Three Simple Rules

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

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

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?

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

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

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

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.