Are You a Faith Wallflower?

The readings and, essentially, my sermon for this Sunday...




Psalm 71:1-6:

1 In you, O LORD, I take refuge; let me never be put to shame.
2 In your righteousness deliver me and rescue me; incline your ear to me and save me.
3 Be to me a rock of refuge, a strong fortress, to save me, for you are my rock and my fortress.
4 Rescue me, O my God, from the hand of the wicked, from the grasp of the unjust and cruel.
5 For you, O Lord, are my hope, my trust, O LORD, from my youth.
6 Upon you I have leaned from my birth; it was you who took me from my mother's womb. My praise is continually of you.



Jeremiah 1:1-10:

1 The words of Jeremiah son of Hilkiah, of the priests who were in Anathoth in the land of Benjamin,
2 to whom the word of the LORD came in the days of King Josiah son of Amon of Judah, in the thirteenth year of his reign.
3 It came also in the days of King Jehoiakim son of Josiah of Judah, and until the end of the eleventh year of King Zedekiah son of Josiah of Judah, until the captivity of Jerusalem in the fifth month.
4 Now the word of the LORD came to me saying,
5 "Before I formed you in the womb I knew you, and before you were born I consecrated you; I appointed you a prophet to the nations."
6 Then I said, "Ah, Lord GOD! Truly I do not know how to speak, for I am only a boy."
7 But the LORD said to me, "Do not say, 'I am only a boy'; for you shall go to all to whom I send you, and you shall speak whatever I command you.
8 Do not be afraid of them, for I am with you to deliver you, says the LORD."
9 Then the LORD put out his hand and touched my mouth; and the LORD said to me, "Now I have put my words in your mouth.
10 See, today I appoint you over nations and over kingdoms, to pluck up and to pull down, to destroy and to overthrow, to build and to plant."


It was in the early days of my marriage, and the memory is foggy and partially obscured. Teresa and I were auxillary, even tangental guests at some rather staid gathering. As I recall, the whole experience was something of a non-sequiter, as the event was rather stuffed-shirt, but the venue was anything but.

We were in our Sunday best in the mid-afternoon at some sort of warehouse/nightclub/party house in downtown Columbia, South Carolina. There were about twenty of us, as I recall, and my wife and I – in our mid-20s, God bless us – were the youngest adults in the room by a good decade or six. I remember wide-plank flooring, industrial skylights mixed oddly with fine linen tablecloths and fluted glasses.

There was a DJ at this event, and he was doing his best to lift the mood all by himself. The dance floor was a wasteland. I remember our nameless hostess bemoaning that fact under her breath to us as she made her obligatory rounds of a disappointingly subdued party.

Then the DJ, in some pathetic final act of quiet desperation, threw on a tune by the Grateful Dead. It might have been one of their rollicking, 48-hour live versions of the Buddy Holly classic “Not Fade Away.” Teresa and I took matters into our own feet. We got up, moved out onto the empty floor, and we danced. But we didn't just dance, we DEAD DANCED!

Deadheads have their own movement vocabulary. They neither get down nor tighten up. They whirl and twirl and twist and hop and tip, limbs akimbo. That's what we did in that cold, dank room. The DJ was so delighted that he followed up with four or five more Dead tunes, and we happily obliged by staying out there...WAY out there... on the dance floor.

That was all. There was a temporary stir. The party eventually evaporated. We thanked our hosts and drove home. I remember Teresa later telling me that the hostest had said to her: “all the other guests were asking me 'who's that guy out on the dance floor?'” My wife, being the sensitive type, kindly left out the second half of her statement, which was probably something like: “and does he need medical attention?”

I am not a dancer. I do not draw attention to my body and its rather awkward movements. But I am willing to do even the occasional insane thing to see a dear friend smile.

This is why the call of Jeremiah really resonates with me. Jeremiah is just this guy, you know. He's a preacher's kid just minding his own business, quietly growing up and getting on with life when God taps him for Holy Propheteering. Jeremiah looks down at his feet and says to God, essentially, “Sorry, I'm just a kid and I can't dance.”

And God answers him, essentially, “I'm the one who gave you feet. Now go out there and make me smile.”

You may have gotten an inkling by now that I am not your typical evangelist. I am a deep believer in God and in the path that Jesus has enlightened. But in my faith, I like to whirl and twirl and twist and hop and tip, limbs akimbo, when so many around me insist on moving in lock step with the line dance du jour... or worse still, frown on anyone even rising at all from their assigned seats at the table.

I need to tell you that I am a very faithful man who loves his call and his work. When I don't speak up or fail to observe proper decorum, it is not that I am “ashamed of the Gospel,” (Romans 1:16). It is that I am ashamed of what some of my fellow Christians sometimes say and and do and insist upon, or FAIL to say and do and insist upon in His name. If I'm not dancing, it is because I am temporarily ashamed of THE BODY. Know what I'm saying? But I get over it.

Here's the thing: I love God. And God knows if the tune is called, I'll be out there doing something different – our thing on the feet he gave me – just to see that smile and share it with any of the other guests who might find God in it. I've gotten more than my share of offended glares, judgemental stares and all. I've lost friends and fellow Christians over some of our steps. But I know that God is with me, too. And I've got to think there are other wallflowers out there just waiting for someone to start a dance that will resonate with them.

When was the last time you danced out loud a truth God has given you and, apparently, nobody else in the room? Tell us about it!
 
Do you continue to make your way out to the dance floor when your faith calls the tune, even if others discourage you and cast judgement? Please share!
 
What does it take for you to get up and dance to the tune God is spinning for you?

Think About These Things - An Advent Sermon on Peace

Finally, Beloved: Whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is just, whatever is pure, whatever is pleasing, whatever is commendable, if there is any excellence and if there is anything worthy of praise, think about these things.  -- Philippians 4:8

This is a portion of what I preached yesterday, so I'm throwing it out there for the rest of you. (You can soon hear the full sermon here: http://www.wbccucc.blogspot.com/)

This is the Week of Peace in our preparations for Christmas, and I must admit that I approach it saddened and disappointed. I'm having a really tough time with our president's decision to commit 30-40,000 more troops to Afghanistan -- a country with a hopelessly corrupt, unpopular government, and complicated tribal splits and alliances. I recognize the danger of a particular breed of radical extremist Islam spreading to Pakistan -- a country in possession of nuclear weapons -- but my heart is heavy as I think of all those young men and women on their way to mayhem, blood and destruction.

Paul, in a similar time of military occupation, unrest and chaos, had simple advice for his fledgling faith community in Philippi: gravitate toward the good and just. Think about these things. This was the scheduled reading for next Sunday, but it also came to mind for me on the morning after President Obama's speech, when I tuned into an NPR call-in program to hear Robert Segal express slight chagrin that the first "expert" to phone in about the situation in Afghanistan and Pakistan was not a general, diplomat or foreign service worker, but none other than Deepak Chopra. Chopra cut him short and stated (and I am paraphrasing here):

"It makes perfect sense that I am talking to you. Consider India, and the state it was in several decades ago. We were not far different than Afghanistan and Pakistan, with warring factions and extreme tribal conflicts, but money was poured into education, and look where we are today: a stable, strong world leader... a successful nation. The same needs to happen in Pakistan and Afghanistan. Invest in educating the population, give them hope and the tools to better their minds and their lives and nihilistic extremism will evaporate."

It reminds me of one recent military effort in Iraq, where soldiers solicited American high schools to donate used soccer balls to fight the insurgency. My alma mater, Bloomfield High School, was one that sent soccer balls to Iraq, to be handed out by American forces to kids who desperately needed to do what kids everywhere most need to do: play together.

Playground diplomacy focuses on our humanity, on so much about us that is true, honorable, just, pure and pleasing. Let's think about these things.

Consider these two men, Edward Said and Daniel Borenboim. Said was a Columbia University English professor. Borenboim is a world-renowned conductor. The two met a decade ago and found that their seemingly conflicting cultures (Arab and Israeli) found common ground when discussing the youth trapped and wasted by the endless Palestinian-Israeli conflict. They germinated an idea: an orchestral camp featuring the finest professional musicians teaching Arab and Israeli youth, who would then perform together as the West-Eastern Divan Orchestra. The program grew, and a few years back, when they finally scheduled a performance in Ramallah, Palestine despite the deep safety and security concerns, the appearance of so many Arab and Israeli youth appearing on stage to make beautiful music together resulted in a ten minute standing ovation before the first note was even played! One small increment. True, honorable, just, pure, pleasing, commendable and excellent.

Or how about this man: Professor Joshua Silver, a physicist who had been working with spectroscopic analysis of highly charged ions at Oxford University. Professor Silver invented a way to manipulate the curvature of lenses as part of his work. Then he got to thinking: 60% of the population in the developed world require corrective lenses to see clearly. It would stand to reason that about the same ratio would exist in the developing world. There is an optometrist for every 10,000 people in London, but that ratio is an impossible 1 for every 8,000,000 in sub-Saharan Africa -- meaning that daily living, education, socialization and development are terribly limited in such areas by a seemingly intractable vision problem (figurative and literal).So Professor Silver develops a new set of Adaptive Spectacles. An individual pumps clear silicon oil into a set of lenses, curving them until refraction matches their individual corrective need. Voila! Vision corrected without the need to fly a cadre of optometrists into the African bush. 50,000 pairs of these inexpensive glasses have been fitted thus far.

Now people in the developing world have access to better vision, and a better future. One small increment. True, honorable, just, pure, pleasing, commendable, excellent and worthy of praise.

Peace doesn't come at the end of a gun or adjacent to an Improvised Explosive Device. It comes after the dust settles and some soldier tosses a kid a Hershey Bar and a soccer ball. It comes when mortal enemies turn their focus to making immortal music. It comes when a tribal elder can look clearly into the eyes of rival chieftains and beloved grandchildren, thanks to some obscure scientist two continents away. Think about these things.

Consider African merry-go-rounds for children that double as pumps to draw water from deep wells. Think about cardboard solar ovens that allow Sudanese women to remain in the safety of their encampments rather than having to seek firewood to cook family meals. Two more small increments.

We cease to behave humanly when we engage in combat. War is always the result of profound error, and it betrays the limits of our courage and creativity as a species. War is a bulldozed path toward an arbitrary goal. Peace is a meandering walk, winding its way around an issue to find root conflicts to resolve, common strengths to build on, possiblities to explore. War insists on MIGHT while peace plays with might.

At some point in every war, the leaders from each side come together and cobble some manner of peace over tea and biscuits. The worst offenders are isolated and made to answer for their crimes. Amends are made to those damaged "collaterally." Alliances are celebrated. Cities and civilizations are rebuilt, and fields are replanted. Leaders praise their dead and promise that this is the last time, lest their precious spilled blood be defiled.

Could it be that we are inviting the wrong people to lead us to the table? Or maybe it is a simple scheduling error:  isolating offenders, making amends, celebrating alliances and rebuilding civilizations at the end of the process when these best human tendencies should be scheduled for the very start. Shouldn't we all think about these things?

So That's the Thanks I Give

I live in a world of self-entitlement. I expect to receive anything I want at the flick of a switch, the swipe of a card. I like to eat bananas from Honduras, ride a bicycle from Japan, drink beer from Canada and fish with little fake minnows from Ireland. Nuclear fission and Niagara Falls light my reading lamp. My automobile engine runs on the blood of soldiers and harbor seals.

There's a whole lot of faceless people and far-flung materials supporting my lifestyle. There's no such thing as a self-made man.

And so it is that I come to you in this week which contains the day on which we are all supposed to stop, take stock and give thanks. I've decided to do so all this week, in hopes that, after seven straight days of extending the proper attitude of gratitude, perhaps it will become a daily habit I can carry throughout the coming year.

I have much to be grateful for:

1. God - slippery, elusive, wonderous mysterious joy that She is.
2. wife and kids - I am stunned at how much I haven't screwed them up. They're the best part of my really wonderful life.
3. family/friends/faith community - I am surrounded by an eclectic mix of characters who routinely amaze me with their grace, imagination and love.
4. freedom - I'm fortunate to live in a society of laws and latitude. I've grown up safe, been HANDED a great education, have found encouragement to speak up at almost every turn, and get to routinely stir the pot.
5. music - Oh, sweet nectar for the ears. And to not only have the privilege of listening, but to also be able to CREATE music of my own, by myself or with talented friends and family.
6. food - I really enjoy it.
7. green grass, blue sky, yellow sun - Seriously, what a breath-taking combination.
8. puppy jumps and arching-cat-shin-rubs - I'm usually the first human to come home in the evening, and I'm always greeted with love and enthusiasm.
9. a really great fort - Sure, I never had to hold a mortgage on the ones I built 40 years ago out of couch cushions, but the house Teresa and I have built feels every bit as cool.
10. my body - It is beginning to creak, bald and settle, but I can still do most of what I was doing 20 years ago.
11. my mind - Good things come in small packages, I guess.
12. good books - I just finished Steinbeck's "The Winter of Our Discontent." How cool is it that we can turn words into worlds?

How about you? What are you thankful for right now? Please, make a list to share with us...

What's in a Name?

The Mayberry-esque exclamation "what in God's name..." is something beyond quaint for me these days. I've been thinking a lot about God/G-d/Yahweh/Elohim/Adonai/Jehovah/Allah/... What is in a name? More particularly, what is in "God's name?"

Names are given to distinguish an individual from others of its own kind. A thingy is a plant is a flower is a rose is a white rose is a... Names lend specificity, distinction.

But what about this God character we keep prattling on about? I am of the belief that there is one good, living, loving, intentional, creative reality that IS within, without and all around us. Our best impulses, thoughts and actions are seeped in this reality. Our "sins" are attempts at blocking, violating or turning away from its omnipresent flow. I believe Christ to be a brilliant manifestation of this reality in flesh. We, too, are called to be brilliant manifestations of this IS. That's my best current understanding of that which is far beyond my ability to communicate or even comprehend.

So how can we come to name it God? Do we really need to distinguish it from others of its own kind? What others?

No, the names we give to the reality -- the foundation and energy and impulse of all that is Shalom and beyond -- don't serve so much to distinguish the One from other gods. It serves to distinguish us from each other, making us peculiar. Separate. Rivals. Our various names for the good, living, loving, creative reality are so many team jerseys or - worse - military uniforms. How myopic. How misguided. How tragic. How mortally flawed.

For some who read this, it may seem I am breaking the rules of being a Christian pastor. The Christian pastor I am becoming is less and less about fences, more and more about open fields. I guess the pastor has been led out to wide pasture. Where are you flocking these days?

Parenting without Annette

I used to write articles for City newspaper. I'm tossing a few back out there to spur discussion without actually writing something new...

Knowing the constant gives perspective. – Tao Te Ching

As a parent, I love the commercial media. Every nasty, morally bankrupt minute is a Godsend. Cable is even better.

My folks started a family with Donna Reed and Father Knows Best as their standard. Wally and the Beaver were good, wholesome kids, and mouse-eared Annette had that marvelous, innocent twinkle in her eye. Marsha was hot, but modest. Shucks, even Otis the town drunk never gave Sheriff Taylor any real trouble. The television intoned what family and community life must be. Who could possibly measure up to such cruelly high standards?

Today’s media culture is far less sanctimonious. Our heroes are thrown up and torn down at breakneck speed. Motivation is almost always questioned. “Reality” show idols eventually stick a knife in whatever back they’re scratching. Dads tend to be inept. Moms are often shrews. Kids are conniving little manipulators. Who could possibly fall beneath such crass, low standards?

With the help of HDTV, my children see clearly that perfection is myth. As the digital screens get flatter and thinner, the current generation can see behind what we cathode-ray-tubers considered rock-solid. Cynical? Perhaps. But our children are also becoming far harder marks for the hucksters to hit.

Corporate media’s gradual abandonment of broadcast standards means we set our own. Every time my kids and I dodge a mass-murder commercial we say brutality is to be avoided, not celebrated. Whenever we channel-surf past people half out of their minds and their underwear, we affirm sexuality as a gift, not a ploy. Appear in public without Gameboy pacifiers and we join a human race already in progress.

So God bless our corporate media conglomerate. Thanks to them, any fool can create life lessons simply by turning off and finding something better to do.

The Fear Monster

A few years back I used to write articles for Rochester, NY's City newspaper. I thought I'd republish a few here and see what gronks...

Peace I leave with you; my peace I give to you. I do not give to you as the world gives. Do not let your hearts be troubled, and do not let them be afraid. – John 14:27

When I was a child I marveled at the prospect of someday being big – courageous, strong and free of all fear, like Mom and Dad. The dark depths under the bed, the eerie silence behind the closet door, even the twisted shadows reaching through the window held no power over them. Life without fear held such promise!

At age 42, I’m still hoping to someday be bigger than my fears. Like most of us, I merely traded my childhood fears for mortgage monsters and well-being ghouls that sometimes overwhelm, robbing me of sleep far more aggressively than did any imagined threat of my youth. I haven’t learned my lesson: It is not a monster I fear; my fear IS the monster.

Fear is the opponent of peace. It constricts the flow of blood to our brains and narrows our thinking. It is the basis of all anger, crime and conflict.

Peace as the world gives – usually defined as the mere absence of war – is fearfully inadequate. Instead, let us with our children embrace a higher personal standard: peace as the absence of fear. Do not let your hearts be troubled. Do not let them be afraid, that wonderful man said. Examine and understand. Cast enlightenment on your darkest fears. It is what fear does to us in the darkest recesses of our hearts that leads to all that goes terribly wrong on this beautiful planet among these beautiful people.

Work through your nightmares and our world sleeps better tonight.

The Do-Nothing Parent

I used to write short articles for Rochester, NY's City newspaper. Thought I'd revisit a few and see what discussion results...

The gods do not deduct from man's allotted span the hours spent in fishing. – Babylonian Proverb

I feel both gratified and somewhat guilty that you are taking the time to read these 300 words. It is my hope that you will gain nothing from them.

Your days are moving faster. This is no illusion. Your perception is accurate. Mathematically, a child experiences her second birthday as 0.13% of her life; her tenth, 0.027%; her thirtieth, 0.0091%. A sunny afternoon in the park does last longer for a five year-old than a twenty-five year-old because our days become ever-smaller portions of our lives. I believe this also explains why it takes so much more strength of will for children to wait for something eagerly anticipated or to endure something unpleasant or non-stimulating. Think of it from their perspective and understand.

When I was a child and summer was just shy of eternal, nothing was a perfectly wonderful thing to do. I had few obligations, and life came to me in giant blocks of time. As an adult, there are too many tasks to squeeze into the ever-shrinking hours. I’ll huff and I’ll puff and another day has blown by.

As I write this, there is a child in the next room waiting for me as patiently as he can. He wants to spend whatever time I will spare for him doing little or nothing in particular with me. He wants to feel my presence and know he’s loved. Sure, for me this will mean adding three more tasks to some other, already tightly packed hour. But for him it will mean so much more.

The less time we have to spare, the more critical our choice of how we spend it. What’s more important than your work? Nothing.