I seem to recall hearing somewhere that, as one grows older, one takes fewer and fewer risks, more aware of one’s mortality and increasing frailty (or increasing wisdom, depending on how you want to look at it). If that’s the case, then I wonder if I’m “failing” at growing older (or perhaps this is simply the manifestations of a mid-life crisis?).
Whatever the cause, I find that I’m taking more risks, or at least, more significant ones. As I turned 40, I began our local academy for Firefighter 1 and 2 certifications. Even in the class evolutions alone I will place myself in riskier situations, in the “IDLH” environment (Immediate Danger to Life and Health), to say nothing of the work of firefighting that will follow. I’m still not sure how my wife has let me go ahead with this, or the congregation for that matter, but I am beyond grateful!
As our Doctor of Ministry advisors said, “mild expectations produce mild results.” In other words, if we only set our sights on accomplishing a mild thing, that’s all we’ll ever achieve. If we want to undertake something that might truly change our community for the better, or change ourselves for the better, we need to risk quite a bit.
And so, I risk life and health to offer something so much more to my community, and to achieve a greater sense of self. But I’m also risking myself in another way, by putting out a plea for support and help.
I want to do and offer something I deeply believe in not just for my doctoral project, but also for the people I serve alongside. This endeavor involves creating something that does not readily exist yet: an affordable and approachable retreat for First Responders to address the negative and cumulative effects of the traumatic stress we experience. To a degree, it may very well be an up-hill battle. But it’s a risk I’m willing to undertake, to achieve something greater.
But to accomplish this I need help, and I need to risk asking for that help. To offer such a retreat is costly, and to help make it available to the people who will benefit from it, I want to mitigate that cost as much as possible. So, I’ve set up a GoFundMe for this here. If you’d like to help out, I’d ask two things of you: 1) Consider making a donation, at your comfort level; and 2) Consider sharing this with your friends and family. Any help is appreciated.
I’m willing to risk much to achieve much, to share a bold expectation for a bold and beneficial result. Thank you for being the community that goes along with me for the ride!
Pondering where we are as a country and as a people, eleven years after the events of September 11, 2001, I find myself going back to the sermon from Sunday, and thinking about how we so easily see the people we don’t like or disagree with as “dogs.” Submitted for your consideration…
One of the greatest struggles any Christian might face is the slippery slope of becoming familiar with the Scriptures. Now, that sounds like something that we should all strive for: To be more and more intimately connected to the Divine Epic that is our faith heritage. In fact, our quickly upcoming Adult Education class will be undertaking this very endeavor. But there is, on the other side of this coin, the possibility to become so familiar that the stories become…blase. Familiar. Un-engaging. And if this is true for all Christians, sometimes it is even more so for those of us in “professional” ministry, who are tasked explicitly with spending as much time as possible with these familiar characters. And sadly, every so often it becomes the reality that we read these stories without actually engaging them, that we allow the familiarity to stand in the way of being challenged and instructed
I confess that this has recently been my plight; and the past week has, at times, been rough enough that instead of taking comfort from the legacy of shared faith, I have viewed these heartening stories as nothing more than worn-out cliches.
Thank God for the stories of this Sunday, which chased me relentlessly, and would not let me be. Thank you, Lord, for the examples provided not just to me, but all of us on this day.
We start off with an encounter that is somewhat perplexing, because, frankly, it is not what we expect of Jesus, who is our ideal model, our Messiah, our Lord and Savior and Divine Example of Infinite Grace and Mercy. (How’s that for a title?) We find Jesus in the region of Tyre, and there, he is approached by a Syrophoenician woman, beseeching his mercy and healing not for herself, but for her daughter. And our first thought, as we recall all the healing Jesus has offered to others in need, as we think on Jesus who said, “Let the little children come to me,” is that this is a slam-dunk – of course Jesus will go heal this poor, young child!
But.
But that’s not what he does. Instead, we hear him utter the following words, shocking words when we consider them, “It is not fair to take the children’s food and throw it to the dogs.” Pardon me, but did our Most Divine Example of Infinite Mercy and Grace just refer to a young girl and her mother as “dogs?”
Yes. Yes, he did. The very one who, in the reading immediately prior taught us all that it is not what goes in to a person but rather what comes out – actions, attitudes, and words – that make a person clean or unclean, just referred to a mother and her sick daughter as “dogs.”
Perhaps a bit of back story is necessary at this point.
While Mark is not explicit about this, a bit of historical research will show us that the region of Tyre was not a purely Jewish area; it was a mix of Jews and Gentiles. Furthermore, the Gentiles in the area were living in such a way that the Jewish people were not having an easy time of it. Due to the exploits of Gentile landowners, many Jews in the region of Tyre experienced severe economic hardship. Aware of this reality, Jesus may have had a hard time being merciful toward someone who was contributing to such an atmosphere. Furthermore, popular speculation among scholars is that Jesus made this trip out of the familiar Jewish lands to try and get away, to find some peace, rest and relaxation. Hence, staying in a house and not making his presence known. So, despite wanting a nap and maybe a game of Cribbage with the disciples, his vacation is interrupted by this woman, this Gentile woman, who is part of a people that is creating hardship for Jesus’ own people. What we see here is that Jesus truly is fully-human, because his response to her request is a very human response.
But this is also where we find the much-needed example for our own spiritual lives of faith. This random, unnamed woman does not slink away at the rebuke, but instead does something extremely heroic: She stands up for herself, recognizing both the truth of who she is, and even more so, the Truth of God. She owns this label that she is a dog, and perhaps worth no more consideration than that given to a dog, at least to Jewish eyes. But instead just slinking away, she also shows an understanding of God that few Jewish people in our Gospels seem to be recognizing: that even as such, God loves her, cares about her and her daughter, and that in God’s eyes she is every bit the beloved child. Carrying Jesus’ metaphor one step further, she turns his human understanding on it’s head and proclaims to him the very Divine grace he has been attempting to teach others.
And she could only do this if she was true to who she understood herself to be, not in anyone else’s eyes but God’s. Her own self-understanding, and desire to be true to that not for her own sake but that of her daughter’s, brings about the healing that she was first asking for, but it also does more: It creates a bridge over human constructs, allowing us to see one another as God’s children. In proclaiming her own understanding of what it is that Jesus has been teaching, even if it hasn’t been specifically to her people, she enables Jesus to move past the human needs for rest and the human capacity for segregation and again live more fully into realizing the Kingdom of God on earth.
Wow.
In such an exchange, and with such an outcome, how could any of us find this to be blase or commonplace? How could any of us witnessing this not be challenged or engaged to do the same, to reach out to those we might normally think of deserving no more treatment than common dogs?
Our call is to create community, to reach out, to invite people to “taste and see that the Lord is good.” How can we do this if we so easily fall prey to the human capacity to classify and degrade fellow humans? How can we build community, true community, if we are afraid to share all of who we are with each other, fearful that doing so would not grant us grace but rather condemnation? Because, if we’re honest with ourselves, even if only in the silent depths of our hearts, each of us all too easily falls into this human practice of seeing others as less than we are. People who struggle with emotional or physical maladies are to be pitied, those who are not as well off financially are to be scorned, those who disagree with our perspectives are to be condemned. And this attitude, conscious or not, leads each of us to push each other away, and leads us to act not as ourselves, but rather as we think we should to be accepted in the eyes of others.
When we are not true to our selves, we implicitly allow these realities, thinking that we are better than that, that we do not engage such practices or mentalities. But we are all too human, and it is only by being true to this nature that we can fully move beyond it; if we cannot accept that this is a part of our human failings, then we will never be aware enough to move past it, overcoming it, striving for the community that is so much more.
Allow me an example. I like beer. In fact, I now have the hobby of making my own beer, and to be honest, I’m pretty good at it! Many of you already know this, outright. I would be surprised if the rest of you didn’t suspect it. But we never talk about it, at least not in the context of being a Christian community. I know that there are some of you with similar tastes, and that there are some of you who want nothing at all to do with alcohol. And that’s fine. I’m not talking about trying to get every single one of us on the same page in regards to this topic. But because we have this difference of understanding, we never talk about such in the church setting; it’s almost viewed as taboo. And yet, by not sharing that part of who I am with you out of fear that I will alienate, or be thought less of, or judged…well, then I’m not committing myself to the community of this congregation, and we all miss out. By withholding some aspect of myself, by not being true to myself and my awareness of God’s presence in all of who I am because I am afraid of either judging or being judged, I implicitly inhibit God’s community in our congregation and beyond. I don’t need you to put aside your perspective and embrace mine, but I do need to be willing to share all of my true self with all of your true self – this is where the full richness of community is realized. This is where the unexpected and unlooked for blessings come out. What are we missing out on by not being willing to share all of who we are with each other in love and grace, and recognizing God more fully in such community?
And if it is so easy for one of us to withhold something so minor as my hobby, imagine how much community we miss out on when we don’t share the bigger things in life? The struggles? When we portray a false reality that everything in life is wonderful and great and we couldn’t be better, even though that’s not the case? We can’t put forth a false front and expect to have the full blessings of community. We have to be real with each other, true with each other. And this is what the disenfranchised world is waiting to see from us, so that they can join us and not be judged, but can share their lives with the Christian community in mutual blessing.
Earlier this week, I very much needed to hear this lesson. And while I might have initially expected to hear it from Jesus, I instead heard it from an unnamed Syrophoenician woman who was truer to herself in not only the eyes of others, but more importantly in God’s eyes. Her example led to unanticipated miracle, because even though her daughter was healed, perhaps the greater miracle is that she was seen not in human standards but as a child of God, and thus brought into the fullness of community, one which was not delineated by race or class or status or any other human construct, a Divinely-inspired community that has richer blessings than any other.
Following this example, we discover the gift of community we have to offer to each other, and to a world at large. Our world is hungry for this kind of gift: to belong, to be accepted, to be loved without first having to prove that love. If we are to proclaim the Good News of the Gospel, we must start by offering the truth of who we are, and helping others own the truth of they are: beloved children of God. We are called to be such miracle workers, and we have the example today to prove it…Amen.
I would also submit the following video – a bit dated, perhaps, but nonetheless an important counter-point to the rhetoric of revenge and protecting national securities at all costs:
Following is my sermon for July 8, 2012, based on the Revised Common Lectionary, and in response to this General Assembly. These are my reflections, and my reflections alone, meant to be edifying as much as informative.
<2 Samuel 5:1-5, 9-10; Mark 6:1-13>
Prayer: May the words of my mouth and the meditations of all of our hearts be pleasing and acceptable to you, O Holy Mystery, our Rock and Redeemer. Amen.
I pray forgiveness if this sermon comes across as a little bit raw; I endeavored to keep it from becoming so, but I do not know if I succeeded.
As I mentioned last week in worship, I wear this stole today to show my mindfulness of those who are serving the church throughout this past week by being at our denomination’s General Assembly. Throughout this week they have labored long in committee meetings, plenaries, and worship to guide our denomination into the next years to come. These commissioners and advocates have labored for long hours, even into the wee hours of Saturday morning, recessing somewhere in the neighborhood of 1:30am, after starting business at 8:30am the previous morning. There has been much heated discussion and debate, with most of it respectful, but I must confess that I am saddened by many of the decisions that have been made.
“[Jesus] called the Twelve and began to send them out two by two, and gave them authority over the unclean spirits. He ordered them to take nothing for their journey except a staff…So they went out, and proclaimed that all should repent. They cast out many demons, and anointed with oil many who were sick and cured them.”
I’ve always been fascinated with this account of the disciples being sent out in mission. As Jesus deals with the incredulous response he received from his own hometown, the disciples are sent out to continue the work that he began, and has now called them to. They go out, presumably to the other towns in the region, and they do all the things which we still understand to make up the proclamation of the Good News: they healed the sick and afflicted, they made whole the broken aspects of life, they lifted up people who were down and in need; in word and deed, the disciples made known that the Kingdom of God was drawing near to those who were yearning for it, those who were desiring to see it in their lifetimes.
Now, often, when I read this account, I try to imagine what it would have been like to be one of those disciples, performing such deeds and spreading the gospel invitation. I wonder what it would take today to accomplish such feats of faith and compassion. But it’s a simple answer, really. In fact, it’s so simple that I usually overlook it, trying to discover something flashier, something more grand.
Synergy, in today’s parlance, is often used to describe the exciting result of the interaction of two separate items, meaning that the sum of the whole is greater than the individual parts. But to put it in terms of the faith and the church, I would argue that synergy could just as accurately be used to describe the reality of a person living a life that outwardly reflects an inward awareness, of making one the exterior and the interior of a person. It is the simple reality of synergy in one’s life that makes such living out the Kingdom of God possible.
Case in point: In our reading from 2 Samuel, we see that David has synergy. The people approach him, declaring that he is to be their next king in the wake of the spectacularly-gone-awry experiment of Saul. They know that he, David, will be a better and more faithful king because, even when he wasn’t king he acted as if he was. Oh, not in the sense that he proclaimed himself king wherever he went, regardless of who was actually on the throne. In fact, quite the opposite! Wherever David went, he approached the people and interacted with them as one would expect a king to do, with the best interests of the people’s safety and welfare at his own heart. David treated the people as a king ought to treat his people, and David did so before he ever sat on the throne. His outward actions reflected an inward awareness of how his relationship with others was affected by his calling from God. In such a self-awareness and synergy, it did not ultimately matter what his title or status were; he treated the people in such a way because he knew it to be the right way, and his conscience, his authentic self would not let him act any other way. His actions showed his heart, and they were in line with what he spoke. He did not say one thing, while doing another thing, and holding a third view within.
It is this same reality of living into this authenticity, between action, proclamation, and self-understanding, this synergy, that allows the disciples to fully and truly proclaim the good news, inviting people into deeper relationship with God, and moving away from the actions and lifestyles that fostered division. After all, if someone came up to you, preaching good news of an invitation to a richer, fuller life, and then did not live out such a lifestyle himself, would you listen? Of course not! You would look at him and think, ‘He doesn’t even believe in the things he’s telling me; why should I believe him, then?’
The disciples go out, two by two, not simply to proclaim the Kingdom of God and the healing that goes with it, but to live out the Kingdom of God and the healing that goes with it. By taking nothing but what is absolutely needed, they are freed from material distractions and concerns. By going out in community with another disciple, they are living out the communal nature of the Kingdom, and showing the fullness of edifying relationship that marks the Kingdom for what it is; a place where concern for your brother and sister is the driving force of relationship, as opposed to what others will think of you, or what you’ll get out of the relationship.
And the lesson that comes with this understanding of what it is to live out the gospel is still one that we need today. I mentioned earlier that I’ve been very frustrated with the PC(USA) General Assembly this past week. I have spent long hours tuned into to the live feed on the internet, watching and listening as commissioners and advisors deliberated and voted. And, though I say this cautiously, I must say that what I heard and saw does not show me a denomination that, in this past week, has followed the example put forth by our readings this morning.
Early in the week we elected a vice-moderator for the assembly, in good order and duly so. Later in the week, she felt forced to resign her post, as those who still disagreed that she should have been elected in the first place threatened to manipulate the system to make sure nothing of the assembly’s business was addressed. Where, I ask, was the discipline of loving your brother and sister, and working with the will of the assembly that had broken no rules in the election process?
Then, later in the week, the issue of divestment was discussed. Some of the stock holdings of our denomination are in companies that profit from the violence between Palestine and Israel in the Middle East, and thus promote the oppression of a nation. There was a resolution to urge the divestment of stock from such companies, opting not to receive income from companies and situations that purport violence. We as a church proclaim the peace of the Kingdom of God, the peace that Christ has offered us and this world, and that such peace between neighbors and countries is one of our goals that we work toward. The vote to make our perspective known by divesting from such companies and their practices was defeated; our denomination will continue to receive earnings from these companies, and from practices that allow for violence and oppression.
Finally, the discussion came to the issue of same-gender marriage. And without recreating the discussion among us, because I know that we as a congregation are not of one view, it will suffice to say that in some ways it comes down to an understanding of whether or not we welcome people who have personally experienced Christ in their lives to have all the benefits of the church. We claim, as the church, that anyone who seeks Christ more fully is welcome at the Table, that anyone who has been called by the Spirit has a place in our communities, that anyone who loves as Christ first loved will be invited in. And regardless of what your understanding on this issue may be, the reality is that when we claim this as who we are, and then vote in such a way that does not honor people for who they are, the only message that the outside world receives is that we say one thing with our lips and another with our actions. This vote, also, was ultimately defeated. No authenticity. No synergy.
We claim to be a church that wants to create and make known the peaceful Kingdom of God in this world, and yet we implicitly, if not explicitly, support violent climates in the areas where Jesus walked. We claim to be a church where everyone is welcome, and yet we tell people that unless they look, act, or think like us, then there is no room for them here. We claim to be a church that is creating a place for future generations, and then we talk about young adults as if they weren’t in the room with us, and as if we know what they really want, instead of listening to their voices and heeding their advice. The actions of our General Assembly give me little hope for the future of our church, when this is the outcome of the week’s work for all the world to see.
And yet. And yet, I still have hope. There is still hope to be found. Jesus was rejected in his hometown, unable to do any great acts of power, and yet his ministry did not stop there. The disciples went out, sent out two by two, and continued the ministry begun, preparing the way for Christ to come in person and invite people into the full love of God. Throughout all of this and even beyond the death, resurrection, and ascension of Christ, Jesus continues to bring healing to the world! This is still the work that is before us today; what good news! I may be saddened by the actions of this General Assembly, but it does not mean that the work of the Spirit for the increase of God’s Kingdom has ceased, and I am still called to such. Each of us as disciples is still called to this. Personally, I will abide by my denomination’s decisions; I am Presbyterian, and I will keep to the church’s decisions. But I will not stop engaging the conversation, or proclaiming the good news as I have seen and experienced it. I will not stop seeking the healing of Christ for a hurting and broken world. Such is the calling of every disciple; not to be caught up in uniformity, but in unity to proclaim the good news as each and every one of us is called to do – with our own lives, our own experiences, our own synergy. When we, in word and deed, continue to make such proclamation, then God’s Kingdom will be increased, and those who yearn for peace and wholeness will find it. May God’s Kingdom truly come…Amen.
I know that our denomination does all kinds of special offerings throughout the year, and as a minister I, too, share the sometimes dubious joy of attempting to promote/support all of them throughout the year, on top of our regular offerings, all in a rural church that is struggling financially (like so many others). I really do attempt to support them all, and space them out appropriately. But I’m very partial to the Pentecost offering.
And there is a very good reason for this, I believe: I would not be where I am now, who I am now, or have the story of faith that I currently have without this offering. At least, not without a program that this offering helps support.
I am speaking of none other than the PC(USA) Young Adult Volunteers (YAV, for short) program – a national & international program of mission service for young adults of faith ages 19-30, which I spent two years of my formative life engaged with. And to be honest, I could talk/write/impose my thoughts for quite a lengthy time on this topic – what it is, why I feel it’s important, why I believe you should feel it’s important. But to be fair, I’ll simply list some of the highlights of what has formed me through this program, and let you simply absorb/reflect as you will. (I try to practice with others the mercy of God I have received.)
1) My spiritual journey is richer for this program, and that has a direct affect on my ministry where I am now. This is perhaps the most concrete and visible outcome of spending time between my undergraduate and graduate academic work. During these two brief years, I spent time in small, rural churches (very similar to where I am now), learning by experience (trial-and-error) what it is to live in relationship with the people that comprise these communities, walking with them through good and bad, sharing the exciting and mundane of life. But most of all, I learned to simply BE PRESENT with them. I used to think that ministry was all about finding the right combination of programming to meet the needs of the people, and that once you put those pieces of programming together correctly – viola! You had successful ministry! It took living through failure in this model (more than once) to learn that ministry has almost nothing to do with programming, and almost everything to do with relationship – sharing Christ with one another, walking with one another, recognizing that you impact others and are impacted by others. I would not realize this now had I not been a YAV.
It’s a little ironic that it took a mission program to make me realize that programs aren’t the end result of ministry.
2) I learned to live in community. This piggy-backs off of point #1 enough for me not to expand too much on it, but to simply say that Simon & Garfunkel were wrong: I am not a rock, or an island, but live & move & have my being in the intentional living together with other people, whether we share the same roof or not.
3) I learned to live simply. There are numerous resources out there on this topic, so forgive me for not going into a lot of detail about them here. If you’re interested, visit Amazon or Barnes & Noble and search for the above topic. But suffice it to say: When you’re on a limited income, you learn what’s important – truly important – and what you can do without. I sometimes wonder if I’ve lost some of that understanding in my own life, and I oftentimes wonder if the Church particular has lost sight of that as well (each year around budget time, to be exact). Someday I’ll readdress that aspect of my life, and perhaps find a bit more courage to help this gathered body or worshipers to do the same. But the undercurrent of it all is that I have learned, and remember keenly, what is truly important, and what is adiaphora.
4) I learned acceptance. Along with point #1, this is perhaps the most important. I learned to accept who I am (which is constantly held in tension with striving for excellence in all I do – the two are not mutually exclusive), but more important to the ministry I am a part of now, I learned to accept others for who they are. Throughout my time as a YAV, and now as a YAVA(lumnus), I have experienced so much grace, forgiveness, and love that I no longer know how to walk in relationship with others without offering them the same. I don’t care where you’re from, what you’ve been through, why you’re here now or even if you’ll stay. I do care that you know, even if only for a moment or two, that God loves you more than you can fully comprehend. Having experienced this mystifying reality, I want you to know it as well, and I want to be one of the ones to help you realize it. God has accepted me, faults and gifts all, and so I accept you as well. What you do with that is up to you.
5) I learned that I don’t have all the answers, and this is a very good thing. Graduating college, and heading into the mission field, I saw myself as something of an expert, or at least an authority, in the ministry I’d be undertaking. Within six weeks I realized, hard, that this was not reality. I was clueless, still, despite my years of education and experience. I couldn’t have asked for a greater blessing moving forward. In my years as a YAV, I learned that the only One who does have answers or any semblance of control is God, and learned moreso to be OK with that – to be at peace when I didn’t have the foggiest, and to trust that it was God’s leading when I did have an idea of direction. It isn’t my place to provide the answers, to be the fixer of every situation – that isn’t ministry. It is my call to be in relationship with others, and let that simply be; God will be at work in, through, and despite me. This lesson ranks right up there with #1 above, in my mind.
In short, these are some of the aspects of ministry I learned as a YAV, a ministry which is directly supported (in part) through the annual, upcoming Peacemaking offering of Pentecost. If any of this sounds worth-while to you, please consider ways in which you might give to the Peacemaking offering, or support the YAV program, as well.
ons. Even in the class evolutions alone I will place myself in riskier situations, in the “IDLH” environment (Immediate Danger to Life and Health), to say nothing of the work of firefighting that will follow. I’m still not sure how my wife has let me go ahead with this, or the congregation for that matter, but I am beyond grateful!
MonkAtHeart 