Thursday, December 24, 2020

"Silent Night, Lonely Night: Christmas in Pandemic"


Silver starlight descends with the snow as 
aged hands light Christmas candles, 
alone at home though her family is near.  
Tears trickle with liquid love, reliving holidays past, 
with children and grandchildren gathered 
in a cacophony of grownup laughter, 
baby's cries, childhood play, and teenage angst.  
But not this year.  
Now, she is alone in her silent night,
lonely night, lonely night.

Two doors down the dawn will come 
to babies she will not see.
Little feet will race down stairs,  
delighted squeals above the sound of tearing paper.
But not for her.
This year has taken many things from her:
ability to travel, 
pure breath free from the filter of a mask,
financial security,
social stability.
But the greatest toll is being alone 
on this silent night, lonely night, lonely night.

Her mind reaches back to a couple, young, 
frantic in their need in that quiet Judean town,
turned away from human dwelling,
alone beneath the light of a single star.
Amid the agony of labor, 
a young woman pleads for her mother who isn't there.
Filled with desperation, 
a young man yearns for the steady hand of his father,
nowhere to be seen.
They, too, feel socially distant, isolated.

Silver starlight descends on angel wings as
Joseph kindles his lamp in the stable 
alone among beasts, though people are near. 
Even shepherds keep their distance when they visit,
faces hidden beneath their scarves,
because they are called unclean.
Tears trickle with liquid love, celebrating this present moment, 
grateful for what he does have:
the warmth of a stable, the love of his wife,
a newborn child,
in a cacophony of stable sound, 
and it is enough
on this silent night, lonely night, lonely night.

Grandma's heart reaches to the tent city
surrounded by bustling town, 
figures huddling beneath discarded layers 
of thin tarpaulin, wet cardboard, and sodden clothes.
Turned away from human dwelling,
alone beneath the light of a neon sign.
A cacaphony of souls scream in the night,
a bit of raucous laughter,
others cursing ghosts of the mind,
still more finding solace in strangers' arms
or the warmth and oblivion of a pipe.

Silver starlight descends with visiting angels
who bear no gold, frankincense, or myrrh, 
but whose treasures smell like coffee,
protect like masks and wipes,
and feel like love.
So Grandma puts on angel's wings, which look like PPE.
Leaving her warmth to join the Seraphim,
she shares her manna of  blankets and smiles.
Keen ears listen to well-traveled stories from a safe distance
as hot tears warm her cheeks with liquid love.

It's Christmas in pandemic, 
but change is in the air.
The Star shines as it hasn't done in centuries,
and hope for the nations wispers peace
to a weary and war-torn world.
"No room at your inn," say the mandates from above.
So Grandma takes her love outside
and gives,
behind mask, at a distance,
but gives,
on this silent night, lovely night, holy night.





Saturday, December 19, 2020

"Racism in the White, Southern Church: A Pastor's Confession of Compromise"

"I hear you've been invited to preach at the Black church," the deacon told me.  "Do you think that's wise?"

Yes, this was a real conversation in a real church I served in Virginia.  One of the great things about having been either a youth pastor or senior pastor at six churches is that when I talk about them, nobody knows which church it is.  So there will be no names--but this really happened.  This is the tragedy of a congregation and community in the rural South, where such things still happen...and the story of a pastor who still had a lot to learn.  It's a story in which we learn that the color of compromise is yellow, and how cowardly some churches and pastors can be.  I'll tell you more in a minute.  But first...

"The Color of Compromise is both enlightening and compelling, telling a history we either ignore or just don't know. Equal parts painful and inspirational, it details how the American church has helped create and maintain racist ideas and practices. You will be guided in thinking through concrete solutions for improved race relations and a racially inclusive church....The Color of Compromise is not a call to shame or a platform to blame white evangelical Christians. It is a call from a place of love and desire to fight for a more racially unified church that no longer compromises what the Bible teaches about human dignity and equality."


Jemar Tisby's book is a must-read for all followers of Jesus who want to understand the real history of brutal racism in the American church.  The author goes beyond discussing aggressive forms of racism, and tackles the passive-aggressive prejudice that allows racism to exist and thrive.  Tisby talks about the "go along to get along" attitude toward racism that does nothing more than perpetuate discrimination, even if motivated by a well-intentioned desire for unity in the church.  I hope you'll get a paper copy that you can take notes in, underline, and mark up.  It's definitely worth the read!

"Do you really think that's a good idea?" the deacon asked, piercing me with a gaze that said, "You know that you'll be in trouble if you do this, don't you?" That stern look also made me wonder if this deacon might be the source of the trouble, and if this "kind advice" might be more of a threat than a caution.

Bear in mind--I was not a novice pastor at this point in my career.  So I knew that in a Baptist church, the pastor doesn't truly call the shots, and lives or dies professionally at the whim of the people.  Neither was I a seasoned veteran, full of confidence and able to weather the storms of an angry congregation.  So I did the only thing I could think of.

I compromised.  Well, to be honest, I lied.  

Compromise would imply a give-and-take.  But in this case, all I did was take.  I took back my promise, and broke my word.  Or maybe the compromise wasn't with other people, but with my own beliefs, and my own character.  In any case, it was one of the things I'm most ashamed of in my life, and I have told few people about until now.

"I'm sorry," I told my friend, the pastor of the other church.  "When I agreed to speak on that date, I forgot that I'd already booked that Sunday off with my family."

I'm sure he could see through my lie, but he also knew that I was so fragile at this moment that he let me get away with it.  He simply said, "Well, maybe some other time."

You have to understand the deep-seated racism in the rural South where I served.  You have to know that integrated churches in that region are few and far-between.  On page 52 of The Color of Compromise, Tisby says:

"Harsh though it may sound, the facts of history nevertheless bear out this truth: there would be no black church without racism in the white church."

Yes, it's true that the African American church was formed by formerly enslaved people who left the Caucasian church of their own accord, to establish for themselves churches and denominations independent of their former enslavers.  So it could be said that the segregation of the American church is due to the actions of Black worshipers.  Yet, there would have been no need for these believers' mass exodus from white churches, had it not been for the racism of church leaders who forced congregants of color to endure continued submission in church roles.  Realizing that segregated worship was the only way to find equality in the church, Black believers had left the white church in droves.

In my time pastoring that little church, I had seen the racism of my own congregants.  I had also built (what I believed to be) a friendship with the pastor of the local African American church.  I visited them when I could, when their services fell at times when my own church had no meetings.  I became known to the people of that congregation, and I felt I knew some of them.  So the invitation came naturally, when that church scheduled it's anniversary celebration, marking a benchmark number of years since its founding.  "It only makes sense that you speak at our church," the pastor had told me.  "Since the ancestors of our church members had been former members of your congregation."  I thought it made perfect sense, too, so I had accepted the invitation.  But then I had caved, and lied, and damaged a friendship, at the slightest pressure from a racist deacon who may or may not have even been speaking for the others in my church.  (And so what, if that deacon had been speaking for all of them?)  Yes, the color of my compromise was as yellow as the cowardice in my heart.  And I have regretted that decision from that day until now.

Let me emphasize--I knew this decision was cowardly, even before I carried it out.  I didn't "slip into sin"--I ran into this lie as if into the arms of a savior that would rescue me from a tight spot.  I knew it was wrong, but I didn't see any way out.  I thought it was the easiest way to keep my deacon and other church members happy, while saving face with the neighboring church that I had come to love, too.  What I didn't realize was the rift that it would create, how guilt would prevent me from entering the doors of that neighboring church for another fifteen years--and how the face I was trying to save had ended up breaking relationships.  What I didn't realize was the chasm it would create in my own soul. 

Jemar Tisby writes:

[Martin Luther King Jr.’s “I Have a Dream” speech] was August 28, 1963. More than fifty years later, how far has the American church come in terms of race relations? The “Whites Only” and “No Negros Allowed” signs have been taken down, but schools remain segregated. People of color are incarcerated at disproportionally hight rates. Black unemployment remains double that of whites. Most poignantly, churches remain largely segregated. The reluctance to reckon with racism has led to a chasm between black and white Christians in theology, politics, and culture. This chasm only makes it harder to productively communicate and take effective action around racial issues.  (Pg. 192)

I was still struggling with this chasm when, a few months later, another opportunity for the church and me to do the right thing emerged.  I received a phone call from a bride-to-be who said she was looking for a church building to rent, for their upcoming ceremony.  She explained to me that she was a member of a local congregation, but their facility was too small to handle the crowd she expected.  "We've always driven by your church and thought how pretty it was, and we're wondering if it's available."  I told her that I didn't make those decisions, that we had a committee that handled bookings of our facilities.  I told her I'd talk with the committee and have them give her a call.  I did just that, and once I had passed the job on to the committee chair, I thought nothing else of it.

Some time later, the chair called me back, her voice quavering anxiously.  "Did you know that the couple is Black?"

I was glad that she couldn't see me rolling my eyes through the telephone, but I don't think I disguised my feelings as telegraphed through my own voice.  "Well, first of all, you can't see what a person looks like through the telephone, so no, I didn't know that they were Black.  But, second, so what if they are Black?  Why does that make a difference?  This is, after all, the twenty-first century."

That ruffled her.  "I...well, I... you don't understand," she said.  "We don't rent our building to their kind.  The committee is going to tell them no."

That pissed me off.  I knew very well that we did not have a discrimination policy, and that it was only the intent of the committee, or perhaps only the chair of the committee, to keep people of color out of our building.  So I told her this had to be decided by the church at large.

By the time our church business meeting came up, word had spread through the whole congregation that one of the things on the agenda would be a decision whether or not we would allow this particular couple to rent our building.  People came with their proverberial guns loaded for bear.  However, as we began to look into the date the couple had requested the use of our building, we discovered that the church already had a major event planned for that entire weekend.  So it was decided that we would contact the couple and say that we were sorry, it was nothing personal, but the building simply wasn't available for their wedding.

That pacified a few people, but it just made me even more angry.  I had come to the meeting prepared to settle this matter once and for all.  Instead, the missed opportunity to decide for inclusion seemed like one more nail in the church's racist coffin.  So, at our next business meeting after that, I came to the church with a well-drafted nondiscrimination resolution that I wanted the church to pass.  After reading the resolution and allowing time for discussion, I asked for the vote to be by show of hands.  And, to my surprise, the resolution passed with only a few dissenting votes.  What a cause for celebration!

In The Color of Compromise, Tisby writes:

In the Bible, James 4:17 says, “If anyone, then, knows the good they ought to do and doesn’t do it, it is sin for them”…The church today must practice the good that ought to be done. To look at this history and then refuse to act only perpetuates racist patterns. It is time for the church to stand against racism and compromise no longer (Pg 212).

I was so proud that my church had known the good that needed to be done, and then had the courage to act on its convictions.  I was so delighted with the decision that I framed the nondiscrimination policy and nailed it to the wall in the sanctuary, in a spot where every passerby would see it.  It was only later that I learned that not everybody who had voted for the policy actually agreed with it.  When asked why they had supported it, one grumbler stated, "The vote was by show of hands--I wasn't going to be publicly racist."

And isn't that just the thing?  The church doesn't want to be publicly racist.  That's why the deacon took me aside in private to say I shouldn't preach at the Black church.  That's why everyone breathed a sigh of relief when our building just happened to be unavailable for the wedding.  That's why the few African Americans who have entered white churches in the South have done so with a sense of dread--not because of what's said to their face, but behind their backs.

Don't get me wrong--overt, malicious racism in the church is rare, in my experience.  But I have wondered why do-nothing members were nominated for deacon, when the Black deacon who had joined us from another church was never mentioned.  I have had to explain why it's offensive when farmers refer to the migrant workers they employ as "Our Mexicans," (especially when some were from Honduras).  And I have heard the loud silent gasps of the congregation when a person of color ascended the pulpit to preach in my place.  

Racism has been a pernicious thorn in the flesh of the Southern, white, evangelical church for a long time.  I confess that when I was younger, I compromised my own non-racist beliefs to keep the peace.  I didn't realize at the time that it's not enough to be non-racist.  Only an anti-racist stance from church leadership can break the cycle of overt hatred and violence, as well as covert undercuts and bigotry.  Ephesians 2:13-15 says:

But now in Christ Jesus you who once were far away have been brought near through the blood of Christ. For He Himself is our peace, who has made the two one and has torn down the dividing wall of hostility by abolishing in His flesh the law of commandments and decrees. He did this to create in Himself one new man out of the two, thus making peace…


Christians, if we believe that's true, then it's not enough to defend our perceived non-racism by proclaiming that we have Black friends.  It's not enough that we try to be fair and equitable by declaring that "all lives matter," rather than singling out the significant pain of one particular group.  Instead, we've got to come to terms with the systemic racism present in our society and in our churches.  We've got to have courage enough to face our own racism, because it's there, whether we want to believe it or not.  We've got to educate ourselves, and gain perspectives we've never had before  (Jemar Tisby's book is a good start).  And we've got to become proactive rather than reactive.

Remember the old tradition of "testimony night" in many evangelical churches?  In the absence of a sermon, church members would get up and tell their own stories of God's goodness.  At testiony night, we heard tales of miracles, of broken relationships restored, and of blessings.  But the ones that always moved us the most were the confessions.  When a brother or sister stood up and said, "This is how I've failed, but this is also where I've learned, where God has given grace, and where I can do better."  I think its time that we had testimony night.  I've gotten the ball rolling, with my confession.  Now, it's your turn.


 

 


Saturday, December 12, 2020

"Are You Religious?"

"Are you religious?" he asked me.  

"Damn, I hope not," I said--and I meant it.  Because religious people are more concerned with the fact that I used that word than the fact that I instantly diffused any tension there might be in the conversation, in order to have a deep conversation about Jesus.  But we didn't begin there--we started out talking about tattoos and whiskey, and how I, as a follower of Jesus can enjoy both of those things.  He talked about how he'd been hurt by religion, and I assured him that God doesn't want us to be religious, anyway.  God just wants our hearts.  The problem was, it was an uphill conversation, because the church had convinced him that religion was all about putting on a righteous appearance, and looking down on people who didn't fit the standards of the Christian culture.  So I told him a story...

Jesus said, “But what do you think about this? A man with two sons told the older boy, ‘Son, go out and work in the vineyard today.’ The son answered, ‘No, I won’t go,’ but later he changed his mind and went anyway. Then the father told the other son, ‘You go,’ and he said, ‘Yes, sir, I will.’ But he didn’t go. “Which of the two obeyed his father?”

They replied, “The first.”

Then Jesus explained his meaning: “I tell you the truth, corrupt tax collectors and prostitutes will get into the Kingdom of God before you do. For John the Baptist came and showed you the right way to live, but you didn’t believe him, while tax collectors and prostitutes did. And even when you saw this happening, you refused to believe him and repent of your sins (Matthew 21.28-32 NLT).

The man shook his head.  "Yep, I've known a lot of Christians who said they followed Jesus, but you'd never know it."

"So have I," I said, "And I worked with them for years.  I've also known a lot of people who were closer to following Jesus than some church folks were, even though they'd never call themselves Christians."

"That makes sense," he told me.  "I've always thought life was about knowing that God is love, and trying to live like God.  I never thought it was about going to church and trying to impress people by how good I am.  Is that right?" he asked.

Giving him a fist bump, I said, "Damn straight."

Thursday, November 19, 2020

Bloom Where You Are Planted

This is the dumbest picture of me, ever!  Not because I'm making a goofy face, but because of the stupid situation.  When this picture was taken, I was on the U.S. side of the border, and my wife, Christina, was on the Canadian side.  When she took the picture, we were separated by nothing more than an imaginary line, and COVID-19 restrictions that kept us apart.  So we met at the border for a no-contact visit.  

Being separated has been tough--and it looks like, for as long as Coronavirus is a thing, we're going to have extended periods of time apart.  Pre-COVID, I used to live and work in Washington on weekdays and go to Canada on the weekends.  Because of the mandatory fourteen-day quarantine in Canada, the new telework plan is to spend a month in Bellingham, followed by two weeks in isolation with Christina in Chilliwack--and to repeat that pattern until the border reopens for post-COVID travel.

Trailer in September, just after move-in
While I feel most at home with Christina, these are my temporary digs in Washington.  When I moved to the Pacific Northwest from Virginia almost two years ago, I rented a place from a little old lady, who passed away a few months ago.  Since I could no longer live there, I took up residence in my 31-foot travel trailer, which is a comfortable size for one person (or two, who are very good friends).  I've made these temporary acommodations as permanent as possible by ordering high speed internet at my RV site, getting a massive propane tank, and buying a generator in case I lose power in a winter storm.  I also added insulation around the slide-out, and as a skirt around the bottom to keep out the chill.  I'm learning how to live, and not just vacation, in an RV.  All this back and forth, and temporary living, has taught me a thing or two about what "permanent" really means.

Trailer in November, settling in for the winter
One thing that strikes me is that nothing is as permanent as it seems.  Everything is temporary.  I could go to a couple different places with this.  This could be depressing, if I focus on the very real fact that when we said "I do" last December, it means that we can only be together for fifty years or so before we die, if we're lucky.  But instead of living that downer, I'd prefer to spin that on its head and say that in all the back and forth, in all the temporary living, we've learned not to take anything for granted.  Sure, we'd rather be together full-time.  And of course, we look forward to the time when my "permanent" residency is granted and we can be together for good.  But for now, we take each day as a gift, and make the most of it.  Not to diminish what other couples feel for each other, but I think that people who can live together full-time often take it for granted.  It's just what's normal for them.  But married couples who can't be together because of military service, incarceration, long-distance employment, border separations, or other reasons--these couples learn never to take their togetherness for granted.  Which means that when they are together, they make the most of it, and appreciate every moment.

Because I realize that everything is temporary, I also know that I am a stranger and an alien, wherever I go.  The Bible reminds us that believers are sojourners while we're on earth (1 Peter 2.11-12), and that we're to be in the world but not of it (John 17.16).  But unfortunately, many Christians have spent so much time looking forward to heaven that they have taken the license to mistreat the earth that is their current home.  Instead, we need to say, "Because I'm only here a short time, I'm going to make the best impression I can while I'm in my temporary home."  Living temporarily in Washington, I have realized that since I'm only in one place for a short time, I should keep my footprint small, and tread lightly so as not to disturb the balance of nature.  But I've also learned to make the best positive impact on this community while I'm here.  Just as a hiker "takes nothing but photos and leaves nothing but footprints," I'm reminded to enjoy the beauty of my temporary home while I'm here, and leave it for other wayfarers to enjoy.

I have also gained an understanding and an affinity for all immigrants, refugees, vagrants, vagabonds, and those who are living moment-to-moment, uncertain as they wait for their future to unfold.  If you've always lived in the same place, generally had the same job, and never felt like there was a great big question mark attached to your status, you might not know what I'm talking about.  While I'm far from the same condition as the homeless population that I work with 5 days a week, I've spent the past two years living temporarily, living in-between two countries.  It's hard for people, far from their birth-home, to feel like they belong.  But you learn to invest yourself in the place where you are, looking around instead of looking behind.  

Years ago, a cross-stitch similar to this one hung in a church where I served as youth minister.  The grandma who made it probably had no idea the influence she would make on my life.  For the past 27 years (give or take), it has reminded me that no matter how temporary a situation may seem, I need to invest myself in the community, in the people, in the world where I'm planted.  Whether the present situation lasts a month, a year, or longer, I will thrive in this blessed moment--because it is a gift to treasure. 

"Bloom where you are planted" is perhaps the best advice I could receive as a stranger, an alien, a traveler on this earth.  If you feel out of place yourself, I'd encourage you to put down roots, even if the soil is temporary.  Settle in, and bloom.  Because a seed that doesn't grow and bloom remains just a bundle of potential.  But when you grow and flower where you're planted, you give life--and you help others smile along the way. 





Saturday, November 7, 2020

After the Election - "Now What" for Christians?

Today, after the election, many Christians are asking themselves, "Now what?"  Prior to the vote, believers on both sides of the aisle declared that you can't call yourself a Christian if you vote for the opposite party.  Many Evangelicals voted Republican, believing Trump to be God's anointed man for the presidency, and the defender of conservative family values.  Yet many Jesus-followers supported the election of Joe Biden, believing their candidate to represent dignity and wisdom, as well as the love of Jesus for the outcast and the poor.  Much as Confederate and American brothers prayed to the same God as they battled against each other in the Civil War, believers on both sides of this election claimed to be right.  No matter whether your candidate won or lost the election, Christians across America are asking themselves, "Now what?"



The answer: Act like Jesus.  But what does this mean? What would (or wouldn't) Jesus do, in the aftermath of a contentious election?  If you, as a Christian, want to act like Jesus (which shold be the ultimate goal of every believer), what should (or shouldn't) you do?

1.  Don't gloat.  If your candidate won, it's fine to party, to celebrate, to cry tears of joy, to dance in the streets.  After all, when the disciples told Jesus about their defeat of the devil's forces in His name, Jesus said:
I saw Satan fall like lightning from heaven. Behold, I have given you authority to tread on snakes and scorpions, and over all the power of the enemy. Nothing will harm you. Nevertheless, do not rejoice that the spirits submit to you, but rejoice that your names are written in heaven (Luke 10:18-20).

Jesus recognized, and even enjoyed the victory that his followers celebrated--but he encouraged them to focus on the good things to come in the future, rather than the demonic nature of their spiritual enemy.  I believe Jesus would tell Christians who voted for Biden not to gloat, but to celebrate and look to a brighter future.

2.  Don't complain.  Many Evangelicals who claimed Donald Trump was God's choice for the presidency actually believed him to represent the character of Christ.  Others saw Trump's racism, sexism, homophobia, xenophobia, lies, and deceptions, but likened him to wicked biblical kings like Saul and Cyrus.  Even though those biblical kings had their flaws, those Evangelicals claimed that God put them in office to accomplish particular things.  Similarly, they believed Trump to be God's anointed, as evidenced by the fact that he won the election over Hilary Clinton.  If you believed that Trump's election was evidence that God put him in office, then don't complain now--since, according to your logic, Trump's defeat ought to indicate that he lost God's mandate.  So if your candidate lost, don't complain--just trust that if God chose Trump four years ago, God chose Biden in 2020.



3.  Love your enemies.  If you refuse to gloat or complain, that will go a long way toward acting in a loving way towards those people who you may have considered your political enemies.  Besides loving them, Jesus told His followers to pray for those who persecute them.  Do you feel like the other side has been absolutely horrible?  Do you feel like they deserve to feel that way?  Maybe you're right--but Jesus expects His followers to treat other people with the same grace that they have received from God.  As in grace, God treats us better than we deserve, so believers ought to treat their enemies better than they deserve, as well.

4.  Make peace.  These times have been so divisive, and have been filled with such hate and violence on both sides.  Now is our opportunity to make peace.  Jesus said, "Blessed are the peacemakers, for they shall be called children of God (Matthew 5:9)."  It's time to reach across the lines and take the hands (metaphorically, because--pandemic) of the people who see things radically differently from you.  In Matthew 12:25, Jesus said, "Every kingdom divided against itself will be ruined, and every city or household divided against itself will not stand."  These are tough enough times for the church, without the body of Christ being divided.  We need the whole body, undivided, to do the work of God.

5.  Continue to Confront Evil.  Yes, God is love, but "Gentle Jesus, Meek and Mild" is just a song title.  Jesus wasn't afraid to cast out demons, confront religious and civil authorities, or overturn the tables of economic corruption.  The apostle Paul said, "If possible, so far as it depends on you, live peaceably with all (Romans 12:18)."  But sometimes it doesn't depend on us.  Sometimes others bring the conflict, and other times the evil is so aggregious that Christians can't ignore it in good conscience.  So, if you call yourself a follower of Jesus, continue to confront evil by opposing injustice.  Stand in solidarity with people of color who are rising up, insisting that their lives matter.  Become an ally for LGBTQIA+ folks, who have to fight for their most basic human rights.  Defend the families of the poor, the alien, the stranger.  As the prophet said, "Let justice roll on like a river, righteousness like a never-failing stream (Amos 5:24)!"

For followers of Jesus, it's really important that we ask ourselves, "Now what?"  Because the church has been so divided and divisive that the rest of the world looks at us and says, "So what?"  So what, if you call yourself Christians, if you say you love your enemy, but don't even love your neighbor?  So what, if you say you believe you've received God's grace, but won't even give it to others?  So what, if you claim to have the answers that the world needs to hear, if you can't even get along with each other long enough to ask the right questions together?  So, after the election, "Now what?"  Don't gloat.  Don't complain.  Love your enemies.  Make peace.  Continue to confront evil.  Because in the words of Galatians 5:6, "the only thing that matters is faith working through love."


Photo Credits:


Tuesday, November 3, 2020

A Different Path to the Voting Booth

"Something told me go a different way," he told me, "and I started to--but then I turned around and went the same way I usually go.  That's when I had the accident."

I could identify with my friend who told this story, because I've had similar things happen to me.  Maybe it sounds familiar to you, too.

Another friend told me that she was walking home from college night classes, going throught an inner city campus.  Something in her spirit prompted her that she should walk a different route than she usually followed through the dark streets.  She didn't think anything of it, until she arrived home to watch the 11:00 news.  That night, along the street that she would normally have walked, and about the same time, somebody had been assaulted and mugged.  I'm not saying that God saved her and didn't save the other person--that gets into some weird theological problems.  But I am saying was that her own spirit was sensitive to the things the Holy Spirit already knew--and she chose to listen to this intiuitive voice.

I could give hundreds more examples, but I think you get the picture.  You normally follow one path, and something tells you to turn aside and go a different way.  Either you listen and things turn out well, or you don't listen, and disaster results.

In the Hebrew Scriptures, Moses was going along his merry way, tending his father-in-law's flocks, having no notion of being a national savior.  He was just walking down a mountain road, minding his own business, when he saw a burning bush.  The shepherd had to make a decision--to step out of his usual behavior and get spiritually curious, or to continue as usual.  He said, "I must turn aside and see this strange sight (Exodus 3.3)."  The rest is history.

In the New Testament, Saul of Tarsus was on a different road, to Damascus.  As a religious zealot, he'd found it his duty to persecute this new sect of Christians--and he was on his way to do just that.  Then God spoke to him out of a blinding light, and changed his life.  Saul realized that he'd misunderstood Jesus all along, and that the good he thought he'd been doing was not only harming God's people, but caused God pain as well.  So he changed.  Yes--he changed.  Right there in the road, he decided to take a different path.

Today, as you're on your way to the voting booth, I invite you to listen to the voice of God.  Ask God what you should do when you cast your ballot.  This is such an important election--it's too important to just vote the way you have always voted, or to select a candidate because your family and friends are all doing the same thing.  Ask Jesus what He thinks about the candidates--and which candidate most embodies the love of Christ.  Then, vote the way the Spirit leads.

This may mean taking a different path from the way you've always gone.  You may end up voting for a party you've never voted for.  You could end up voting against a candidate you supported in the past.  But remember--this isn't about staying stubbornly in the rut you've worn for such a long time.  It's about taking a different path, if that's what God sets before you.  You may never know the disaster that you avoid, by deciding to go a different way.  Like Saul, you may lose friends because of the change you make.  But deciding to follow Jesus, rather than following what the religious leaders tell you to do, will make all the difference.  It will set you, and this nation, on a path of greatest adventure--one in which not only America, but the world can be blessed.

Today, as you vote, I pray that you'll be willing to change the direction in which we've been headed.  Listen, religious people, to the voice of Jesus, who says, "It's me that you've been persecuting."

Sunday, September 20, 2020

"If I Were a Rich Man"

One of my favourite movies of all time is Fiddler on the Roof.  I always wanted to play Tevye in a stage production, throwing my hands in the air and singing, "If I were a rich man."  Most of us can identify with the dreams of the poor milkman, who yearns to be be wealthy--because he doesn't believe he has enough.  "One day, I'll have more," we say, "and things will be better then."

But how would it be, if we were simply graeful for what we had?

As God's people wandered in the desert, they dined on manna every day--food that they didn't have to work for, that miraculously appeared each morning.  Much like Bubba Gump's shrimp, they could have it any way they wanted it.  Mana burgers, boiled manna, stewed manna, manna creole, fried manna, steamed manna--the list goes on.  But they weren't content with the menu that God provided.  They began to sing, "If I were a rich man."  "If I only had more, I'd be able to do so much more!"  But, because they didn't have what they wanted, they grumbled until God gave them what they asked for.  Meat on the menu.  Quail came down from the heavens, blanketing the earth and providing so much meat that the people never wanted to see another squab kebab.  God taught them to be grateful by giving them too much of a good thing.

In the New Testament, Jesus tells the parable of a wealthy landowner who hired workers for his fields, some in the morning, some at midday, and some in the evening.  At the end of the day he paid them, and they were surprised that they each received a full day's wage.  Instead of being happy for those who received what seemed like charity, those who worked a full day grumbled at the unfairness of their pay.  What they probably failed to realize was that they were chosen in the morning due to their physical fitness to work a full day in the hot sun.  Those who were were hired in the evening were most likely disabled people waiting on the roadside for charity.  He hired them to spare their feelings by giving them the opportunity to do light work for a short time, for the same.  The employer decided to expect "from each, according to their ability," and pay "to each, according to their need."  But this seemed unfair to the more capable workers.  When they complained, their employer simply reminded them that it was his money, to give as he pleases.  Jesus told this story to illustrate that we don't always appreciate God's fairness, because our mindset has to do with merit, but God's big idea is grace.



Both of these stories focus on the ability to receive from God whatever blessings the Lord wants to provide, without grumbling that we don't have more.  Instead of singing Tevye's song, we might do better to live the apostle Paul's words to his young friend Timothy.  "Godliness with contentment is great gain (1 Tim 6.6)."  If you're curious what you'd do if you were rich, it's probably the same as you're doing now.  If you're stingy now, you'd probably hoard your wealth if you were rich.  If you're generous now with what you have, then if you were wealthy, you'd most likely be like the landowner who shared with those in need.  With contentment comes generosity, and the idea that people don't receive God's blessings because they deserve them, but because a gracious God wants to provide for people.

Today, I pray that you'll practice gratitude for the belessings you have received--not because you deserve them, but because God is good.  I pray, too, that you'll desire good things for others--not because they deserve them, but because a good God wants to provide for all.  And maybe ask yourself how you, who have been blessed, may share your manna, quail, and pay with those who are still waiting by the road.


Sunday, September 13, 2020

How "Getting Them Saved and Baptized" is Killing the Church

I'll always regret baptizing 10% of our kids in VBS that year.  Yes, that's right--keep reading.

That hot summer stands out to me in sharp relief, because in some ways, it represented the highlight of this evangelical (at the time) pastor's missionary fervor.  It ws my second summer at the church, and I'd been there long enough to make visits to most of the families, endear myself to the children, and begin to make a difference in their lives.  Ours was a patriotic small town, so on the Fourth of July we used our award-winning parade float to hand out candy and invitations to all the kids in town.  Since we planned our VBS for the week after this annual advertisement opportunity, we had a record number of kids at church that year.  

At VBS, we hit 'em hard with the gospel, which sounded good to the initiated at the time, but in retrospect has the wierd ring of: "For God so loved the world that he made a hell where he plans to burn most people in eternal conscious torment.  But God loves Christians best--so if only you'd become a Christian, you get to escape being tortured by the God who loves you."  This is not the article where I discuss a better view of heaven and hell--suffice it to say that whatever you believe about the afterlife, scare tactics with children are definitely not cool.

If we offered a terrifying message on the one side, we offered tremendous reward on the other side.  Every time a child prayed the Sinner's Prayer, we brought them to the front of the church and applauded.  They got a free gift award Bible.  And a couple months later, we had a big celebration where they all got to take a swim in the river and get baptized.  And they all knew how proud their families would be.

So that summer, fifteen children gave their lives to Jesus.  And the church celebrated.  But what happened next?

Well, some of those kids continued attending the church, were nurtured and discipled, and today are young men and women of faith.  I'm still pretty happy about that.  These defining moments of spiritual growth are so important--and in no way am I suggesting that the Sinners Prayer and baptism weren't meaningful in their lives.  But just like this article isn't about heaven and hell, this article also isn't about the ones who remained in church and practice their spirituality today.  This is about the other ones. 

The truth is, the majority of those kids are no longer attending that or any church at all.  One reason is that our church leaders never followed up.  We were more focused on the celebration, on the number of baptisms we could report to our denomination, than we were interested in fostering the spiritual growth of young people and their families.  It was all about "getting them saved and baptized" as the end goal, and not about discipling young believers.  It was all about making converts, because a pastor or a short-term VBS staff can do that--but it takes a long term commitment to make disciples.  And as one pastor, I couldn't keep up.  

You may ask why it didn't seem important to anyone else to do that followup work.  If you believe in individual salvation defined as going to heaven when you die, based on faith that's expressed when you pray the Sinner's Prayer and when you get baptized, and if you cling to "once saved, always saved," then you become obsessed with evangelism and tend to de-emphasize discipleship.  It's easy for church members to place all the responsibility for evangelism on their pastor (we pay him to preach, don't we?), without taking on the burden of teaching your children yourself.  So it's up to the pastor to evangelize them, but not up to the church as a whole to train young believers in their faith.  Oh sure, we had Sunday School, for those families that were proactive enough to bring their children. But those classes simply reinforce a teaching that all you need to do is "accept Jesus".  After that, you sit back, relax, and see how you can convince your pastor to preach more evangelistic sermons so others can join the club.  And when that's what it's all about, then once you get saved and baptized, there doesn't seem like a lot to keep you involved.  So you eventually outgrow the church.  Do that often enough, and the church begins to die.

Another reason "getting them saved and baptized" is killing the the church, is the extreme emphasis placed on personal salvation.  While Catholic, Orthodox, and mainline churches focus on salvation as part of a communal experience, evangelicals elevate personal salvation and personal relationship with God, over the communal experience.  The result can be deep spirituality, yes.  But The side effect is often a disconnect from community.  Personal faith is too easily divorced from believers seeking wisdom together, sharing the joy and pain of others, investing in the life of the larger body and those within it.  I'm not negating the need for personal faith, but with the way evangelicals often emphasize personal salvation as "getting saved and baptized," it becomes easy to say, "I can worship God just as well on my boat as in the church."  And it's even easier to abandon a church when things go wrong.  So while personal faith is good, when we define the end goal as "getting saved and baptized," we create a sense of been-there-done-that.

I can't tell you the number of times parents and grandparents have said to me, "Don't you think it's about time we got little Johnny done?"  And, by that, they mean that once the kid is baptized, they can quit worrying that their offspring might spend eternity burning in the lake of torment.  Getting them done means taking out a fire insurance policy.  And once they have that policy, neither Johnny nor his family really needs to be in church anymore.  And this is killing the church.

Still another reason why an emphasis on "getting them saved and baptized" is killing the church, is that there seems to be a disconnect between "being a Christian" and actually acting like Jesus.  Once you're saved and baptized, and you've got your ticket to heaven, then you can turn around and be a racist, sexist, ableist, who hates LGBTQIA+ folks.  You can who support putting children in cages because their parents are undocumented, and you can refuse to wear a mask because you care more about your convenience more than you love your neighbor.  You can do all these things because, as far as you're concerned, being a Christian is all about getting saved and baptized.  

The thing is, the younger generation sees this hypocrisy of white evangelicals, and has had their fill of it.  They're leaving the church in droves, because "getting them saved and baptized" requires nothing of a person, morally.  It was saved-and-baptized white evangelicals who enslaved Africans, who burned crosses on front lawns, and who uphold white supremacy today.  Saved-and-baptized Christians have contributed to the fact that LGBTQIA+ youth are 120% more likely to experience homelessness than other youth, and why 40% of LGBTQIA+ youth seriously considered suicide in the past year.  Saved-and-baptized Christians promoted the doctrine of expansionism which has killed and oppressed countless indiginous people.  These same saved-and-baptized people support politicians whose personal lives and political decisions are the OPPOSITE OF CHRISTLIKE.  They hail these politicians as heroes, simply because they support the political agenda of the elite.  And the world is catching on, that when the goal of religion is "getting them saved and baptized," you can do whatever you want and still call yourself a Christian.

This kind of evangelism is killing the church.  Unless we act like Jesus, we demonstrate to the world that our faith is useless.  Unless we vote for the things that our loving, embracing, healing Jesus would vote for, we show our young people that it's really all about power politics and not about caring for our neighbor.  We can have all the Vacation Bible Schools we want, lead them in the Sinner's Prayer, dunk them in the water--but if we don't lead by example and teach them to act like Jesus, they're going to see the church as meaningless, and they'll leave.  That's why I'll always regret baptizing so many kids that year--because we've failed to teach them to act like Jesus.

This generation is smart.  They know hypocrisy when they see it.  They can tell if you're trying to scare them out of hell and into heaven.  They can tell if your idea of God is a violent dictator in the sky who likes to torture his own creation.  They can tell if your life reflects the idea that religion is all about fire-insurance, and has nothing to do with living and voting as Jesus would.  So, Christian, if you don't want to kill the church, maybe it's time to de-emphasize "getting them saved and baptized," and start prioritizing Actual Jesus.  Because it'll kill the church if you keep talking like you're going to heaven, while you're making hell on earth for the "least of these."


Sunday, August 30, 2020

How I Got Myself in Trouble for Preaching the Wrong Gospel

My church member crossed her arms and said, "You're preaching the wrong gospel!"  For those who know me, that may come as a shock--because I was raised in a Southern Baptist church, went to a Baptist seminary, pastored evangelical churches for 26 years, and towed the line.  Except when I didn't.  

But when I didn't, it was never because I abandoned the Gospel of "How to Get to Heaven When You Die."  It was becuase I preached the FIRST Gospel first.  Oh, I believe the Gospel that talks about receiveing Jesus as your personal Lord and Savior.  I never gave up on that.  In fact, that was a highlight of my preaching (where, in a Baptist church, the pastor MUST include an invitation to the altar every Sunday morning).  But where I got myself in trouble, where I got accuesed of preaching the wrong gospel, was where I focused on Jesus' first priority--that of liberation.

When Jesus began his ministry, he didn't wander the country declaring himself to be the savior and the only means of reaching heaven.  Contrary to evangelical belief, that wasn't the primary focus of his ministry.  Instead, he primarily preached, "The kingdom of heaven is near!"  He taught his disciples to pray that God's will would be done on earth as perfectly as it's done in heaven.  In other words, Jesus' first focus was on transsforming people's lives TODAY and IN THIS PLACE, in such a way that life on earth resembles life in heaven.  

As long as I preached the gospel of "How to Get to Heaven When You Die," I did alright.  People came forward, gave their hearts to Jesus, got saved, and mostly went back to living the same as they did before.  But when I preached the first message of Jesus, two things happened.  First, people were challenged to live different.  Second, I got myself in trouble.  I learned that if I was going to preach like Jesus, I should be prepared to get crucified.

So...what was this dangerous message?  It was the same as the message that Jesus preached in the Nazareth synagogue, where he opened the scroll to Isaiah 61 (NIV) and read:


The Spirit of the Sovereign Lord is on me,

    because the Lord has anointed me

    to proclaim good news to the poor.

He has sent me to bind up the brokenhearted,

    to proclaim freedom for the captives

    and release from darkness for the prisoners,

2 to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor

    and the day of vengeance of our God,

to comfort all who mourn,

3     and provide for those who grieve in Zion—

to bestow on them a crown of beauty

    instead of ashes,

the oil of joy

    instead of mourning,

and a garment of praise

    instead of a spirit of despair.


After Jesus read that scripture, and declared that he had come to fulfill it, the good religious people in his hometown got so upset that they tried to throw him off a cliff.  What's so upsetting about these words?  Why did they get Jesus in so much trouble, and why did they get me crucified right along with him?

When I said that the poor couldn't afford healthcare, I got called a communist.  When I said that the captives and prisoners who needed to be freed might be children who are in cages, they said I was supporting illegal immigration.  When I said that the brokenhearted might be LGBTQ folks who have been hurt by the church, they said I didn't believe the Bible.  When I said strangers and foreigners (read "people of color" when the church is all white) should be welcome, they said I was just trying to change things.  When I said that the day of God's vengeance was more likely going to fall on religious people than the folks we hate, they said I was crazy.  They said I was preaching the wrong gospel.

The right gospel, according to the good religious folks, was "How to Get to Heaven When You Die."  And I didn't disagree with this message--so I preached that sometimes, too.  But it wasn't Jesus' primary point.  And it wasn't mine, either.  The problem with preaching ONLY the "salvation message" (as understood in the ticket to heaven way) is that it's too easy.  It doesn't involve doing anything but believing a doctrine, getting baptized, and trying your best to act as holy as the next guy.  It doesn't really demand any social change.  It certainly doesn't involve working to help the poor, the broken, the strangers, the foreigners, the outcast, the other.  

In contrast, Jesus' Gospel was mostly about that.  More than anything else, Jesus was about helping people.  He healed them.  He restored them socially.  He honored them when they had been ostracized by their neighbors.  He fed them when they were hungry and defended them when they were condemned.  He saved them, not just so they could go to heaven when they died, but so they could live a better life here and now.  And that's the tough gospel--because if I follow Jesus like that, it's going to cost me something.

In over a quarter century of church ministry, I can't tell you how many times I got in trouble for preaching the wrong gospel.  As long as I talked about Jesus' blood and streets of gold, they were happy.  As long as I told them how Jesus makes THEIR lives better, they were happy.  But when I told them that Jesus requires them to BE better, to DO better to their neighbors, strangers, and their enemies, it was the "wrong" gospel.

Jesus told his listeners, "Love God and love people.  If you do this, you've fulfilled the law and prophets."  In other words, if you do this, all the rest is commentary.  But if you really love God you'll show it by the way you love people.  Loving them isn't just an emotion--like the way you feel when you listen to a musical artist and say, "I just LOVE him!"  No, loving God means loving those who are made in the divine image.  And loving people means actively working for their good.  It means opposing injustice that stands against their good--especially those who are weakest.  And if that's the wrong gospel, I suppose I'm guilty.  But I don't mind.  Jesus was guilty, too.



Photo Credit: "Infrared All Saints church Sharrington Norfolk" by Brokentaco is licensed under CC BY 2.0


Tuesday, August 25, 2020

Autopsy of a Christian Leader

Another Christian leader has fallen.  Some will condemn.  Others will defend.  Still more will celebrate.  What's the best way that believers can respond when we witness moral failures among our leaders--among our members?  

Certainly, appropriate measures must be taken.  Decisions must be made about this leader's career.  Firing or resignation is inevitible--but that's not the point.  I want to talk about the possible stance that the average Christian is going to have, when news like this comes out.

One position is to attack.  Attackers will spotlight hypocrisy, point fingers, and gloat.  They will celebrate the downfall.  Attackers will outline faults and flaws and failings, because they take joy in watching the demise of someone they dislike.

Another position is to defend.  Defenders can take several approaches.  Some will make excuses for their beloved leader, explaining why it's somebody else's fault.  Others will downplay the offense, using the passive voice and saying, "mistakes were made."  Still other defenders will employ the counter-attack, biting at liberals and secular society like a dog in a corner.  

But, what if, instead of attacking or defending, we simply did an autopsy?  What if we drew a chalk line around the body, examined the evidence, cut open the remains and tried to determine what caused the downfall?  There's a way to both respect the body on the one hand, while pulling out the entrails with the other, eager to find the cause without either condemning or defending the man.  This is the way of love.

Yes, in an odd way, it can be said that a medical examiner loves the person they are examining.  They treat the body with utmost care, not wanting to damage anything that mustn't be touched except for the sake of finding the truth.  They search out the facts of the case, not only so that justice can be done, but so that those who grieve might have answers.  And in the hopes of learning something so that such falls might be avoided in days to come.  

In the days following a Christian leader's moral failure, attackers and defenders line up and spit at each other across social and theological lines.  But perhaps there's a third way--neither one of making excuses nor derisive comments.  The third way is to treat the fallen with care, treat the situation as the grave thing that it is, and respectfully make the first incision.  Because you won't find anything worthwhile in snide remarks or useless defenses.  But finding the truth might just set us free--so that this can be laid to rest, and so that the things we learn from this might shape a better future.



*Photo credit: "autopsy tables" by reallyboring is licensed under CC BY-NC-ND 2.0