Any idiot can find God alone in the sunset...

The innovative, bright and sometimes witty preacher/writer, Lillian Daniels, recently Tweeted:  "Any idiot can find God alone in the sunset. It takes a certain maturity to find God in the person sitting next to you who not only voted for the wrong political party but has a baby who is crying while you’re trying to listen to the sermon."  I concur - and have been thinking about spiritual maturity a lot of late.

+ I am very moved, for example, by this picture of Egyptian Muslims creating a living wall of protection for their Christian sisters and brothers in Cairo.

Those who have followed the anguish in Egypt beyond the headlines know that once again some in the Brotherhood have been attacking Christians with the hope of further polarizing that wounded society.  As one Bishop recently wrote, the Brotherhood have been hiding weapons while fomenting fear and rage against their Christian neighbors.  This picture is one sign of those who are spiritually mature - people who know that when one is unsafe then all are unsafe - and are willing to put their faith into living action.  To be sure, both sides in the Egyptian struggle have moved beyond any hope of compromise - there is such unbridled hatred and rigidity alive that only a civil war seems likely in the short term - and there will be a great deal more death and destruction before cooler heads and loving hearts prevail.  Nevertheless, polarization is not the only truth and when spiritually mature people step into the chaos a measure of light returns to the darkness.

+ Last night we watched Sarah Polley's 2011 film, Take This Waltz, and hoped her point was the rant shouted by Sarah Silverman in the penultimate scene.  Fo without this brief interlude, the rest of the movie was a beautiful albeit frustrating and sometimes annoying romp through emotional and spiritual immaturity.  No body in this film was interested in growing up - not the men nor women - not the stars nor the incidental players.  Only Silverman, still buzzing after falling off the wagon after almost a year of sobriety, has the courage to name Margot's actions as those akin to her own destructive benders:  EVERY life has a gap that you need to learn how to life with... cuz just changing partners is not a solution.  (Like our AA friends know so well is something they call the geographic solution:  wherever you go, you still have to take you with you.)  I loved Polley's other two films, her brilliant debut - Away from Her - and the emotionally haunting documentary - Stories We Tell - but this one felt ill formed.  Maybe Pollely's point simply gave shape and form to the immaturity that abounds?

 

Fr. Richard Rohr offers an alternative when he writes:

Pain teaches a most counterintuitive thing—that we must go down before we even know what up is. It is first an ordinary wound before it can become a sacred wound. Suffering of some sort seems to be the only thing strong enough to destabilize our arrogance and our ignorance. I would define suffering very simply as “whenever you are not in control.”

 

All healthy religion shows you what to do with your pain. If we do not transform our pain, we will most assuredly transmit it. If your religion is not showing you how to transform your pain, it is junk religion. It is no surprise that a crucified man became the central symbol of Christianity. If we cannot find a way to make our wounds into sacred wounds, we invariably become negative or bitter—because we will be wounded. That is a given. All suffering is potentially redemptive, all wounds are potentially sacred wounds. It depends on what you do with them. Can you find God in them or not?

 

If there isn’t some way to find some deeper meaning to our suffering, to find that God is somehow in it, and can even use it for good, we will normally close up and close down, and the second half of our lives will, quite frankly, be small and silly.



Tonight we're going to be sharing a quiet dinner with two couples from church who have lived through joys and sorrows. They bring joy and hope to the world. They are tender and tough, humorous and humble and a whole lot of fun. They are people of gravitas - spiritual maturity - and I give thanks to God for the blessings they share.





Listening for the wisdom of the saints in my life...

Throughout this past week, I've found myself talking a LOT about saints - and it seems to be in the air all around me, too.  This morning, for example, the pastor of one of the "tall steeple churches" in our tradition posted a piece on our daily devotional site entitled:  "We Need MORE Saints."  It begins:  We Protestants need more saints.

In this context, I do not mean saint in the way the Apostle Paul used the term as inclusive of all of the people of God. Rather, I am referring to individuals of faith whom the church points to and says, in essence, "Pay attention to these lives. Take inspiration from them. Try, as you are able, to follow their example." I am thinking of Frederick Buechner's definition: "In God's holy flirtation with the world, God occasionally drops a handkerchief. These handkerchiefs are called saints."  (read more @ http://day1.org/4082-martin_copenhaver_ we_need_more_saints)

Last night I came across a post on "The Christian Pundit" called "Young Evangelicals Get High" in which the author writes:

Young Christians are going over to Catholicism and high Anglicanism/ Lutheranism in droves, despite growing up in low Protestant churches that told them about Jesus. It’s a trend that is growing, and it looks like it might go that way for a while: people who grew up in stereotypical, casual evangelicalism are running back past their parents’ church to something that looks like it was dug out of Europe a couple hundred years ago at least. It’s encouraged by certain emergent leaders and by other “Christian” authors whose writings promote “high” theology under a Protestant publisher’s cover.  (read more @ http:// the christianpundit.org/2013/07/17/young-evangelicals-are-getting-high/)

At our recent worship ministry team meeting there was a spirited conversation about the role of saints in Protestant worship. We were discussing how we sensed the Spirit's leading re: Advent 2013 and how we might help shape the sights and sounds of worship this year when talk turned to St. Nicholas Day.  Most were intrigued about building an intergenerational event around the story and wisdom of St. Nicholas - giving a context in tradition to the ubiquitous Santa Claus - but one member expressed distress. "We don't DO saints" was the essence of the concern.  And historically most New England Protestants would agree for we have shaped our religious identity by being something other than Roman Catholic:  if THEY do it, then WE don't.

But times have changed - and so has our Reformed tradition.  So much so that of the six participants in this conversation, only one could claim a life-long history in the Congregational way.  And that same fact is true in the larger United Church of Christ where most of our new members come from either the historically "high" churches or else self-identify themselves as SBNRs (spiritual but not religious.)  Our exploration of St. Nick will continue at our September meeting.

At the start of this week, two different groups of guests made a point of asking me about the contemporary iconostasis in my study.  It contains 24 photographs or drawings rendered as Orthodox saints including Martin Luther King, Kathleen Norris, Bono, Dylan, Abraham Joshua Heschel, Springsteen, Joni Mitchell and Aretha Franklyn.  "It is a way of honoring the sacred that I have encountered in their lives," I told them.  "I know not all of them are dead, but God has spoken to me as much in the poetic ministry of Rumi as in Scripture." For like Henri Nouwen wrote in his brilliant little book on icons, these sacred images are visual prayers.  My icons were inspired by the brilliant work of the contemporary iconographer, Robert Lentz, whose images of Harvey Milk, MLK, Dorothy Day and his various interpretations of both the Virgin Mary and Christ have long fed my soul when I didn't have words or energy to pray.

And then this morning I received a long note from a friend coming through the sad end of a marriage.  Among other things, she told me that she had been practicing contemplative prayer.  It had become a life line - an oasis of healing and hope in a dark time.  It seems that the ancient monastic wisdom of Henri Nouwen as expressed in his posthumous book, Spiritual Direction, offered a way for my friend to become grounded in the beloved grace of God.  This new/old way of prayer, too has roots in the saints we know as the desert mothers and fathers.

St. Frederick Buechner tells us to: Listen to your life. See it for the fathomless mystery it is. In the boredom and pain of it, no less than in the excitement and gladness: touch, taste, smell your way to the holy and hidden heart of it, because in the last analysis all moments are key moments, and life itself is grace. So I am listening to all this saint talk and like Mary pondering it in my heart. I'm not sure what it all means or where it will take me, but that's ok. Right now, all I am supposed to do is listen, watch and wait - be still and know that I am God - for as Buechner also notes, even this silence is prayer.

Everybody prayers whether you think of it as prayer or not. The odd silence you fall into when something very beautiful is happening or something very good or very bad.  The ah-h-h-h! that sometimes floats up out of you as a Fourth of July crowd when the sky-rocket bursts over the water. The stammer of pain at somebody else's pain.  The stammer of joy at somebody else's joy. Whatever words or sounds (or even silence) you use for sighing with over your own life, these are all prayers in their own way.

And just so I keep paying attention, my copy of The Way of St. Cuthbert: A Pilgrimage came in this morning's mail.

Gratitude at the end of the day...

In a week I will be on vacation again: first to see my first born daughter one last time before she becomes a momma and then to rest and walk by the ocean with my lover and friend before the busyness of a new year of mission and ministry begins at church.  I am ready and excited - but have 7 more full days before I depart - a whole week of creativity.

Today was mostly administrative, but there were some sweet pastoral visitations, too.  I am so grateful for this part of my work - listening to people and learning to love them as God's beloved - it has brought me countless blessings over the years.  I also received a long note from an old friend from another ministry who has just come out of a long marriage.  She aches and grieves and, at the same time, is finding depth and hope and deep intimacy with God's grace.  And while I grieve for the wounds, I rejoice in the healing.

Tomorrow, we will chill:  cut the grass, walk the dog, clean the house and cook supper for one another in the cool almost autumn weather of our Sabbath.  On Saturday, a few artists will gather in the afternoon to plan how to "dress the Sanctuary" for our observance of two months of "honoring the season of the earth" (an emerging liturgical season during so-called Ordinary Time.)  We will also join some members of the congregation in the evening for a backyard glass of wine and light supper.

On Sunday, my band mates and I will share our take on "a spirituality of jazz: improvisation" with some swingin' songs and playful interpretations of scripture. Then, our allies in the quest for justice and compassion in the LGBTQA work, Sara and Kelly, will join us for an all-church potluck discussion re: how we can become stronger allies.  It is one more small step towards living into our Open and Affirming commitment.

Come Monday, I have a few pastoral visits - and administrative duties - to deal with before stopping in to hear some friends play funk at the Mission Bar and Tapas.  I get to go deeper in our premarital conversation with a young couple on Tuesday and do a few more pastoral visits.  Then on Wednesday, I'll celebrate Eucharist at midday and probably hang with another church family that evening to make sure our fall programming is ready to go.

Then it is on to Brooklyn, Ipswich and vacation time...

What a long strange trip it has been...

From time to time I forget: I live in the heart of Yankee Congregationalism. Not that this form of religiosity is normative any longer - it hasn't been for many generations - for the dominant religious group is SBNR (those who self-identify as spiritual but not religious.)  Still perception is often reality and those who once were at the top of the heap sometimes forget that the world has changed profoundly since 1955.

Throughout much of contemporary Protestantism since 1980, there has been a growing interest in the mystical aspects of our Christian tradition. I remember writing in my doctoral work that after the activism of the 60s crashed and burned, many turned to the monastics for a more balanced and nuanced spirituality. Read both Dakota and the Cloister Walk by Kathleen Norris and her experience was writ large by many: we needed a connection with the sacred that was both bigger than our limited experiences and more gracious than the head-driven liturgies of the Reformed realm. We needed mystery as well as beauty in our lives, theology that was simultaneously true and greater than either the self-help groups or trendy psycho-babble of our generation.

Witness the astonishing growth of Taize worship throughout the US in the once mainstream Protestant realm beginning in the 1980s.  Note the ever increasing journey to retreat houses in this same period.  As someone in the Presbyterian Church wrote:  there is an ever-growing desire to commune with the sacred spirit of the living God that is bigger than anything we do on Sunday morning.  We ache for silence.  Paradox.  Spiritual depth. And apparently we have to go to the monastery to get it!

That certainly was part of my journey. I remember thinking about a month ago, that had life been just a bit different I could have easily wound up in the Roman Catholic tradition. I love the saints - and read their stories regularly. I adore the smells and the bells - and celebrate Eucharist weekly. I pray from the Book of Common Prayer - the Anglican resource - that one priest once described as "Catholicism that makes sense in this generation." Most of my spiritual directors have been priests.  And truth be told, most of the theologians I read are from the Roman Catholic and/or Eastern Orthodox realm. From the early 90s I have been a part of different monastic orders, too from Caritas and Celebration to my current affiliation with Iona.
At the same time, I continue to be a practicing member of the Reformed tradition in the spirit of Calvin and Luther.  I celebrate their deep mysticism and grieve that somehow it has been mostly lost or forgotten in the contemporary Reformed church.  So every now and again, I am startled to find that those I love are uncomfortable or perplexed by this deep ecumenism. They aren't accustomed to icons.  Or chant.  Or prayers dedicated to the Virgin Mother.

This discomfort is a healthy reminder to me as a pastor of two things:1) most who have become part of our congregation in the past 6 years have not been raised in New England congregationalism; and 2) many of the old timers have no idea how eclectic our community has become on my watch.  As we attempt to become a church that is real in the 21st century, I sense God is calling us to be radically inclusive - leaving behind the adolescent protests of the late Middle Ages - so that we can use ALL of the spiritual resources of the church: Catholic, Protestant, Anglican and Orthodox.

As some of my mentors in the Grateful Dead once said:  what a LONG, strange trip its been.

A spirituality of jazz part three: improvisation...

NOTE:  Here are my worship notes for this coming Sunday, August 18, 2013.  I will be away on vacation for the following two weeks so my posting will be... different.  If you are in town, drop by @ 10:30 am.

Introduction

“Since, therefore, we have been surrounded by so great a cloud of witnesses…” man, do I LOVE that passage of scripture!  It’s got it all:  it speaks to us of tradition AND innovation, it celebrates community AND personal initiative, it is saturated in spirituality while simultaneously affirming our living presence in history – AND – it challenges us to live in our generation as WITNESSES.  “Since, therefore, we have been surrounded by so great a cloud of witnesses, let US lay aside every weight and sin that clings so closely, and run with perseverance the race set before us, looking to Jesus as the pioneer and perfecter of our faith.”

Sweet people of God let me cut to the chase here right out of the gate because this one word – witnesses – is a monster! The English word we translate as witnesses comes from the Greek word martus from which we get the word martyr.  Now be careful that you don’t assume that you know what the word martyr means just because you’ve watched Ben Hur or even the TV show Battlestar Gallactica, ok? There are two distinct truths taking place all at the same time in his little six letter word – and each tells us something essential about living a jazz shaped faith.

·        First, a martyr was a witness:  Webster’s Dictionary says that a witness is “one who can give a firsthand account of something seen, heard or experienced; someone who can share firsthand evidence.”

·        Second, a martyr could speak to their personal encounter with the evidence in one of three ways:  in a legal or forensic fashion, from the perspective of history and time or as a witness to an ethical reality.  That is, a martyr was one who could bear witness to a legal contract or covenant; describe an event that they had personally lived into and observed, or someone who could render an ethical insight based upon their experience in life.

Do you dig why this is so hot?  In the beginning, a martyr was not someone who willingly chose death rather than compromise his or her religious convictions – and as important as that was, it came later.  Rather, a martyr was a witness who could give living testimony to the presence of something life changing that took place in reality.  No wonder Peterson provides us with this pumped-up interpretation of the text:

Do you see what this means:  all these pioneers who blazed the way, all these veterans cheering us on? It means we’d better get on with it, too!  Strip down, start running—and never quit! No extra spiritual fat, no parasitic sins. Keep your eyes on Jesus, who both began and finished this race we’re in. Study how he did it because he never lost sight of where he was headed—that exhilarating finish in and with God—he could put up with anything along the way:  Cross, shame, whatever. And now he’s there, in the place of honor, right alongside God. So when you find yourselves flagging in your faith, go over that story again, item by item, get in touch with that long litany of hostility that he plowed through and that will shoot adrenaline into your souls!

So let me put this insight into the context of our spirituality of jazz series because I think it resonates with truth and power.

Insights

If you’ve been here for the past two weeks you know that Carlton, Between the Banks and I have been exploring something I call a spirituality of jazz.  And if for some reason you have missed our groove – heaven forbid – here’s a recap: 

·      Spirituality has to do with the practices of a faith:  the disciplines, actions and commitments we repeat over time that help us mature as those following the way of Jesus.  Spiritual practices are things like being in worship, singing hymns, prayer, sharing your resources for the common good, acts of compassion, ok? So it is small wonder that the preacher in Hebrews uses the metaphor of the race today – she’s talking about the training required for perseverance – and that means spirituality.

·       We’ve also been playing with jazz as both music and metaphor because it is such an American art form done in community.  Sure, you have to practice your instrument in private – jazz folk call this “wood-shedding “where you work out the kinks in private – but like Wynton Marsalis says:  you PLAY jazz in a group for an audience.  And in that group you have to listen and respect one another, give and take and respond to what’s happening in each moment and try to help everyone involved make the best music possible.

 

Bill Frisell, one of my favorite jazz guitarists, put it like this: more than any other type of music, jazz is a place “where anything is possible – a refuge, a magical world where anyone can go, where all kinds of people can come together in safety – and try anything they want and nobody gets hurt.  It’s a place where anything can happen together and we are only limited by our imaginations.”  That sounds like Christ’s dream for the church – and it happens in jazz. 

In the practice of a jazz-shaped faith we practice syncopation – listening and giving shape and form to the offbeat – as well as the rhythm of call and response – where we learn to listen and wait rather than react so that we can respond to life with creativity and integrity.  And now we’ll bring it all home with the spiritual practice of improvisation, that blessed experience that keeps the music fresh and fun and always real.

Jazz theologian Robert Gelinas writes that: Improvisation is what allows jazz to exist in a continual state of renewal.  In jazz, the same old song seems like a new song every time it is performed because it is a music of traditions and freedom.  Much of the fun comes from hearing how new artists will take old standards and make them fresh as they add their own voices… (for) in jazz improvisation is expected… when you take the stage, you are there, in part, to take the risk of composing in the moment – and that is one truth about improvisation. (Finding a Groove, p.33)

And let me unpack that with a few comments before we share some musical examples. 

·       First improvisation is NOT standing up and playing whatever you want however you want whenever you want – that is chaos – and it is selfish.  In jazz, what you compose on the spot has to fit and move with the flow.  Second improvisation is NOT standing up and playing a song out of a book for the first time.  That may be fun – or scary – but it is not improvisation. Rather, improvisation is born of practice and knowing a song so well that you can play with it in a creative way.  It is grounded in tradition and freedom simultaneously.

·       And third improvisation is NOT unbridled freedom without any sense of the consequences; rather, it is “the desire to make something new out of something old” coming from two Latin words – im and provius – meaning “not provided or not foreseen.” (Gelinas, p. 33)

So let’s share three examples of improvisation so that you can hear and feel what I mean.

·      If you have been here each week, you will have heard us improvising at the start and close of each worship gathering:  we have been trying out different sounds, styles and rhythms with the “Kyrie” that we later sing in worship.  Have you noticed that?  It takes something old and traditional and tries to make it new each week.  Carlton can we recap some of the different styles by way of example…?

·      That’s one improvisational truth:  taking something old and knowing it so well you can create something new out of it that is respectful and playful at the same time.  Another element of improvisation involves a structured experiment with form and I’d like Carlton to say something about one of his compositions that we’ll share…

Play The Golden Stone

Did you hear and feel the balance here?  The very form of this song builds in a time for complete freedom and creativity while giving it structure and focus, too.  Now there is one more truth about improvisation that I want you to grasp:  how changing the very chords of a tune can help to illuminate a new insight that was always present, but undiscovered. Jazz musicians often play with chord substitutions to create a nuanced – or dramatic – shift in the feel and sound of a song.  They do it for the audience and for themselves and maybe we can give you a simple example…

·        I’ve played with this concept during some of our Good Friday liturgies.  I discovered, for example, that changing the D major in the Credence song, “Bad Moon Rising” to a D minor made it feel ominous… (play an example)

·       Well over vacation, sitting by the waters of Lake Ontario reading about jazz history, I had a notion that the same thing could be done with Leonard Cohen’s tune “Hallelujah.”  If you know that song, it has been covered by everyone – some better than others – and I wasn’t sure there was a way to both honor its core and make it new at the same time.  So I kept singing it to myself as we biked around the shore – and then it hit me – a chord substitu-tion that added a flatted fifth might emphasize the anguish implied in the chorus.  And it worked… (play an example)

We’ll play the whole thing for you in a moment, but let me bring the jazz and the spirituality together as I hear it taking place in the text from Hebrews.  The preacher is telling us that God’s spirit inspired bold and creative acts of faith in a whole group of vastly different people ALL of whom listened to tradition – cherished it and were nourished on it – so that when the right time came they could also make it completely new.  Just listen to this syncopated list of people who heard the call and responded with their own unique improvisations:

·      There were women like Sarah – the mother of Judaism – as well as Rahab the Canaanite prostitute who are celebrated as exemplars of faith because they trusted God’s promise but acted in history for compassion and justice in uniquely new ways.

·      There is the mystical priest, Melchizedek, who didn’t hail from the traditional line of holy men in Israel – he is an outsider not from the house of Aaron – but his love of God was  so deep that even his out of the box actions become blessed for Israel.

·      There were judges like Samson and Gideon, prophets like Moses and Micah, warriors and peace-makers, too.

·        There were mothers who experienced the resurrection of the dead, martyrs who both witnessed to God’s love and gave their lives as a sacrifice, wanderers in the desert, dwellers of the city, people of the mountains and the caves and everybody you might imagine in-between.

And they ALL took their faith and let it lead them into new and liberating expressions of God’s love in history because they knew how to improvise.  Some played with tradition, others played with form while still others changed the chords of the song so that they could sing to the Lord a NEW song.  And ALL were witnesses – martyrs – advocates for spiritual improvisation born of faith, hope and love.

Conclusion

And how does the old preacher conclude this incredible sermon?  Since WE – meaning you and me – are SURROUNDED by such a great cloud of witnesses – let’s create some faithful and joyful improvisation for our time.  Let’s refuse to be “incarcerated by tradition.” (Gelinas) Let us turn our backs on the crippling conformity of the status quo and create a new song for the Lord.  Let us give up our adolescent addiction to individualism run amuck and start playing together in the band of faith, hope and love.  And let’s do so with a verve that is vivacious. 

“Creativity,” beloved, “is essential to jazz” – and it is essential to faith, too.  One scholar put it like this:  Improvisation requires creativity for jazz is not about copying but about creating – and creating not just one time but every time.  Improvisation is about playfulness and curiosity, experimentation and adventure… all within the boundaries of tradition and freedom.  (It is reputed that the great Louis Armstrong – one of the art form’s true geniuses – said, “Look we ALL do ‘do re me’ but YOU have to find the other notes for yourself.”  YOU have to improvise.

So here’s what one such adventure in improvisation came out like for us – may you take the next step in the race of faith looking to Jesus – trusting that you are surrounded by a whole cloud of witnesses born of grace.

Well I heard there was a secret chord that David played

and it pleased the Lord but you don't really care for music, do you?

Well it goes like this: the fourth, the fifth,
The minor fall and the major lift the baffled king composing Hallelujah…

Your faith was strong but you needed proof -

you saw her bathing on the roof
Her beauty and the moonlight overthrew you -

she tied you to her kitchen chair
She broke your throne and she cut your hair and from your lips she drew the Hallelujah…

Baby I've been here before I've seen this room

and I've walked this floor (you know)
I used to live alone before I knew you 

 And I've seen your flag on the marble arch
and love is not a victory march it's a cold and it's a broken Hallelujah…

There was a time when you let me know what's really going on below
But now you never show that to me, do you?

But remember when I moved in you
And the holy dove was moving too and every breath we drew was Hallelujah…

Maybe there's a God above all I've ever learned from love

Was how to shoot somebody who outdrew you
And it's not a cry that you hear at night

it's not somebody who's seen the light
It's a cold and it's a broken Hallelujah...     

Quiet and gentle...

Our puppy is now fully a year old.  She still has LOTS to learn. Her manners are not great and she gets too excited when new people come to visit. But in the midst of all Lucie's anxieties and wildness there is a sweet dog who will eventually blossom.  I have come to love her dearly and tonight we sat together for a bit with me holding her gently so that she might relax - and eventually she fell asleep. 

That's how much of this day has been for me: tender and quiet.  It began with a conversation with a local visual artist who sometimes comes to worship. I love his sculpture and poetry and for the past year we've been trying to come up with a way to display the creation of local artists in our Sanctuary.  We also would like to create some hands-on workshops so that artists can be in conversation with the wider public, and, ordinary people can hear about what takes place during the creative process.  I think we've come up with a plan to make it happen, so we'll take the fall to work out the details.  It felt grounded.

Later I had lunch with a colleague and friend at Dottie's Coffee Lounge and we just checked in and visited with one another for nearly two hours.  (This is a wonderful place on North Street in Pittsfield so please check it out @ http:// dottiescoffeelounge.com/)  He also happens to be my predecessor at First Church, so it was fun strolling up and down North Street together.  He has great stories and memories from his time in ministry - and I got to turn him on to some of the new places that have changed over the years.

I got liturgies ready for the clergy who will cover for me during my end of the summer vacation run and sent out invitations to local musicians for our Thanksgiving Eve 2013 show. I spent 90 minutes with colleagues from a sister church planning for their web page and then sat with my puppy. It was a perfect day - quiet and tender - warm and still - with nothing very big happening.  At the same time, however, each encounter was fully alive and without any agenda or anxiety - something I choose to believe is at the heart of kingdom living:  come unto me all ye who are tired and heavy laden... and I will teach you the unforced rhythms of grace (Mt. 11: 28-30 with a tip of the hat to both King James and Eugene Peterson.)

Each night for the last week I have been closing the day with a poem from the Mark Halperin book Dianne gave me a few weeks ago:  Falling Through the Music. It, too, is quiet and tender - and I am especially taken with one called "Growing Up."

1.
I believed my father was a spy. He had been born in Russia, he had an accent and he was older than other dads, which confirmed it.  He was always disappearing into the basement - to work, he said.  I guessed he sent secret message to Moscow late at night. If they caught him, I would defend him, but I knew what he was doing was wrong. I loved him though he was a spy.

In the Soviet Union, I had learned at school, people had no liberty, but he argued education was free there: college, even medical-school. Later, when I asserted the superiority of the Soviet Union's treatment of women, he angrily informed me that women doctors were paid less than men who dug ditches. He kept me unbalanced, uncertain. No matter which side I took, he took the other. No matter what I believed, what I believed was wrong and based on insufficient knowletge. Father knew if you knew more...

2. My father wasn't a spy, though he did spend a lot of time in the basement, where he worked on plaster casts, the furnace and making cabinets.  He could have been thinking.  Maybe English didn't feel comfortable or we didn't in those days, in his late forties. Then I was almost grown and he was old. He stayed upstairs, even more a mystery.  Polite, handsome in an Old World way, with generous, deep, sad eyes, he could be mercilessly ironic with me.

3.
Since Father was never a regular dad, that role devolved to Mother,a native-born American and accentless. I fought with her rather than my father. She liked the brio of engagement, the stir of conflict, but our disputing horrified him, who was the youngest, last and twelfth, or the twelfth of thirteen.  He had been raised by sisters he loved absolutely. How could a child argue with his mother?

I lost regularly and the battles were drawn out, but I'd find a wedge of Swiss-cheese in the refrigerator, a peace offering.

4.
After my father died, I thought of everything I didn't know about him and never would.  I still do. His distance remained as if it were all that could be saved. One day, after my mother died, I came across my camera.  What did I need it for? Who would I send pictures to?

As this closes I am grateful to have savored it and came across this tune from so long ago...

Faith is NOT intellectual assent but nourishing reverence...

When I was a hot shot young university student on the 10 year plan (yes, it took me 10 years to complete my under-graduate degree given a number of detours including getting my Conscientious Objector status during the Vietnam War, working with the farm worker movement with Cesar Chavez, following the Grateful Dead for a summer and related diversions) I was certain that I understood religion.  Forty years later, I'm not nearly so certain - and that's a good thing. 

I have found two quotes that get close for me; both come from Ralph Heintzman's book Rediscovering Reverence.

+ Rejoining the spiritual conversation of your tradition means listening again to its stories, myths, symbols, art, music and poetry, but with a new mind. This may involve shedding many assumptions about "religion" that Western culture has been gradually building up for five hundred years... Contrary to our settle assumption since the 18th century, "religion" is not primarily a form of thought or a set of propositions, but a form of action or practice.  Faith, as Terry Eagleton says, is "performative rather than propositional." Before it can become something you think or say or agree to, it has to be something you do.

In another part of the book Heintzman quotes Karl Rahner as saying "that the answer to the question, 'Who is God' is 'love your neighbor... so that you genuinely transcend yourself in a properly incomprehensible unselfishness, and then you will know what is meant by God, even if you were never to hear the word, the name, God."

+ To sum up: a religious life is a life of reverent practice, individual and collective actions that, by their very reverence, bring the seeker continuously or repeatedly into the presence of a sacred mystery or power, always hoping and seeking to participate in the mystery and to be empowered by its presence - empowered for reverent and transforming actions in the world and within themselves.... People do not go to church or to a synagogue, mosque or temple in order to be made more ethical, more moral, as many 18th century thinkers assumed, though that is normally one of the results.  And they do not do it for motives of psychological hygiene, as many 20th century thinkers assumed, though that too is one of the usual outcomes. No, they do it, instead, out of an unquenchable desire to come into the presence of a sacred mystery, to participate in it and to be empowered by the experience.  As Paul put it, "The kingdom of God depends not on talk but on power."

And so the journey of this ministry of renewal continues:  our emphasis is on the practices of faith.  As Heintzman concludes:  the only thing you need to bring to the journey is a spirit of reverence, hope and trust.  Thanks be to God.

Slow living is a blessing...

Last night we had an all-church cookout and campfire - and it was a little bit of a blessed tradition that we hope to revive.  In our fast-paced, consumer driven culture a few generations have missed out on church picnics and singing together around a campfire.  Such things take time - and there's nothing glitzy or fashionable about a large group of people often singing just mostly on key - and let's not even TALK about the freakin' mosquitoes.

But it is slow living at its best:  a community event well away from the ordinary concerns of mission and ministry that lets people just visit and love one another.  So that's what we did for over three hours - we ate organic corn on the cob and delicious hamburgers and hot dogs cooked over an open fire - we played silly games - got caught up on one an other's summer events - and sang old timey songs as the body of Christ.  By the world's standards, nobody would even notice such an event.  But it was one more small step towards simply being real and present with one another without any agenda.  In a word, living as Christ encouraged us to live.

So here's one hope for the upcoming year:  next year we find a way to recruit and bring MOST of our young families to this cookout.  It will take work - and real planning - given the demands of the day, but before I leave this realm I want our children to experience this old fashion taste of heaven.  It will be fun for the old-timers and a little bit of Christ's alternative culture for the kids.

This morning I am heading off to a community Eid al-Fitr celebration - the first in our small town - to break the Muslim fast of Ramadan.  (check it out at: http:/ / discoverpittsfield.com/events/?event_id=28992)  I will do a little sermon revision, bass practice and take the puppy for a walk, too before fixing dinner for my honey (who has to be at work today.)  I am NOT always good a really slowing down - sitting and savoring - so I am grateful for the slow living events of this weekend to help me stay grounded.

At the feast, I will remember our friends in Turkey who continue to oppose the growing police state in their sweet land.  I will remember, too, our soldiers in Afghanistan - and all those touched by this horrible war - and pray for peace while we eat.  (Here's a gentle blogsite to learn more about this feast and the celebrations of our cousins in faith:  http://dvlprz.blogspot.com/2012/08/eid-ul-fitr.html)

The challenge of making casual worship LOOK easy...

Ok, today's mini-rant is for the church/worship geeks.  Others can look on, of course - and even offer wisdom, comments and insights - but this morning I really want to speak about worship, planning and liturgy as art. Specifically, I want to share a few thoughts about how hard it is do blended worship well while keeping the feel informal.

BACKGROUND CONTEXT:  I am the pastor of a small New England Congregational church that is the oldest in town.  We were founded in 1764 when you needed a Congregational church to create a town in Massachusetts.  In our various incarnations we have been the "country club at worship," the meeting house for the town's political and economic leadership, the pace-setter for introducing new styles of worship and a bastion of neo-orthodoxy.  With the near economic collapse of Pittsfield, however, and the subsequent departure of thousands from the area, First Church has slowly changed.  To be sure, there were always poor and working class members in the body, but their voice was modest given the ethos of the past.

Now we no longer celebrate or ascribe to a "theology of glory" despite the fact that our building looks like an Anglican cathedral from the 1850s - and our old reputation still haunts community perception.  No, today we are a mostly middle class congregation of professionals - educators, physicians, money managers, consultants - with a number of retired members and a growing community of children under the age of 14.  Once our median worship age was 70+ - today it is closer to 45.  Many of our newer members have come from the Roman Catholic diaspora following the pedophilia scandals of the 90s.  We are solidly neo-orthodox in our theology, disciplined with acts of social and personal compassion and justice in our praxis and keenly committed to nourishing our spirits, bodies and souls in worship.

And under my leadership, our worship style has become boldly eclectic and radically inclusive in an informal way - and herein lies the challenge.  I have insisted that we not segregate worship into so-called traditional and contemporary camps.  Been there, done that and while it is easier I think it is also theologically dishonest and aesthetically limited.  After all, if we are to be praising God forever amidst all the tribes of creation after this life is over, why should we limit our worship to the sounds of 19th century England and Germany?  Why not join in as the whole creation cries glory and find ways to include songs from every culture and context? 

Same goes for the flow of our liturgy:  why limit ourselves to the worn-out ways of mid-20th century Protestantism that is both rigid in style and hackneyed in content?  Kathleen Norris once observed that most Protestant worship in the US is simultaneously wordy and immobilized as if the only thing we honored was the mind (and perhaps our tongues!)  So, if we genuinely affirm the incarnation - where God's WORD became FLESH and dwelt among us in truth and grace - let's find creative and satisfying ways to use our whole bodies in worship, yes?  Let's move - and feel - and sing - and touch - and smell - and see - and taste. Are you with me?

CHALLENGE:  To do this in a way that is organic AND informal takes a TON of planning.  It is not something that can be thrown together late Thursday afternoon in order to get the worship bulletin printed.  Nor can it be done in isolation - musicians, clergy and worship leaders need to be in regular conversation to discover what the Spirit is saying to the people.  And this type of liturgy cannot be created without a clear vision of how each discrete element of worship fits and flows into the next.

Every week, as a rule, I spend 25 hours in preparation for Sunday worship.  That includes Bible study, research, conversation, rehearsal, writing, editing, set up, etc.  And if I find what we've created doesn't work - doesn't flow - then we need to change course midstream and even start all over again. That's one critical aspect of making Sunday morning a true celebration of the Lord AND a welcoming front door for people to enter into God's grace.  Preparation is key and so often overlooked.

And there are two other issues that deserve mention:

+ Most Protestant clergy have not been trained in what some traditions call liturgics.  We haven't learned the "theatre" of worship - or the poetry required - or the flow of body with spirit.  Each week we "dress" the Sanctuary so that it visually communicates something of the message of grace on an intuitive level.  Each week we sing and feel our way through the parts of the liturgy so that they fit together.  Each week we search and listen to the hymns and songs to see if they are, in fact, singable.  Each week we look at what is happening in the liturgy and try to build in at least 12 or more places for congregational participation taking account of all the senses.  Without this type of attention, it is easy to fall into a rut - or worse - to create a worship experience that is what my old mentor called "a box car" encounter with the institution:  4-5 discrete sections (hymn - reading - message, etc) - that are stand alone performances that have nothing in common and don't create a flow from one to the other.

+ In addition to all the planning and listening and creativity required, I believe that contemporary aesthetics demands a mostly understated and casual style of worship leadership.  People no longer trust our institutions - with good reason - so we can't pontificate or use arcane theological terms.  Worship today needs to speak to the heart in tender and clear ways.  I have come to use a lot of everyday life humor as a way of showing both my vulnerability and where God meets me in the ordinary.  Mostly I no longer wear vestments - only for the high celebrations of Advent/Christmas/Epiphany, Lent/Easter/Ascension or Pentecost - and mostly my movement in the Sanctuary is casual, too.

And here is where it often hits the fan:  because we are so well practiced and researched, I can use a very causal worship style because all the stops on the journey have been carefully considered.  I know where we're starting and where we're going to end and can gently lead the congregation.  Like Gertrud Mueller Nelson writes in To Dance with God:  a celebration or a parade needs a leader - someone committed to engaging and encouraging all the participants to join the blessings - and without this leadership, celebrations and parades fizzle.

That's what I have experienced all too often in most "low church" worship over the past 30 years.  It fizzles - it doesn't flow or evoke beauty - it mistakes a casual worship style with lack of intentionality.  How many times have I seen worship include a hasty throwing together of a basket, napkin and loaf of bread on a table in the hopes that this will suffice for the celebration of Eucharist?  How many times have I heard someone stumble through a reading they've never seen before?  Or fumble through a message they wrote on a napkin on the drive over to church that morning?  Or had no idea how to organize a procession so that people bump and trip in an awkward display of poor planning rather than lead the congregation towards the security of God's grace?  (As you might notice, this list could go on for pages...)

MY SOLUTION:  So, here's what I've come up with to address this issue in both my congregation and/or my participation in ecumenical events.  Our worship team of laity meets every month to discuss both the special celebrations of each liturgical season as well as to consider aspects of texts I have given them to read and study.  For special times, they create subgroups that work with me to decorate the Sanctuary, create new liturgical readings, discover new and more creative readers, etc.  Each week I share a draft of the liturgy with my music director and band mates - and make sure we address it during weekly Tuesday night practice, too.  Seasonally this whole group evaluates how the flow and feel of worship worked - keeping records for the future - and making changes as necessary.  After six years, we have an organic process that helps all of us take worship seriously with joyful hearts.  We use the internet constantly to share new thoughts and changes, too.

In the wider ecumenical realm, I have come to insist that if we are going to do an event together, then we we must do serious planning well in advance of each event - and have time to critique and correct before the gathering - and also commit to evaluation afterwards.  With the risk of being labeled a liturgy snob or worship Nazi, I have also made it clear that any event in our Sanctuary cannot be created by committee.  I will welcome and include all suggestions, but my worship team will plan and deliver so that there is cohesion and clarity.

I know this pisses some people off.  I know it smacks of arrogance in our pseudo-egalitarian culture.  But without standards and accountability - without excellence and expertise - too often worship (and don't even get me started on church meetings!) fizzles and falls flat with sloppy theology and uncreative liturgy. Ok, my rant is over: what do you think?

ps:  One more realization about planning and style:  when worship is well planned and well executed, it makes EVERYONE from guests to old timers feel more secure.  They can rest in the flow knowing that even if things are new, they won't be surprised or left to figure things out for themselves.  And that is only respectful and wise on any journey,yes?  Again, I don't know how many times I've been asked to sing a song nobody knows and nobody has practiced.  Or been led through a poorly designed Eucharistic liturgy that leaves me limp and out in the cold.  Or had to sit through a worship service that had no ceremony, drama or imagination to it - so much so that even the worship leader looked disconnected.  As the leader of the journey, good planning and careful execution are simple acts of hospitality in pursuit of beauty and truth.