Travellin' blues...

This Sunday we're going to open worship with Dave Brubeck's "Travellin' Blues" because... well, you know!  Carlton turned me on to this last year and I've been in love with it ever since. Hi picked most of the jazz tunes - and all the liturgical music - this week. And man is it spot on!
After some pastoral calls this morning, we spent 90 minutes on the phone with our sabbatical interim minister, Bob Kyte, who is wise, experienced, grounded and oh so bright. Towards the end of the conversation, he asked us both "why JAZZ for the journey?" The conversation that followed will become the heart of Bob's first Sunday at First Church on May 24th: a Pentecost Improvisation with Community and Spirit. Just brilliant. It is going to be such a blessing for Carlton and Bob to go deeper into the WHY of Jazz for the Journey. Carlton is a creative and deep thinking as well as a stunning musical artist. Bob, while not an artistic performer, is a wise pastor and a gifted theological thinker. I can't wait to hear what they come up with in helping the wider congregation GET all this jazz stuff!

We will close worship on Sunday with our take on "The Swinging Shepherd's Blues." I never knew what this tune was called until we ran it last week. Waaay too much fun for two guys to keep to themselves so we hope to share with this the whole church and kick off this sabbatical with style. Join us Sunday at 10:30 am if you are in the area. (I hear tell that my musical buddy, Andy Kelly, is going to join us on this one, too!"

An antidote to fundamentalism...

There are two sentences in James Carroll's searing book about the origins of Western civilization and antisemitism, Constantine's Sword, that have haunted me for the past two weeks. On page 248, in a chapter celebrating the way Judaism continued to deepen and change after the diaspora, rather than become trapped in textual fundamentalism, he writes: 

Though based on the Law of Moses, Judaism had emerged as a community ordered not by legislation or decrees but by the influence of its interpreters, reflecting on a compilation of the commentary of ancestral masters. This is the culture of Talmud, a culture not of codification but of conversation,  written and oral; a culture not of hierarchy but of mutuality.

I am discovering that this commitment to conversation is what drives my spiritual calling, too. Dialogue - saturated with silence and compassionate honesty - means so much more to me than most of the dogma and doctrine of my tradition. Not that I haven't benefited from both. But in an era such as our own, conversation and common ground matters so much more than ideological purity of any hue. Perhaps that is why I have decided to quit worrying about denominational loyalty. Let the institution do what it will - or most likely, won't. At this moment in my life, I need to use my talent and treasure to strengthen real love and justice where I live.

With only 8 days before we depart, I continue to find myself praying over what I call my "antidote to Jihad." This includes a passionate, embodied and radical Christian spirituality that not only breaks from the status quo of consumerism, but does so in ways that increase joy and encourage hope in our ordinary lives. I used to speak of an alternative to fundamentalism, but not any more: a cult of fear, hatred and death has become the defining and addictive  fetish of all brands of contemporary fundamentalism. And lets be clear: weak-kneed liberal generalities or sloppy agape paeans to some vague utopia born of a disembodied good will - what the cynics call "kumbayism" - won't cut it with the bored, disgruntled and angry young women and men of the 21st century who are aching for lives with meaning. Just read this past Sunday's NY Times Magazine re: why England is fueling the so-called Islamic State and you'll know what I mean. (check it out: http://www.nytimes.com/2015/04/19/magazine/her-majestys-jihadists.html?ref=magazine)

While we wander, pray, make music, rest and read during this sabbatical, I am going to be letting this call percolate within. I believe in my core that St. Paul was right, but much of my religious tradition does nothing to advance the love that can change the world.

My last sermon for 4+ months...

This morning I was working on my last sermon for the next 4+ months - that's a very

odd experience - a huge shift after 33+ years. To say that I am both excited and apprehensive about our upcoming shared sabbatical would be an understatement. Yesterday we hosted and Eclesiastical Council for a young man as he prepares to enter ordained ministry. These are bold and challenging times.

It is serendipitous that on Holy Saturday this year - the day between Good Friday and Easter - Dianne and I attended a community Passover Seder in North Adams. During that time it was mentioned that after Passover - and before Shavuot (what we know as Pentecost) - there are 49 days of spiritual preparation. One of the traditions for observing this commandment involves "counting the Omer" - that is, marking the 49 days between the first barley sacrifice in the Temple and the day when the first wheat offering is made - by using the story of the Exodus as the starting point for meditation.

Dianne and I have been reading and thinking about this as we, too, make our preparations for sabbatical. To imagine ourselves joining Israel as Moses leads the people out of Egypt, through the wilderness and into the Land of Promise is a fascinating way to mark time and our preparations. Recently, these reflections have asked us to consider the cost of leave-taking and how complicated it always is for all involved. Two rabbis, Jill Zimmerman and Cindy Enger, recently wrote the following that speaks volumes to what we are both experiencing right now:

As we prepare to leave Egypt, we cannot and do not want to carry everything forward. We make choices. This process of sorting and decision making can be challenging. In every new setting, out, some of the old must be left behind - relationships, clothing, furniture, ways of thinking, titles, names - items once useful and regular are now extraneous or do not fit us anymore... The moments before leaving can be chaotic, exhausting and emotionally draining. Some of us make light of saying good-bye or duck out to avoid feeling the pain. And then we face a moment of great choice: we've purchased our ticket and the train is scheduled to depart. We stand at the threshold, the door opens - and ready or not, we know we must go before we turn around, close the door or change our mind. The poet Mary Oliver offers us a glimpse of the powerful emotions involved in leave-taking. Despite the angst of setting out for new shores, we choose life... and find a new voice.

One day you finally knew

what you had to do, and began,

though the voice around you

kept shouting

their bad advice -

though the whole house

began to tremble

and you felt the old tug

at your ankles.

"Mend my life!"

each voice cried.

But you didn't stop.

You knew what you had to do,

though the wind pried

with its stiff fingers

at the very foundations

though their melancholy was terrible.

It was already late

enough, and a wild night

and the road full of fallen

branches and stones.

But little by little,

as you left their voices behind,

the stars began to burn

through the sheets of clouds,

and there was a new voice,

which you slowly

recognized as your own,

that kept you company

as you strode deeper and deeper

into the world,

determined to do

the only thing you could do -

determined to save

the only life you could save.

For eight years I have been blessed and challenged to be the pastor. of First Church.  And now we will let that go for a season - literally a quarter of the years - and enter a new relationship with time, community, God and ourselves. This Sunday I will be speaking about what the sabbatical preparation team has planned for the sabbatical of First Church. Remember, this is not just MY time, but one for the whole congregation, too. I hope you will be present. I will serve Eucharist one last time until September this Sunday and profoundly look forward to that privilege. There will be a brief leave-taking ceremony during worship, too. 

As I have noted before, many of those involved in the leadership of our sabbatical will be posting observations, thoughts, prayers and reflections on the blog site: JAZZ FOR THE JOURNEY. You may find it here: https://jazzforthejourney.wordpress.com/. And so the journey ripens with just 9 days to go. (Here's a picture of our apartment in Montreal. We will be upstairs.)

Being not doing...

All of our major obligations on this side of the sabbatical are complete - and now it is 10 days.  In  worship yesterday, which marked the 8th anniversary of my call to our church, we played a LOT of jazz. We also played three compositions featuring our vocalists, too. And while there are always a few in the congregation who are uncomfortable whenever we play so much music, I've mostly come to a place where I realize that is their problem. So, we went for the heart of beauty and here are some of my observations:

+ Paul Winter's "Canticle of Brother Sun and Sister Moon" is a challenging score. We had first thought of presenting the whole "Missa Gaia" on April 19th, but weather, health and a variety of other events beyond our control made it clear that was never going to be. I am glad we paid attention. We quit working on the first movement during Lent, let it simmer until after Easter and then returned to it with renewed vigor. It was certainly the most ethereal and mystical selection we shared for the glory of God and God's people in worship yesterday - and it really came together. Three comments are worth repeating: 1) One man said, "I guess I didn't know what to expect when I heard that you were going to be playing a "jazz Mass." I thought it would be a lot of complex noise and movement and that I wouldn't like it - I would just endure it. But this was moving, stunning and deeply beautiful. It was a spiritual experience and now I can't wait to hear the whole thing!" 2) a woman who has only been with us in worship a few times said, "I was weeping - moved beyond myself - both by the beauty of the music AND the intense commitment of the singers and musicians. I have never heard church music like this before." And 3) an email that arrived shortly before bedtime read: What a beautiful, deep song. It said to me that this world is our home that God made for us.  All that we see day and night God gave to us (as a precious gift)... we must respect this house the God made for us for if we don't. the results can hurt us. This song should be the anthem for Earth Day."

+ Peter Gabriel's "Don't Give Up" was equally challenging - mostly because we did it in a stripped down way with LOTS of open space and emotional longing. It was slowed way down so that the vocalists could spend as much time as they needed telling the story of the lyrics - and they made it come alive. One man told me, "I was hanging on every word." He went on to say, "You should record this and send it out to some of our veteran's organization. This should become the theme song for "Soldier On." I was overwhelmed with tears at that moment both because I had never thought of reaching out to a vets group in this way AND because it rang so true. Currently a small group of vets and allies are working throughout the year to make sure our congregation remembers their stories and connects with them in meaningful ways. We have assumed responsibility for keeping the Vietnam Memorial on Park Square cleaned throughout the year. We open our Sanctuary for quiet prayers of remembrance on both Memorial Day and Hiroshima Day. And now maybe a new door has been opened...

+ "All Blues" is what my sabbatical feels like to me - flowing, bluesy, a little bit edgy but also saturated with compassion. It is what the gospel we read feels like: go and learn what this means - I desire mercy not religion.  To share this vocally and instrumentally was a treat and our singers and players made it smoke. There could be no ambiguity when that tune was over that the spirituality I celebrate is sensual, embodied and all about being real in the moment. We all got a chance to "solo" on that one, too making it fun and totally new to both the players and the congregation.  It is one of my favorite Miles Davis compositions and playing it with Jon, Dianne, Jon and Carlton is always an answer to prayer for me.

+ And then the two instrumentals - Ellington's "C-Jam Blues" a la Oscar Peterson and

Cartlon Maiia II and Mr. Maiia's arrangement of TRURO - were just flat out fun and beautiful. As has been said before, "It don't mean a thing if it ain't got that swing" and both of these tunes gave me the chance to walk that bass all OVER the neck while the drummer hit syncopated shots and Carlton danced through the keyboard. We wanted to set the tone and "C-Jam Blues" made it clear that something special was about to happen. And then closing the morning with a jazz chart based on the opening hymn... too kewel for school.

As I was leaving, an old timer said to me: "Are we going to have more time for quiet contemplation AND wild-crazy-spiritual-sensual-beautiful music like we heard today when you get back from your sabbatical" All I could do is smile and nod. I don't know what I will be like when we get back in September. I don't know what changes the congregation will have been through nor do I want to know - right now. I am just eager to get on the road. Di and I are clear that we're going to be gentle with time as this unfolds. We'll walk and wander, pray and play, feast and rest as the Spirit leads us. I will practice my instruments. She will hone her craft as a photographer. And we will entrust our congregation to God's grace in a new type of trust. Yes, yesterday was prelude to the future - and I rejoice in the possibilities. But now is not the time for making plans. Now is the time for being rather than doing...

Here's one of my favorite bands, Oregon, doing a tune that feels like the promise of all of this wrapped together.

credits
1) www.artway.eu
2) lcaway.tumblr.com
3) www.cazloyd.com

Worship notes for Sunday April 19...

WORSHIP NOTES:  Jazz for the Journey Sabbatical #2 - April 19, 2015

Introduction

That song – All Blues – cuts to the heart of what our shared sabbatical means to me.  It expresses to me the way that music can uncover common ground between people of who start off on very different shores.  It speaks of the earth and sky, the sea and you and me who all know that the blues is sometimes sad and some-times glad. And it does so with finesse and earthiness. 

The blues - they're the moan of pain and a taste of strife
A sad refrain which in the night is playing

Because the blues, Lord, can be the living dues we all are paying!

This morning my message is about what our shared sabbatical means… for me.  It will mean and be something very different for you – and that is how it should be – because we are all unique and blessed – every one and every hue. I don’t pray the same way you pray. My soul is fed in ways that are wondrously made – and so too for you – but not in exactly the same way. How does the Psalmist put it?

As a deer longs for flowing streams so my soul longs for you, O God.
My soul thirsts for the Lord, for the living God.
When shall I come and behold the face of God

After my tears have become my food both day and night…

Oh do I love those words – and the groove – and the melancholy nature of the whole song!  They capture a piece of my longing and my quest for deep intimacy with God. You see, my spirituality is sensual and earthy, filled with sound and experience, and when that thirst is not sated – deeply – I grieve. I ache. I pant with longing:  As a deer longs and thirsts for streams of refreshment and renewal so my soul thirsts for you, O God.

For me an essential aspect of this sabbatical experience is time to be saturated in the spirit of the Lord through music – the visual arts – quiet contemplation – rest – time with my beloved – and creating and practicing my chosen instrument: the upright bass. When I play in concert with others – and you need to practice a lot by yourself so that when you do play with others you have something to say that is creative and beautiful - it almost always elicits within me the words of Jesus you heard earlier:  Go and learn what this means; I desire mercy not sacrifice.  Compassion and soul food rather than rules and rituals – relief and release from the burdens of fear and sin instead of more guilt and shame: Eugene Peterson goes so far as to retranslate that into: Go and learn what this means, I desire mercy NOT religion. And THAT is what I hear Jesus saying to me about my life: it is all about creating and sharing love in ways that are so real that we sense the holy within our humanity. And to do that consistently, to do that with verve and vigor, I need time to saturate my soul in music like “All Blues.” In so many ways this is what this sabbatical means to me.

Insights

Now as you probably have noticed, I’m speaking a LOT about this sabbatical and myself today – that is intentional – next week I’ll be sharing some thoughts about what this might hold for you and our community. But today I want to be wildly personal. And as I am want to do, I want to push the edges of my thoughts deeper – not necessarily in a linear or didactic fashion – but rather in an experiential way.  This morning I want you to listen and experience some of the prayer songs that sing of God’s mercy in my soul as a tutorial into in my hopes and dreams about this sabbatical. Most of the time preachers need to speak to the whole community – that is our calling – but today I need to be wildly personal with you in the hopes that what is most personal is also most true for our community.  

In addition to “All Blues,” the heart of this sabbatical is shaped by two other songs that are aesthetically, ethically, artistically and experientially at the core of my spirituality of music. The first is Paul Winter’s composition called “Canticle of the Sun and the Moon.” It was commissioned by the Cathedral of Saint John the Divine in NYC to be part of an Earth Mass – Missa Gaia – and when Winter received this commission he didn’t know a thing about the structure or theology of the Mass. He didn’t know that the Mass retells the story of Christ’s sacrifice and gift of love for the whole world. He didn’t know ancient Latin. And he didn’t know much about the contemporary church of Jesus Christ. So as anyone with an iota of insight knows, rather than try to re-invent the wheel, he first studied the ancient traditions before beginning his composition.  He went to the root of historic Christian liturgy.

·        St. Bob Dylan once sang that “I will know my song well before I start singing.”  That is, I will take the time to appreciate, understand and come to love my roots.  I will practice them, honor them and be able to articulate their blessings – and failures – before I start to do something new with them. 

·        Aesthetically, Winter made time to listen to the great choral masses of Bach and Mozart, Schubert and Faure as well as the older liturgical works of the world of Gregorian Chant.

·        Aesthetically he honored the tradition before taking it in new directions – and that is important to me, too.  Before I can do something new, I have to saturate myself in the foundation.

After getting grounded in the aesthetics, Winter set about having conversations with people from different spiritual traditions to find out how the ancient ways might best be restated for a new generation:  he took the ethical challenge of his music seriously. In today’s composition he integrates the earth-centered words of St. Francis of Assisi with the poetry of the Hebrew Bible’s story of Job AND the classical hymnody of the 19^th century we know as “For the Beauty of the Earth. There is ancient and modern, classical and improvisational music embracing the songs of nature, Scripture, church tradition and the latest headlines in the NY Times – and it never sounds weird or chaotic – because Winter honored both the aesthetics and ethics of his prayer music.

Further, Winter melds musical disciplines that sometimes have been held in opposition in order to show how the whole can be greater than the individual parts. This is what St. Paul teaches about the Body of Christ: we need ALL the parts – the minds and tongues, the hands and unmentionable organs –  in order to make a healthy, loving, holy body. Too often people think we must choose between classical music and jazz, rock and roll over folk songs. But Winter trusts that what is good, true and beautiful in every style can work to complement and strengthen something new. So just like my band mates, he takes his skill as a jazz artist and writes choral music, he links the classical virtues of high art with the organic beauty of songs composed by the wolf and whale. And he puts them right alongside world music from cultures that are very different from our own.

When you hear this work – and we will share one part now and the whole Earth Mass in early November as part of the culmination of our sabbatical – you can’t help but celebrate the blessings of common ground. Experientially – without even knowing it – this music takes you on a journey of radical integration through your senses. This work not only celebrates the mercy and compassion Jesus wants for you and me, but it does so in a way that makes clear the aesthetic, ethical, artistic and spiritual essentials of this sabbatical.

Now there are two other truths in this Canticle I need to say out loud for you before we play it:  Winter saturates his song with complexity and simplicity. In this he honors the wisdom of paradox. Sometimes you will hear the singers in unison, sometimes they will be in harmony – there will be moments when their voices fit easily with the score and other times when they are singing in completion with the music or working against the rhythm. Sometimes the song is very straight forward – like the words of the hymn “For the Beauty of the Earth” – and at other times – if we get it right – it will be highly syncopated and complex.  

·        And just so that it remains fun, Winter builds in a time for instrumental improvisation: it wouldn’t really be jazz without a chance for some of the players to playful compose what they are feeling on the spot, right?

·        We won’t do much of that today – but we will when we do the whole Mass in November – but remember: improvisation always tells a story – it lets us know what the musicians are feeling and experiencing in the moment: sometimes it is hope, other times despair. Often it is playful but sometimes it is anguishing and poignant. And all of that is taking place in real time.

Ok, let’s give it a shot – and please note that there WILL be a test after we finish!

“Canticle for Brother Sun and Sister Moon”

Now because this sabbatical is so important to me – and to us all as a faith community – I’m going to throw away any reference to the clock at this point and say if you need to leave, you have my permission. But learning about the ethics of aesthetics and spirituality is too important to overlook. So did you hear or feel ANY of what I was explaining when we played this song? What did you GET from this composition?

What we just shared with you in this composition is exactly what I hope to experience during part of this sabbatical. It is ALL about being so refreshed that my creativity  might advance mercy not religion. You see, as your pastor I long for times of deep, extended, quiet and sensual communion with my God.  I have my own ways of being in prayer throughout the year but they are rarely sustained enough to nourish and heal my whole being. That’s what the Hebrew of Psalm 42 tells us:  it begins with the first person singular word, nafshi, which is usually translated “I” but actually means “with my whole being.” For me this sabbatical – and that songs– speak about trusting God’s creative love with my whole being so that what I live is mercy not religion.

So, because we only have one more Sunday together before our four months of being apart – I need to tell you one more thing about the marriage of this thirsty deer and God’s commitment to mercy rather than religion:  it must be embodied. It must be owned in our hearts and our flesh as well as our minds and our souls. If God’s mercy – what I often call grace – is just an idea, it will be compromised. Betrayed. Abandoned. Look at the difference between Palm Sunday and Good Friday. Ideas and words evaporate. 

But, love that is felt – love that is deep calling to deep – the bread of our tears nourished by our whole being – that love is stronger than death. That love is what Easter is all about. So please don’t ever think that Jesus is being poetic when he tells us to love the Lord our God with all our heart, soul, mind and strength. He’s rephrasing Psalm 42: you must love the Lord with NAFSHI – your whole being. That’s why Dianne and I are taking four months away – we need to rest in that love with our whole being again – stop thinking so much and just trust.

And if there was ever one song that FEELS like the truth of this Psalm more than any other, it is “Don’t Give Up.” It not only FEELS like Psalm 42 to me, it FEELS like Christ’s call to be about mercy not religion, too. And because some people have told me that don’t “get” what I mean when I talk about the feeling of a song, let me be explicit:

·        This is not a literal song about mercy and on the surface it has nothing to do with Jesus – so don’t stay up in your head and worry about how I hear the voice of Jesus in these words. I don’t – but I FEEL the movement of the Lord’s energy in this song because it moves just like the tension in Psalm 42.

·        The verses state the longing and emptiness while the chorus expresses the promise of hope:  it is a call and response – an aching followed by grace – the bread of our tears followed by mercy.  Even the arrangement and vocal harmonies give shape and form to this rhythm:  solo verses of lament are gently followed by a chorus of compassion.

·        And just so that we can’t help but get this – and I am talking sensually not abstractly – after an extended instrumental improvisation in a minor key, we all come back together in a major key that sounds like a gospel choir proclaiming the presence of faith, hope and love in our midst.  See if you can hear that – and feel that – in “Don’t Give Up.” 

My sabbatical is defined by the songs we’ve played today: I wanted to share them with my colleagues and you in the hope that their beauty will evoke in you an aching for more of God’s mercy. For when your whole being longs for the Lord, you will not be content with compromise or abstractions: you will be read to follow Jesus who said: go and learn what this means, I desire mercy not religion…

Step right up for the magical, mystery tour...

Last night at dinner with friends it hit me when I said out loud, "Two weeks from... RIGHT NOW we will be sitting in some club in the East Village at the start of our magical, mystery tour." That is sobering - two weeks - and exciting, too. Today, a stunning warm spring day in the Berkshires will be given over to travel choirs. The house is all cleaned. The yard has been raked and the drainage trench dug. The car has passed inspection and all our reservations have been confirmed. Two weeks...

Last night we also rehearsed Sunday's jazz selections: it is always a treat to work with Jon Haddad and Carlton Maaia II. They are never flashy, always tuned in to the heart of the song and creative in ways that help me share my gifts in the best possible light. It is a treasure to work with them. Our guest sound man, Rob Dumais, was in the house, too and he brings a gentle, calming presence to everything he does - and makes the house sound system sing!

So let me just say that today is one filled with gratitude... and now off to the errands! We open worship tomorrow with this powerhouse!  Can't wait.

Saying yes and saying no...

In an anthology edited by Dorothy C. Bass, Practicing Our Faith (1997), one of the "practices" (aka spiritual disciplines) included in her resources for deepening our intimacy with God while embodying our faith in everyday circumstances is something called "saying yes and saying no." "The practice of saying yes and saying no... retrieves the ancient wisdom that insisted that if we want to say yes to God and to life abundant, we must also say a related no to other things. This practice, which will be important if we are to persevere in living out any of our other (faith promises), is strengthened by the disciplines of prayer, examination of conscience and small faith-sharing groups."

In a word, Bass reminds us that without honest discernment of how we will spend our time, energy and resources, we will likely be consumed by commitments that cause us drift from one obligation to another; or else find ourselves so exhausted and resentful of our lives that we withdraw and hide from reality in desperation. Whether the challenge involves possessions or people, time or treasure, it is easy to be seduced by either greed or guilt - or both. "Slowly, perhaps even bitterly, we come to realize that we do not own our possessions, they own us." (Bass) I would extend this to include our calendars, iPhones and bank statements. Without an on-going practice of quiet discernment - amplified by accountability and encouragement by loved ones with wisdom - we will be devoured by those who want to use us, forces that seek to manipulate us or events that simply overtake us. T.S. Eliot evoked the madness of a world hell-bent on more when he wrote "Choruses from 'The Rock'."

The endless cycle of idea and action,

Endless invention, endless experiment,

Brings knowledge of motion, but not of stillness; 

Knowledge of speech, but not of silence;

Knowledge of words, and ignorance of the Word.

All our knowledge brings us nearer to our ignorance,

All our ignorance brings us dearer to death,

But nearness to death no nearer to God.

Where is the Life we have lost in living?

Where is the wisdom we have lost in knowledge?

Where is the knowledge we have lost in information?

"If we are to enhance and build up the capacities for a good, wholesome and holy life," Bass

concludes, "we must learn to say yes to what affirms and renews wholeness and life. And we must learn to say a related no to what induces and brings about destruction and ruin." The wisdom of the Hebrew Bible cuts to the chase in Deuteronomy: I have set before you life and death, blessings and curses. Choose life so that you and your descendants may life. (30:19)

Over the past few weeks I have bumped up against both the wisdom of this practice and the challenges of continuing to live into its promises. Various people in my circle of church life have wanted what increasingly feels like a piece of me - certainly of my time. And when I start feeling like people are closing in on me - feeling resentment and/or exasperation - it is a clue that I have not been honoring the sacred no.  Thank God I have a cadre of colleagues - and a beloved life companion - who help me reclaim balance and perspective. "We're going to print up some cards for you," they told me yesterday, "with just one word:  NO.  And you can start passing them out whenever somebody approaches you." As one said to me, "Don't people GET that you are going to be away and OUT OF THE COUNTRY for four months?" Um... well... obviously they don't.  

Perhaps it is too much to think that they would. After all, most of my public relationships are built upon my availability for their needs. Such is the paradox of the pastor - and the challenge each of us faces in the practice of saying yes and saying no.. For even when I maintain strong professional boundaries and honor the Sabbath with NO work, email or phone calls, the rest of the week is often shaped by an understanding of the pastor that Stanley Hauerwas calls a "quivering mass of availability." Already I have annoyed and frustrated some by insisting that at this time in my life - with thirteen days before our departure on sabbatical - I really cannot and will not make time for anything except emergencies. Most of my church leaders "get" this, thanks be to God, and for this I rejoice.

And I am discovering there is an emerging chorus beyond the realm of church, synagogue and mosque who seem to get this, too. There is a small stack of folded NY Times pages on my desk right now from both David Brooks and Nicholas Kristoff that I have been collecting. The most significant is the Sunday Times' column by Brooks entitled, "A Moral Bucket List." He begins:

About once a month I run across a person who radiates an inner light. These people can be in any walk of life. They seem deeply good. They listen well. They make you feel funny and valued. You often catch them looking after other people and as they do so their laugh is musical and their manner is infused with gratitude. They are not thinking about what wonderful work they are doing. They are not thinking about themselves at all.  When I meet such a person it brightens my whole day. But I confess I often have a sadder thought: It occurs to me that I've achieved a decent level of career success, but I have not achieved that. I have not achieved that generosity of spirit, or depth of character.

Each of the other articles point to this core truth from Brooks: we have created a culture that is long on information and short on wisdom. We are obsessed with having more - and inflating ourselves - when the precise opposite is the time tested way to both joy and meaning in our lives. (read more from Brooks here: http://www.nytimes.com/2015/04/12/opinion/sunday/david-brooks-the-moral-bucket-list.html?_r=0) Brooks continues to confess that given this discovery, he, "realized that I wanted to be a bit more like those people. I realized that if I wanted to do that I was going to have to work harder to save my own soul. I was going to have to have the sort of moral adventures that produce that kind of goodness. I was going to have to be better at balancing my life."  He discovered the need to learn how to say yes and to say no.

Already I am sensing that nourishing this very discipline is not only important in preparation for our sabbatical, but will be part of what we practice, test and talk about while experiencing our sabbatical.  In the few days that remain on this side of our "magical mystery tour" I pray that I can be simultaneously ruthless about protecting our preparation time while living tenderly with those charged to my spiritual care. I pray that I can accomplish what needs to be done in the present moment while also working towards an extended time away. I pray that as I see the choices set before me I might choose life rather than death in all its forms.

credits:
1) lacedwithgrace.com
2) www.justinbuzzard.net
3) www.blc-denver2.org

More thoughts about this Sunday...

This Sunday I will speak personally and passionately about my deepest hope for our up-coming sabbatical. It will be my musical, mystical reflection on Psalm 42 and Matthew 9:13. While I have never been shy in speaking about my own circuitous journey of faith, this Sunday I am going to trust that what is most personal is also most universal. I know this to be true in poetry as well as in visual and performance art; Sunday will be, therefore, an act of faith that what is true in art rings equally true for worship. 

Psalm 42 begins with one of the most sensual and evocative sentences in the whole of our Scriptures:  As a deer yearns for streams of water, so I yearn for You, O God.  Robert Alter brings wisdom to this poem/prayer when he writes: "The poignancy of this famous line reflects the distinctive tone of this supplications, which instead of emphasizing the speaker's suffering expresses above all his passionate longing for God." The Psalmist raises her voice to the Lord even while feeling separate - a distance from God every bit as painful as when Israel was separated from the Temple in Jerusalem by enemies.  Three other insights are moving to me:

+ First, the first-person pronoun in this Psalm - nafshi - is translated as "my whole being" in the next verse. It is used in both verse 2 and 3 - the "I" of the opening line is amplified by the "I" in the following line - an "I" that means "my whole being." So let's be clear that this soul's essence is aching for holy intimacy. Hers is an embodied faith that is both sensual and spiritual simultaneously. No binary thinking here segregating  the holy from the human. This prayer is about yearning that could literally mean the "sound a thirsty deer makes as it drinks" or evokes the movement of "the animal's bending its neck towards the water." (Alter, The Psalms, p. 148)

+ Second, the embodied yearning of this prayer thirsts - another sensual word - for the Living God. Scholars note that this thirst amplifies the simile of the deer's thirst. It also gently invites us to recall the implied Hebrew phrase, living water, meaning fresh, potable water in all its cool refreshment. Other sensual images include:  tears became my bread (eating salt tears for nourishment in his grief); and pouring out her heart - again nafshi - to suggest an emptying of the complete self.

+ Third, the complex challenge of "deep calls unto deep." We wrestled with this at midday Eucharist yesterday and came up with a few possibilities. Alter suggests that the "deep" the Psalmist is experiencing is related to both the mountains of Lebanon and an experience of near death by drowning in "the breakers and waves that have surged over me." Again, there is nothing abstract or intellectualized in his psalm. It is all visceral. Alter puts it like this:

The geological or cosmic "deeps" of the first verset are transformed into a metaphor for the speaker's distress. The experience of threatened drowning is a familiar image for near death in the Psalms, but here it is given startling new power through the linkage with a vast creation in which abyss calls to abyss.

In my spirituality, I make a living connection between Psalm 42 and Matthew 9:13 where Jesus tells some of the teachers of his day: Go learn what this means: I desire mercy, not religion. By quoting the Hebrew prophet Hosea to his opponents, I hear Jesus both affirming his commitment to Judaism (something so many Christians never grasp) while celebrating the prophetic tradition of Isaiah, Jeremiah and the feisty poets of the north. His admonition is NOT about supplanting Judaism as we've simplistically taught one another (even if it was unintentional.) Rather, it is about the prophets' call to compassion. It is about a way of living and a way of praying with our lives that heals what is broken.  It is about yearning for God's wholeness in the body and the body politic. It is about shalom.

I first discovered and embraced these words of Jesus during my divorce 20+ years ago. When I was able to move into that hard and broken decision in the faith that new life was possible beyond the pain, most of my evangelical friends deserted me. They not only shunned me and judged me harshly - without ever asking about my reality - but they made certain that they maligned me whenever possible. To say that I was stunned by this abandonment would be too generous. But there was a love greater than my emptiness, too. As I walked through that time of shadows, three unexpected friends reached out to me: a lesbian, a marginalized Roman Catholic priest and a politico. Having known rejection and judgment themselves, they had the courage and compassion to share mercy rather than religion. And when I read those words in Matthew's gospel, another veil was lifted.

This Sunday we'll be using some brilliant musical compositions from the jazz world to evoke the feelings and sensations of mercy, longing and God's grace.  And then we'll gather around the Lord's table and share the bread and wine of Eucharist.

credits:
1) fineartamerica.com
2) www.youtube.com

How can this be?

One of the challenges of entering into our up-coming sabbatical is bumping up against a variety of anxieties: some are my own - my desire to help as well as control things at church - to say nothing of the sense of loss I am feeling even as I find new tasks on the road to leaving. Last night, for example, as we sat in choir practice and started to work on songs for May, Di told me she melted into a pool of tears: "We're not going to be here to share this with the choir - and they sound so good!" Isn't life strange? We ache and work to depart and, at the same time, know we will miss being away? Other anxieties come from those we know and love that are projected onto us. Very, very strange - wonderful - but strange.

We shared a round of drinks with band members last night - not everyone could be present - but the core was there and that was sweet. Today, at midday Eucharist, I realized that I will celebrate communion just one more Wednesday before we hit the road - and just two more Sundays before our 4+ month hiatus. Life and ministry is very, very strange indeed. It is good to feel so connected and to know I will miss my dear congregation even in my eagerness for a change.

This Sunday, our celebration will explore the rest and renewal praying through music offers - and we'll bring three unique contributions to the Sabbath day.  First is the vocal take on the Miles Davis classic, "All Blues." Second is our stripped-down version of Paul Winter's "Canticle of the Sun and Moon." And we'll close it all out with a very open and plaintive reworking of "Don't Give Up" by Peter Gabriel by way of Herbie Hancock, Pink and John Legend. To kick worship off we'll celebrate with Ellington's "C Jam Blues." That will be swinging. 

Later that day, we will hold an Ecclesiastical Council for a young man who is ready to move towards ordination. I am glad I can be present for this final step in his journey into the institutional church. I am stepping away from making contributions to the wider church because at this moment it is clear to me that life is too short. At the same time, I am hopeful that young men and women can bring their gifts in pursuit of greater integrity and compassion. 

So many tasks to still accomplish before we leave on May 1st: tomorrow in addition to phone calls and house work, I have to get our car inspected and line up a few appointments in each of the cities we are going to visit before Montreal. Incredible: the countdown close tells me it is only 15 days - 363 hours - before this all takes place. Thanks be to God.

Pastoral letter re: our shared sabbatical...

note:  My recently posted pastoral letter to the congregation re: our sabbatical

Pastoral Letter to First Church in Anticipation of Our Shared Sabbatical

April 13, 2015

Dear Friends and Colleagues of First Church:

Grace and peace to you in the Spirit of our Lord Jesus Christ who lives and reigns in our lives by the grace of God:  As many of you know, Dianne and I will soon be leaving Pittsfield for four months of rest and renewal.  For those who have been following the evolution of this adventure in faith, you know we have been at work on this sabbatical for almost two years. For those who would like to know more, please go to our “Jazz for the Journey” blog site @ https://jazzforthejourney. wordpress.com/

To say that I am filled with anticipation would be an understatement.  In my 33+ years of ordained ministry, circumstances conspired against our taking a sabbatical in our previous congregations.  To be sure, I have engaged in study leave before – and also worked on the completion of my Doctor of Ministry degree during a modest leave of absence combined with vacation time – but the sabbatical experience is truly something different for us.  It is a recognition of the unique joys and challenges a minister experiences in the course of his/her service to God and community. It is an extended period of “Sabbath time” for both Dianne and I to reconnect with God’s calling.  And it is a time for you as the gathered community to listen carefully to God’s still speaking voice:  where is the Spirit of the Lord calling us into new ministries and commitments? It will be a fascinating time to discern all of this on the flip side after we return!

Not long ago, however, someone asked me, “Why are you so weary, James? And why does this sabbatical mean so much to you?” Those are good questions – they warrant careful answers – so let me share three broad replies. The first answer is simple:  contractually my call agreement as your settled pastor warrants a time for sabbatical after six years.  First Church has long recognized that the work of a pastor is different from other professional experiences. One writer put it like this:

The life of a minister might be compared with that of a taxi leaving an airport. It is so loaded down with passengers and suitcases and the other items that the car has a hard time even moving and is strained to the point of breaking, yet the taxi may be only a few years old. So it is with clergy. They bear the burdens, the anguish, the pain, and hurt of their parishioners 24-7. That is 24 hours, seven days a week. As a result, many, if not all, experience to one degree or another symptoms of emotional collapse, stress related illnesses, and “burnout” adversely affecting the minister’s personal, family, and parish life, and greatly diminishing his or her effectiveness and well-being. For too long, this situation has been accepted, even tolerated as an inevitable part of the job.

After eight years of mission and ministry in Pittsfield, it is time both contractually and personally for me to enter a sabbatical. What’s more, the time is right given the grant we were awarded this summer from the Lilly Foundation for Pastoral Renewal. Last week I read this in one of my professional journals – and it rang true.

A pastor has emotional highs and lows unlike most other vocations. In the course of a day, a pastor can deal with death, deep spiritual issues, great encouragement, petty criticisms, tragedies, illnesses, and celebrations of birth. The emotional roller coaster is draining. Your pastor needs a break—many times a break with no distractions. A pastor is on 24-hour call. Most pastors don’t have an “off” switch. They go to sleep with the knowledge they could be awakened by a phone call at anytime of the day. Vacations are rarely uninterrupted. It can be an exhausting vocation, and a sabbatical can be a welcome time to slow down. Pastors need time of uninterrupted study. It doesn't usually happen in the study at church or home. There is always the crisis or need of the moment. Church members expect sermons that reflect much prayer and study. The pastor’s schedule often works against that ideal. The sabbatical can offer much needed, and uninterrupted, study time.

First it is the right time contractually; second it is the right time professionally. The nature of my calling into church renewal work is daunting enough working with dedicated lay leadership to re-energize our congregation for mission and ministry.  For the past eight years we have creatively strategized and implemented new worship experiences and deepened our attention to both pastoral care as well as compassionate administration. We have remained steadfast in our commitment to finding the necessary resources to keep our historic sanctuary open, beautiful and hospitable, too. To do this work in the midst of the recent national economic collapse was a challenge. To do so with the added burden of the congregation’s grief over my predecessor’s early retirement due to a tragic brain injury increased the stress and anxieties of ministry exponentially. It has been a full, satisfying, painful and wonderful eight years.

Third, at this moment in my life I realize that my focus in ministry is profoundly different from when I was ordained in my home church in Darien, CT.  As a young man, I was certain I was going to change the world: I was on fire for radical social, racial and economic justice and impassioned about world peace. I took delegations of adults and youth to the former Soviet Union. I became active in an inter-racial electoral team to transform the Cleveland Public Schools – and was twice elected to public office. 

In time, however, I heard another call – no less radical and certainly no less creative – but one born more of the inward journey.  I rather like Fr. Richard Rohr’s phrase concerning a call to both contemplation and action – and longed for this in my ministry, too.  And as I spent more time resting in God’s grace, I discovered that I also wanted to bring a measure of healing and hope to our broken culture through prayer and the arts.  I discerned that there could be common ground in our nation’s culture wars as people of vastly different religious and cultural backgrounds came together in encounters with beauty and truth in the arts. That is the part of this sabbatical – in addition to the rest and renewal – that I am keen to explore more thoroughly with you upon my return. Visiting the various jazz and liturgy sites in NYC, Nashville and Pittsburgh will be helpful. Resting in prayer and practicing upright jazz bass in Montreal is another important piece of this puzzle. And spend-ing time not “being on” – time in quiet with Dianne – is the third component of this sabbatical that I already cherish albeit in anticipatory form.

And let me add this very personal note:  You may or may not know that in the past ten years – eight of them in ministry at First Church – I have encountered nine significant deaths including my mother, father and sister as well as Dianne’s mother and members of the various churches we have served and loved.  If we listen to the wisdom of the Lord in these events, we can grow in compassion and faith. For very personal as well as professional and contractual reasons, therefore, now is the right time for this sabbatical.

Because this is not a vacation, please know that while we are away, I will not be checking any church email. I will not be giving my attention to the administrative or pastoral needs of First Church. I will not be returning for funerals or weddings. I will not be receiving guests in Montreal either. I will not be posting on Facebook or any of the other traditional social media outlets. I will not be doing what I usually do – and not because I don’t love you – but rather because it is time for me to step away from all aspects of ministry and simply “be” rather than do. I trust in advance you will understand and respect the discipline of this sabbatical commitment. As those who have experienced these things before tell me:  everyone is refreshed in the process.

Let me express my gratitude to those who worked on the sabbatical proposal – those who first conceptualized it as well as those who worked on later editorial iterations – it wouldn’t have happened without all of you. Let me also share my gratitude for both Dana Noble and David Noyes – the two moderators who have been a part of this journey – as they both have been encouraging and supportive. A special word of appreciation goes to Jon Grenoble who understood my quest for renewal in ways that were both profound and powerful: I am in debt to your wisdom. 

To Carlton Maaia II, my colleague and collaborator in renewal, I could not have made this commitment without your patience, brilliance and support. And to my dear wife, Dianne, who pushed me and prayed for me more times than I can ever imagine: I can only say that I treasure your life-saving love.

Becky and David will carry a great burden while I am gone, so I ask for your careful cooperation with them both because they are the best.  During the first three weeks of May, we will have guest worship leaders:  Joyce Sohl, Fr. John Salatino and Rabbi David Weiner. During this time, both the Reverends Quentin Chin and Carol Killian will be on-call for pastoral emergencies. The Reverend Bob Kyte and his wife Stefanie will arrive in time for worship on May 24, 2015.

My last Sunday in worship before we depart will be Sunday, April 26, 2015. I will be back in worship with you on Sunday, September 13, 2015.  I hope you will be able to share in this farewell Sunday with us. Please know of my gratitude as we move into this faith journey together.

Grace and peace,

The Reverend Dr. James Lumsden