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)

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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/*

Design your own church

In the middle of last week, the church Office Manager at Trinity and I were talking about use of space in the church and how we would re-design the building if money was no concern. This quickly became a conversation about how we would design the building if we were starting over from scratch.

So I want to ask you: imagine you were given an unlimited budget and an ideal piece of property (wherever that is) and told to design a church building from the ground up to suit the ministry you think the church needs to be doing in that place. Where would it be located? What kinds of space would it have?

Our office manager has a heart for food and feeding people. The church building of her dreams would have a huge kitchen–maybe two, and lots of storage. Local farmers and restaurant owners would bring their extra food to the building for storage and redistribution to those in need, whether through a food pantry program or a community meal, or more preferably, both. Sanctuary, schmanctuary. In her church, the main space would be a dining room and fellowship center where anyone hungry could eat their fill.

My church would be located in a downtown of the community, so that people could easily walk to it. It would have a parking lot, preferably underground (can you tell this has been an issue for us?). It would have a lawn, but not much grass; most of the lawn would be devoted to a community garden, maintained by church members but available to people in town who are hungry to harvest it. It would be three, maybe four stories, and the roof would sport solar panels, while further heating needs were met with a grass-pellet burning stove. On the lowest level, there would be a sizable food pantry and storage area, and a community thrift shop, and a couple of meeting rooms or small library. Also, there would be bathrooms with showers, just in case the church was being used as a shelter for a time. The next floor would be the social space: a large room safe to run around in for kids to play and learn (which could be broken up with dividers for educational times) and a fellowship/dining area with lightweight tables and chairs near the large kitchen. The fellowship hall would be equipped with a small stage, and a sound and projection system, for community action meetings, classes on cooking or garndening or parenting or resume-writing, movie nights, and open mic events. The sanctuary would be above that, with movable seating (rather than bolted-in pews), lights on freaking dimmer switches (for Christmas Eve and Good Friday!!!!!), an embedded projection screen, a sound system that doesn’t make the pastor’s voice sound like she’s preaching from inside a tin can but can record her sermons direct to mp3 (or dare we hope record the service to video for local access or for the homebound?). The altar area would be open, flexible, and movable, with a stand-alone cross and a window opening out into God’s world, even if that means the bustling street– especially then. There would be a side chapel for smaller gatherings or personal prayer. The building would be accessible at the front without steps (maybe a ramp) and would have at least two elevators, one of which would be large enough to accommodate a coffin, to save the backs of pallbearers everywhere. Somewhere there’d be an office, I guess, but I bet the pastor would only rarely sit there, instead preferring to tend the garden, hand out food, or pray in the chapel. And the doors would have no locks.

Okay, I dream. But that’s the point in this case.

What’s your dream church? Or, if not a church, what would it be?

Sermon: “It’s a God Thing”

“It’s a God Thing”

(June 7, 2009) Transformation and salvation and the coming of peace and justice in the world are not things that come primarily from us, but from God. Inspired by a message delivered at the Young Adult Clergy Forum by Rev. Clayton Childers, General Board of Church and Society. (John 3:1-17)

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because my recorder was temporarily missing (it’s been found, with both sermons intact! a miracle– depending on what you think of the sermons…), I recorded this sermon using my iPhone and its trusty old headphone mic. The trasfer was easier, so I’m wondering if you think the sound quality was about the same or better. I’m especially interested in your opinion, Clay. There was a feedback hum, which I think was caused by the proximity of the phone to the wireless mic receiver for the church sound system, but I tried to isolate and eliminate most of it in Audacity.

What’s with the Ordination thing?

my commissioning in 2006

Not everyone who knows me is a church-going Methodist-loving nerd.

I know, strange, but true.

So some have been wondering, what is the ordination thing all about, and if I attend it, what should I do? What should I wear? Can I make cat calls?

No on the last one, please. Clothes on the second one.

What is an Ordination, in non-theological language?

It’s a little like graduation. It’s partially a recognition and celebration of the preparation and work my colleagues and I have undergone these past three, five, heck, ten years or so. The preparation was not just academic, but spiritual, psychological, practical, and deeply personal, and in this ceremony, we conclude that portion of the work, and like a commencement, turn to the beginning of the rest of our careers in our ministries, whatever they might hold. Also, this year is the last of our Annual Conference’s ordinations, and so there’s some saying goodbye involved too. Kind of like graduation.

It’s a little like a wedding. I don’t want to take the metaphor too far and say I’m married to God or to the church to the exclusion of my actual spouse, but it’s one of the closest examples we have. This is both a personal and a communal recognition of a sacred commitment, a commitment that doesn’t start with the ceremony, just as the relationship between two people doesn’t start on the wedding day, but is celebrated in a worshipful setting and vows are spoken, and the covenant is witnessed and therefore in a way, pledged to be upheld, by all present. More on this in a second.

It’s a little like a healing ceremony or a prayer circle. This is the least familiar metaphor for my non-churchy friends, but you can still get the idea. As part of the ceremony, each person being ordained is prayed over by the Bishop, by supervisors in their ministry, and by mentors or friends chosen by the ordinand, who have supported them in the process. To be prayed for– touched and prayed for– is a pretty powerful thing. I’ve been on the receiving end of similar things a few times, and it can take your breath away. My theology of prayer is a little wobbly sometimes, but I believe that so much focused intention, love, support, and prayer to God can’t help but be a wonderful and uplifting thing. I never fail to feel moved and goosebumply when I see it; I can’t imagine what it is to participate in it in this context. It is, for me, every time I watch it, a true God moment.

At that moment, when the Bishop and mentors are placing their hands on the ordinand, something that I think is truly special happens in the room. Everyone there in support of that person, everyone who has been touched by that person and her or his ministry, everyone who would affirm the blessing of this person and pray for God’s Spirit to continue to work in and through their ministry, stands. Just silently stands up. No clapping, no cheering, but with the movement of the body says, Yes. Me too. I’m praying that prayer (or the equivalent in my own personal belief) too. I too affirm God’s work in this person and I want their ministry to be blessed. I bear witness to this committment, and I pledge myself to support this person and their commitment to God and God’s ministry in any way I can.

At least, that’s what I mean when I stand up.

I hope you mean it too.

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If you want details about where and when the ceremony is, there’s an event page on my facebook, or let me know. Come if you can, or think of me around 10:30 and following next Saturday, and you’ll be standing up from afar.