You may have never attended an "average" church.
But you've certainly seen one.
Older buildings, often made of dark brick - with old-fashioned roofs that slope down from the center - possibly a bell tower and a steeple.
Maybe it's on the corner of that road you always drive down to get to work.
St. Stephen's. Redeemer. Hope. Resurrection. St. Thomas. St. Vincent. Beautiful Savior.
The names recall an age gone by, not just the 1950s, when neighborhoods walked together to Sunday morning worship, but also an age 2,000 years ago, when the world was changed by the witness of Stephen, the martyr, and Jesus' resurrection from death on a cross in Jerusalem brought freedom and life to a world hungry for God's love and redemption.
Their parking lots are small, if they have one - and in downtowns they often don't.
A hopeful banner hangs near the doors: "Join us for worship!" "Sunday School: 10 a.m."
If you've never been in an "average" church, or even if you have, long ago - you may wonder what it's still there for, after all. This Jesus who is coming again this Christmas, could he be housed in such a monument to the past - a place often carried on by an ever-dwindling number of retirees who lament the lack of young people to serve on Altar Guild and tidy up the pews ...
The median American church has 75 regular participants in worship on Sunday morning. More than half of American congregations worship between 7-99 people each Sunday. They are strikingly homogeneous. In 2010, just 13.7 percent of congregations reported being "multiracial." Thirty percent of congregations still didn't have a website in 2010.
Reading these statistics, it may seem easy to despair - to drive by one church, and then another - to attend worship there on Christmas Eve - and wonder why you bothered.
Let me tell you why you - why I, a pastor of one of those "average" churches - still bother ...
A week ago I attended one of the most inspiring events of my life. I was surrounded by 43 of the brightest voices for American Christianity today: authors, founders of non-profits and non-traditional churches, activists, speakers, well-known bloggers and spokespeople.
Their communities of faith were anything but average: a hip-hop church in gritty Chicago, a Mennonite community in Raleigh, N.C., serving people experiencing homelessness; a woman and her family who were living amongst Somali refugees in Minneapolis; a 26-year-old dynamic founder of an organization working to combat sexual violence in sub-Saharan Africa; an author working to bridge the divide between the gay community and American Evangelicalism -- I could write chapters about the amazing folks I met there and the work they're doing to put Jesus' Gospel to action in America today, particularly when it comes to issues of justice.
While I heard their stories, I thought back to my seemingly average existence at my seemingly average church. My exclusively white family. Our weekly trips to Costco, Target, and Trader Joe's. Preppy sweaters and Christmas Dinners at church and a mundane American existence.
I wondered if an "average" American pastor at an "average" American church in the suburbs could make Jesus' words come to life, too: "he has anointed me to bring good news to the captives and recovery of sight to the blind, to let the oppressed go free ... "
In a year of Eric Garner and Ferguson and Peshawar and Boko Haram and Janay Rice - could the "average" American church speak Jesus' words of truth -- and would it make a difference?
In the midst of our time together last week a musician from the group came up to share a song, filling in the silence of our tears and shared prayers.
He told us about an evening he had once in Bosnia, in the aftermath of a war so terrible that they were burying corpses along the side of the highway; in the patch of grass next to the on-ramp - because all the graves were full and people continued to die.
He walked the streets that day filled with despair and longing for a taste of Gospel hope, of a reminder that death would not have the final say and Christmas - a Savior - might be born again, even in Sarajevo.
As the shovels broke the frozen ground to bury another body, he came upon a choir practice - perhaps in an "average" church building, on an average street in an average Bosnian neighborhood that had been torn apart by war, hatred, and death.
On this average night in this "average" neighborhood, they were having choir practice. And somehow voices from ethnic groups and religious backgrounds who had once wanted to slaughter one another were singing together verses of hymns about Jesus.
In the shadow of newly dug graves and unremitting death, when he heard their voices, he found he could hope again.
Choir Practice.
The words sent ice cubes down my spine.
See, at my "average" church, we have choir practice, too.
In fact on this very night our little "average" choir will gather together for choir practice. They'll listen to a conductor who immigrated from the Ukraine, where she was baptized in the middle of the night as to not alert the Soviet government. Men who had been bankers and advertisers and technicians would sing with women who'd been florists and administrative assistants and non-profit executives. A Russian immigrant would play the piano and a soloist from Israel would practice her verses in English, the language she was still struggling to learn.
Choir Practice. It seemed such a mundane, "average" part of being Church in America and yet in Bosnia Choir Practice became an instrument of justice and reconciliation. Choir Practice became a powerful witness to a new way of being in the world, where Power did not hold the final stakes and instead Love did and voices that weren't all that certain on their own could come together into beautiful harmony and tell the story of a Savior again and again and again and it never was quite average because He was never quite average and whenever He gets involved, peoples' lives are changed and justice rolls down like waters and righteousness flows like an overflowing stream, even in an "average" church.
Maybe this Christmas you're feeling like that "average" American church; on the corner of an "average" street in an "average" suburb with an "average" choir. Maybe you're thinking you can't make a difference for justice - for peace - unless you leave and do something grand in a grand place where things matter and people do grand things.
Maybe you'll go and do that.
But for now, remember that God chooses God's instruments with care. God chooses Choir Practice as an instrument of justice and reconciliation. God chooses the "average" American church as a place where an alternative way of living can still be lifted up - a way of giving and not only receiving; a way of hope, and faith, and love.
If you think you're average or your church is average and because of that you don't matter - you're wrong.
Don't forget the Christmas story. Jesus was born in Bethlehem - an "average" suburb of Jerusalem.
Thursday, December 18, 2014
Thursday, December 4, 2014
Christmas 2014: Hope in the Shadow of Ferguson and Ray Rice
Last night my husband Ben and I decided it was time to put the Christmas tree up. It was Dec. 3 and in three weeks it would be Christmas Eve so it had to be now.
It was our first tree in 10 years of dating and three years of marriage, and it turns out it takes longer than you'd think to unwind each and every tiny green branch of artificial pine, wrapped and boxed thousands of miles away in China.
With our 2-year-old Jake looking on - needing "mommy help" approximately every 4 seconds, we got the tree up and then had to race upstairs before we passed Jake's threshold from "I'm tired" to "I'm so tired I refuse to ever go to sleep."
It was close, but we made it. Then while washing my face I noticed a crack in the side of the bottle, and soap streamed all over the bathroom floor. I ran downstairs to wash the rug, brushing past Ben, who was standing on a kitchen chair trying to nail our mistletoe ball to the ceiling.
When I came back up from the laundry room he looked aggrievedly towards me, frustrated by the impossibility of this silly mistletoe ball and a slippery kitchen chair, and suddenly one foot went out from under him and he crashed to the floor, twisting the same ankle he sprained on Thanksgiving, missing the final step in his parents' basement.
We were exhausted, and Christmas seemed elusive this year. A week ago we'd sat in this same living room and watched as Bob McCulloch, prosecuting attorney for St. Louis County, dispassionately blamed first the media and then the eyewitnesses, tersely denying Michael Brown's family and America at least a chance at the airing out of evidence in a public trial of police officer Darren Wilson, who shot and killed the 18-year-old Brown in Ferguson, Mo., on Aug. 9.
As I wrote at the time, the whole incident seemed to play out an old American script of white police forces given free reign in predominately black communities. I wasn't convinced that Wilson was entirely in the wrong, but given the history - and the fact that a man had died - it seemed heartbreaking to see an entire community dismissed by a few words from the powers that be.
Ferguson wasn't only about race but about power - about the ways American society conspires to protect the powerful, even in the case of injustice - and as a defeated-looking President Obama addressed the nation last week following McCulloch's statement, he looked as though he'd all but given up. He'd once written that hope was audacious, and in the wake of Ferguson, and riots, and a sense of injustice, hope seemed not only audacious but unfounded.
Three days after McCulloch read the Ferguson grand jury decision, another case was decided in favor of protecting the powerful, at the cost of injustice to the oppressed.
This time the powerful entity was not the white police department of Ferguson, Mo., but an African American NFL running back. Baltimore Ravens running back Ray Rice won his appeal to the league to be reinstated, after commissioner Roger Goodell in September announced an indefinite suspension.
You may remember Ray Rice from the video: that video, where the 206-pound football star is seen dragging his then-fiance, Janay Palmer, out of the elevator. Palmer had passed out after a violent altercation with Rice; he punched her in the face and knocked her out. Then he dragged her out.
It happened, as these things tend to do, in a media frenzy on ESPN and TMZ. Everyone was watching the video, in that sort of sick voyeuristic pleasure that we take in seeing horrible things happen but not to us.
I never did watch it, but I could see the fear in her eyes at the press conference.
At the time, the NFL was all: "We stand against domestic violence," and the Ravens removed Rice's jersey from the pro shop and the league released commercials featuring female fans.
Janay knew, though, that like Michael Brown - she was up against money, power, and influence. Her hope was not only audacious but unfounded, and so she gambled with her life and stood by his side. It was the safe bet, because just two months later - fans in fantasy leagues across the nation were adding Rice back on to their roster as he quietly won his appeal to play football again.
What about that thing that happened this fall, that video, that girl? No one really remembered or cared. In the world today power wins and hope seems worse than audacious; it seems stupid.
***
Last night, Jake safely asleep in his crib, I came back downstairs and my sprained-ankle husband had somehow managed - miraculously - to finish it all himself. Our stockings were hung on the TV stand with care, and he was waiting under the mistletoe for a Christmas kiss.
He just couldn't get the star to stick on top of the tree; it kept falling and he said this time if it fell again he was taking it off and throwing it out.
He jammed that 8-dollar Target special into that fake Chinese pine branch as hard as he could, and this time as he stepped down from the kitchen chair, he didn't twist his ankle, and the star didn't fall.
I wound up the manger scene snow globe and its tinny voice sang the first and last verses of "Away in a Manger."
Away in a manger, no crib for a bed ... And take us to heaven to live with you there.
Over and over again it played.
The lights were low and the silver 8-dollar Target star was bright. "Away in a Manger" played on and the snow globe whirled with snow and I sat there silently.
I couldn't speak. I couldn't move.
My eyes were drawn, irresistibly, to that silver styrofoam star.
It drew my heart up, swelling into my throat; and I imagined how those wise men in the East must have felt the first time they saw it. Inexplicably they followed it into unfamiliar land, without guarantee of safety or security. They followed it because ultimately they knew that hope would not disappoint them, that God does not protect the powerful but lets the oppressed go free, that God brings new life where we thought was only death.
We know that hope does not disappoint us, even in the shadow of Ray Rice's return to football, and Bob McCulloch's dismissal of justice in Ferguson - because God turns earthly power on its head. He uses the weakest entity imaginable: an impoverished newborn baby born to an unmarried, uninsured, migrant couple - part of an ethnic and religious group that was ruled by a faraway empire who held all the power.
God laughed in the face of Rome and he took the Cross and said I'll show you a thing or two about Power: it's fed by life and not by death; by hope and not by fear; by love and not by hate.
Hope was reborn in Jesus underneath the star. When I looked at that silly styrofoam star last night I remembered Christmas. It caught me. It stopped me. It reminded me that - all evidence to the contrary - what wins in the end is not earthly power but faith, hope and love.
It was our first tree in 10 years of dating and three years of marriage, and it turns out it takes longer than you'd think to unwind each and every tiny green branch of artificial pine, wrapped and boxed thousands of miles away in China.
With our 2-year-old Jake looking on - needing "mommy help" approximately every 4 seconds, we got the tree up and then had to race upstairs before we passed Jake's threshold from "I'm tired" to "I'm so tired I refuse to ever go to sleep."
It was close, but we made it. Then while washing my face I noticed a crack in the side of the bottle, and soap streamed all over the bathroom floor. I ran downstairs to wash the rug, brushing past Ben, who was standing on a kitchen chair trying to nail our mistletoe ball to the ceiling.
When I came back up from the laundry room he looked aggrievedly towards me, frustrated by the impossibility of this silly mistletoe ball and a slippery kitchen chair, and suddenly one foot went out from under him and he crashed to the floor, twisting the same ankle he sprained on Thanksgiving, missing the final step in his parents' basement.
We were exhausted, and Christmas seemed elusive this year. A week ago we'd sat in this same living room and watched as Bob McCulloch, prosecuting attorney for St. Louis County, dispassionately blamed first the media and then the eyewitnesses, tersely denying Michael Brown's family and America at least a chance at the airing out of evidence in a public trial of police officer Darren Wilson, who shot and killed the 18-year-old Brown in Ferguson, Mo., on Aug. 9.
As I wrote at the time, the whole incident seemed to play out an old American script of white police forces given free reign in predominately black communities. I wasn't convinced that Wilson was entirely in the wrong, but given the history - and the fact that a man had died - it seemed heartbreaking to see an entire community dismissed by a few words from the powers that be.
Ferguson wasn't only about race but about power - about the ways American society conspires to protect the powerful, even in the case of injustice - and as a defeated-looking President Obama addressed the nation last week following McCulloch's statement, he looked as though he'd all but given up. He'd once written that hope was audacious, and in the wake of Ferguson, and riots, and a sense of injustice, hope seemed not only audacious but unfounded.
Three days after McCulloch read the Ferguson grand jury decision, another case was decided in favor of protecting the powerful, at the cost of injustice to the oppressed.
This time the powerful entity was not the white police department of Ferguson, Mo., but an African American NFL running back. Baltimore Ravens running back Ray Rice won his appeal to the league to be reinstated, after commissioner Roger Goodell in September announced an indefinite suspension.
You may remember Ray Rice from the video: that video, where the 206-pound football star is seen dragging his then-fiance, Janay Palmer, out of the elevator. Palmer had passed out after a violent altercation with Rice; he punched her in the face and knocked her out. Then he dragged her out.
It happened, as these things tend to do, in a media frenzy on ESPN and TMZ. Everyone was watching the video, in that sort of sick voyeuristic pleasure that we take in seeing horrible things happen but not to us.
I never did watch it, but I could see the fear in her eyes at the press conference.
At the time, the NFL was all: "We stand against domestic violence," and the Ravens removed Rice's jersey from the pro shop and the league released commercials featuring female fans.
Janay knew, though, that like Michael Brown - she was up against money, power, and influence. Her hope was not only audacious but unfounded, and so she gambled with her life and stood by his side. It was the safe bet, because just two months later - fans in fantasy leagues across the nation were adding Rice back on to their roster as he quietly won his appeal to play football again.
What about that thing that happened this fall, that video, that girl? No one really remembered or cared. In the world today power wins and hope seems worse than audacious; it seems stupid.
***
Last night, Jake safely asleep in his crib, I came back downstairs and my sprained-ankle husband had somehow managed - miraculously - to finish it all himself. Our stockings were hung on the TV stand with care, and he was waiting under the mistletoe for a Christmas kiss.
He just couldn't get the star to stick on top of the tree; it kept falling and he said this time if it fell again he was taking it off and throwing it out.
He jammed that 8-dollar Target special into that fake Chinese pine branch as hard as he could, and this time as he stepped down from the kitchen chair, he didn't twist his ankle, and the star didn't fall.
I wound up the manger scene snow globe and its tinny voice sang the first and last verses of "Away in a Manger."
Away in a manger, no crib for a bed ... And take us to heaven to live with you there.
Over and over again it played.
The lights were low and the silver 8-dollar Target star was bright. "Away in a Manger" played on and the snow globe whirled with snow and I sat there silently.
I couldn't speak. I couldn't move.
My eyes were drawn, irresistibly, to that silver styrofoam star.
It drew my heart up, swelling into my throat; and I imagined how those wise men in the East must have felt the first time they saw it. Inexplicably they followed it into unfamiliar land, without guarantee of safety or security. They followed it because ultimately they knew that hope would not disappoint them, that God does not protect the powerful but lets the oppressed go free, that God brings new life where we thought was only death.
We know that hope does not disappoint us, even in the shadow of Ray Rice's return to football, and Bob McCulloch's dismissal of justice in Ferguson - because God turns earthly power on its head. He uses the weakest entity imaginable: an impoverished newborn baby born to an unmarried, uninsured, migrant couple - part of an ethnic and religious group that was ruled by a faraway empire who held all the power.
God laughed in the face of Rome and he took the Cross and said I'll show you a thing or two about Power: it's fed by life and not by death; by hope and not by fear; by love and not by hate.
Hope was reborn in Jesus underneath the star. When I looked at that silly styrofoam star last night I remembered Christmas. It caught me. It stopped me. It reminded me that - all evidence to the contrary - what wins in the end is not earthly power but faith, hope and love.
Wednesday, November 19, 2014
What Families Want - and how the Church can Help
Churches have spent millions attempting to cater to the needs of the young families in their communities.
Come here! Bring your kids! We have a replica-sized Noah's Ark with real, live animals - a coffee shop that sells Pumpkin Spice lattes - cupholders in the chairs and state-of-the-art acoustics.
From a millennial mom: this stuff is great. We like it, especially the lattes. But what we really want - what we really need - might not cost a thing.
***
When I started about a year ago as Pastor of a small Lutheran church in the Chicago suburbs, one of my first priorities was to re-start the moms group that had been meeting at the church.
At one time it had served almost as a preschool drop-off, later it had been held down by one more mom and her friends, and as their children grew up; no one came to fill the void.
I wanted to make it more than a drop-off, though - I wanted it to be Christian with a Capital C. I made some tongue-in-cheek flyers with a black and white photo of a crying baby holding a Bible, and I called it Babies and Bibles.
Then, on a few Thursday mornings, I brought Jake to the church. A few curious moms emailed and showed up, but it never really took off.
Meanwhile, I missed the close-knit moms group I had in California, where Jake was born.
I was in the process of giving it all up for awhile, when one day as I drove to church God spoke to me:
"Why are you holding this at the church?" God asked. "It should be at your house."
As usual, God made a lot of sense. Our house had more places to sit right among toys for the kids. It had space for nursing and a kitchen where we could share goodies. We didn't have to work around the church schedule, and it made sense to open the group to my neighborhood - which just happened to be full of babies.
I thought back to my moms group in California. We'd all met at a weekly parenting class organized by the hospital, and now that the babies were 6 months old, we had to start paying each week. My friend, Alyssa, told her husband this - and he just shook his head.
"Why are you guys paying to get together? Just hang out at each other's houses."
The suggestion was so simple and yet it turned our group from a casual, occasional bunch of overprotective mothers into an intimately connected group of friends. At root - what we most needed as moms didn't cost a thing. We didn't need another class about baby dentistry or reading to your 2-week-old. What we most needed was each other, for no reason other than we lived in the same community and had children the same age.
We didn't have a whole lot in common. I was the outlier from the Midwest, which everyone else considered flyover country. Some women spoke Japanese in their homes, others balanced tech careers or real-estate or husbands who worked in the Middle East. We probably never would have otherwise met, yet we changed each other for the better.
So it was clear. Bibles and Babies would be held at my house. I even changed the name, to reflect the street that wrapped around our neighborhood, and to welcome moms of other faiths to the group. As a Pastor who loves Jesus deeply, this was counter-intuitive. Everything we do has to be about Jesus, right?
But sometimes being about Jesus starts with His grace rather than His name.
Last week, we had our second moms group at my house. We haven't gotten out the Bible yet, but the Word was present nonetheless. See Jesus talked a lot about the Kingdom of God, about how all were included and all the normal rules about society and who eats with who and who is first and who is last get reversed in this special community of Jesus Christ. And every once in awhile; it usually doesn't cost a thing - we get to experience this community.
I experienced it last week. In the warmth of my next-door neighbors who brought their babies of all ages; in the Latino woman from across the street who lives in military housing and whose husband had gratefully returned from deployment unscathed.
In the grandmother who came from a nearby suburb and brought Hungarian nuts for all of us to try.
In the woman from the apartments across town, who came even though she got lost and had just a half hour to spend before children's doctor appointments.
In the clinician who came from the million-dollar neighborhood just a few blocks south.
In the Russian woman who shared an almond kringle with the group, and whose daughter wore perfectly coordinated fur boots.
We may never have met if we didn't live near each other and have children the same age. And we found out that some of the most athletic moms had babies who were late to walk. And that it's hard for all of us to entirely eliminate TV. And that balancing career and work and spouse and babies is worth more than anything in the world but it also makes us tired, and we were so glad we knew other moms for support.
As a Pastor, looking out over too many empty pews on too many Sunday mornings, I'd often wondered: what do they want? The families who I meet at swimming lessons and brush elbows against during pick-up at daycare? What can we do as a church?
It's no mystery. Families today want what families - and human beings - have always wanted. We long for deep, real, genuine, simple community.
Today through Facebook and Google and Wikipedia and DVR -- we have access to nearly limitless knowledge and information. If we want to converse with our interest group, we can fill out online comments or join an online community or Facebook group.
We can Skype our relatives and friends across the world, and we can watch documentaries at the tip of our fingers, about Genesis and Creation and Quantum Physics.
Ultimately, I think what families - and human beings - want today is not more learning, more groups, more programs, more how-to's -- what they want, what I want, is real community in our real communities.
The Christian church started in believers' homes in Greece, in Rome, in Turkey. People of all backgrounds gathered together and shared a meal. It was radical then and it's radical now.
So what can the church do? We can get out of our venerated, beautiful buildings and into one another's homes. Invite people over and just spend time together. There will be opportunities for Bible Study and prayer, but first community must form again.
Come here! Bring your kids! We have a replica-sized Noah's Ark with real, live animals - a coffee shop that sells Pumpkin Spice lattes - cupholders in the chairs and state-of-the-art acoustics.
From a millennial mom: this stuff is great. We like it, especially the lattes. But what we really want - what we really need - might not cost a thing.
***
When I started about a year ago as Pastor of a small Lutheran church in the Chicago suburbs, one of my first priorities was to re-start the moms group that had been meeting at the church.
At one time it had served almost as a preschool drop-off, later it had been held down by one more mom and her friends, and as their children grew up; no one came to fill the void.
I wanted to make it more than a drop-off, though - I wanted it to be Christian with a Capital C. I made some tongue-in-cheek flyers with a black and white photo of a crying baby holding a Bible, and I called it Babies and Bibles.
Then, on a few Thursday mornings, I brought Jake to the church. A few curious moms emailed and showed up, but it never really took off.
Meanwhile, I missed the close-knit moms group I had in California, where Jake was born.
I was in the process of giving it all up for awhile, when one day as I drove to church God spoke to me:
"Why are you holding this at the church?" God asked. "It should be at your house."
As usual, God made a lot of sense. Our house had more places to sit right among toys for the kids. It had space for nursing and a kitchen where we could share goodies. We didn't have to work around the church schedule, and it made sense to open the group to my neighborhood - which just happened to be full of babies.
I thought back to my moms group in California. We'd all met at a weekly parenting class organized by the hospital, and now that the babies were 6 months old, we had to start paying each week. My friend, Alyssa, told her husband this - and he just shook his head.
"Why are you guys paying to get together? Just hang out at each other's houses."
The suggestion was so simple and yet it turned our group from a casual, occasional bunch of overprotective mothers into an intimately connected group of friends. At root - what we most needed as moms didn't cost a thing. We didn't need another class about baby dentistry or reading to your 2-week-old. What we most needed was each other, for no reason other than we lived in the same community and had children the same age.
We didn't have a whole lot in common. I was the outlier from the Midwest, which everyone else considered flyover country. Some women spoke Japanese in their homes, others balanced tech careers or real-estate or husbands who worked in the Middle East. We probably never would have otherwise met, yet we changed each other for the better.
So it was clear. Bibles and Babies would be held at my house. I even changed the name, to reflect the street that wrapped around our neighborhood, and to welcome moms of other faiths to the group. As a Pastor who loves Jesus deeply, this was counter-intuitive. Everything we do has to be about Jesus, right?
But sometimes being about Jesus starts with His grace rather than His name.
Last week, we had our second moms group at my house. We haven't gotten out the Bible yet, but the Word was present nonetheless. See Jesus talked a lot about the Kingdom of God, about how all were included and all the normal rules about society and who eats with who and who is first and who is last get reversed in this special community of Jesus Christ. And every once in awhile; it usually doesn't cost a thing - we get to experience this community.
I experienced it last week. In the warmth of my next-door neighbors who brought their babies of all ages; in the Latino woman from across the street who lives in military housing and whose husband had gratefully returned from deployment unscathed.
In the grandmother who came from a nearby suburb and brought Hungarian nuts for all of us to try.
In the woman from the apartments across town, who came even though she got lost and had just a half hour to spend before children's doctor appointments.
In the clinician who came from the million-dollar neighborhood just a few blocks south.
In the Russian woman who shared an almond kringle with the group, and whose daughter wore perfectly coordinated fur boots.
We may never have met if we didn't live near each other and have children the same age. And we found out that some of the most athletic moms had babies who were late to walk. And that it's hard for all of us to entirely eliminate TV. And that balancing career and work and spouse and babies is worth more than anything in the world but it also makes us tired, and we were so glad we knew other moms for support.
As a Pastor, looking out over too many empty pews on too many Sunday mornings, I'd often wondered: what do they want? The families who I meet at swimming lessons and brush elbows against during pick-up at daycare? What can we do as a church?
It's no mystery. Families today want what families - and human beings - have always wanted. We long for deep, real, genuine, simple community.
Today through Facebook and Google and Wikipedia and DVR -- we have access to nearly limitless knowledge and information. If we want to converse with our interest group, we can fill out online comments or join an online community or Facebook group.
We can Skype our relatives and friends across the world, and we can watch documentaries at the tip of our fingers, about Genesis and Creation and Quantum Physics.
Ultimately, I think what families - and human beings - want today is not more learning, more groups, more programs, more how-to's -- what they want, what I want, is real community in our real communities.
The Christian church started in believers' homes in Greece, in Rome, in Turkey. People of all backgrounds gathered together and shared a meal. It was radical then and it's radical now.
So what can the church do? We can get out of our venerated, beautiful buildings and into one another's homes. Invite people over and just spend time together. There will be opportunities for Bible Study and prayer, but first community must form again.
Thursday, November 6, 2014
The 2014 Mid-Term Election: What does Jesus say?
I'll never forget the time I was handed a Voting Guide when I walked into church on Sunday morning.
It was 2008 and I was a 23-year-old single woman, attending a large Southern Baptist congregation in Florida for the very first time.
The high school football coach I'd just written a profile on for the front page of the sports section had recommended I attend his church. He was, I'd ascertained, a good man and a genuine Christian. Plus, he and all the other football coaches from the area attended church here. There was the potential of additional scoops, plus an opportunity to make friends - or more - with some of the younger assistant coaches.
It was an impressive campus, all palm trees and white arches. We sang some familiar music and to be honest I don't even remember the sermon.
I remember the seemingly harmless Voters Guide. It was 2008. On the second page, listed in alphabetical order, was the man who would become our nation's first black president.
BARRACK OBAMA
It could've been a simple typo, an auto-correct. But as we were all told to bow our heads and pray for awhile to end abortion, I figured out this little Voters Guide might have a slight political agenda. And perhaps that little agenda might have contributed to them not bothering to spell the Democratic candidate's name correctly.
Much as I would have loved going to the church of the football coaches, I couldn't go back after that.
Lest you think this is just conservative Christianity's problem - I've seen it on the liberal end as well. Pastors and leaders unable to even conceive of a person who follows Jesus casting a vote for the Republicans.
My Facebook news feed this Wednesday following the Republican wave mid-term election was filled with laments and lack of trust. There were a few cheers mixed in there, but as a former journalism student and a female pastor who has lived in Illinois and California, you can imagine I might see a few more liberal posts.
Rampant among the posts was the utter disbelief that any person elected as a Republican would have any merit to govern.
Meanwhile, as I worked out at the gym this afternoon, you couldn't help but see the smug smiles on the faces of the FOX News hosts.
***
Where is Jesus in all of this? Where is God during election week?
Sometimes when I read the vitriol from either side, I find myself empathizing with the 78 percent of my age group who didn't bother to vote on Tuesday. I think many of us just end up feeling disgusted with it all.
Somewhere along the line - maybe it was the cable news networks and political blogs and PACS and ... who knows - it seems we as a country reached the conclusion that the two major political parties have to be diametrically opposed - that to like one is to hate the other. That to support one is to have a sense of utter distrust for the other.
That just doesn't make sense.
There will, as we've seen, be scandal and lying and utter mismanagement and fraud from both political parties. Sometimes one will seem to be more transparent than the other, and sometimes one will seem mired in stupidity - but ultimately the pendulum will always swing back the other way.
Since I got the right to vote in 2003, I've seen dramatic swings in elections and advantages. In 2004: Advantage: Republicans. 2006: Edge: Democrats. 2008: Democratic. 2010: Republican. 2012: Democratic. 2014: Republican.
I think behind these dramatically changing political tides is the general disgust or frustration that most of us feel with our politics. I can empathize. In my moves from solidly red districts in Florida and Kansas to swing state Nevada and blue California to blue of an altogether different kind in Illinois -- I've felt my own internal pendulum swing. Like many young people I was caught up in the excitement and dream of President Obama in 2008.
Like many young people I've found myself disillusioned in the past six years.
We drift from one party to the other. Yes, this party is the Golden One - they will save us this time.
***
After my sophomore year of college I had the privilege of serving a congressional internship for a moderate Republican from Minnesota. He had always won huge margins and was known for working across the aisle. His staff was dedicated and honorable. I worried that summer I'd lose my faith in politics but instead I gained respect for what it meant to be an elected official - all the while keeping under wraps my moderately Democratic leanings. I think I whispered it once to a staffer, who didn't seem to mind.
Such an amicable environment and respect across the aisle seems almost unimaginable in many places today. Districts have been drawn and redrawn so many times that many are barely even contestable by the minority party. Many Americans live in ideological ghettos: our Twitter feeds and Facebook news feeds are dominated by those who think like us. Our towns are increasingly dominated by one party or the other. When you don't know anyone who is a Democrat - or anyone who is a Republican - it's easy to demonize entire groups of people.
***
As a Pastor, I've seen the office of ministry just outright abused time and time again for the purpose of politics -- not just in the "Barrack" Obama gaffe at that Baptist congregation in Florida.
Whether it's subtle or screaming, the dismissal of an entire group of people from our churches is inexcusable: whether we're dismissing Republicans or Democrats.
We walk a fine line, of course, because sometimes Jesus does call us to political action: to advocate for the oppressed - to loosen the bonds of the captives - to allow all people dignity, life and freedom.
Jesus' dictate of loving your neighbor offers a sharp critique to an extreme Libertarian position, because it requires us to consider other folks besides ourselves when making political decisions.
Jesus' insistence on His way critiques an extreme liberal social school of thought, which assumes that through human goodness and strong government we might achieve heaven on earth.
His death on the Cross flies in the face of any political policy that claims to realize what only God can promise.
Jesus stands over the polls, I believe, and he watches us vote and he bids us to remember the words of the prophet Micah: "What does the Lord require of you? But to do justice. And to love kindness, and to walk humbly with your God."
I pray our newly elected officials: Republicans and Democrats, consider abiding by Jesus' words. Do Justice in your office. Love kindness, even across the aisle and even love groups who don't support you.
Walk humbly. Admit that sometimes the other side might have a better idea, and that through collaboration the best idea might be allowed to flourish.
***
I don't think Jesus is just scolding or admonishing us, though, when he watches Americans vote - as about 83 million of us decided to do on Tuesday.
I think there's still a part of him that's proud - that's glad.
In the midst of FOX News and MSNBC and preening pundits, we often forget that a peaceful transfer of power, as happens nearly every two years in Congress, is impossible in many countries across the world.
We forget that in simply being able to go to the polls and have our votes counted, we've already experienced something amazing.
And despite our bickering and imperfections and allegations - politics has done some good things in America.
On Tuesday in a Chicago suburb I stood in line to vote in front of an African-American man.
As we waited for the folks in front of us to figure out a mishap in the new electronic voting machines, we shared a smile about choosing the wrong time to come to vote.
When I walked out of the polling place five minutes later, a thought struck me.
One hundred fifty years ago, neither one of us would have been able to vote at all. By our mere presence in the polling place, we were doing something remarkable - we had chosen the right time to vote after all. And returning to the polls this year, despite all the corruption and all the lies and all the disappointments - our presence there reminded me that Jesus' hope is burning bright in America after all in 2014.
It was 2008 and I was a 23-year-old single woman, attending a large Southern Baptist congregation in Florida for the very first time.
The high school football coach I'd just written a profile on for the front page of the sports section had recommended I attend his church. He was, I'd ascertained, a good man and a genuine Christian. Plus, he and all the other football coaches from the area attended church here. There was the potential of additional scoops, plus an opportunity to make friends - or more - with some of the younger assistant coaches.
It was an impressive campus, all palm trees and white arches. We sang some familiar music and to be honest I don't even remember the sermon.
I remember the seemingly harmless Voters Guide. It was 2008. On the second page, listed in alphabetical order, was the man who would become our nation's first black president.
BARRACK OBAMA
It could've been a simple typo, an auto-correct. But as we were all told to bow our heads and pray for awhile to end abortion, I figured out this little Voters Guide might have a slight political agenda. And perhaps that little agenda might have contributed to them not bothering to spell the Democratic candidate's name correctly.
Much as I would have loved going to the church of the football coaches, I couldn't go back after that.
Lest you think this is just conservative Christianity's problem - I've seen it on the liberal end as well. Pastors and leaders unable to even conceive of a person who follows Jesus casting a vote for the Republicans.
My Facebook news feed this Wednesday following the Republican wave mid-term election was filled with laments and lack of trust. There were a few cheers mixed in there, but as a former journalism student and a female pastor who has lived in Illinois and California, you can imagine I might see a few more liberal posts.
Rampant among the posts was the utter disbelief that any person elected as a Republican would have any merit to govern.
Meanwhile, as I worked out at the gym this afternoon, you couldn't help but see the smug smiles on the faces of the FOX News hosts.
***
Where is Jesus in all of this? Where is God during election week?
Sometimes when I read the vitriol from either side, I find myself empathizing with the 78 percent of my age group who didn't bother to vote on Tuesday. I think many of us just end up feeling disgusted with it all.
Somewhere along the line - maybe it was the cable news networks and political blogs and PACS and ... who knows - it seems we as a country reached the conclusion that the two major political parties have to be diametrically opposed - that to like one is to hate the other. That to support one is to have a sense of utter distrust for the other.
That just doesn't make sense.
There will, as we've seen, be scandal and lying and utter mismanagement and fraud from both political parties. Sometimes one will seem to be more transparent than the other, and sometimes one will seem mired in stupidity - but ultimately the pendulum will always swing back the other way.
Since I got the right to vote in 2003, I've seen dramatic swings in elections and advantages. In 2004: Advantage: Republicans. 2006: Edge: Democrats. 2008: Democratic. 2010: Republican. 2012: Democratic. 2014: Republican.
I think behind these dramatically changing political tides is the general disgust or frustration that most of us feel with our politics. I can empathize. In my moves from solidly red districts in Florida and Kansas to swing state Nevada and blue California to blue of an altogether different kind in Illinois -- I've felt my own internal pendulum swing. Like many young people I was caught up in the excitement and dream of President Obama in 2008.
Like many young people I've found myself disillusioned in the past six years.
We drift from one party to the other. Yes, this party is the Golden One - they will save us this time.
***
After my sophomore year of college I had the privilege of serving a congressional internship for a moderate Republican from Minnesota. He had always won huge margins and was known for working across the aisle. His staff was dedicated and honorable. I worried that summer I'd lose my faith in politics but instead I gained respect for what it meant to be an elected official - all the while keeping under wraps my moderately Democratic leanings. I think I whispered it once to a staffer, who didn't seem to mind.
Such an amicable environment and respect across the aisle seems almost unimaginable in many places today. Districts have been drawn and redrawn so many times that many are barely even contestable by the minority party. Many Americans live in ideological ghettos: our Twitter feeds and Facebook news feeds are dominated by those who think like us. Our towns are increasingly dominated by one party or the other. When you don't know anyone who is a Democrat - or anyone who is a Republican - it's easy to demonize entire groups of people.
***
As a Pastor, I've seen the office of ministry just outright abused time and time again for the purpose of politics -- not just in the "Barrack" Obama gaffe at that Baptist congregation in Florida.
Whether it's subtle or screaming, the dismissal of an entire group of people from our churches is inexcusable: whether we're dismissing Republicans or Democrats.
We walk a fine line, of course, because sometimes Jesus does call us to political action: to advocate for the oppressed - to loosen the bonds of the captives - to allow all people dignity, life and freedom.
Jesus' dictate of loving your neighbor offers a sharp critique to an extreme Libertarian position, because it requires us to consider other folks besides ourselves when making political decisions.
Jesus' insistence on His way critiques an extreme liberal social school of thought, which assumes that through human goodness and strong government we might achieve heaven on earth.
His death on the Cross flies in the face of any political policy that claims to realize what only God can promise.
Jesus stands over the polls, I believe, and he watches us vote and he bids us to remember the words of the prophet Micah: "What does the Lord require of you? But to do justice. And to love kindness, and to walk humbly with your God."
I pray our newly elected officials: Republicans and Democrats, consider abiding by Jesus' words. Do Justice in your office. Love kindness, even across the aisle and even love groups who don't support you.
Walk humbly. Admit that sometimes the other side might have a better idea, and that through collaboration the best idea might be allowed to flourish.
***
I don't think Jesus is just scolding or admonishing us, though, when he watches Americans vote - as about 83 million of us decided to do on Tuesday.
I think there's still a part of him that's proud - that's glad.
In the midst of FOX News and MSNBC and preening pundits, we often forget that a peaceful transfer of power, as happens nearly every two years in Congress, is impossible in many countries across the world.
We forget that in simply being able to go to the polls and have our votes counted, we've already experienced something amazing.
And despite our bickering and imperfections and allegations - politics has done some good things in America.
On Tuesday in a Chicago suburb I stood in line to vote in front of an African-American man.
As we waited for the folks in front of us to figure out a mishap in the new electronic voting machines, we shared a smile about choosing the wrong time to come to vote.
When I walked out of the polling place five minutes later, a thought struck me.
One hundred fifty years ago, neither one of us would have been able to vote at all. By our mere presence in the polling place, we were doing something remarkable - we had chosen the right time to vote after all. And returning to the polls this year, despite all the corruption and all the lies and all the disappointments - our presence there reminded me that Jesus' hope is burning bright in America after all in 2014.
Thursday, October 30, 2014
Why "All are Welcome" is Hurting the Church
I see it on nearly every church sign, every church mailing; on the inside fold of every bulletin:
All Are Welcome!
Worship at 9 a.m. Sunday, All Are Welcome!
Bible Study at 7 p.m. Wednesday, All Are Welcome!
Potluck Dinner at 5 p.m. Saturday, All Are Welcome!
Vacation Bible School 9 a.m. Monday - Friday, All Are Welcome!
As the Pastor of a Lutheran congregation outside Chicago, I find myself tagging it on - almost thoughtlessly - to our invitation cards and mailings as well.
It's almost an auto-signature for churches today: All Are Welcome!
And the impulse is a good one. For centuries the church has been exclusive rather than inclusive, despite Jesus' desire to the contrary. We have excluded women, black folks, immigrants, gays and lesbians, people with special needs, senior citizens, single folks, 20-somethings -- at times the church has been downright discriminatory.
I remember all-too-well the heartbreaking tale told to me by a friend of mine. A devoted Christian and professional musician, my friend was desperate to find a church where he could not only worship but perhaps join the choir and get involved with music ministry. He brought his friend, another professional musician, to check out area churches.
They found one they liked and were surprised when the minister asked them into his office. Ascertaining that they were both, indeed, gay - the minister said: "Well, you can attend. But just sit in the back row."
Thanks be to God - my friend didn't give up his search nor lose his faith. He has since found an affirming congregation and leads incredible music there.
But too many of us have these stories. The congregation that saw single folks as irrelevant. The congregation that scorned Spanish-speaking immigrants. The place that found people with special needs disruptive.
Fortunately, churches became aware of these problems and the way they contradicted the primary, freeing message of the Gospel: that all may be one in Christ Jesus, and that there is no longer Gentile or Jew, man or woman, black or white, slave or free, gay or straight, rich or poor ... (from Galatians 3:28).
As a needed corrective to become inclusive rather than exclusive, churches have hit upon a simple formula. It goes something like this: "Let's add ALL ARE WELCOME to everything we publish. Let's make WELCOME the center of what we do."
The plan worked. Now, in churches across America - that three-word slogan reigns supreme. More than Praise the Lord or He is Risen - All Are Welcome is No. 1 in "church-speak" today.
Here's what I think, though. The plan didn't work. Saying: All Are Welcome may reflect a genuine, well-meaning desire to reflect inclusivity. But in reality, this slogan seems to have lost its meaning. Here's why I've found it's hurting the church.
1) Too often, All aren't Welcome after all
If a church says: All are Welcome - it has to practice what it preaches. Too often, we don't. We say All Are Welcome, but we don't at all plan for anyone new actually coming. Our bulletins say: All Are Welcome, but we don't introduce ourselves to new folks. We stare at them uncomfortably when they sit in "our pew." We don't explain how to do communion or what it means to Pass the Peace. We stare at those who are different than us or simply new. We create hoops for outsiders to jump through without even realizing what we're doing: all stand at this time; everyone magically know where to find coffee after service; avoid passing the plate to the new person.
When we say All Are Welcome - but then act as if only insiders are really welcome, we're perpetuating the church's unfortunate reputation for hypocrisy.
2) All Are Welcome: Including Bullies
There is one sense in which the church is called to be exclusive rather than inclusive. Paul writes extensively about the importance of maintaining the Body of Christ, which refers to the Christian community - or the church - here on earth.
The writer of Ephesians calls early Christians to transformed lives: "you must no longer live as the Gentiles live ... they have lost all sensitivity and abandoned themselves to licentiousness, greedy to practice every kind of impurity ... you were taught to put away your former way of life, your old self ... to clothe yourselves with the new self, created according to the likeness of God in true righteousness and holiness."
We're called to be transformed. To live in community, in humility, in kindness - and that our churches might reflect those same attributes of changed lives, which are only possible with the promise of life after death.
Churches then have a prerogative to embrace a unique community - one that is shaped by the Gospel message of Jesus and not the fear and competitiveness which is shaped by the ethic of the world.
Too often - All Are Welcome has meant that churches have scorned their Jesus-given imperative to maintain the body and to reprimand and lead to repentance all individuals in the community, including those who have let gossip and bitterness divide the body of Christ and hurt those in its midst.
All Are Welcome in some church bodies has meant that pedophile and abusive priests and pastors have been allowed to shuttle from one congregation to another, without being reprimanded and called to task for their actions against the Gospel and against the Body of Christ.
All Are Welcome in some churches has meant that for decades a small cadre of bullies has been allowed to dictate the tone and timbre of the congregation. These bullies will create a closed society of insiders vs outsiders, and they will run out any Pastor or church leader who attempts to refocus and reopen the church to the freedom of the Gospel. All Are Welcome has meant instead of following God's leadership through prayer and discernment, oligarchies have formed around individual church leaders, who prefer tight holds on power to openness and growth.
Because All Are Welcome, Pastors and lay leaders are afraid to confront these church bullies or to reprimand them for the damage they've done to the church body. But in this case, welcoming these bullies who would hold the church hostage means that really no outsiders are actually welcome at all.
Maintaining an inclusive church means having a clear understanding of standards for the community. Of course forgiveness and mercy are paramount within the body of Christ. However, forgiveness and new life hinge on real repentance and desire for change.
3) All Are Welcome: And No One's Needs are Met
In modern churches' desire to be inclusive to all, many have become poor imitations of Wal-Mart or Target: attempting to appeal to all people at the lowest common denominator.
The truth is though - no church is grand enough to be the right church for every single person. Churches are encouraged to seek their particular place in the broader body, or community, of Christ. The body of Christ does not need 400 million self-sustaining organs but instead needs 400 million uniquely placed organs that meet particular needs: feet, hands, and eyes are all needed - though none functions on its own, the body needs them all. Churches, like Christians, are encouraged to discern their spiritual gifts and how these gifts might serve the needs of the community.
A church located near a large population of Spanish-speakers might be well-served by hosting a service in Spanish, with music and traditions appropriate to the surrounding community, and led by those from the community.
A church located in an area with a high percentage of German and Scandinavian retirees might be well-served by holding a traditional and liturgical Lutheran service, with hymns and an organ.
A church located near a large population of young professionals and working families might be well-served by creating a preschool or day-care center.
But the church in the neighborhood with lots of retirees probably isn't best-served by creating a preschool.
Nor is the church in the neighborhood with young professionals best-served by holding lots of activities during the day, or lots of activities without available child care.
Churches - like individuals - are called to know themselves: their strengths and weaknesses, and discern a clear and specific mission to where Jesus is calling them to act and witness in their individual neighborhoods. Yes, compromise to serve a variety of populations will be needed, but too often All Are Welcome has caused churches to become unsuccessful generalists, attempting to please everyone and pleasing no one in the process.
Churches have become afraid of bold action or commitment based on particular mission to one group of people. And there is a sense in many churches that the only group they should seek out for membership is young families - neglecting in the process college students, single adults, retirees, widows and widowers, etc. Many times churches actually do have in mind a particular subset of people with whom they'd like repopulate their congregation. Many times this particular subset looks an awful lot like the current membership of the church, albeit 20-30 years ago. Often, though, neighborhoods and needs have changed. And a vital ministry: perhaps to immigrant workers, to retired folks, to single adults - is forgotten in light of chasing the ever-elusive "young families."
To have a particular mission and goal does not mean neglecting All Aren't Welcome, but it does mean doing the hard work of discernment, prayer, fasting, spiritual discipline -- making tough choices -- to attempt to see the path where God is leading the Church.
Saying All Are Welcome is easy. What's difficult is
1) really being inclusive and making churches friendly and navigable by all sorts of people, confronting hidden biases and prejudices
2) Confronting bullies in churches and calling brothers and sisters out in repentance, so that power is put back into the hands of God and called and elected leaders in the church
3) Discerning God's particular mission for your community and developing a specific plan to carry out that mission, even if it means neglecting the needs of other groups
In the church - and at the wedding feast of God's coming kingdom - all really are welcome. But for too long churches have paid lip service to saying: All Are Welcome without doing the hard work of inclusivity, accountability and discernment. For the American church to really begin to resemble that welcoming wedding feast that Jesus tells about in Matthew 22, we've got some hard work to do. "For many are called, but few are chosen." (Matthew 22:14) And of course, many we invite will never come.
All Are Welcome!
Worship at 9 a.m. Sunday, All Are Welcome!
Bible Study at 7 p.m. Wednesday, All Are Welcome!
Potluck Dinner at 5 p.m. Saturday, All Are Welcome!
Vacation Bible School 9 a.m. Monday - Friday, All Are Welcome!
As the Pastor of a Lutheran congregation outside Chicago, I find myself tagging it on - almost thoughtlessly - to our invitation cards and mailings as well.
It's almost an auto-signature for churches today: All Are Welcome!
And the impulse is a good one. For centuries the church has been exclusive rather than inclusive, despite Jesus' desire to the contrary. We have excluded women, black folks, immigrants, gays and lesbians, people with special needs, senior citizens, single folks, 20-somethings -- at times the church has been downright discriminatory.
I remember all-too-well the heartbreaking tale told to me by a friend of mine. A devoted Christian and professional musician, my friend was desperate to find a church where he could not only worship but perhaps join the choir and get involved with music ministry. He brought his friend, another professional musician, to check out area churches.
They found one they liked and were surprised when the minister asked them into his office. Ascertaining that they were both, indeed, gay - the minister said: "Well, you can attend. But just sit in the back row."
Thanks be to God - my friend didn't give up his search nor lose his faith. He has since found an affirming congregation and leads incredible music there.
But too many of us have these stories. The congregation that saw single folks as irrelevant. The congregation that scorned Spanish-speaking immigrants. The place that found people with special needs disruptive.
Fortunately, churches became aware of these problems and the way they contradicted the primary, freeing message of the Gospel: that all may be one in Christ Jesus, and that there is no longer Gentile or Jew, man or woman, black or white, slave or free, gay or straight, rich or poor ... (from Galatians 3:28).
As a needed corrective to become inclusive rather than exclusive, churches have hit upon a simple formula. It goes something like this: "Let's add ALL ARE WELCOME to everything we publish. Let's make WELCOME the center of what we do."
The plan worked. Now, in churches across America - that three-word slogan reigns supreme. More than Praise the Lord or He is Risen - All Are Welcome is No. 1 in "church-speak" today.
Here's what I think, though. The plan didn't work. Saying: All Are Welcome may reflect a genuine, well-meaning desire to reflect inclusivity. But in reality, this slogan seems to have lost its meaning. Here's why I've found it's hurting the church.
1) Too often, All aren't Welcome after all
If a church says: All are Welcome - it has to practice what it preaches. Too often, we don't. We say All Are Welcome, but we don't at all plan for anyone new actually coming. Our bulletins say: All Are Welcome, but we don't introduce ourselves to new folks. We stare at them uncomfortably when they sit in "our pew." We don't explain how to do communion or what it means to Pass the Peace. We stare at those who are different than us or simply new. We create hoops for outsiders to jump through without even realizing what we're doing: all stand at this time; everyone magically know where to find coffee after service; avoid passing the plate to the new person.
When we say All Are Welcome - but then act as if only insiders are really welcome, we're perpetuating the church's unfortunate reputation for hypocrisy.
2) All Are Welcome: Including Bullies
There is one sense in which the church is called to be exclusive rather than inclusive. Paul writes extensively about the importance of maintaining the Body of Christ, which refers to the Christian community - or the church - here on earth.
The writer of Ephesians calls early Christians to transformed lives: "you must no longer live as the Gentiles live ... they have lost all sensitivity and abandoned themselves to licentiousness, greedy to practice every kind of impurity ... you were taught to put away your former way of life, your old self ... to clothe yourselves with the new self, created according to the likeness of God in true righteousness and holiness."
We're called to be transformed. To live in community, in humility, in kindness - and that our churches might reflect those same attributes of changed lives, which are only possible with the promise of life after death.
Churches then have a prerogative to embrace a unique community - one that is shaped by the Gospel message of Jesus and not the fear and competitiveness which is shaped by the ethic of the world.
Too often - All Are Welcome has meant that churches have scorned their Jesus-given imperative to maintain the body and to reprimand and lead to repentance all individuals in the community, including those who have let gossip and bitterness divide the body of Christ and hurt those in its midst.
All Are Welcome in some church bodies has meant that pedophile and abusive priests and pastors have been allowed to shuttle from one congregation to another, without being reprimanded and called to task for their actions against the Gospel and against the Body of Christ.
All Are Welcome in some churches has meant that for decades a small cadre of bullies has been allowed to dictate the tone and timbre of the congregation. These bullies will create a closed society of insiders vs outsiders, and they will run out any Pastor or church leader who attempts to refocus and reopen the church to the freedom of the Gospel. All Are Welcome has meant instead of following God's leadership through prayer and discernment, oligarchies have formed around individual church leaders, who prefer tight holds on power to openness and growth.
Because All Are Welcome, Pastors and lay leaders are afraid to confront these church bullies or to reprimand them for the damage they've done to the church body. But in this case, welcoming these bullies who would hold the church hostage means that really no outsiders are actually welcome at all.
Maintaining an inclusive church means having a clear understanding of standards for the community. Of course forgiveness and mercy are paramount within the body of Christ. However, forgiveness and new life hinge on real repentance and desire for change.
3) All Are Welcome: And No One's Needs are Met
In modern churches' desire to be inclusive to all, many have become poor imitations of Wal-Mart or Target: attempting to appeal to all people at the lowest common denominator.
The truth is though - no church is grand enough to be the right church for every single person. Churches are encouraged to seek their particular place in the broader body, or community, of Christ. The body of Christ does not need 400 million self-sustaining organs but instead needs 400 million uniquely placed organs that meet particular needs: feet, hands, and eyes are all needed - though none functions on its own, the body needs them all. Churches, like Christians, are encouraged to discern their spiritual gifts and how these gifts might serve the needs of the community.
A church located near a large population of Spanish-speakers might be well-served by hosting a service in Spanish, with music and traditions appropriate to the surrounding community, and led by those from the community.
A church located in an area with a high percentage of German and Scandinavian retirees might be well-served by holding a traditional and liturgical Lutheran service, with hymns and an organ.
A church located near a large population of young professionals and working families might be well-served by creating a preschool or day-care center.
But the church in the neighborhood with lots of retirees probably isn't best-served by creating a preschool.
Nor is the church in the neighborhood with young professionals best-served by holding lots of activities during the day, or lots of activities without available child care.
Churches - like individuals - are called to know themselves: their strengths and weaknesses, and discern a clear and specific mission to where Jesus is calling them to act and witness in their individual neighborhoods. Yes, compromise to serve a variety of populations will be needed, but too often All Are Welcome has caused churches to become unsuccessful generalists, attempting to please everyone and pleasing no one in the process.
Churches have become afraid of bold action or commitment based on particular mission to one group of people. And there is a sense in many churches that the only group they should seek out for membership is young families - neglecting in the process college students, single adults, retirees, widows and widowers, etc. Many times churches actually do have in mind a particular subset of people with whom they'd like repopulate their congregation. Many times this particular subset looks an awful lot like the current membership of the church, albeit 20-30 years ago. Often, though, neighborhoods and needs have changed. And a vital ministry: perhaps to immigrant workers, to retired folks, to single adults - is forgotten in light of chasing the ever-elusive "young families."
To have a particular mission and goal does not mean neglecting All Aren't Welcome, but it does mean doing the hard work of discernment, prayer, fasting, spiritual discipline -- making tough choices -- to attempt to see the path where God is leading the Church.
Saying All Are Welcome is easy. What's difficult is
1) really being inclusive and making churches friendly and navigable by all sorts of people, confronting hidden biases and prejudices
2) Confronting bullies in churches and calling brothers and sisters out in repentance, so that power is put back into the hands of God and called and elected leaders in the church
3) Discerning God's particular mission for your community and developing a specific plan to carry out that mission, even if it means neglecting the needs of other groups
In the church - and at the wedding feast of God's coming kingdom - all really are welcome. But for too long churches have paid lip service to saying: All Are Welcome without doing the hard work of inclusivity, accountability and discernment. For the American church to really begin to resemble that welcoming wedding feast that Jesus tells about in Matthew 22, we've got some hard work to do. "For many are called, but few are chosen." (Matthew 22:14) And of course, many we invite will never come.
Thursday, October 23, 2014
Hey Millennials, don't quit - take a break and re-commit
If you're a Baby Boomer reading this article, you might be thinking: Why is she telling millennials not to quit their jobs? Most of them don't even have jobs. One of them is sleeping on my couch at this very moment.
See, these are the kind of biases us millennials have to put up with all the time: I'm 29 in case you were wondering.
Like any other generation in history, millennials are diverse: from wunderkind Mark Zuckerberg to your neighbor's son who has to be reminded to rinse off his dinner dishes at age 25.
This week, attending a church conference about Making Room for Millennials, I heard that 91 percent of millennials plan to change jobs in less than three years - the implication being, of course, if they can't even stick with a job - how do we expect them to stick with our churches?
Attending a church conference about millennials as a millennial pastor was sort of like inviting a teenager to a conference about why teenagers don't listen to their parents. When I heard the statistic about job changing I looked over at my friend, Matt. We smiled.
The stat was nothing new. For years we'd heard the Pastor Protocol: three years in a first call.
There was no logic or data to it, of course. Some pastors stay 33 years and others nine months. The gift of call and fit and the wiles of the Holy Spirit don't always obey guidelines. Yet the mythical number stuck in our heads, and as we found ourselves wondering how to make room for commitment to a church by a generation who has resisted the church and resisted commitment - and as we saw in ourselves that same resistance to status quo church and commitment to a church, I wondered what Jesus might have to say in the midst of it all.
He didn't answer me right away, but the question stuck with me the next day as I listened to a seasoned pastor - an expert in transition of pastoral leadership - tell a room full of Baby Boomer and Millennial preachers that he was convinced his church didn't really trust him until about year 7 or 8 -- that the process of leadership and change was a slow, diligent one.
We'd heard it said before, but we also came into congregations full of anxiety - our own and theirs. Budgets that had been bleeding red for decades and members who were dying. Buildings in states of disrepair. A whole generation of our peers who needed to come to church now or - or else ...
The church was dying - the Church is Dying! We'd heard it in seminary and in sermons - in the newspaper and on TV. We didn't have eight years - we didn't have one year. We could feel their anxiety as we came in and we could feel our own, too, heaped on our backs with tens of thousands of student loans and the prospect of no health insurance.
Two days of conferences - data - inspiration - excitement - anxiety. A millennial pastor at the age of 29 who bucked the trends and even got married and had a baby and bought a house - you'd think I'd feel content but instead I felt that same old restless itch that has become characteristic of my generation.
Why do millennials have trouble settling down? Quitting jobs? Waiting to get married? Committing to a church?
We sense limitless opportunity.
Growing up as the Internet grew with us gave us a sense of unlimited possibilities. We wanted to see the Great Wall of China? Click on Google Earth! Want to apply to Duke, Harvard, and Princeton in 35 minutes? Use the online Common Application. Meet a friend in Stockholm? Book a flight to Timbuktu? Find the answer to just about any question you have?
As we've graduated high school and college and entered the working world, we still have that sense of limitless opportunity - even in a climate of sometimes-scarce job prospects. There's the Peace Corps or Teach for America: just apply online. My husband, a mechanical engineer, gets several messages from recruiters every single day. As most millennials know, our sense of opportunity doesn't equal real job prospects. Most of the recruiters who contact my husband give him leads for jobs that don't at all fit his experience or education. But the Internet gives us a sense that we could always be doing something else. We've seen the Wide World - and we sense that we could grasp it, if only we make the right choices of the seemingly limitless opportunities before us.
Nobody gets promoted or raises anymore.
When's the last time you heard of a millennial friend or relative getting a raise or a promotion in their current job, excluding a new degree or new job? Almost never, right? Employers rarely give raises anymore, outside perhaps a standard cost-of-living adjustment. If we want a new opportunity, we're told we need a new degree or certification. Most often - we have to switch jobs. Job hopping is often the only way for us to move ahead. I know friends who are waiting a backlog of managers or supervisors who (might) retire in 5-10 years. The choice is clear: wait out a long retirement or force their hand by getting a different job. This is by no means only true in the secular world. Pastors have been hearing for decades about the wave of Baby Boomer retirement that will open up calls in churches across the country. Mostly, we're still waiting.
My husband, the engineer - you know, that recession-proof field - got his first significant raise and promotion last year. He got it because he had been made a similar offer at another firm, so his company matched it to keep him. But even stories of raises and promotions like that are rare among millennials.
Social Media doesn't allow us to take a break, so we become frenetic.
Here is I think one of the biggest unknown reasons for millennials' struggle to commit: to work, to relationships, to religion. Committing means stopping: being where you are in the moment even if sometimes it hurts. In a narcissistic world of constantly publicizing our lives - see: selfie culture - we're afraid of being left behind when we commit. We won't have anything new to share.
I'm almost 30 now, so I can almost sort of see outside myself and realize what I'm doing - instead of the blind flight from one passion to the next that sometimes overtook my 20s - and I can see in myself when that restless itch comes over me, and I know it's partly from Facebook.
Sometimes, fellow millennials and millennial pastors - your first job or your first call is not particularly photogenic all the time. Sometimes what you're doing is not selfie-worthy or performance-worthy but sometimes it's worthy nonetheless.
Being together - making a commitment to trust one another and listening in the quiet is perhaps not worthy of a status update. I would not tweet to my followers: I've decided to keep doing what I'm doing! But maybe sometimes we should, to show each other that it's OK to decide to stay: to commit, to a job, to a relationship, to a church - even if it's not perfect.
It's OK to take breaks, too. There are seasons of change and activity and seasons of patience and preparation. Ecclesiastes 3 says that for everything there is a season and a time for every matter under heaven: a time to be born and a time to die; a time to kill and a time to heal; a time for war and a time for peace. A time to go and a time to stay. Sometimes what we need is not a major life change: an application to Teach for America; raising chickens; brewing beer - sometimes what we need is not to Go but to Stop.
Jesus knew that breaks - perhaps not worthy of a sermon soundbite or placed on a Bible bumper sticker - were nonetheless essential to his ministry. He had to retreat or he could not continue his mission, and he knew his mission and he was committed to it. We millennials are so devoted, so focused on determining our mission that sometimes when it finds us we have trouble committing to it because we don't know how to take breaks. We're finally there: the mission is upon us - and we don't know how to stop searching.
Jesus often bids me forward but today I feel him telling me, telling you, to stop.
He keeps pointing me to this verse and I read it anew today as I seek my own stopping place of refuge: "... for I am gentle and lowly in heart, and you will find rest for your souls," (Matthew 11:29b).
Jesus, as Augustine once suspected, is the only complete source of respite in our world - for only a man and a God who would die and rise again is complete and humble and awe-inspiring enough to eclipse all our worry and our death-defying pursuit of the seemingly endless opportunities. And so us millennials desperately need churches, where we can commit and are nourished and become a deep and true part of the fabric of the community, by stopping and staying and even taking breaks. Our drive and desire is needed in corporations and congregations across the country: not just as a flash in the pan year-long employee or occasional joiner for Christmas Eve services - but as an integral, long-term, committed part of the culture. We're tempted to leave but it is in staying - in learning to take breaks and then recommit even more strongly - that we will most permanently change the world, and the Church, for the future Jesus has prepared for us.
See, these are the kind of biases us millennials have to put up with all the time: I'm 29 in case you were wondering.
Like any other generation in history, millennials are diverse: from wunderkind Mark Zuckerberg to your neighbor's son who has to be reminded to rinse off his dinner dishes at age 25.
This week, attending a church conference about Making Room for Millennials, I heard that 91 percent of millennials plan to change jobs in less than three years - the implication being, of course, if they can't even stick with a job - how do we expect them to stick with our churches?
Attending a church conference about millennials as a millennial pastor was sort of like inviting a teenager to a conference about why teenagers don't listen to their parents. When I heard the statistic about job changing I looked over at my friend, Matt. We smiled.
The stat was nothing new. For years we'd heard the Pastor Protocol: three years in a first call.
There was no logic or data to it, of course. Some pastors stay 33 years and others nine months. The gift of call and fit and the wiles of the Holy Spirit don't always obey guidelines. Yet the mythical number stuck in our heads, and as we found ourselves wondering how to make room for commitment to a church by a generation who has resisted the church and resisted commitment - and as we saw in ourselves that same resistance to status quo church and commitment to a church, I wondered what Jesus might have to say in the midst of it all.
He didn't answer me right away, but the question stuck with me the next day as I listened to a seasoned pastor - an expert in transition of pastoral leadership - tell a room full of Baby Boomer and Millennial preachers that he was convinced his church didn't really trust him until about year 7 or 8 -- that the process of leadership and change was a slow, diligent one.
We'd heard it said before, but we also came into congregations full of anxiety - our own and theirs. Budgets that had been bleeding red for decades and members who were dying. Buildings in states of disrepair. A whole generation of our peers who needed to come to church now or - or else ...
The church was dying - the Church is Dying! We'd heard it in seminary and in sermons - in the newspaper and on TV. We didn't have eight years - we didn't have one year. We could feel their anxiety as we came in and we could feel our own, too, heaped on our backs with tens of thousands of student loans and the prospect of no health insurance.
Two days of conferences - data - inspiration - excitement - anxiety. A millennial pastor at the age of 29 who bucked the trends and even got married and had a baby and bought a house - you'd think I'd feel content but instead I felt that same old restless itch that has become characteristic of my generation.
Why do millennials have trouble settling down? Quitting jobs? Waiting to get married? Committing to a church?
We sense limitless opportunity.
Growing up as the Internet grew with us gave us a sense of unlimited possibilities. We wanted to see the Great Wall of China? Click on Google Earth! Want to apply to Duke, Harvard, and Princeton in 35 minutes? Use the online Common Application. Meet a friend in Stockholm? Book a flight to Timbuktu? Find the answer to just about any question you have?
As we've graduated high school and college and entered the working world, we still have that sense of limitless opportunity - even in a climate of sometimes-scarce job prospects. There's the Peace Corps or Teach for America: just apply online. My husband, a mechanical engineer, gets several messages from recruiters every single day. As most millennials know, our sense of opportunity doesn't equal real job prospects. Most of the recruiters who contact my husband give him leads for jobs that don't at all fit his experience or education. But the Internet gives us a sense that we could always be doing something else. We've seen the Wide World - and we sense that we could grasp it, if only we make the right choices of the seemingly limitless opportunities before us.
Nobody gets promoted or raises anymore.
When's the last time you heard of a millennial friend or relative getting a raise or a promotion in their current job, excluding a new degree or new job? Almost never, right? Employers rarely give raises anymore, outside perhaps a standard cost-of-living adjustment. If we want a new opportunity, we're told we need a new degree or certification. Most often - we have to switch jobs. Job hopping is often the only way for us to move ahead. I know friends who are waiting a backlog of managers or supervisors who (might) retire in 5-10 years. The choice is clear: wait out a long retirement or force their hand by getting a different job. This is by no means only true in the secular world. Pastors have been hearing for decades about the wave of Baby Boomer retirement that will open up calls in churches across the country. Mostly, we're still waiting.
My husband, the engineer - you know, that recession-proof field - got his first significant raise and promotion last year. He got it because he had been made a similar offer at another firm, so his company matched it to keep him. But even stories of raises and promotions like that are rare among millennials.
Social Media doesn't allow us to take a break, so we become frenetic.
Here is I think one of the biggest unknown reasons for millennials' struggle to commit: to work, to relationships, to religion. Committing means stopping: being where you are in the moment even if sometimes it hurts. In a narcissistic world of constantly publicizing our lives - see: selfie culture - we're afraid of being left behind when we commit. We won't have anything new to share.
I'm almost 30 now, so I can almost sort of see outside myself and realize what I'm doing - instead of the blind flight from one passion to the next that sometimes overtook my 20s - and I can see in myself when that restless itch comes over me, and I know it's partly from Facebook.
Sometimes, fellow millennials and millennial pastors - your first job or your first call is not particularly photogenic all the time. Sometimes what you're doing is not selfie-worthy or performance-worthy but sometimes it's worthy nonetheless.
Being together - making a commitment to trust one another and listening in the quiet is perhaps not worthy of a status update. I would not tweet to my followers: I've decided to keep doing what I'm doing! But maybe sometimes we should, to show each other that it's OK to decide to stay: to commit, to a job, to a relationship, to a church - even if it's not perfect.
It's OK to take breaks, too. There are seasons of change and activity and seasons of patience and preparation. Ecclesiastes 3 says that for everything there is a season and a time for every matter under heaven: a time to be born and a time to die; a time to kill and a time to heal; a time for war and a time for peace. A time to go and a time to stay. Sometimes what we need is not a major life change: an application to Teach for America; raising chickens; brewing beer - sometimes what we need is not to Go but to Stop.
Jesus knew that breaks - perhaps not worthy of a sermon soundbite or placed on a Bible bumper sticker - were nonetheless essential to his ministry. He had to retreat or he could not continue his mission, and he knew his mission and he was committed to it. We millennials are so devoted, so focused on determining our mission that sometimes when it finds us we have trouble committing to it because we don't know how to take breaks. We're finally there: the mission is upon us - and we don't know how to stop searching.
Jesus often bids me forward but today I feel him telling me, telling you, to stop.
He keeps pointing me to this verse and I read it anew today as I seek my own stopping place of refuge: "... for I am gentle and lowly in heart, and you will find rest for your souls," (Matthew 11:29b).
Jesus, as Augustine once suspected, is the only complete source of respite in our world - for only a man and a God who would die and rise again is complete and humble and awe-inspiring enough to eclipse all our worry and our death-defying pursuit of the seemingly endless opportunities. And so us millennials desperately need churches, where we can commit and are nourished and become a deep and true part of the fabric of the community, by stopping and staying and even taking breaks. Our drive and desire is needed in corporations and congregations across the country: not just as a flash in the pan year-long employee or occasional joiner for Christmas Eve services - but as an integral, long-term, committed part of the culture. We're tempted to leave but it is in staying - in learning to take breaks and then recommit even more strongly - that we will most permanently change the world, and the Church, for the future Jesus has prepared for us.
Thursday, October 9, 2014
The Function of Sadness and a Jesus who Weeps
Two years ago, almost to the day, my son Jacob was born.
He came into the world with his fists clenched and his mouth open wide, bellowing louder than seemed possible for a 7-pound, 11-ounce newborn baby.
Lying down in the hospital, I remember at that instant what immense relief I felt when I heard his cries. Until I heard those cries I had never quite allowed myself to believe that all was OK. Those were the happiest cries I'd ever heard.
Of course that didn't last long.
Like most parents, I would from that instant go on to a lifetime of attempting to ensure that Jacob never had anything to cry about again. Happy children - not smart, not wealthy, not athletic, not beautiful - but happy children, are the Holy Grail.
Be happy, be happy, be happy! the world screams. Buy these yoga pants and say Namaste. Juice. Drive this car. Take antidepressants. Smile! And when you do, make sure your wrinkles are smooth and your teeth are white.
Commercials filled with sulking faces are replaced in an instant, with a cold beer and a juicy hamburger; whitewater rafting and ballroom dancing - and a flash to people smiling and slapping each other on the back.
Tears are hidden. It is a shame to be sad.
We shun the sadness among us because we know its side effects. Depression, isolation, addiction, suicide, obesity, anorexia. Yet sadness itself does not cause depression, isolation, addiction, suicide, obesity, anorexia -- rather it is our inability to healthfully deal with and go through and share sadness that makes our modern society so susceptible to these silent killers.
I have been deeply sad in my life, and at times I have slipped into situational depression.
I have felt the weight of sadness. The death of a family member. The end of a relationship. The loss of a job. A major health scare. Betrayal. Fear.
In these moments I have felt not only sadness but shame for my tears. It is embarrassing to be sad.
So in the shame and isolation our sadness grows and blossoms. It slows down our movements to a crawl, inching out of bed, listening to that same song on repeat, eating nothing all day and then an entire bag of chips at night.
Sadness has been put into the closet. And in this closet of fear and isolation: depression, addiction, suicide, obesity, anorexia, self-doubt -- they grow to become insurmountable and life seems impossible.
It wasn't always this way. For Jesus, sadness was a necessary part of life and even of salvation. People were sad together, and out of that shared sadness - new life began, even out of death.
In Mark, chapter 5, Jesus is summoned to the bedside of Jairus' daughter, who has died. When he comes to Jairus' home, he sees "a commotion of people weeping and wailing loudly."
In John, chapter 11, Jesus goes to visit Mary and Martha after the death of their brother, Lazarus. Many friends and neighbors had already come to their home before Jesus to mourn with Mary and Martha. They even followed Mary to the tomb, to accompany her as she wept. As they walked on, they were weeping with her. Jesus was greatly disturbed in spirit and deeply moved. Soon, he began to weep.
Mary's friends didn't surround her and say: Don't cry, Mary. Be happy! Everything happens for a reason!
Jesus' mother didn't follow him, begging: "Don't cry! I want you to be happy."
Despite his status as Savior of the world and God Incarnate, for most of his life Jesus was not a particularly happy man. He had moments of joy: in the temple as a young boy; in his friendships; on his baptism day in the Jordan River as his Father blessed him.
But the Bible never says Jesus was happy. It never says Jesus smiled, even. No, instead we are granted a portrait of a God who weeps.
On the night before his crucifixion, Jesus wept so hard his tears became tears of blood. He was in great anguish as he prayed alone. Then an angel came to give him strength, and Jesus went to go and wake his friends.
Somehow, the Bible seems to say, we are not meant to hide our tears - but in crying together, in reaching out and sharing our tears, sadness finds its function.
Sadness creates empathy and real relationship. It is through the pain and sadness of betrayal and death on the Cross that God is forever changed in relationship to human beings. In Jesus God experiences the depth of human sadness, and as a result God understands forever how we feel, how death feels - and God decides by God's plan to forever save the world from death by the gift of eternal life.
If I have never felt sadness I can never share in full relationship with my brother or my sister who is sad. But when we have known sadness together, we are confident we can defeat it together. Through the presence of my brother or sister in the midst of my sadness, I can see beyond the closet doors of sadness into the future of a redeemed life in a world touched by the presence of Jesus.
As a ninth grader I read Brave New World, about a utopian society where no one feels pain, anxiety or sadness - and a savage named John who chooses to feel and die rather than live in a superficial world of "happiness."
At the time John was my hero and there was no question what I'd choose. "I claim the right to be unhappy!" I shouted with the tragic hero.
As a 29-year-old wife, mother, and pastor - sometimes the artificial ease of soma sounds somewhat more appealing. Life's burdens are too heavy to carry alone. But rather than squeezing our eyes tight and trying to pretend our burdens don't exist, perhaps we're meant to share the load.
When I cry, Jesus does not say: "Don't cry. Please be happy."
He says: "Come to me, all you that are weary and are carrying heavy burdens, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me; for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls."