Church Outloud

Lawns.  They can be an obsession.  On the TV sitcoms I watched growing up, men were concerned with three things.  Going to work.  The family car.  And the lawn. 

These were the tacit boundaries of a man’s life.  You were either going to work, under the car, or doing something on or to the lawn.

Now, I was a little worried.   I didn’t have a car, didn’t have a job and lawns where I lived were not much to write home about.  The houses where I grew up were spaced like kids in first grade gym class, at arms’ length.  Kids in first grade have very short arms.

But we lived next door to the church where my father was the pastor, so we probably had the biggest lawn of anyone I knew.  It felt like a little park.  The neighborhood kids loved to bring their sleds in the winter when it snowed because we also had a hill.

When there wasn’t snow on it, the lawn was pretty much green except the dirt parts where we played run the bases and home run derby. And the parts where we threw the ball for the dog to fetch.   Didn’t seem like all that much to worry about.

Maybe a job and a car wouldn’t be such a big deal either when the time came.  I attribute this to my overriding, and sometimes unfounded, sense of optimism.

Turns out jobs and cars were a little more complicated than I first believed.  Lawns?  Forget it.  Lawns always been way beyond my control.  Most of my adult life, I’ve lived in church parsonages where no one would ever consider seeding the lawn, not when they already put in electricity for Pete’s sake.

And besides there was always all those kids around playing run the bases, home run derby and the dogs slobbering after tennis balls.  Green looked pretty good to me most times.  Whatever was actually growing in it.

It’s taken me a long time to appreciate a good lawn.  The kind that feels like a lush carpet.  A green so deep it seems right off a paint card from Home Depot.  I am in awe.

And, maybe some day I’ll get into having a great lawn and all the dedication and work involved.  But I’m still mostly happy with green.  And with grandkids now, and tricycles,  and dogs chasing squirrels, balls and each other, it’s just as well I think.

When I want to appreciate a good lawn, I take the dogs and we go up the street, where the houses have some of the lushest lawns I have ever seen.  I stand and admire them and the dogs flop on their backs and roll around, groaning contentedly.  Then after awhile, they get up and shake and we go back home, where there’s squirrels to chase and balls to fetch on well worn paths of dirt that for me at least, have always been the surest path to happiness.

10And in the spirit he carried me away to a great, high mountain and showed me the holy city Jerusalem coming down out of heaven from God.  22I saw no temple in the city, for its temple is the Lord God the Almighty and the Lamb.  23And the city has no need of sun or moon to shine on it, for the glory of God is its light, and its lamp is the Lamb.  24The nations will walk by its light, and the kings of the earth will bring their glory into it. 

President Obama held an oddly subdued news conference yesterday.  He was asked if he “had the juice” to complete his agenda.  He indignantly quoted Mark Twain, “the reports of my demise have been greatly exaggerated.”  As though he could simply will that energy.  But that kind of energy doesn’t come from pride.

Then, almost to prove the point, he proceeded to field questions about one dreary stalemate and debacle after another.  Gun background checks, immigration reform, sequester cuts, and perhaps the most troubling of all, if that’s even possible, the one hundred men in Guantánemo on a desperate hunger strike.

One hundred men who have been imprisoned for more than eleven years now, without ever being charged, and despite having been been cleared for release over three years ago.  They remain suspended in legal limbo by the shameful political winds and our spineless political leaders.  Starving themselves to death is the only relief at their disposal.

In stark contrast to this nightmare, John’s vision of a “new Jerusalem” in Revelation offers a sweeping vision of God’s redemption.  God’s redemption is not only of individuals.  It includes kings and nations.  Presidents and Prime Ministers.  Senators and Congressmen.  It is the redemption of the political processes that govern our lives and the policies which too often turn on the whim of self-serving politicians and their wealthy patrons while leaving the weak and the poor to fend for themselves.

John’s vision of redemption is the antithesis of the “nightly news” reality.  In the “new Jerusalem” God’s will saturates reality, like water soaking a dry sponge.  Nothing is left untouched.  God future doesn’t look down on the political reality, God lifts it and restores it to the life giving purpose God intended.

Isn’t this what Jesus taught us to pray?  “…Your Kingdom come, your Will be done, here on earth, as it is in heaven.”  In heaven, the poor are fed.  Justice flows like a stream and God wipes away every tear.

In teaching us to pray this way, Jesus is challenging us to live this way. But we can’t get there through pride, or greed, or fear.  We run out of juice before we’ve even started.  The only way to receive energy for the work ahead is to align ourselves with God’s future now.

Not that it will be easy.  But in God’s future, the sweat and toil is part of the glorious fulfillment of what’s coming.

Be not afraid, sing out for joy, Christ is Risen, Alleluia! I woke up this morning with this Taizé chant on continuous loop in my brain. Be not afraid, sing out for joy, Christ is Risen, Alleluia!

We’ve been singing this chant at the beginning of worship since Easter. Yesterday was the Fifth Sunday of Easter, so I guess that’s a pretty good yardstick of how long it takes for a song or phrase to take root. Now, I’m grateful. It feels like such pleasant company on a rainy, quiet morning. Be not afraid, sing out for joy, Christ is Risen, Alleluia!
These are some of the lasting gifts of worship. The parts that latch onto us and trail us out to our cars, floating in the air like bits of dust suddenly visible in the streaming light pouring through a window in our lives. Be not afraid, sing out for joy, Christ is Risen, Alleluia! Even on dark mornings like this. When the throaty song of the cardinals singing in the new green canopy, dripping and freshly scrubbed, is the brightest light there is. Be not afraid, sing out for joy, Christ is Risen, Alleluia!

Our worship needs more of these moments. More chants, more music, more opportunity just to linger together in the cathedral of these words. To allow the simple reassurance of our faith to guide us in the challenges and the opportunities this moment presents us.

It’s always unnerving when the familiar approaches to life no longer work. When circumstances call for something new. Our daughter and son in law just brought their new baby home from the hospital. Gabriel Alexander. Now, everything must change. The familiar routines that made their household work must be re-thought and re-created. Who they are as parents; who we are as grand-parents, requires similar imagination. Everything shifts to make room.

We face such moments all the time. Individually and together, in our workplaces, in our families and in our churches. Each moment gives way to the next, and the next and the next….

Be not afraid, sing out for joy, Christ is Risen, Alleluia!

I began yesterday morning by reading the powerful first hand account of SAMIR NAJI al HASAN MOQBEL, a US prisoner at Guantanemo, who has been on a hunger strike with 40 fellow prisoners, since February 10th. The piece entitled “Gitmo Is Killing Me,” was published in the New York Times editorial page on April 15th.

The link is here: http://www.nytimes.com/2013/04/15/opinion/hunger-striking-at-guantanamo-bay.html?_r=0

It describes in horrific detail the force feedings he and the 40 hunger strikers endure twice a day at Guantanemo. It also describes the injustice of being held for more than eleven years without being charged. The hopelessness that spawns such a desperate hunger strike. My heart was broken, my indignation burned. What could I do to put an end to this?

Then, yesterday afternoon, the terrorist bombing at the Boston Marathon. Three dead at the time of this writing, including an eight year old boy who was celebrating with his dad at the finish line.

I can’t imagine the blinding turn from euphoria to horror at that moment. For all the families and people there to celebrate. To honor the hours of individual training, dedication and discipline to accomplish such a feat. To simply rejoice and cheer for the best in all of us.

How my heart goes out to them, and my prayers for them offered as balm for their wounds. I suffer with them, weep with them and hold fast to the goodness, love and mercy I treasure, resisting the pull back to fear and blind retribution.

At worship this past Sunday, we talked about “why God continues to allow evil in the world,” and re-framed that question to a more Biblical perspective; “why God continues to suffer at the hand of evil in the world.” We reflected on a God who acts to transform evil, who pronounces words of forgiveness from the cross, and calls us to take up our cross and follow the Way of transformation and new life.

Many reject that God. The God who suffers evil, even to this day, in order to transform it. They prefer a god who declares war on evil. A god who commands them to take up arms against it. This is a false god. No matter what religion claims it, no matter what culture demands it, no matter which people act on it.

To witness people suffering—any people—is to witness God suffering. To inflict pain on anyone is to inflict pain on God. To exploit human life, to waste it either by spilling blood or stealing dignity and hope, is to oppose the God who raised Jesus to new life and declares God’s final answer to evil.

I am writing this from the Metro DC Synod workshop on congregational growth and renewal called “The Journey.”

Eric Remick and I have committed to this three year program led by Pastor Chris Nelson and Pastor Mary Peschaur, pastors of Bethlehem Lutheran Church in Minneapolis, MN. “The Journey” is about honestly facing the challenges and exploring innovative strategies for being the church in today’s world.

This session is on “Communicating for Change”. The focus so far has been about preaching. I sort of feel sorry for Eric. It’d be like me attending a technical telecommunications conference. So, I think everyone needs to congratulate Eric for hanging in there and listen respectfully if he needs to vent….

Here’s some of what I took away from this so far. It’s official. Everything I was taught about preaching in seminary was totally wrong.

Well, I always sort of knew that, but I guess the milestone is that I’m now old enough and been at this long enough for it to be admitted outloud. I will now almost resist the urge to say “I told you so….”

My ideas of preaching have evolved over my ministry. And I’ve picked up a couple of ideas from this workshop I think I’d like to explore with you.

Preaching a series of topical sermons. (Any ideas for topics?)
Following a narrative lectionary. The Common Lectionary tends to focus on snippets of the Biblical narrative, and can lose the “big picture”. I’ve had a nagging feeling about that for awhile.

We’ll talk more about this. I’d love to hear your thoughts about making the sermon time more effective.

For me, the model of effective preaching is still Jesus. You see, Jesus told these strange little open ended stories that managed to be familiar and subversive all at once. Like the father who had two sons that we’ll talk about on Sunday. Or, the widow’s lost coin. The shepherd’s lost sheep. Everyone recognized the situations, but no one was on familiar ground by the time you got to the end of one of Jesus stories. In fact, these familiar people acted in inexplicable ways.

A widow finds her lost coin, and throws a party that costs more than the coin was worth. A shepherd loses one sheep, and abandons 99 sheep to go and look for it. Huh?

This “huh” is still the essence of the preacher’s job today. To bring people to a new place. A preacher answers questions only so that he or she can replace those tired questions with deeper, more relevant questions. Questions that will bear fruit, using the parable of the fig tree from last week.

I have become more and more convinced that a faithful Christian life is not about having all the answers. It is about living the questions. I think that’s what our life together as a congregation is about. What does loving God and loving our neighbor mean for us, and how are we called to do it? That’s a good question for starters I think.

photo credit: Amanda Christensen-Graef

I once had someone question the Absolution offered at the end of the Confession of Sins.  She said, “I don’t need someone to forgive my sins.  God does that.”

Leonard Cohen wrote these lines in a song called That Don’t Make It Junk.

“I know that I’m forgiven,
But I don’t know how I know
I don’t trust my inner feelings
Inner feelings come and go”
(Ten New Songs)

Of course God forgives sins, but without someone to declare that forgiveness to me, my forgiveness becomes an internal phenomenon.  A product of my inner feelings, which change more often than the weather.  Worse, forgiveness becomes something I do for myself.

We have a tendency to make faith largely a private, internal matter.  And yes, our relationship to God is highly personal, deeply intimate indeed.  But God is more than the private relationship God and I have.

An important part of my intimate relationship with God is the way it drives me to engage the world.  My relationship with God compels me to enter into relationship with others.  And God may address my heart not only through an internal voice, but in spoken word that enters through my ear.  A word that originates from outside of me, beyond my control.  A word spoken that draws me into it.

When Absolution is pronounced by a pastor, a minister or a priest, it is pronounced on behalf of God.  It draws us out of the echo chamber of our own inner feelings, and into relationship with our brothers and sisters.

Luther, taught children to make the sign of the cross (touch your head, your heart, your left shoulder and your right shoulder) like this:  “God is in my head, God is in my heart, God is on my left, and God is on my right.” 

God is inside of me, and outside of me.  God is not my possession as much as what and who possesses me. +

Lutheran worship follows the basic progression of Western catholic liturgy.  There is the Entrance Rite, Word, and Meal.  These three  movements comprise the Liturgy.

Each of these large movements are made up of smaller pieces, like a symphony.  The Entrance Rite, for example, contains an invocation, supplication and praise, ending in a concluding prayer which captures the worship theme of the day (Prayer of the Day).

The Entrance Rite focuses our attention and draws us into the presence of God.  It typically begins with a Brief Order for Confession of Sin and Forgiveness.  “if we say we have no sin, we deceive ourselves and the truth is not in us…”  That’s 1 John 1:8.  Just about everything we say in the liturgy comes from the Bible.

The Entrance Rite ushers us into God’s presence by immediately taking us out of our comfort zone and our self-serving.  Our admission into God’s presence is our admission that we are not who we claim to be, despite our best efforts.

And, if we’re listening carefully at this point, we’re also acknowledging that much of the brokenness and suffering we experience is self-inflicted.

Why is this admission important?   Does God take some perverse delight in making us feel bad about ourselves?  Well, let’s look at that for a moment.

In every other aspect of our lives, we strive to “put our best foot forward.”  Our goal is to “make a good impression.”  This is the path to success, right?  And success equals happiness.  This is the underlying formula for most of our recipes of living the good life.

Take politics for example.  Candidates seek success (votes) by pointing out their opponent’s “sins,” and ignoring their own.  Or, if they’re really sophisticated, they try to spin their own frailties and shortcomings into something positive.  That’s the way our world works.

To be successful, project an image of strength and certainty.  We’re captain of our own ship, master of our own fate, and we know exactly where we’re going.

The trouble is that underneath that projection, we know the truth.  We project strength to cover our weakness.  Certainty to mask our doubts.  Independence to hide our insecurities.

Yeah, we’re the captain of our own ship, but the instruments are all jammed, there’s a thick fog, and we’re flying by the seat of our pants not sure where we’re even going.  But, don’t tell anyone.

We invest a lot of energy keeping that a secret.  Making a good impression requires lots of emotional suppression.  As the gap between who we are and who we claim to be (in order to be accepted, successful and loved) widens, our stress increases.  The bigger that gap, the greater our stress.

Some come to think then, that it pleases God when we feel awful about ourselves.  When we’re filled with self loathing.  So we confess our sin with gusto.  We pull out a laundry list of sins and delight in adding to it.  Even if we have to make stuff up.  Heck, it’s all for a good cause.

But, trying to impress God with either our sinfulness or our goodness is equally boneheaded.   Besides, it’s a complete waste of energy.  Because it is not necessary.  How do you impress someone who already loves you?  Why would you want to?

So, why do we have to confess our sins when we come before God, if God isn’t just trying to make us feel bad about ourselves?   What’s the point?

It’s like carrying heavy bags around with you all the time.  Baggage filled with fears, anxieties, secrets that can never see the light of day.  Coming into the presence of God, we finally get to put those heavy bags down.  Under God’s loving eye, we might even get the courage to begin unpacking them.

In the act of confession, we are relieved of the burden of having to impress God, and each other, and freed to be who we are.  We are freed to relate to each other in new ways.  We are freed to engage our world in new ways.  Supportive, cooperative….not exploiting and self-serving.

And, as we hear in the declaration of absolution that in spite of everything, we are loved by God deeply and unconditionally, we’re  turned to a new path.  Given a new road map to happiness, peace, fulfillment, contentment and joy.

And you can leave all that baggage here.  You won’t be needing it where you’re going.