Category Archives: prayer

March 6, 2013 · 11:31 am

A Modern Take on Luke 15–Probably Heretical, Possibly Shedding Fresh Light on a Shocking Story

Let's Have a Party--The Lost is Found!The Complaint

A group of VERY IMPORTANT church leaders began to grumble about Jesus.  “He ignores us, the movers and shakers, the ones divinely given the leadership of The Church. Instead, he takes his meals with people who don’t even give $5 a year to our coffers, haven’t partaken of the sacraments in years AND even support gay marriage and homosexuals as ordained!

The church will decline in numbers even further if they get their way.  Why isn’t he dining with us in the hotel conference room so we can form a new strategy on how to build growing, vital, money-generating congregations with metrics that make the heart soar?  How dare he?”

The Three Part Response

Jesus, hearing their complaints, began to tell a story.

Part One: The Loan Shark

One day, the owner of a loan shark business, who also volunteered in the local drug rehab facility as an non-credentialed, uneducated chaplain, noted that one of his clients failed to appear.  Till then, that client had always shown up on Friday to pay a pittance against his loan.  The loan shark looked at the long lines of the desperate who were trying to keep their heads above water with these payday loans. He shouted at them to go home and come back next week and raced out the door.

After searching every bar, pool parlor, jail and hospital in the area, he came up empty.  Finally, in the back alley behind the liquor store, he found his client, drunk and without a penny in his pocket.  The loan shark owner dragged him to his car, took him to a shelter and got him a shower and clean clothes. Then he went back to the shop and paid the guy’s weekly payment out of his pocket.

He treated his friends with a beer later saying, “Sure it cost me, but I nearly lost one today–and now he’s been found!”

Part Two:  The Housekeeper

A woman had consistently been told by her ministry board that she was not suited to be a pastor. She finally found a job as a housekeeper in a large, no-tell motel.  Ten maids worked for her, none documented US citizens. She needed all of them seven days a week in order to keep up with the grueling workload.

One day, only nine appeared.  Grateful for her rapidly increasing facility with Spanish, she questioned the others. There had been an INS raid the night before.

She knew if she left the premises, she would lose her job.

But she took off anyway, found an attorney, presented her case and got the woman released. It turned out that her husband in her country of origin had left burn scars all over her body and had told her he’d kill her if she ever showed up again.

The housekeeper took her employee home, called all her friends over and said, “Let’s have a party!  I may have lost my job, but I found the one I had lost–and that’s a lot more important.”

Part Three: The Important Businessman

A highly accomplished head of a multi-national company and active lay-person in the church had two sons. He was  grooming them  to take over the business on his death.  The younger one, impatient and disenchanted with being in his older brother’s shadow, formed a different plan.  He disrespectfully told his dad off one day and demanded his share of the business immediately, not after his father died.

That powerful businessman looked sadly at his son, knowing how complicated it would be to split his business. But he also loved his son and wanted it to work for him.

The older brother stood nearby, silent with a quiet smile on his face. The father made up his mind:  He would go ahead and give his sons the entire business now.

He broke up the company, transferred one part to his youngest son, and gave the larger section to the older son.

He also gave up all his stock options, rights to make any decisions, or even take an income from it. Finally, he retired to a guest house behind the main house. The older son and his family took full occupancy of the elegant mansion.

The father’s sadness grew as he followed the business dealings with the younger son’s division.  Eventually, the business failed and bankruptcy followed.  His son never responded to his father’s calls, texts or emails. He refused to friend him on Facebook or accept an invitation to connect on LinkedIn.

The older son took over the rest of the business and prospered financially. He assumed important leadership positions in his local church, even contributing so heavily to the Capital Funds Drive that they named the educational building after him.

His dad kept inviting the older son to the guesthouse for a dinner and conversation. However,  business, church and family duties kept his time fully occupied. He kept telling his dad he’d come by later but never made it.  He had heavy responsibilities, after all.

Years passed.  The father grew lonelier. He started doing sophisticated Internet searches to see if he could find any news of his youngest son.  Unfortunately, he did: arrests for DUI’s, vagrancy, short stint in jail for drug possession. His attempts to contact the younger son were rebuffed.

People in the church felt sorry for the dad. Rumors, starting with the holy phrase, “We need to pray for . . . ”   flew everywhere. Quietly and subtlety, these good, praying church people blamed the father for having done something indefinably wrong and also blamed the younger son for being an ungrateful wretch and silently hoped he’d disappeared for good.

The  most pious ones kept telling the father, “God has a plan here–you need to learn to rejoice in your trials and not be so sad about this.”

The older brother was held in careful respect by all, although no one really dared cross him. He was said to go into a sulk if he didn’t get his way.

One day the father, aimlessly driving around town, ended up at the local long-haul bus station.  He saw a lot of lonely people there. He started hanging around, occasionally buying someone a meal, watching kids so a harried mom or dad could go to the bathroom, listening to sad stories. In time, he learned how to connect people with local social services and help them find a place to stay or even a job.  His reward came in seeing some hope in their eyes.

Periodically, he would pray with someone, and tears would flow.

Every time a bus pulled in, he looked up, watched the tired faces as they poured out, and thought about his boy.

This work began to give his life structure and meaning.  He showed up at the bus station every day for two and a half years. He learned the names of all the staff, talked with them about his son, learned about their families, joy and sorrows, and helped out when he could.  And each time a bus came in, he looked at their faces, holding each in prayer.

One drizzly, frizzly, just-barely-above-freezing-night, about 45 minutes before the last bus of the day was due, the father, unusually weary, decided to go ahead and drive home.  Just then, one of the custodial staff asked for his help in unplugging a stopped up toilet. One of the constant problems with the aging and sometimes abused facility.

Really wanting a warm drink and a warm bed, he reluctantly agreed.  Because of the chill, he’d put on a new cashmere sweater given to him by his daughter-in-law, along with a Burberry overcoat.  He put them aside and rolled up his sleeves.

The complex and time consuming repair left them both splashed with the remains of someone else’s digestive process. They finished just after the last bus arrived.  Five exhausted people had already straggled off, but the bus driver had to wake the last passenger, and had half carried, half-dragged him off the bus.

The driver turned to the father–would he help out here and see if he could get him a place to spend the night?

Wearily, the father agreed and sat next to the traveler, by then slumped in a rigid plastic chair with head in hands.

“When did you last eat?  Do you have a place to sleep? I might be able to help.”

The traveler said, “No one can help me.  I’ve made a mess of my life.  I told off my dad years ago, lost my business and all the money he gave me, found out I couldn’t even hold a job, and decided to come home and throw myself on his mercy. Thought maybe he’d hire me to do something . . . and at least I could eat.  But now that I’m here, I realize this was a stupid pipe dream, just like all the rest of my dreams.  I can’t face him.  I’m too ashamed. I wish I were dead.”

The father sat there, quietly stunned.  This was his son’s voice.  He looked closely at the back of the young man’s head–how familiar it was!

“Son, I’ve been looking for you for years.  I have never stopped loving you.”

The father got up, grabbed that good sweater and warm overcoat, and placed them around his son’s shoulders. “Let’s go home.”

Three days later, the older son came home from business travel, first class of course,  to find dozens of cars parked both in the driveway and on the well-manicured grass around the back near the guesthouse.  He walked into his own quiet, undisturbed house and yelled out, “What’s going on? What are all these cars doing here? The place looks like a low-rent used car lot.”

His perfectly coiffed and exasperated wife said, “It’s that crazy father of yours.  I told you he’d gone off his rocker when he started hanging out at the bus station. But would you listen? Nooooo.  That rotten, wastrel brother of yours has come home. Your dad is throwing him a giant welcome home party.  I’m sure he used what is left of your inheritance by having it catered by the most expensive restaurant in town.”

The older son stalked out the back door and headed purposely toward the guesthouse. He passed groups of laughing people, many in bus company and cleaning staff uniforms.  Children ran about everywhere, loud in play and joy.

He stood outside the guesthouse door and saw his brother wearing the cashmere sweater his wife had bought his father.

“Dad, what are you doing?”

“Son!  Welcome!  Your brother is back.  Grab your wife and children and have a steak with us.  Let me pour you a glass of wine–I’ve bought the best for this. Just wait until you taste it!”

“Dad– how can you have a party after what he’s done to you?  He’s brought shame and embarrassment on all of us.  I’ve done nothing but be faithful to you and you NEVER had a party for me.  And who ARE these people you invited?  None of them has ever been to our church and they are certainly not my employees.”

“Son, anytime you wanted to, we could have partied. Everything I have has always been yours.  And today, I celebrate, because what has been lost is found.”

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December 5, 2012 · 10:47 pm

The Phone Call and the Novena

praying-handsA dear friend of mine phoned earlier this evening.  She refers to herself as my “spiritual mother” and I very much believe it.  She’s in her late 80′s, and is simply beautiful. I describe her as a piece of pure light wrapped in a tiny piece of increasingly frail human flesh.

We connected about a year and a half ago.  She had been reading my newspaper columns in the Denton Record Chronicle and phoned to talk with me and see if perhaps the church I serve would be able to embrace her and her unique understanding of Christian spirituality.  I assured her she and her husband would be both welcomed and celebrated here. An immediate friendship sprang up between us.

This dear saint has practiced regular, focused prayer and meditation for decades, and the the lifelong habit of that spiritual discipline gives her powerful awareness of things many of us just can’t see.

I’ve been having a bit of a tough time recently over some personal issues.  This has brought some sadness.  That sadness has been coupled with an unusually hard hit for me this year with my lifelong struggle of coping with the shorter and darker days of fall as we approach the winter solstice.  Simply put, I am more than a bit down.

A few minutes before she phoned me, the Spirit of God spoke to my friend and told her, “tomorrow, you will do a novena for Christy.”  She called to let me know.  Very simply, every hour on the hour for nine consecutive hours, she will stop everything she is doing and go to concentrated prayer for me.

The tears sprang to my eyes as I said a simple “Thank you.”  This will be hard on her physically, and will interrupt some needed rest time, but I would not dream of suggesting she should not be obedient to God.  It is a giant, huge, gift of love for me.

I already feel enfolded by it.  It’s like nestling in fluffy down comforter on a crisp night, sleeping with an open window or even outside, but knowing warmth holds me.

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November 27, 2012 · 8:29 am

Santa is NOT Jesus!

I love Christmas music.  The great hymns and classical pieces fill my soul and some of the other lighter pieces add a nice touch of frivolity to the season.  But I have one major gripe.

A few days ago, I was idly listening to some Christmas music on TV while halfway engaged in another task. Suddenly the words to a song penetrated my distracted brain.  The words were, “He’ll be here with the answer to prayers that you made through the year.  They’ll be yours if you’ve done everything you should extra special good.”

Startled I glanced up in time to get the name of the song (“Everyone’s Waitin’ for the Man with the Bag”) and looked up the words to make sure I heard them accurately.

I did.

The “he” referred to in this song is Santa Claus.  Santa, the one who answers our prayers.

Now, this is a particularly bad holiday song for a lot of reasons. I’d never even heard it before.  Doubt if most of us have. Don’t buy it.

Nonetheless, it does express a disturbing sentiment:  Santa knows everything, has magical powers, can make you happy and your dreams come true.  In other words, Santa is pretty close to God or at least what we’d like God to be.

I am not a complete curmudgeon.  I think it is a fun to do Santa make-believe, to tell the story of that great and generous saint who inspired the story, and to read with delight the classic “Twas the Night Before Christmas.”

I simply don’t want to see Santa confused with Jesus, particularly in the minds of small children.  The whole “You better be good, you better watch out” thing has become a religion of its own. I’ve actually seen parents get more upset when their children quit believing in Santa Claus than they do when these same children declare disbelief in God.

By the way, I am not complaining about the commercialization of Christmas.  I have many friends whose livelihood comes from the retail world. Holiday shopping makes or breaks their businesses. We live in an economy supported primarily by consumer spending rather than, for example, manufacturing or agriculture.  We need to spend to stay afloat.

I am also not campaigning to “put Christ back in Christmas.” The essence of Christmas is found in its name, a shortened version of “Christ Mass,” that holy celebration and acknowledgement of the centrality of Christ to Christianity.  We can’t take Christ out of Christmas.  Don’t need to put him back in.I also don’t care when I hear “happy holidays” rather than “Merry Christmas.”  This IS a holiday time, and those who don’t celebrate the religious holiday of Christmas but who still “Christmas” shop deserve sensitivity.My problem is this:  When we teach that Santa is like God, or is God, as is the case in this awful song, we do a terrible disservice both to the name and reputation of God and to the children who buy into this “gonna make my dreams come true” idea of God.This, then becomes my plea to all who shape the spiritual world of children (that, by the way, is every single person who comes in contact with or influences children in any way): have fun with the Santa story, but make it clear that this is make-believe, like Peter Pan or Charlie and the Chocolate Factory or Cinderella or any other well-loved children’s story.  Encourage the magic and the generosity that flows from the sweetness of this story.  Just don’t turn Santa into God.

Santa Claus is a fun fable.  The Holy Creator God is a whole other story.

Let us ask, “How do I want the children we influence to be shaped spiritually?  What happens when we teach something we know is just a story to be actually true?”

Let’s both be wise AND have fun.  Happy Holidays!

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November 3, 2012 · 10:54 am

The Day Off and the Quotidian Tasks

I was watching one of those hoarding TV shows recently.  I suppose they relax me a bit.  This morning, as I was pondering and praying through the day, I became even more away that I am just one step away from seeing my own life spiral out of control as do the lives of the hoarders.  One day when I will not do what are occasionally called the “quotidian” tasks–those things that must be done routinely no matter how much we dislike them–just one day of refusing to do them can lead to a downward trajectory that is difficult to stop.

Because of computer problems, I had gone for several months recently without dealing properly with my receipts and other routine financial tasks.  They built to huge levels.  The thought of tackling them nearly made me ill.  Armed with a working computer, and a determination to deal with this, I am now nearly fully caught up. The other side of tackling them meant freedom again.  It felt good.

It was kind of like my garden fountain outside.  The water had turned green and algae filled.  Although I could have stuck a dollop of bleach in there for a quick fix, that is bad for the pump and the environment. It is far better to scoop the water out, feed the nearby plants with, for them, nourishing smelly water, and put fresh back into the fountain.  A routine task, one that must be done about every two to three weeks, and when I don’t do it, the fountain stops up and loses all its beauty.

Today I also face a number routine, quotidian, tasks.  It’s a struggle to get going.  A second cup of tea beckons, my Saturday favorite radio shows are on.  I glance out the window and see an onion bed that needs weeding, seeds to pick and store off a flowering plant that I’d like to be able to give away, house plants that need to go back outside for what I expect will be a few more weeks of warm weather, personal papers that need to be sorted and filed or tossed, a box of old photos that I need to sort.  Really, a gentle day.

I suddenly remember what it was like when I had all the children home, and I was both going to school and working full-time. My current quotidian tasks are wildly different from those days. I would instead face of piles of laundry, multiple activities to coordinate, gigantic shopping and  cooking tasks so there would be something to eat the rest of the week, Sunday school lessons to prepare, and often people coming over for a shared meal later that day. Again, how easy it was to say, “nope, just not going to do it.”  Only one or two weeks of that, and life would spin out of control.

And then it hits me how those who were in the path of Superstorm Sandy would love to be able to spend a day just doing those quotidian tasks.  Nothing is routine about their lives today.  Huge, giant messes slap them no matter where they look.  Inadequate gasoline supplies mean rationing and interminable lines; electricity is yet unrestored in many ears. The hugeness of the losses are beginning to sink in and anything looking like “normal” seems impossible to achieve again.

How can I best help?  Well, clearly I can send money for relief supplies, but that is about it right now.  Those who have expertise in these areas are on site–my own presence would make things worse.  But I can deal with my own day, praying for the suffering, giving thanks for this moment, and finding joy in the routine.

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September 21, 2012 · 10:41 am

God Is Not Your Butler

In some of my multi-faceted reading, especially when looking for a column idea, I head to the websites of some well-known advice writers.  They receive fascinating arrays of questions like:

  • “My mother has stolen my identity and runs up  bunches of bills on my credit card–how can I make her  more responsible financially?”
  • “I just found out my boyfriend has this thing for underage girls–how can I make him stop since he is perfect in every other way and I am madly in love with him and want to marry him?”
  • “My forever best friend just asked someone else to be her maid of honor–is it OK to be angry with her and confront her about this and make her change her mind?”
  • “I just found out that I have a teen-aged son from an affair a long time ago and for some reason my wife is upset that I want to spend time with him–how I can make her see this situation more sensibly?”

Do you see the commonality in these stories?  They all involve wanting to “make” someone else change something significant about themselves so the writer can get what she/he wants or needs from the relationship.

Many of our prayers work the same way.

  • “God, please make that boy/girl like me best.”
  • “O hey, Lord, could you make my mother not mad at me for forgetting to take out the garbage?”
  • “Umm, God, would you stop my daughter from making that bad decision?”
  • “By the way, Big Daddy in the sky, would you make my teacher not give the test since I’ve not studied?”
  • “O good and gracious God, would you please make my husband/wife/significant other stop doing that annoying habit?”
  • “O Lord, would you rain destruction on that person who refused to show me respect so they’ll be nicer to me next time?”

It would be nice if we would, once and for all, recognize that we can’t do this.  We really can’t “make” someone else do something they don’t want to do without stripping from them that which makes them (and us) essentially human–our ability to make choices.

We can train our children in certain life patterns.  We can set up structures that give time for homework and household chores.  We can model good manners responsible living and correct them when we see impoliteness and irresponsibility.  We can explain and hold to negative consequences when unacceptable actions take place.  But we can’t “make” a child speak or feel a certain way or express a certain thought or perform a certain action.

Employers function the same way.  They can give job descriptions, arrange for adequate training and provide tools so the worker has what is necessary.  But the employer can’t “make” someone do the work properly.  He or she can only fire someone who refuses to do so.

I wonder if our prayers so often ask God to coerce someone into doing something because that is the way we live our interpersonal lives.  We think we can come up with the magic way to make that important person behave a certain way or feel the way we want them to .

It won’t work.  It never has. It never will.  When we pray this way, we reduce the Holy Creator of the Universe to the status of our own personal divine butler God.  As a friend noted, it’s as though we see God standing in a white robe holding a platter full of spicy chicken wings.

We then try to do this to others, becoming tiny little dictators, sure that the entire world revolves around our own petty needs.

Time to get a bigger picture, folks.  God’s not your butler, and your relationships are about more than just what you want.  The more we turn others, and God, into objects whose job is to make us happy, the less human we ourselves become.

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September 9, 2012 · 5:05 pm

“All You Can Do Is Pray.”

“All you can do is pray.”

I said this to our Children’s Day Out (CDO) director this past Thursday after a conversation about the increasingly desperate need to purchase a van.

The program, CDO, had simply exploded, particularly in the last 20 months when it moved from preschool to a full-service daycare, including before and afterschool care.  Which also means transporting a lot of students each day.

Determined fundraising had netted about $12,500, but a really good quality and safe van was going to cost much more.

The Director’s aging and inadequate personal van was barely functioning.  It was not worth repairing because of its age and mileage. The need for a 12-15 passenger van had become acute.

She came to me asking for help and direction.

This is what I had to offer—“All you can do is pray.”  Interesting, in retrospect, that I said, “that’s all I have to offer.”

About an hour after our conversation, I received an email from a friend.  An unexpected financial windfall had occurred which led to this question, “Does the church need anything in particular?”

OK folks, if someone asks, I’m certainly going to answer.  I wrote back, explaining the need and asked for $5000.  I thought if we could come up with that much, perhaps we could float a loan for the rest of the cost.  I also felt sure that this was an impossible “ask.”

A short while later, “I can’t do $5000, but I’ll do $2500 as a challenge gift—you’ve got to come with a matching $2500.”

Later, the CDO Director and I talked it over.  I suggested she ask for a month to raise the matching funds—she said, “No, we need to do it this week.”  I gave my blessing and thought, “There is no way.”

That evening, the CDO Board authorized a limited loan to cover the difference if the money could be raised and a suitable vehicle found.

Fast forward to Saturday evening.  Another church member, very close friends with the owner of an auto dealership who has undertaken the ministry of helping churches find safe and affordable vans, phoned.  “Christy, the right van has finally shown up.  Year:  2102, one owner, 14,011 miles, under warranty, all the safety features we need, in perfect condition. “

These vans get snapped up within hours after being posted on the website, but the dealership owner said he’d put a pending on it until Monday morning.  The listed cost was absolutely prohibitive, but we could have it for $25,000.  If we wanted it, we had to purchase it Monday morning.

One week just turned into 36 hours.

This morning, I explained the situation at all three services.  I asked people to give $5, $10, $25 or even the matching $2500 as God leads.   Attendance was high and I was hoping enough small gifts would come in to squeeze us into the borrowing range mandated by the CDO Board.

At the third service, after the announcements and during the hug and handshake time, my music minister tugged on me and motioned to someone.  An individual, who asked for total anonymity said, “I am matching the $2500.  But I don’t have my checkbook with me.  How can I get that to you before tomorrow?”  I said, “I’ll come get it this afternoon if that works for you.”  Agreement was given.

After the third service, we convened for a Board of Stewards meeting and Called Church Conference (totally different subject:  adding a 1/4 time clergy staff person and refinancing the parsonage).  I announced the matching gift, and everyone cheered.  At the time I announced it, the CDO Director was not in the room, so she did not hear about it.

After the short Church Conference, she came up to me to give me the figures of what had been donated.  I saw a $2500 gift on there and said, “So you heard my announcement?”

She said, “What announcement?”

There had been another $2500 matching gift.  Neither of us knew about the other.

By the time we totaled up everything—and there are still a few stray ones to be gathered in–we realized that more than $7,500 had been given, not including the original $2500—all from completely unexpected sources.

We stared at each other slack-jawed.

During the children’s message at the third service, I had given each of the children a dollar bill, explaining how people learned the difference between the fake and the real, and told the children they could keep the bill. Later in the meeting, the Lay Leader got up and shared, “My son told me when he got back to his seat that he wanted to give his dollar to the van fund.”

I think we were all weeping by then.

Before the meeting was over, another donor offered to make up the difference so we could go ahead and purchase the van outright, no loan necessary.

Now, this sort of thing may be routine for many churches.  For some with a fair number of deep pocket individuals, it is almost expected.  But this is not a church like that.  Every penny given is given sacrificially here.

We managed a complete relocation three and a half years ago, funded by a friendly local bank coupled with giving, again all sacrificial, and of a magnitude that none of us imagined could happen.  We’re paying the mortgage, supporting our ministries, and are current on apportionments and all other bills.

I have almost never asked for money.  Our pledge drives are minimal, and extremely low key.  I tell people each week, “Give what God tells you to give, not more and not less.  If God tells you not to give, then don’t.  Just don’t miss the blessing, what ever you do.”

Money does get tight.  Each time, I tell myself, “Well, I guess all I can do is pray.”

This morning, as I walked into the still quiet and empty church for my final preparations, I discarded my usual, “Lord, fill this place with people” and prayed instead, “Lord, fill this place with Your Spirit.  With that I will be satisfied.  I ask no more.”

Yes, all I can do is pray.  And yes, God’s Spirit filled our church today.

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June 19, 2012 · 11:03 am

Hollow Be My Name

Fatigue wrapped its ugly arms around me earlier today–the worst I’ve experienced since starting my Sabbatical. Think it came from a weekend spent in the Cotswolds where I had a wonderful time reconnecting with a beloved nephew and his family and saw glorious countryside–and parts of New College Oxford where scenes from Harry Potter are filmed.  But . . . I completely lost the rhythm of walking/reading/writing that had characterized my days recently and that had led to such a sense of physical and spiritual well-being.

My best recourse when I reach this point is to move.  This body is made for walking.  I headed for the nearby Downs where there are miles of walking trails through forests and fields.

And, as I often do when the walking rhythms take hold, I began to pray.  I realized suddenly that I was about to load on God all my petty complaints and little frustrations and bigger concerns and all the other trivia that often occupies my mind.  I stopped and regrouped.

When I started again, I began with the prayer Jesus taught his disciples.  It was time to acknowledge God’s holiness, and move from thinking I am the center of the universe to the spot where I can and will worship the Center of all the cosmos.  Then I hit the phrases that always stop me: may God’s will be done, may God’s rule overcome, here in this limited earth time/space as it already is in the fullness of the heavenly places.

Over the weekend, my nephew and I were helping his older daughter, 5, practice praying the Lord’s Prayer.  She is learning this in her school here and wanted to show us what she’d learned.  In typical five year old fashion, it went something like this, “Our Father who aren’t in heaven, hollow be my name.  My kingdom come, my will be done, on earth as it is in heaven.”

Working on reining in our laughter, we gently corrected her and encouraged her in her great progress.

Personally, I think what I heard from her is really what most people do think.  God’s not really in heaven, glory and honor have nothing to do with this–the whole thing is hollow, and what we really want is our own will to be done.

But the prayer does, in its non-five year old form, call for God’s will be done.  What is God’s will?

I’ve been pondering again the words to Mary’s Magnificat, the words she spoke after her pregnancy was confirmed by Elizabeth, herself pregnant with John the Baptist:

My soul magnifies the Lord, and my spirit rejoices in God my Savior,  for he has looked with favor on the lowliness of his servant. Surely, from now on all generations will call me blessed; for the Mighty One has done great things for me, and holy is his name.

His mercy is for those who fear him from generation to generation. He has shown strength with his arm; he has scattered the proud in the thoughts of their hearts. He has brought down the powerful from their thrones, and lifted up the lowly;  he has filled the hungry with good things, and sent the rich away empty.  

He has helped his servant Israel, in remembrance of his mercy, according to the promise he made to our ancestors, to Abraham and to his descendants forever.

It’s that middle paragraph that stops me cold:  scattering the proud, bringing down the powerful, lifting the lowly, filling the hungry but sending the rich away.

Could that be God’s will?  Seriously? Put down the power?  Turn the weapons of mass destruction into means of food production?  Remove the carnivorous nature of the wolf so the lamb can safely nestle there? Celebrate the huddled masses, the poverty-stricken, desperate, illegal immigrant population as welcomed sojourners? Hug the lepers, touch the unclean and discover that the gospel comes best from the most unlikely sources, from voices that have historically been silenced?

Surely not.

Surely God’s kingdom is my kingdom–where I get what I want, and I stay the center of the universe.

Or maybe we’ve missed the boat completely.

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June 10, 2012 · 3:38 pm

Why It Matters: The Episcopal Situation in the North Texas Conference

Jeffrey Weiss, a reporter with the Dallas Morning News, has asked these questions concerning the episcopal situation facing the North Texas Conference:  “Why does this matter? And to who? Clearly, it’s a big deal to North Texas Methodist clergy. But who else should be paying attention? And why?”

Here is my response:

Does this Episcopal situation matter to anyone besides the United Methodist clergy?

Three Levels

On one level, and speaking on a short term time frame, no, not really. We clergy and the members of the churches we serve are the only ones who experience anything directly. Even then, it will mostly just be clergy. And among the clergy, only a few will see much immediate fallout. Most everyone else will go on doing what we’ve always been doing, and trying to ignore what may be a fatal blow to our connection as the slow internal hemorrhage of pain, mistrust and discouragement takes its toll.

One a second level, and on a longer-term time frame, it matters because while we United Methodists may not be huge in number, we do have a large impact in the quiet and generally unnoticed work of patching broken lives back together again. Because of our strong social conscience, Methodists from the beginning of this movement in 17th England have been on the forefront of living out our faith by feeding the hungry, clothing the naked, visiting the prisoners, caring for the outcasts, rescuing the children, and bringing health to the ill, both of body and mind.  This hidden work is part of the glue that holds both the Metroplex and the larger civilized world together and offers the sweet aroma of goodness and grace to a world sorely lacking in both.

Religious people, particularly Christians, are often mocked in the press because of our proclivity for silly arguments over the minutest details of doctrine, stupid social positions, disgustingly hateful pronouncements about racial, gender and sexual issues, and moral scandals among clergy. Those things make good reads and are used as fodder to say, “See, they really are a bunch of hypocrites.”  What rarely sees wide publicity is the immensely transformational nature of much of our quiet work. Let the United Methodist church come apart by this apparently unimportant disagreement, and the power and goodness that comes from that quiet work may easily dissipate. We will all feel the loss of these sweet services of grace, even those with no direct involvement with United Methodists, but most won’t know the root cause of the loss.

One a third, and most important level, what we as small group of clergy and churches are experiencing is the universal human story. This is the story of trust, betrayal, its aftermath and the long and complicated path to forgiveness and finding trust again.  And this is why the story needs to be told.

The Covenant Connection

United Methodist clergy, all of whom in some way or another have devoted our lives to living out the call to serve God and the community, are held together by a covenant.  A covenant is much more than a contract.  It is, like the marriage covenant, a binding of souls together for better or for worse.

I often tell the members of my congregation that the people who are most likely to hurt them painfully are the ones to whom they have made themselves most vulnerable, most “woundable” so to speak.  Who are they? Spouses, parents, children, extended family, long-time friends, confidants, employers.

They are the ones with whom we explore the basic question that haunts everyone:  can we both be fully known AND fully loved?

They are the one who can and do find our most tender places and dig the knives of betrayal in deep.

They are the ones we consistently have to learn to forgive and to re-engage in covenant life.

United Methodist Clergy have that kind of covenant with our Bishop. It is the Bishop who decides which clergy person will serve where and for how long. We have all taken a vow of itinerancy–this is part of our heritage from John Wesley, the founder of the Methodist movement.  We will go where we are told, and do so trusting that our Bishop makes those decisions with wisdom, grace, genuine love for us as brother and sister clergy people, and with adequate knowledge of both congregation and clergy in order to put the right person in the right place.

Some clergy move frequently. Some stay in one place for 20, 30 even 40 years. But all technically are subject to the decisions of the Bishop about placement. Any one at any time may receive a call and hear, “The Bishop has appointed you to . . . ”  Our entire lives, the lives of our spouses and children, and the lives of our congregations can be radically turned upside down.

It takes a lot of trust to live and work in a situation like this.

Broken Trust

The trust that held that fragile covenant (and all covenants made by humans are fragile by nature) has been broken. On all sides of this situation, there are people who feel utterly betrayed, stabbed in the back, and sucker-punched. The breath has gone out of us–but as it comes back in, anger tends to accompany it.

Anger in and of itself is not necessarily bad. It can energize us to fight with passion the most evil of oppressions. Or it can turn into an evil oppressor itself.

Again, this is the human experience. What we live through on the micro level of Bishop/Clergy/Laity of the North Texas Conference of The United Methodist Church is also lived through on the macro level of all human experience.  What we bring to its resolution is a faith centered on Jesus who says, at the moment of total betrayal, “Father, forgive them for they know not what they do.”

The Universal Questions

We are, I suspect, going to be asking the same questions that every other single person who has been betrayed asks. Those questions are:

  • “What does forgiveness look like?”
  • “Does the work of forgiveness mean that I must stay in intimate relationship with the those who appear to have betrayed me?”
  • “How can I learn to trust again?”

We’re going to have to ask those questions on a deeply personal level and on a larger, connectional level.  As we ask them, we will decide once more if the Gospel is true.

If we cannot get through this without destroying one another, then the larger world is right to ridicule us a deceived people who have bought into a lie.

If it is true that God’s love for us is so powerful that God will go to all lengths to bring us back into reconciled intimacy with God, then it is time to live it out.

We must discern what is expected of us and of God in that journey toward healing, forgiveness, regained trust and reconciliation.

My Own Story

I speak very personally here for a moment. A number of years ago, I chose to end my first marriage.  My husband at that time was/is not a bad or evil person.  I was/am not a bad or evil person.  But the relationship itself had become a place of death–I could not stay alive as an individual and stay in the marriage.  After several years of serious contemplation of and hope for my own death, I chose life and also chose to offer forgiveness but without the kind of reconciliation that would continue to leave me vulnerable to the damaging dynamic of the relationship.

Was it an ideal solution? Hardly. The repercussions will go on for generations and it took me years to come to deep peace with it and to hope and pray nothing but goodness for the man who is the father to my children.  But even with those hopes and prayers, I would not be married to him again.

The choice to trust again after such an experience was complicated and fraught with fear for me.  But I knew that by living in suspicion of others, I would deny myself the joy of intimacy forever.

A little while ago, I went to take a walk. As I am writing this, I am staying alone at my oldest son’s house, in a suburb south of London, England. Near his house are several heavily forested areas with multiple walking and bridle paths. There is no map of the paths, and I often wonder if I might get lost in my perambulations.

As I went to take this walk, I walked alone in a part of the forest I had not explored before. The skies were darkening with oncoming rain. Although prepared for the rain, I wondered, “Can I trust that everyone I might encounter on these lonely and gloomy paths will be adequately civilized so I may get home safely?”

I became suddenly aware that no one knew where I was or would even know that I had not returned safely for at least 24 hours when I was scheduled to pick up the grandchildren from school.

With each turning of the path, I had a choice: stick with the route I knew, have a decent walk, get home and lock the door against other possibilities, OR, try a different route, risk getting lost and possibly hurt, and see what I can discover about myself and God.

Several times, I chose the unknown route, knowing that if I faced my demons and looked them straight in the eye, I had a chance of loving them into submission. But if I let them win, they are my masters. Demons make poor masters but great jailers.

Facing Our Demons

That’s why this this episcopal mess is important to many more than just a small group of beleaguered, tired and often discouraged clergy people. What we do in response will, in its own way, change the world. We’ll either face our demons and love them into transformation or we will let them win and shut ourselves away. There is no such thing as a neutral act, and no such thing as an act that does not affect in some way everything it touches.  And we United Methodists touch a massive number of things in this area, in the US, and in the world.

We will either learn to trust again and become more able to speak our truth in love, or we’ll stuff our truths away and build the fortifications around our souls so we won’t be hurt again–and we will lose our hope of redemption.

There is nothing easy about what is before us. That, also, is the universal human condition. Certainly, some life choices glow clearly, with the righteous and holy path fully illuminated. Most do not–most choices flicker with multiple shades of grey dancing in the shadows of our minds and hearts. We wander now into those shadowy and gloomy gray areas littered with hidden and yet to be explored paths. It will take much wisdom, humility, prayer, courage and forgiveness to find our way out. Again, this is the universal human experience.

That’s why this is important.  The painful, slow process of resolution will not gain national press. But it will have a long term effect on our faith and society, and we are foolish to believe otherwise.

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June 7, 2012 · 2:40 am

528 Steps of Prayer

Today I hope to climb to the top of the dome of St. Paul’s Cathedral in London.  It is 528 steps up (and as many down, equally if not harder on the body).  No elevator, two stopping places if I can’t make it all the way to the top.

I’m taking with me the ten year old cousin of my grandchildren.  I want to expose Katie to the power of the faith here–plus she is giving me elocution lessons as I seek to learn to speak “propah” British English.  We shall have a great day together.

I figure the first 20 steps will be relatively easy.  Each one is going to hurt after that.  I’m up in years, not particularly strong and still recovering from my post Easter surgery.

Below is a call to prayer given by Gary Mueller.  I have decided that each painful stop up will be a reminder for me to pray for the Holy Spirit to bring the conviction of sin, righteousness and judgment (John 16:8) as we in the North Texas Conference seek God’s grace and holy wisdom in the midst of our tumultuous times.

The message from Gary:

Brothers and Sisters, Like all of you, my heart is heavy today for so many reasons. All of us are wondering, “So what happens next?” For me, the answer is simple. We pray, as all are doing. We fast, as some are doing. We listen to God, as we all need to be doing. But we need to do that together and not merely alone. I want to ask you to suggest that we might stop whatever we are doing at 11:00 am each morning – starting tomorrow – and pray every day for the next week. I don’t know what it will do, but I know it’s what I need to do. Spread the word to clergy and laity alike. Blessings, my friends!

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June 6, 2012 · 4:15 am

Fight Like the Devil and The North Texas Annual Conference at a Distance

I had been formally excused from attendance at the North Texas Annual Conference this year because of my sabbatical leave, but decided to watch as much of it as I could by livestream and to keep up otherwise by twitter and blog posts.

Powerful reports filtered in of great worship, strong youth leadership, renewed energy, hope, connection and collegiality.  The Nehemiah team did a great job presenting options for new delivery models as they held to the essential mission of the Annual Conference.  Church plants are adding many new people to worship and the reports about Owen Ross and the Christ Foundry brought tears of joy to my eyes. The Connections Band brings both great music and hope of life to thousands. Larry George’s strong call to no longer normalize poverty had the twitter feed active and clearly touched by that.

Because of the time difference (I am six hours ahead), I was not able to see the ordination service, but again, the comments suggested an electrifying and powerful evening.  I read the sermon and appreciated it, although I have one concern.  There is a vital point I think Rev. Baughman missed and I also think, at the end, the Bishop missed.  In Acts 2, after Peter’s speech that convicted so many of their need to turn to God, he says to them, “Repent and be baptized.’

Baughman said, “Peter’s prescription is water.”  No, Peter’s prescription is repentance.  The water to end the drought is the result of repentance.

Repentance, metanoia, is the deep and profound turning from darkness to light, and a turning that always, always, always, leads to huge humility. When we turn from darkness to the light, all of our sin is exposed.  Hubris no longer has a place, for we suddenly see ourselves as God sees us, fully in need of the covering of grace. Our proper response: fall on our knees before God with these words, “Have mercy upon me, a sinner.”

That is what didn’t happen, but could have.

I decided to sacrifice sleep on June 5 and go ahead and stay up for the reading of the appointments and the final comments by the Bishop.  I heard him preach a powerful sermon from Mark 5 about the demon-possessed man set free by Jesus and then told to do this:  ”Go home to your own people. Tell them your story – what the Master did, how he had mercy on you.”

I thought, “What a great segue into his good-bye to this Conference as Bishop–he too, will be going home to tell his story.  He will have been set free and will set us free to go forward as a Conference.”

How wrong I was.

Instead, I learned with dismay that the man who is the spiritual leader of 160,000 United Methodists in North Texas intends to fight like the devil to keep his position.

How does the devil fight?  With craftiness, by inserting doubt about the goodness of God, by inviting others to embellish the truth in order to justify themselves, and by encouraging the compromise of long term holiness and  joy for short term gain and profit.

What did our Bishop do?  First, his put his sweet wife and her grief fully on display–leaving her unattended to weep openly in full view of the camera.  So like the first man–let the woman take the hit.  The Bishop used a short term gain in numbers, taking credit for the hard work of others and plans that had been in operation long before his tenure began, to compromise the hope of long-term holiness.  On the basis of those short term numbers, he declared himself “effective.”

Then he played the race card, and brought unbelievable harm onto our Conference.  That is fighting like the devil, indeed. Do all possible to divide people on a deep level and keep them far from the hope of grace-filled reconciliation with God and with each other.  Sadly, the story of Genesis 3 was powerfully re-enacted on June 5 at the Plano Centre.

I understand that the Bishop was hurt by the poor evaluation of his tenure as Bishop.  But to turn and then intentionally hurt the Annual Conference in this way brings into question his leadership capabilities.  I believe the holy response to being hurt should have been something like, “Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do.”

It appears that he has chosen hubris over humility.  That is indeed fighting like the devil–who, as Milton suggested in Paradise Lost, lives from this principle: “Better to reign in Hell than to serve in Heaven”

It is time to repent–all of us.  That is what opens the door for the Holy Spirit to enter.

Note: I have written further reflections on the situation here.  Also, the comment immediately below by Rev. Nancy DeStefano offers important insight and needs to be read.

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