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Mystery Worship Eleven: A Missed Opportunity

Note:  this is part of an ongoing series.  Mystery Worship One is here;  Mystery Worship Two is here; Mystery Worship Three is here. Four is here. Five is here. Six is here. Seven is here. Eight is here. Nine is here. Ten is here.

On my first Sunday back in Texas, I decided to attend an Orthodox Church for my Mystery Worship time.

With some research for preparation, I discovered that the Orthodox Church considers itself the only true church, and is not in communion with other Christian groups.  Those who receive the sacrament of Holy Communion are expected to have made a confession in the presence of an Orthodox Priest within the last 24 hours and to come fasting to the service.

I read that worshippers stand throughout the entire, mostly sung, service (90 minutes to six hours in length), kiss icons (women do not wear lipstick), make multiple signs of the cross and engage in both bowing and acts of prostration.

Requested dress code:  slacks, dress shoes, collared shirt for men—and absolutely no hats—and long skirt or pants, modest blouse, minimal makeup, and head covering for women.

I woke on that morning in some discomfort, physical and mental. First, I had worked in the garden for seven hours the day before and had suffered a bit of heat exhaustion.  Second, during that sojourn in the garden, my unprotected feet disturbed a fire ant mound.  Bites everywhere, still tender, and I dreaded the  idea of even the lightest of shoes and a long time on my feet. Third, the thought of going to a worship service where I had little idea of what would happen suddenly seemed overwhelming to me. I feared standing out, looking like an idiot, disturbing the worship of others, and being physically miserable.

Nonetheless, I rose, dressed in a long black skirt and long sleeved blouse, and stuck my bite-covered feet into normally comfortable sandals.

At the appointed time, I left the house, drove to the location I had pinpointed, looked at the people outside, and realized something:  I had forgotten a head covering and had nothing in my car I could use.

The barriers to worship simply became too high for me. Discouraged, and feeling completely worn out, I headed home.

On that return trip, I began to think about what it is like for anyone to come into worship for the first time. The mysteries of worship services, language, customs and etiquette stay nearly indecipherable to many.

Traditional church bulletins are littered with headings like “prelude, doxology, Gloria Patri, benediction.”  We toss around buzz words such as Sacrament, liturgy, soteriology, ecclesiology, sanctification, salvation, atonement, justification, pre-lapsarianism (OK, that one is just for show).

I thought about how much planning it took for me to attend worship during my weeks away. Most places meant either a long walk or a need to catch a train, underground and then more walking to get to the places I wanted to go.

I didn’t know anyone at any place I visited.  I walked in and out a stranger, mostly by my own design.

While worship must not be about our own comfort, it also takes place within a community. Often, but not always, powerful worship takes place as part of a connection of people who know each other, care for each other, push one another to greater godliness, and actively work together to serve the world

I knew that, had I been walking into a known community that Sunday, I would have just laughed off my forgetfulness, ignored my bitten feet, borrowed what I needed, and freely headed in.  But as a strange sojourner, I feared that I might be judged and found wanting, and so stayed away.  It was my problem.

I’ve heard many people say, “I’ll go to church when I get my life together.”  I believe it actually works just the opposite:  the act of worship, of being willing to be touched by God, of engaging in the power of confession, forgiveness, reconciliation, thanksgiving—these are the very things that make it possible for us to get our lives together.

I know I missed something important that day.

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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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The Church as Jazz Band

“My bags are packed, I’m ready to go . . .” 

People of a certain age may recognize this song, “Leavin’ on a Jet Plane”—and the mixed joy and sorrow it brings.

Yes, I’m leaving—and on a jet plane, but just for three months.  This is a long-planned Sabbatical which is intended to give me rest with time to heal, write and pray, plus spend time with my very scattered family whom I rarely get to see.

Today was my last Sunday in the pulpit at Krum First UMC. So often when an interim pastor comes in for a time, s/he is facing a difficult situation:  often either a disgraced pastor or a rogue church.  This is different—the Krum Church is a vital, thriving congregation filled with people who genuinely love God and each other and actively look for ways to serve the world.  Frankly, the Interim Pastor, Rev. Ward Livingston, is going to have a blast—and he knows it.

I will miss them enormously.  Yet, I, too, must engage in Sabbath rest and refreshment.  I have disregarded for too long the strong teaching in the Holy Scriptures about the importance of time away from work, time to refill, time to worship joyfully, time to heal body, mind and soul.

In worship today, I invited the church to see themselves as a musical group as a metaphor for the church and the way people interact with each other.  We listened to a hilarious (and painful) piece recorded as a Swedish children’s orchestra tried to play together.

Then we watched a professional boys choir and orchestra sing “Unto Us A Child is Born” from Handel’s Messiah.

From the first video, we recognized the need to grow up. From the second, we became aware that a church that sounds too professional and too smooth might not be the best image to present to the world, not to mention that most of us are not “perfect pitch” Christians.

Then we watched a jazz group.

Oh my.  There it was, a great metaphor.  The musical theme consistently undergirded the astounding improvisations as one musician after another stood up and offered their talent while being supported by the rest of the band.  Incredible.  We all got it—the Church As Jazz Band.

And so we are—with this “musician” needing to drop from the action for a while, multiple other ones will step up and keep the music, the message of the gospel, alive and joyful and communicated with power and skill.

So, on Wednesday I fly to NYC for a week with two of my sons, their exquisite wives, Kate, 5, Wesley 2, and McKinzie Linn, just two weeks.  After that, I’m off for an extended period in London with my other son, his equally exquisite wife, and Joshua, 6 and Sami, 4, those boys whose first language is Spanish, and their second is beautiful British English with a high-class accent.  I’m going to try to pick it up from them while I’m there!

And the band will play on here.  This is about as good as it gets.

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Alone At the Cross

Rev. Frederick Schmidt, who blogs at Patheos, wrote some words in a post about the Archbishop of Canterbury which describe better the challenges of pastoral leadership better than any I’ve seen before.  I’m quoting large parts of his latest post, bolding the sentences that hit me the hardest, because he says so well what I’ve been thinking that I want to make sure I can read these words again the next time I become completely discouraged in my life as pastor:

One, the leadership role of a pastor, priest, bishop, or archbishop (in this case) is different from almost any other leadership role on the face of the earth. Clergy are called upon to provide guidance along the subtle frontiers that lie between where the church has been and where the Holy Spirit might be leading the church. They are called upon to witness to the truth of Gospel, but they are also called upon to provide soul care for those who sin and struggle. As a matter of vocation, as well as conscience, they are required to form their own opinions about God’s truth, but they are keenly aware (or should be) that their view of the truth and the truth itself are not necessarily the same thing. God alone remains God. Their understanding of who God is and what God wants is always fragmentary and fallible.

Two, the institutions that they lead are among the hardest on the face of the earth to shepherd. Participation in the life of the church is entirely voluntary. Its leaders cannot make anyone do anything. They do not enjoy the sanctions available to the state or to employers. There are very few people that they can fire. There is little in the way of sanctions that they can impose on people who dissent from their views of how things ought to be. They rely entirely on suasion—theological and spiritual—to convince people that they should follow.

Three, all of this is done today in an environment that is radically different from the one in which the church operated scarcely a half century ago. Not long ago, largely homogeneous expressions of Christianity lived out their lives in discrete parts of the globe, made decisions that accorded with their understanding of the faith, and did it all with relatively little reaction from other parts of the world. Roll the clock back far enough and there was a time when we knew little about what the church was doing in other parts of the world.

Now people living in Singapore respond to decisions made in the United States within seconds. Just how quickly the environment in which clergy are working has changed is illustrated by simply listing the technology and technological infrastructure that didn’t exist ten years ago, just before Williams assumed his office. Stunningly, the list includes Gmail, Google maps, Facebook, Twitter, iPods, iPhones, and iPads.

Four, along with that close proximity in which we live has come the expectation that the church will change—or not—and a decision must be made now. Gone is the notion that it might be hard to know what God wants and the notion that we are obliged to wait on God. Gone too is the notion that to be a part of the body of Christ is to value its unity as a witness to God’s work through her. Gone is the notion that God’s leading is discerned in community—sometimes far more slowly and painfully than mere mortals might like. Now, we know what we know. We know it for a certainty and we want it now.

To lead this completely volunteer association, where people can and do say, “I’ll never come back to this church as long as (insert name here) is pastor,” often means that we choose to be liked rather than choosing to be holy.  I’m often reminded that Jesus died almost completely alone at the cross.  He did what was right, but no one was happy about it and nearly everyone deserted him.

Just one of those days when I am aware again that I my calling as pastor leads me into waters so challenging that my only recourse is to stay on my knees and pray, “Thy kingdom come, Thy will be done, on earth as it is in heaven.”

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