service for the miners scheduled for next week.

This frightens me on a number of levels. Confessing that this may be somewhat selfish, the memorial service will be held in the Chapel at my alma mater. On the steps of that edifice, I came to know who I was as a child of God. In those pews, I learned to sing, pray, dance, and shout the marvelous things God has done, is doing, and will continue to do in my life. I also learned to cry, to wrestle, and to doubt. And I know I am not alone when I say that I learned what true grace is. Grace, not hate, is what I learned there. I do not want that sacred place marked in such a way.

I often wonder how someone who claims to be part of the great cloud of witnesses can witness about a God of retribution when so many people around them are wracked with pain, anguish, and uncertainty. Such a response does not propel the gathered community into a deeper relationship with God through Jesus Christ. Such a response only encourages more hatred of others, especially those who are different than ourselves.

It is in this time of grief and healing, that God's spirit can be made known - a spirit of grace, not hate, a spirit of new life not death, a spirit that seeks reconciliation and justice. I truly hope that my spiritual home can be a place where others may have the space to cry, wrestle, and doubt, as well as sing, pray, dance, and shout.

Holy God, in whom is heaven,
send your Spirit.
Hold your children close.
Bring peace.
Sow love.
Shower those in need with your grace.
Amen.

Sago

2006-01-03T09:32:00.000-05:00

Today's news hits my heart heavy. Please hold in prayer the thirteen miners trapped in the Sago mine in West Virginia, their families and neighbors, and the rescue workers.

The mine is up Sago Creek near the little town of Tallmansville, about 5 miles south of Buckhannon, West Virginia, where I went to college and worked for a year before I moved to Washington, DC.

As much as my heart goes out to those affected by this tragedy, I know in my heart that this could have been prevented. Sago has had numerous health and safety violations over the years. In college, I visited the Sago mine numerous times to collect river water for a study on acid mine drainage. The people of Sago Creek are proud, tenacious, and compassionate folks.

Let our hearts and minds be with them in this time of uncertainty.

Christmas

2005-12-29T21:57:00.000-05:00

It seems that I only get one post per season of the Church lately. I've been wondering for some time why theological schools require students to take finals in the midst of, dare I say, the most important season of our church year. Adventing our lives, preparing the way of the Lord...and what are seminarians doing? Running around trying to meet with study groups, taking final exams, putting the finishing touches on projects, and wrapping up final papers. This little inconsistency is something that has perplexed me for some time. The Church tells us to throw away the fetters of the secular season, to put the Christ back in Christmas, and all the while forcing the future leaders of the Church to turn their own lives into a shopping mall, jumping over the obstacles that make for a hurried season instead of one focused on deepening our lives with Christ. What would the spiritual lives of seminarians look like during Advent if seminaries were to change their academic calendars? How would the development of future leaders be enriched? How would our congregations benefit from leaders that are able to model a deeper liturgical spirituality?

Advent our lives

2005-12-11T18:06:00.000-05:00

During this season of Advent, my congregation has been focusing on the theme of "pondering." (Bet you couldn't tell I had a hand in that one!). Something that sticks out for me in this part of the Christian Year is found in the benediction we've been using each week:

"Advent your life!" it tells us, "wait and wait and wait."

In this season, cluttered with secular calls for spending, keeping up with the Jonses', and gorging on food and drink, I like the idea of Adventing our lives: that in this season we need to get past all the gawdy decor in our souls, forget about the upper limits of how we spend our love, and see the face of God in the most unusual of places. This is true incarnation - this is true love of all the world - this is the spirit of the season.

Being Thankful

2005-11-23T14:44:00.000-05:00

Give thanks with a grateful heart,
Give thanks to the Holy One,
Give thanks because God's given,
Jesus Christ God's son,

And now let the weak say "I am strong,"
Let the poor say "I am rich"
Because of what the Lord has done for us,
Give thanks.

Does anyone ever wonder why November seems to go by so quickly? It seems like it was only a few days ago that the foliage began to change and God's creation began to engage in the act of renewal once again. And so in this time, I give thanks for many things - and I'd like to share those with others.

I give thanks for my family. Not just for my parents - although it must be said I give thanks for them each and every day - but for my extended family. For the cousins, aunts, and uncles, and in-laws who have shaped my life and give care to my parents when I can't be there. It may just be going to lunch or a conversation on the phone, but it gives their lives meaning. Thank you.

I give thanks for those who have encouraged me in my educational pursuits. I don't think I've ever had a "bad" teacher, but there is an extensive list of those who challenged me and continue to do so to this day: Margaret (Keyser) Northrup, Katrina Andrews, Paige Fleming, Kay Collins, Bill VanPelt, Rob Rupp, John Warner, Arthur Holmes, John Saunders, Sharon Ringe, Beverly Mitchell, Traci West, and Catherine Keller. Through each of you, I've learned the love of reading (and re-reading!), how to engage the texts I read, how to learn from that which I read and write, and more importantly, how to lead others to the love of learning.

I give thanks to those who have encouraged me and challenged me in my journey of faith: Mary Jo Sims, Peyton Strouth, Janelle Willey, Mary Kraus, Chip Aldridge, Carrie Brunken, Jeff and Leighann Prothro, Paul Perez, Anna Mercedes, Rick Bohannon, Michael Sniffen, and Mark Miller. Whether you know it or not, you helped me in small, and often large, ways to draw closer to God and begin again on the great adventure called Discipleship.

I give thanks to those who have taken the time to give me a hug when I needed it, give me a sour look when I needed it, or give me some quiet time in prayer when I needed it. These small things make a big difference in my life.

And so, as Thanksgiving draws near, I ask myself: "How can I do the small things to make God's love known to others?" Maybe it's not something we plan to do. Maybe we do it because we are disciples of Jesus, and when the opportunity arises, we don't ask questions like "what's in it for me?" or "can I put that on my resume?," we just do seize the moment, give thanks to God, and continue on the great adventure.

Silence

2005-11-10T22:42:00.000-05:00

I'm sure my silence has been conspicuous (or maybe not) over the past two weeks. As I've heard so many friends and colleagues say recently, "I just don't know where to begin." And so I've started with silence.

My heart is saddened for my sister in Christ, Beth Stroud. I continue to affirm her calling in ministry, as do many others. Beth has taught be many things about what it means to be called to ministry, how to live out that calling to its fullest and not be arrogant. Her humilty is Christ-like and her struggle is part of living the cruciformed life. I yearn for the day when Beth, and many others, can wear the yolk of her calling again and break bread at table meant for all people.

And while I harbor great concerns about the Judicial Council decision in the case of the pastor from Virginia who denied full membership in the Church to a man based on his sexual orientation, I pray for that congregation, the pastors, and the community. While we may fall on one side of this conversation or the other, the humanity and faith of a congregation should be a pastoral concern to which all of us who call ourselves Christian should recognize.

I weep for my Church. I struggle to understand the logic behind both decisions. I continue to pray. I celebrate our differences as a denomination, and I pray that these differences can continue to be held in creative tension. This isn't a win-lose game.

And so silence has brought me to this place. I certainly hold a specific opinion and I certainly pray that the Judicial Council will re-consider the case of the Virginia Annual Conference. I also hope that our General Conference will recognize the interconnectedness of these decisions to the schizophrenic language found in our Book of Discipline. And yet, I pray for the unity of the church for indeed this is the reconciliation to which Jesus Christ calls each of us.

Lord, in a breath you created me, and I am yours. It is your breath that I hear, and it is your breath that I speak. Help me to hear, help me to love, help me to stuggle. Let your will be done. Amen.

Houston

2005-10-29T10:37:00.000-04:00

I've been in Houston since Thursday night. I can't really tell you why I'm here, but I am. I guess part of it is to be in prayer with Beth Stroud and her family. I guess part of it is to get out of Washington, DC. I guess part of it is to have a time of retreat so that I can read, pray, and think more clearly.

On Thursday, the United Methodist Church's Judicial Council heard some very important cases, three of which focus on issues of sexuality and doctrine. Beth's case is probably the most famous, but two others have distinct implications for our church. Another case centered around the decision of the Virginia Annual Conference to place a clergy person on leave without pay for his denial of local church membership to a person because of their sexual orientation. And a final case, was that against the California-Nevada Conference for their resolution stating that sexual orientation and gender identity were “statuses” and thus covered under the non-discrimination policy of the Constitution of the United Methodist Church.

While I recognize that I take a certain stand on such issues, I continue to hold the entire United Methodist Church and the Church universal in prayer. I think it might be easy to think of the Judicial Council hearings in terms on win-lose. The deeper reality, however, is that no matter the decision of the Judicial Council, our church is in a difficult place. We don't always reflect God's love and grace, not matter which side we're on. We never repent, and although many of us may say we are "reconciling" - we think just because we have reconciled issues of faith and sexuality, that we have already attained perfection.

Holy other, Holy one, immerse us in your grace. Teach us to continue the process of reconciling that was begun in Jesus Christ. Heal us, hold us, be with us forever. Amen.

Life at the Rectory

2005-10-23T20:40:00.000-04:00

A great bit of my laxity in posting has been due to the move I made around the time I began blogging. This is the first time I've ever really lived in a house, other than the one I was raised in. And with it, comes all of the intricacies of a house.

My roommates are two wonderful women from church. Like me, they are seminary graduates. We live in northeast Washington, close to Gallaudet University, and next to a cute little Roman Catholic Church. On the other side of the church is the rectory, which has caused me to call our home of rogue theologians, "The Other Rectory."

Friday was a day where everything seemed to go wrong. The plumber couldn't finish his job, the phone company didn't arrive in their declared time frame, the water company was working on the line on our street and turned the water off without notifying us, and I broke our lovely glass front door in a passive-agressive moment.

I suppose I could try and make some simplistic theological statement here: Rely on God, or Peace, Peace, or even my mother's Presbyterian answer of "Well, I guess it was just supposed to happen." But I think what I desire most, is not an easy theological answer. You know, the funeral response of "well, he's in a better place," just doesn't cut it. And simplistic statements don't give much hope either.

So I live in the tension of wondering if God wanted me to break the door or if the door just had it in for me. I also wonder if the phone company would be a good description of sin. Whatever God intended, things are getting fixed.

Hits on the Blog

2005-10-09T00:21:00.000-04:00

Wow. I never thought anyone would find what I had to say remotely interesting - and my last posting had 5, (well 3 if you don't count the bots placing ads), comments. Obviously I am theologically progressive, but I truly believe there are points where our lives of faith, no matter our theological tendencies, bring us together. Personally, I can't wait for the day when we can stop fighting over sexuality and doctrine and focus on powerfully transforming lives and the world. God engages us in this process - we just need to accept our role in the divine-human encounter.

I need to get into the habit of reading blogs more often. It can be part of my daily disciplines.

Bridges and Ravines

2005-09-23T00:44:00.000-04:00

A few weeks ago, a friend of mine attended a conference. Knowing that sometimes she can become overly passionate about some of the issues that were to be discussed, she developed a mantra for the weekend: "Be a bridge, not a ravine." At first the mantra was for her own use - to calm her nerves, to make her feel better about the situation in which she found herself. By the end of the weekend, however, many of us had started making light of her mantra. Now the importance of that mantra, that prayer, has taken a life of its own for me.

A colleague of mine, whom I only see once a year at a sales meeting, is the creator and author of the Wesley Blog. (Please note that the views of the Wesley Blog and this blog are solely the views of their owners and not those of our employer). While our theological concepts fall on opposite ends of the supposed spectrum, he and I were friends and collegues before we knew one another's theological beliefs. Our conversation this time, however, focused on blogging. I told him I knew about his blog because of an interview he did with Beth Stroud. This opened up discussion - dialogue - about being bridge builders. I could have easily ignored him all of sales meeting. I could have easily demonized him, like I admit I have done to others. I could have given him a piece of my mind and pretended I was being "prophetic." Instead, I did something that was more difficult - I met him where he was, I shared part of my story, I made a commitment to conversation, prayer, and mutual love, and we shared time together as conduits of God's grace. I was a bridge and not a ravine.

Hodgepodge

2005-09-17T15:18:00.000-04:00

It's been almost a month since my last posting - and I promise I have good excuses. Between moving, work, school, and travels, I have been too exhausted to write much. I suppose writing would be a cure to exhaustion on some level.

Most of my body, soul, and spirit was occupied by preparations for the Reconciling Ministry Network's "Hearts on Fire" convocation at Lake Junaluska, NC. Words cannot express the experiences of the weekend and I'm sure I'll write more about that later, but what is on my mind today is the flurry of controversy that surrounded the event.

Many neo-Orthodox members of my denomination denounced the event, held in the strong-hold of Methodism in the Southern part of the Church. It is my belief that such a vocal inhospitality led directly to the protest of the event by a chapter of the Ku Klux Klan. The very same voices that spoke out against the worship-filled weekend have recently stated that they do not condone the hate-talk of the KKK. I fail to see the difference between words of hate and words of inhospitality. The same philosophical and theological constructs that causes one, causes the other. Fear permeates both langauges.

Thankfully only a few sad KKK members showed up to protest. And the comments of the inhospitable ones can be seen on their website as noted above. What moved me the most was the hospitality shown us by Lake Junaluska administration and staff and the people of Waynesville.

The number of thoughts regarding sexuality and racism (connections and disconnections), what it means to be a disciple of Jesus Christ, and hospitality are too numerous to begin to unpack here, so I leave with this thought. When John 3:16 comments, "God so loved the world that God gave God's only Child," I think "loved the world" means all, not just some.

Nada te turbe

2005-08-24T23:09:00.000-04:00

Over the past few days I've had some wonderful adventures with my car, moving to a new house, and phone conversations with my parents. Sometimes I wonder where God fits into that whole scheme. I'd like to bring to attention the recent murder of Brother Roger of Taize. You can read more at www.taize.fr or http://www.nytimes.com/2005/08/18/international/europe/18roger.html?fta=y

As one can see, Brother Roger's life was one of hope - that schisms could be healed, that peace shall prevail, and that God's love is found in both struggle and prayer. "Nothing can trouble, nothing can frighten, those who seek God shall never go wanting."

In the midst of the chaos, remembering the life of one called to help bring about God's kin-dom here on earth brings me back to center.

Turning the ribbon around

2005-08-15T19:09:00.000-04:00

In college, my best friend accused me of being “ribbon boy.” I had a ribbon for every cause about which I felt passionate. My backpack was an array of yellow, red, purple, and green ribbons – along with the buttons that made the statements even more obvious. The epitome of the campus advocate, I often was able to couch my advocacy in terms of some faith-based language that somehow made me feel better about my passion for justice. I left the world of undergraduate education for Seminary to reconcile my faith and search for social justice. While I may not don ribbons so easily anymore, and I certainly have developed a deeper theological understanding of the prophetic call to justice, ribbons have recently forced me into deeper theological reflection.

Over the past few months I have noticed the phenomenon of the magnetic car ribbon. Almost all of these ribbon-shaped magnets are yellow, in support of the men and women in the armed forces, or incorporate some form of the American flag. The magnets in and of themselves are not a stumbling block. While I myself choose not to display my citizenship in this way, I respect that there are those that do. Yet, many of these magnets, which are offered for sale at some Christian bookstores, are not turned upright, so that they would be recognized in the shape of a ribbon. Turned on their sides, the ribbons subversively become the symbol of the ichthus (ΙΧΘΥΣ). The Greek word for fish, ichthus, is believed to be an acronym for the phrase, Jesus Christ Son of God, Savoir. Used in the early Church itself as a form of subversion, the ichthus was a way for persecuted disciples to claim their uniqueness in the midst of the Roman empire. It has been said that when one disciple would meet someone on the road, one would draw an arc in the dirt. If the other was a Christian, the arc would be recognized and another arc facing the other direction would be drawn, thus completing the symbol of the fish.

The Christian faith certainly holds no copyright on the religious imagery of the fish, yet I am forced to struggle with the conflation of the ribbon and the fish. The subversive nature of the fish symbol developed over and against the empire in which the early church found itself. Utilizing the cultural milieu surround them, early Christians were able to proclaim the discipling message of Jesus Christ, “come and I will make you fishers of men (sic)” (Mark 1:17). Proclaiming the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus Christ is, at its very core, counter empire. Living the message of the Gospel is difficult when seen through what Lee Camp, author of Mere Discipleship, calls the “Constantinian cataract.” Being counter empire does not mean that Christians should not pray for the men and women who are in service to the empire, bureaucrats, military families, and elected officials. To not pray for them would assume that they are excluded from God’s love and grace. We who live as disciples cannot fall prey to political liberalism at the same time we forget God’s prevenient grace. At the same time, those who claim discipleship under Christ run the possibility of perverting the liberating, holistic good news – the good news that brings salvation to not only the soul, but to the body, mind, and social situations in which we find ourselves. The fusion of the ichthus with the empire that proclaims a message of war, prosperity, and ecological degradation that is counter to the gospel of healing transformation proclaimed by Jesus Christ. Certainly the messages of healing and wholeness found in the wearing of red ribbons for HIV/AIDS awareness, pink ribbons for breast cancer awareness, or purple ribbons for domestic violence awareness come closer to the heart of Christianity than the empire-fused ichthus, but why do we never see advocates for such movements turning their ribbons sideways? Indeed there are many Christians who are supportive of such awareness movements – not only because we are called to seek justice and make peace in all of creation, but also because such issues are at the heart of our own communities of faith. We undertake such healing advocacy because of our call to love of neighbor. Such love of neighbor and love of God’s creation is what also propels many of us to seek peace with justice.

Making such a statement, that the things for which we advocate are grounded in biblical theology, need not take a via negativa. Although the thought has crossed my mind more than once, we do not need to take to our local shopping malls and parking garages repositioning the ribbon-turned-ichthus magnets adorning our neighbor’s vehicles. This is counter to the Gospel of love of neighbor and doesn’t really make a theological point – all that it accomplishes is infuriation of our neighbors.

We can, however, turn our own ribbons on their sides. Whenever we wear a red ribbon to remember those in our communities and around the world who have died and are dying of HIV/AIDS, we do so out of hope for their lives and the lives of those who love them. Whenever we wear a pink ribbon, seeking education and prevention for breast cancer, we do so in the hope that such advocacy will bring about a transformed spirit, body, and mind. Whenever we wear a purple ribbon, we honor those victims of domestic violence as human beings, not as property to be abused at will. Whatever the color of the ribbon, whatever cause, we do so as disciples subverting the way of the world, subverting the empire-fused ichthus, and begin to see our advocacy through the lens of the Christ event. The positive approach to the situation employs a theological critique of what it means to be an advocate of a certain “secular” cause, challenges the “Constantinian cataract,” and engages Christian disciples in proclaiming the good news – that Christ’s victory over death brings hope for the healing of all the people in all the nations.

So, I guess that I’ve become the “ribbon boy” again – and that’s okay, especially when it proclaims the hope and healing found in the resurrected Christ.

Free Ride to Heaven

2005-08-14T15:47:00.000-04:00

After taking a friend home from church today, I drove past a large Baptist church here in Washington. The marquee sign in front proclaimed, "Free Ride to Heaven. Deatils inside." More than some cute marketing campaign, this statement raises some delicate theological questions.

First, what is heaven? Growing up I remembered being told that heaven was a place, beyond the clouds, where people go when they die. I actually remember at a funeral where a well meaning pastor told me that the reason I could see the deceased's whole body was because everything below her waist was already up in heaven waiting on her! A good twenty years later, with some science and theology courses under my belt, I chuckle at the thought of a heaven where there are lower extremities walking around awaiting their counterparts currently in limbo at the local funeral home. Even the most theologically un-orthodox would also state that heaven is the place where God resides. Seems simple enough. And 0n the surface, I don't disagree with this statement. The crux of this concept of heaven comes when we image the God who resides in such a heaven. Historically this has meant that the old man with the long white beard sits on a throne among the clouds. But if we stop for a moment, and reconsider our concepts of heaven, maybe we come to imagine God in a way which we have never before encountered.

Second, the idea that a ride to heaven is free makes me a little uneasy. While I suppose uneasiness is a good thing, a free ride to heaven is another. Dietrich Bonhoeffer called it "cheap grace," and I believe the concept is helpful here. The life of faith is not like a blue light special at K-Mart in which everything good happens at once. Perhaps this is why I have a difficult time with a dateable conversion experience. For me, my life of faith has been a journey - with mountains and valleys and plains. Making something like a "ride to heaven" "free" makes it sounds as if something miraculous will happen the moment one walks through the doors of the church. If it were only that simple, those of us with a call to ministry would have the easiest jobs in the world. When God lures us into the human-divine relationship, God not only claims us as God's own, but we respond to God in a multitude of ways. It's not only about accepting Jesus into your life - that's only one part of the journey. Maybe I'm too Wesleyan in my ideas of salvation, but I've come to more deeply understand faith, deep faith, as something that is always a work in progress, never completed, always striving for perfection. Such a faith journey is never a "free ride."

Finally, for those that may understand salvation to be a single event in the course of one's life, the coercive nature of this marquee posting makes me wonder about the miracles that take place inside. I also wonder about those who inquire about the free ride - those with broken lives - suffering from relationship issues, drug and alcohol abuse, financial uncertainty - does God change their lives so immedaitely that they know for certain that they have won a "free ride to heaven?" Or do they continue to struggle with the contexts in which they find themselves and at the same time wrestle with God? Are they welcomed into the institution of the church because they are "saved" or are they welcomed to join fellow pilgrims on a journey?

Beyond WWJD

2005-08-12T22:46:00.000-04:00

I'm glad that I never went through the WWJD? bracelet phase. Maybe it's the postmodern in me, but I never really knew if there was one real answer to that question. I thought that Jesus would have sided with the poor and marginalized, sought peace rather than violence, acted up against the empire instead of being coopted by it - but I guess the creators of the bracelet really wanted it to be a reminder to recently born-again teenagers about the evils of drugs, drinking, and premarital sex. That was 15 years ago - and today a new fad has appeared. Lance Armstrong and Nike paired up to create the "Livestrong" concept about a year ago - and since then various bracelets have become the new red/yellow/purple/pink ribbon. And I must say, that after a bit of trepidation, I too, have donned two wristbands. A white one with the word, "ONE," and a blue one that says, "My Journey." The white wristband is part of the ONE Campaign to end hunger and HIV/AIDS in Africa, the blue one is part of a promotion by the United Methodist Publishing House to encourage Christian Education development in local congregations. Like those WWJD? bracelets, the wristbands remind me of something - there is a world beyond my ghetto, a world in need - and that I am called to journey alongside those who are marginalized. Such a journey is never static, never assumes triumphalism, or is sympatheically patronizing. It is a journey to new life on a road full of suprises. Maybe the question should never have been "What Would Jesus Do?," but "What Would Jesus Have Us Do?" That opens the discussion wider - incorporates a variety of contexts - and certainly does not limit our conceptions of God. An old hymn proclaims "I Want Jesus to Walk with Me." Maybe instead of telling Jesus what we want, Jesus lures us into the possibility of having us walk with him.

Music as Spiritual Practice

2005-08-09T23:19:00.000-04:00

I'm co-teaching an Adult Education class at my church loosely based on the book, "A Song to Sing, A Life to Live" by liturgical scholar Don Saliers and his Indigo Girl daughter, Emily. Since both are people I highly respect, the book made it to my reading list quite easily. Part of the "Practicing the Faith" series by Josey-Bass, this title explores, among other things, the importance of music in helping define our faith experiences. As one who believes in the integration of ritual experiences for helping define religiosity, I've really never questioned music as part of my spiritual disciplines. This course, however, has forced me to ask some very tough questions: How did I come to have music in my life? What are the cultures/people who have influenced the music I listen to? What does it mean for my affluent, mostly white congregation to sing hymns from other cultures?

As I begin my dive into the world of blogging, I call to mind one of my favorite songs by Emily Saliers - "Ghost." Over the years this song has meant many things to me: a lament to lost love, hope for a friendship in schism, pure musical enjoyment. But recently I've come to hear this song as part of my worship life. This is a love song to God - although I don't know if Emily would say this is so. But for me, the haunting lyrics (no pun intended) bring me into a new place, in which I am totally and utterly reminded of God's unequivocal love for all of creation. Thus, we come to the title of this blog: "well the Mississippi's mighty/cause it starts in Minnesota/at a place where you can walk across with five steps down/well i guess that's how you started/like a pin-prick to my heart/at this point you rush right through me and i start to drown"

Journey with me, fivestepsdown, and live the questions of faith.