Warning: Pastor on the Loose!

Maybe a church or two on the loose, too!

I don’t know what it is. Maybe it’s because they ordained me and now I’ve got an extra shot of the Spirit in me or something. Maybe it’s because I took a little time off over the past couple of weeks and got more rejuvenated than I realize. Maybe it’s the weather– well, I doubt that, since there’s not much inspiring about 2.5 straight weeks of rain. Maybe it’s because I’ve been here ten months, but it feels like a one year anniversary, since July is the normal moving time, and I think my one year of getting to know people is up.

I am a ministry fool this week.

I’m excited. I’m focused. I’m driven. I’m pulling no punches, going for broke, not taking no for an answer. I’m ready to push up my sleeves, rub my palms together and make a little ministerial magic. I’m ready to set things (metaphorically) on fire. I’m ready to shake it up, kick it up, make some changes, and get busy living the ministry we are called to live. Let’s do this thing!

To be clear, it’s nothing extreme; it’s just a little bit of everything– starting projects I’ve been wanting to start, having conversations with members of my congregations and with strangers on the street that really needed to happen, brainstorming sermon series and uses of space and community events. Nothing that’s never been done before, but all together, it’s exciting and invigorating, and I’m ready to take it out for a spin.

So beware, Gracies and Trinitarians! Beware, friends and family and support team members! I’m pumped and ready to go full steam ahead. I recommend getting on the train or getting off the track!

(mostly cross-posted as a discussion topic on the Trinity UMC Facebook page as well– what gets you excited about church? what do you want our projects to be?)

Beyond Anger

A colleague (thanks, Mark!) sent me a link today about some Catholic Sisters who give one another space to face illness and death with peace and dignity. Note especially this section:

Dr. McCann [who works closely with the sisters] said that the sisters’ religious faith insulated them from existential suffering — the “Why me?” refrain commonly heard among those without a belief in an afterlife. Absent that anxiety and fear, Dr. McCann said, there is less pain, less depression, and thus the sisters require only one-third the amount of narcotics he uses to manage end-of-life symptoms among hospitalized patients.

I don’t think this is because these sisters have squelched or denied their pain and fear and anger. Those who commit their lives to God in such a complete way have never struck me as trying to use religion as an escapist, Marxian opiate. Rather, these are individuals who have used their faith in God and their connection to each other to work through the pain and to emerge beyond it. Some of them may have skipped being angry at God, and some may have let loose in the anger I previously described, trusting God to hold them through it. But they have come to a place on the other side of that.

Let’s talk about grace in and beyond anger.

In accepting that we are angry at God (or hurt or scared or in pain and crying out at God about it), we experience one kind of grace, one blessing, and that is the one I am trying to share with families in those first intense moments of anger and pain. God loves us anyway. We are hurt beyond anything we can imagine, and we need a place to vent, and God can hold it, and that is amazing. Thank God.

More than that, God can hold the pain itself. Often when we undergo extreme pain and loss, we don’t want to burden anyone with the depth of the emotions we’re experiencing. Either we fear that a person won’t be able to relate (and no one has experienced that *exact* pain we’re facing), or that it will be too similar to a pain they have faced and we’ll be pouring salt on their woulds in discussing ours, or that the sheer intensity of our emotional reaction will be frightening and off-putting. Not everyone can absorb a flood of tears or withstand throat-searing yelling with grace. But God can. And God knows the worst pain imaginable– not just the pain of losing God’s own child, although for parents who have lost a child, that is immensely comforting to know– but if God truly is, as I believe, in and through all things, and if God truly loves, as I believe, each of us as beloved children, and if God truly lives, as I believe, in each of us, closer than we are to ourselves, then our pain is God’s pain, our loss is God’s loss, our emotion is God’s emotion, and so we have the one truest, strongest ‘person’ with whom we can share it. Thank God.

A second kind of grace comes in realizing our underlying assumption. If we are angry at God, then we must believe on some level that there is a God to be angry at. Not a distant, powerless God, either, since such a God won’t or can’t help us and so therefore has not abandoned us to our pain. No, somewhere in lamenting to God, we are also confessing that we believe. We are somehow admitting that we trust God to help us, which is why we feel betrayed in this moment. At the moment of greatest pain, this is not much consolation. Great; I believe in my God, but my God has forsaken me. That’s kind of where Jed Bartlet is in that West Wing scene. That’s kind of where the author of Psalm 22 is at the moment of writing it, and where in many ways the One who spoke Psalm 22 from his cross was at that moment. But in hindsight, in the breaths between the pain, there are these moments where it’s clear, sometimes for the first time, sometimes as a reminder or renewal, that in moments of distress, it’s God we seek and somehow, despite it all, it’s God in whom we trust. Thank God, again.

But, as Mark and I have been discussing, deep faith calls us to move beyond these moments, to come to experience and know God and our condition in new ways, to move beyond the understanding of God that would cause us to simply fling insults and trust God to hold pain, but allow us to be held by God in other ways. On the other side of anger– and there is an other side!– can we find a relationship with God that moves beyond good and evil, beyond pain and no-pain, beyond anger and forgiveness? Can we trust in a God who moves alongside us, but isn’t just someone to issue us passes on the suffering of life nor someone to hold our hand when suffering comes? Is there more that God can be, more that we can be?

These sisters have found some of this, in their commitment to God and to one another. They have found that in loving community there is a balm that is greater than any drug, and that there is a dignity in knowing and loving one another than can overcome the indignity of failing bodies and minds. They have found a peace that is beyond anger, beyond understanding, beyond what I can communicate in a blog post, that’s for sure.

But I’d like to seek it. And I’m pretty sure that church should be one of the communities that does seek it together, by holding one another with that level of commitment and love and together finding a God who is more than a feckless thug, who is more than the one who can bear our insults and hold our pain, who is more than the one we trust, but is also the Other and the wholly (Holy) other and the… something for which words fail me, so help me with your thoughts and maybe we can puzzle some of this out together.

Thank God.

On being mad at God

Last night I spent a little time with a family and lead a brief prayer service at the close of calling hours for a 27 year old son, fiance, and father of three. There was a lot of pain in that room. That, combined with a discussion at UMCommunities, has me thinking, yet again, about being mad at God.

My personal opinion is this: you know that best friend you have? a spouse? a family member? The one you can yell at and scream at even though it’s not their fault, venting until you’re hoarse and red in the face, and the person will *still* hold you and love you and carry on in relationship with you afterward?

God’s like that, but more.

Look at the Psalmists (before we even get to Jesus), who shook their fists at God, wailing, venting, confessing that they were so far removed from the place where they could say thank you and praise you and would much rather say far unkinder things to God. God takes it. If you’ll excuse my uncharacteristically gendered language, he’s a big boy. God weeps–and rages– with us, and understands the depth of our pain and anger because they flow from the depth of our love, love we have because we are first beloved. And the lament, the crying out to God, presupposes trust in a being who could somehow help, and as such is an act of faith (see [especially p. 27-33] Rachel’s Cry, a book from seminary I use all the time, for more on this theme).

There’s an episode* of “The West Wing” where Martin Sheen’s character (who was studying priesthood before he entered politics) paces the National Cathedral in his anger and pain, calling God a ’sonofabitch’ and a ‘feckless thug,’ because of the senseless loss he has just suffered. In a most non-theological display, Bartlet vents the fear that he is somehow being punished or warned, and gives voice to the cry every person who has lost a child, or one like a child, or watched them suffer, has ever uttered: “That was my [child]! What did I ever do to yours but praise and glorify his name?” West Wing writer Aaron Sorkin was very proud of this scene and thought it would be controversial and shock people of faith everywhere. But no one was shocked. The pain of life is such that we have all called God a feckless thug or a big meanie or an unfair tyrant at some point, and we have all lived through it, and many of us come out the other side with a stronger and deeper relationship with the God who holds us in our pain. Not all of us. Some of us conclude that there is no God, or that God is a monster, and walk away, and I know in my heart of hearts that the God they once clung to clings to them still, even and especially in the depth of that pain.

Emotions, I believe,  just *are*, like the weather. Storms are not good or evil, right or wrong, although they can make life uncomfortable for a time. They are only the result of high and low pressure systems. Our emotions, even the ugly volatile ones like anger and jealousy and pain, are just our bodies’ and souls’ responses to the horrible, crappy, devastating stuff that happens around us, and they are part of how we work all that out and continue to live and function.

So be angry, and know that God is angry alongside you, and God will hold you while you yell, even if you’re yelling at God, even if you’re beating your fists against her chest, and love you until you can breathe again and beyond, until you find peace that passes all understanding.

Yes, no, maybeso?

—

*For those who (like me) don’t speak Latin, a rough translation of what Barlet says at the end: “Am I to believe that these are the acts of a loving God? A just God? A wise God? To hell with your punishments! I was your servent here on Earth. And I spread your word and I did your work. To hell with your punishments. To hell with you.”

When life gives you lemons…

… make a giving program out of lemonade!

Stewardship Moment: “Be Peculiar”

I needed to share some information with one of my congregations about some strange letters we’d received, and not make it too scary, and also take an opportunity to teach about tithing and challenge folks to greater giving in a fun way, so I thought I’d combine all three!

(My friend, who also happens to be the chairperson of our Conference Council on Finance and Administration, has already pointed out that I should clarify that tithing is based not on what one has, but on one’s income, which is a different thing indeed.)

Sermon: Feeling the Tug

“Feeling the Tug”

(June 28, 2009) Jesus took notice of a woman in incredible pain who was reaching out to him. He felt her tug on the edge of his garment, and turned to offer grace and blessing, completing her healing. Who are the people who are reaching out to us in their pain? In the wake of recent community tragedy, can we find new ways to practice feeling the tug of those in need of God’s love? A difficult week, difficult topic, difficult message. (Mark 5:21-43)

[unlike most of the sermons I upload, this one is the version preached at Grace UMC in Plainfield, the site of this week's crisis, so obviously the sermon was different and more tailored to that community.]

All means, well, All.

Up for debate in United Methodist Conferences around the world this month: who can decide which people are allowed membership in a local United Methodist Church. The ammendment to the UMC’s Constitution, which passed General Conference in 2008 and now must pass 2/3 of all Conferences by a 2/3 vote stipulates that no one can be denied membership in the local church. Not even if they are disabled, or an ethnic minority, or a convict. Not even if they’re gay. Not even if they are left-handed. Not even if they are repugnant to some way to the members of that church, to the pastor, or to whomever. No one gets to close the doors.

The chief argument agains this amendment is that membership should mean something, something defined by the pastor and/or the local congregation. Where are the standards? they ask. What if a member of the KKK wants to join my church; do I have to let them?

Let’s push this. I mean, really push this. What if a member of the KKK wants to join my church? A child predator? A serial killer? Safety aside, because someone who is actively engaging in hate crimes, assault of children, or murder must not be allowed out the doors of the nearest correctional facility, let alone in the doors of a church, but could they be members? Would we allow membership vows to be taken? And if not, why not? Are there some sins that are too deep for the grace afforded in a church community? Why are some people shocked when a doctor who provides controversial medical care is a Christian, but not when a tabacco executive or weapons manufacturer or big-business lobbyist is? When you are? When I am?

I’m going to make an argument here. Feel free to disagree. I believe it matters what we consider membership to be. I think those who want to see standards, qualifications for membership, believe it to be a privilege. Something earned by committing to the journey. Something not to be taken lightly. Something available to most, but not to all.

I think membership is something else. I think it’s what John Wesley referred to as a means of grace. It is a confession that, while we are all broken, we are undertaking a challenging journey together. It is a place where God’s grace might touch us, effect us. Might acceptance into a community of love be part of how God reaches out and transforms a person? Might the embrace of those different than ourselves be a way that God transforms us, teaches us to love as God loves, to see the world as God sees it? If membership in church is not about us, not about the church, but about God, then how can we earn it? How can we limit it? It must never be taken lightly, but that by no means says that it must be limited to the few.

If church membership is about God and God’s grace, then it follows the same pattern as everything else about God– it is a crime to offer it to anyone less than all of humanity. God–and God’s grace–is for all.

And all means ALL.

Sermon: Every Little Thing

“Every Little Thing”

(June 14, 2009) The story of the mustard seed growing into a mighty tree reminds us that every little thing is a blessing from God. For what small blessings are you thankful? The prayer-writing exercise (you may be able to hear some responses, but I had to crank up the amplifier so the quality is not great on that section) was something I encountered at the “Faith and Money” workshop, courtesy of the United Methodist Foundation of New England. (Mark 4:26-34)

It does feel different.

The moment of ordination.

I feel like I missed a lot of Conference. Or maybe it’s just that it’s blurry and I only remember the big things.

I preached Wednesday night for the opening memorial service, a tremendous honor that had me sweating glowing like crazy and more nervous than I remember being. Of course the actual sermon was not exactly like the rehearsal recording I uploaded, but it may have been close. I never felt like I totally got into my groove, but I also heard from literally hundreds of people that they loved it and were touched by it and needed to hear it, so maybe, jut maybe, God spoke a Word despite me. God tends to do that.

I spent much of Thursday coordinating, between legislative sessions, with a friend coming in late. Friday was similar but coordinating with family coming in for Saturday.

And then there was Saturday. Closing motions– our *last* full confernece closing motions. Friends crying right and left, me stealing other people’s tissues (sorry, Megan), and all before we even got near the Ordination service.

The service was surreal. My family sat right behind me, and I was between my two fellow ordinands. In some ways it flew; it seemed tailor made for me, the sermon, the people involved, the music– the anthem was “In the Midst of New Dimensions,” a favorite song of mine from which this blog takes its title. And before I knew it, my sponsors were on either side of me, my DS had offered me his arm, and I was walking to the stage, kneeling before the bishop, hearing the rustle in the room as people got to their feet.

And then three bishops, two board members, the conference lay leader, my District Supeintendent, my mom in law and my mentor all placed their hands on me.

There’s no way to describe it, but I’ll try.

A day before, I received a back massage from a woman who has studied reike. Her hands were incredibly warm and strong. These hands were warmer. They pressed down almost as hard as she did. I expected it to be like other ‘laying of hands’ I had experienced, where people lightly place their hand on you, barely applying pressure. Here was pressure, weight. This was serious prayer, like when you grip a friend’s hand for dear life. I think I let out an audible gasp.

And then (although I tried to stand up because I was in such a haze) my hands were placed on a bible, but I was looking right at the Bishop’s face, and her eyes were bright with moisture. As I stood, I had to stoop to accept the stole from her, and it raised goosebumps on my neck. I stayed on the platform for the rest of the service, and then we consecrated communion together, breaking bread and sharing liturgy (and book-holding confusion) with the three bishops like we were all colleagues, because, guess what, we are. I broke bread and placed it in people’s hands, calling them by name, grinning like a Cheshire Cat, I’m sure.

During the call to ministry, several people I knew came forward, and I didn’t have enough arms to hug them all. We recessed, and then the line of clergy, men and women I respect and admire and adore, shook my hand and greeted me, and it was in their eyes: despite the differences in age and experience, they greeted me as an equal.

I presided in worship on Sunday, twice, with a stole around my shoulders, conscious of the weight, but feeling right and at home.

Sermon: A Time to Plant

“A Time to Plant”

(Opening Memorial Service, Troy Annual Conference, June 10, 2009) Wisdom–found in the Hebrew Bible, in Paul’s letters, in Christ’s words, and even in popular culture–teaches us that dying is not really dying at all, but becoming something new and more powerful than we imagine. How can this wisdom help us trust in the cycles and seasons of life, especially when we shrink before the mystery and grieving of death? (Ecclesiastes 3:1-11, 1 Corinthians 15:35-44, 51, 54, John 12:20-26, and Star Wars: A New Hope)

—

This is the ‘rehearsal’ recording, made in advance and without the benefit and energy of a live congregation. Nothing takes the place of live preaching, but for those who want to listen to the memorial service almost in real time, and cannot be there, here’s your chance.

Parting thoughts

I’m off to Troy Annual Conference, where I’m sure I’ll spend plenty of time blogging, tweeting, updating facebook status, and oh yeah doing exciting things like legislation and preaching to a huge audience and getting ordained.

I love conference.

But before I go, this happy thought from tonight’s Finance Committee portion of our Church Council/Finance Committee meeting.

First of all, understand that fear and anxiety around money has historically been pretty commonplace in my bigger church. They’ve been in a tough place financially, and that’s hard to get out of–not just in terms of the figures, but more importantly in terms of the mindset.

We had an hour and a half meeting. About half an hour of that was a conversation about parking which was tedious and frustrating, although necessary. But the other hour was about ministries and programs and goals and plans and ideas and people tripping over each other to try to get all the ideas out.

And this is the literal transcript of the Finance Committee portion:

Council Chair: So, Finance Committee. There’s no printed report. What do we need to know?

Finance Chair: Bills are paid.

Council Chair: Anything else?

Finance Chair: Nope. Bills are paid.

Council Chair: Anyone else? Anything else about finance?

(long pause…)

Pastor: Yes, I have something. I got my copy of the Conference Connection today, and it lists the churches that are paid in full for all of their apportionments for the first quarter. Our name is on the list. Excellent work.

(round of applause)

Council Chair: So, really, nothing else on finances? (another long pause). Right, then. Moving right along.

So. Incredibly. Proud of them.  *\o/*