What Dance Moms gets wrong about God - and religion

More than a million Americans tuned in to watch Dance Moms Season 5 Episode 3 this week, just a few thousand more than came to church last week to hear my sermon ...

So when the Lifetime reality show starring over-the-top teacher Abby Lee Miller decided to do a group dance about religion, complete with a nun costume as well as a dancer dressed as a Saudi Muslim woman (black head scarf, full black cloak, and black face veil leaving only the eyes and nose exposed) - this Pastor took notice.

The song was Something to Believe In, an instrumental piece by Robin Loxley and Oliver Jackson. The dance version adds spoken words:

Believe. Believe because you are free and you can.
Believe in your own god. Believe in yourself. Believe in your possibilities.
Believe in others who believe. Believe in our differences. Believe in our future.
Believe. Believe in something.

It was, I believe, a 38-word synopsis of American practical atheism, or worse: self-worship.

In a world where religious extremists hate and kill in Paris, Syria, Jerusalem and even the United States - American popular religion has become so watered down that this 38-word synopsis sounds acceptable and even familiar to American ears.

We think it innocuous. Pleasant. Tolerant.

As a Christian, it is unacceptable.

Believe in your own god.

Wandering in the desert, just weeks after the Israelites received the 10 Commandments, they made their own gods. Their religious coach, Moses, had gone up the mountain to pray - and as their faith faded, they begged his assistant, Aaron, to make them gods.

He melted down their gold jewelry and produced a calf. They worshiped it.

God's heart was broken, but after Moses prayed and begged God to be merciful, God did not destroy God's people.

Thousands of years later, 2,000 years after Jesus rose from the dead, Americans make our own gods - and our pop culture heroes tell us to believe in our own gods!

We went to Steve Jobs and Apple and said: make us a god!
We went to the plastic surgeons and the Photoshop experts and the engineers and said: make us a god!
To the politicians and the teachers and architects and the personal trainers: make us gods.

They did: beautiful, intelligent, almost perfect gods.

And we worshiped them.

Under the guise of tolerance, we've made ourselves our own gods. We've made ourselves into gods.

Because you are free and you can ... Believe in your own god.

Except our freedom is an illusion, as we learn every time another family member dies, another friend falls into the swirling whirlpool of addiction, another doctor reads "cancer" off a chart ...

We believe not because we are free but we believe so that we might be free.

"Because you are children, God has sent the Spirit of his son into our hearts, crying, 'Abba! Father!' So you are no longer a slave but a child, and if a child then also an heir, through God," Galatians 4:6-7.

We have so domesticated God that the god of Dance Moms sounds almost like a pet. My own god. I take him out for a walk and I wear his name and put his picture on my wall so that everyone can see my own god. He was created for me. I made him.

But the God of the Bible cannot be constructed by human beings.
God constructs us.
He is not a bumper sticker or a catch phrase but a God.

We have forgotten what God is, besides ourselves. Or money or power.
It is not ironic that the Dance Moms piece immediately moves from believing in God to believing in ourselves. The line has become so fragile - so thin - that to believe in God today is almost synonymous to believing in yourself - so that we have become God.

Of course it all collapses in the alleyway, on the highway, in the hospital room, in the marriage counselor's office. We have become God and yet when we realize our own mortality the god we have constructed becomes mortal as well and our own death brings about the death of god when god lives only within ourselves.

Believe in others who believe. Believe in our differences. Believe in our future.
Believe. Believe in something.

See what has become important in American popular religion is not the object of our belief but the action of our belief. We tell our children simply to believe - and we forget to witness what we might believe in.

In the absence of other options, we choose ourselves.

The fear of God has become unpopular, for we think that fearing God must look like the radical Muslims who burst into Charlie Hebdo in Paris this month and killed 12 people.

They too believed in themselves more than they believed in God.

Their God was so small - such a pet - that He must be avenged by human blood.
Their God too was bound - by hatred, by fear, by sectarianism - rather than being unbound, free, to exercise His power in forgiveness.

We tell ourselves that we are free to believe but rather it is only our believing in a free God that sets us free.

We tell ourselves that it is the action of our belief that saves us.

It is not.

It is the object of our belief that saves us: a God who became man, died, and rose again - a free God who chose to love us.

Believe in something?

Dance Moms is wrong.

What saves us is not that we believe in God but that God believes in us.

Charlie Hebdo, Truth, and Jesus

A week after 12 people were killed in a violent Islamist attack at Charlie Hebdo newspaper in Paris, dividing lines are being drawn.

Je Suis Charlie.

OR

Charlie provoked this.

As a Lutheran Pastor and former journalist, I see it happen among my friends.

The journalists are brave, even brash, and yet the murders hit that place deep inside of them - a deep pit of fear and maybe even faith - which compels them to leave their homes and travel to Egypt to interview protesters at Tahrir Square, to risk their lives on top of a freight train in Mexico and huddle with heroin addicts in New York City.

Some may argue that journalists are the cynics of all cynics - iconoclasts - those for whom nothing holds any sacred meaning. Those muckrakers who would tear down institutions if only for a headline; those who would dare expose scandal in the Church and rip down any sense of "decency."

This may be true - and yet among journalists I know, it would be grossly false to say that we - even the cartoonists at Charlie Hebdo - hold nothing sacred.

What most journalists hold sacred - the overriding value that cost the lives of cartoonists Charb, Cadu, Honore, Tignous and Wolinski, among others, last week in Paris - is Truth.

At Charlie Hebdo, the cartoonists and editors believed in Truth - believed optimistically in the ability of human beings to read and learn and discover for themselves the best and the worst of humankind. Likely they would not have called themselves religious, and yet their stubborn belief in the best of humanity: that people would read, laugh, and learn to overcome the hatred and death and self-seeking drive to power that many of their cartoons mocked.

As a freshman journalism student at the University of Missouri - Columbia, I sat in Principles of American Journalism and listened to Prof. Charles Davis tell us about the muckrakers and Watergate and the times the free press saved America from deception, fraud and corruption.

I looked around the room and although a few of us would end up in advertising, at that moment more than 100 shining upturned faces were staring at Prof. Davis and thinking; "This is why I am here."

You see, journalists - especially gritty political print journalists like the cartoonists at Charlie Hebdo, don't go into this for the money or the glory. They don't go into it for the stability, in an age where publications close by the day and freelancers are considered lucky to be paid.

They write, and draw cartoons and take photos in conflict-ridden countries all over the world - they don suffocating protective suits and take photos of children stricken with Ebola - because ultimately even in their cold, alcohol-drenched, cigarette butt-covered hearts - journalists are believers. They believe in the Truth - that in the end, Truth will win, and love will overcome fear.

That's why Charlie Hebdo's first cover cartoon following last week's attacks is so poignant.

Mohammad stands there, a tear rolling down his cheek: "Je suis Charlie," he says. 

Above his head, a title: "All is Forgiven."

Even in the wake of violent death, a religiously motivated attack that goes against a God of Love who created human beings out of love - Charlie Hebdo is hopeful. Forgiveness wins. Love wins.

Says Luz, the cartoonist who drew it: "Of course everything is forgiven, my man Mohammad. We can overcome, because I managed to draw you."

***

Of everything I've read in the past week about Charlie Hebdo - from the Pope to fellow pastors to fellow journalists - Luz's comment sounds the most like Jesus.

Charlie Hebdo would hate this, of course. Some former washed-up journalist turned Lutheran Pastor imposing upon it Jesus Christ when the only God Charlie believes in is freedom of expression.

That's fine. See Jesus is a surprising guy. And in the past week, as he watches the world turn on its head over Islam and Christianity and satire and cartoons and world leaders - I believe Jesus is saying: "Je suis Charlie."

I can already hear you asking. How could he?! How dare he? Jesus was a pious man, the Son of God who followed the Law to every jot and tittle. He did not mock God. 

But Jesus, at his best, was a satirist. Like journalists, like Charlie, he stood on the sidelines of power and used his rhetoric to tear down hypocrisy, false piety, and corruption.

He mocked the Pharisees in Matthew 23, using satire to describe how their hypocrisy had torn apart the Jewish faith, paying attention to ritual and ignoring the plight of brothers and sisters. Jesus goes on and on, in outsized almost cartoonish fashion.

"Woe to you, scribes and Pharisees, hypocrites! For you are like whitewashed tombs, which on the outside look beautiful, but inside they are full of the bones of the dead and of all kinds of filth."

Jesus himself was an agitator - a disruption to religious folk who would point out the speck in their brother's eye but ignore the log in their own eye.

Jesus was unafraid to point out where power and religion had led people astray - had lifted up death rather than life. Ultimately Jesus paid with his life. And then he said, as God he said: "Tout est pardonne."

***

What has scared me the most in the aftermath of Charlie Hebdo is not the profane cartoons, or the retweets praising the attacks, or the link to Al Qaeda in Yemen. What has scared me the most are the Christians who are making remarks to the effect of: "They asked for it."

Even the liberal Pope Francis joined in, telling journalists on a flight to the Philippines: "One cannot make fun of faith."

Pope Francis suggested that there is a limit to freedom of expression, comparing the attacks to someone swearing about his mother - and then receiving a punch in the face.

But God says Vengeance is mine. Not yours.

Many decry the lack of attention paid when Muslim children are killed around the world, or perhaps when a drone kills civilians.

These are terrible tragedies, and yet I am reminded of what happened when Judas scorned Jesus for allowing Mary, the sister of Lazarus, to bathe his feet with expensive perfume.

"Why was this perfume not sold for three hundred denarii and the money given to the poor?"

"You always have the poor with you, but you do not always have me," Jesus replied.

Jesus says that there will always be a need for charity, a need to lift up the loss of innocent lives, a need to respond to needless killing - but if no one is free to report, to call to task the murderers - then no stories of death will be reported at all.

Sometimes God calls us to protect the storytellers so that we might hear the stories. 

The freedom of expression, of satire - the need of a free press unrestrained by censure - as practiced by Charlie Hebdo represented something greater than the sum total of lives lost in the attack in Paris. It represented freedom and a search for truth, even if sometimes that search led down profane or offensive roads. 

I think Jesus can handle it: "Tout est pardonne."

***

The Pope (and other Christians') rhetoric of "asking for it" - saying Charlie Hebdo provoked the attacks - is particularly troubling, because this sort of language is used to justify all sorts of murders and violence in our world today, especially murders and violence against the disenfranchised and oppressed.

A woman was raped -- but she was wearing a short skirt and acting flirtatious, so she was "asking for it."

A black man was killed -- but he was dating a white woman and speaking too loudly, so he was "asking for it."

There is not a single instance in Scripture of Jesus responding to punish someone in this way. Jesus never once said that someone was "asking for it." Jesus' arithmetic doesn't work like that. Stepping out of line does not equal punishment: an eye for an eye - rather Jesus encouraged stepping out of line, especially when the line, the group, the society, the religion had been tarnished by corruption.

The type of society envisioned by Jesus on the Sermon on the Mount is one that is slow to judge and quick to forgive; one that seeks grace in the midst of heartache, and one that does not put religious codes above eternal Truth.

The prohibition in Islam against portrayals of the Prophet is a religious law. We Christians too have many religious laws. As followers of Jesus or Mohammad, we must constantly ask ourselves whether our religious laws live up to the God we claim to worship.

I would ask Muslims: what kind of God do you worship, one who would kill artists seeking truth simply for a human drawing that will fade? 

I would ask Christians: what kind of God do we worship, one who is punitive and determined by Law, one who would kill those who "ask for it" in order to keep the rest of us in line? Or a God who is making all things new - a God who encourages the restlessness of political protest and the acceptance of those who think differently than us?

A God who is secure enough not to demand retributive killing.

The God we worship - or not - determines the kind of human beings we strive to be.

In Celebration of the "Average" Church

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.