a little bit of heaven on earth...

It is a treasure without price to spend time with my loved ones - and I am particularly smitten with my grandson Louis. To have two sweet days in his company with his dear momma, daddy and Dianne was a little bit of heaven on earth for me. We sang and played the guitar together. We laughed uproariously (something that started when he was only three months old.) We feasted. Walked in the park to look at the daffodils. Threw snow the next morning. Visited a SoHo bookstore and bought pastries (something I used to do with his momma back in the day, too!) And rested together on the sofa watching "Thomas the Train."

If all goes well, I am likely to see this little dude graduate from college and ripen into a young man before my time here is over. I want to be able to tell him stories of when he was small. I want him to know that he has been loved beyond measure since before he was born. And I want us to savor each moment we are together as sacred. We will reconnect at the start of Holy Week on Palm/Passion Sunday. Tonight, even in the return of the bitter cold, I give thanks to God for this child and his exceptionally wise and tender parents.

confronting my brokenness in lent...

In an insightful and spiritually penetrating book, The Paradox of Disability: Responses to Jean Vanier and L'Arche Communities, the founder of L'Arche writes:  "... it is only when we touch the powers of destruction within us and begin to accept that they are there, but do not let ourselves be controlled or governed by them, that we can truly understand and accept others in their anguish - and then help them to grow." This is my challenge as Lent 2017 starts to settle in to my soul.

Using the insight of St. Paul that "God has chosen what is weak and foolish in the eyes of the world" to lead us into the embodied wisdom of the Cross through the community Christ creates, Vanier is clear: living and embracing our brokenness in solidarity with other wounded people is the way Jesus transforms and heals us.  Our selfishness is challenged. Our fears are exposed. Our addiction to violence becomes tangible. And our need for God's love becomes palpable. In one of the book's essays, "Seeing Peace: L'Arche as a Peace Movement," Stanley Hauerwas tells of Vanier's encounter with Lucien, a profoundly disabled adult who was unable to speak or walk. When Lucien entered La Forestiere, a community of care, "his constant screaming continued and nothing seemed to work to calm him. Vanier confesses that Lucien's screams pierced the very core of his being, forcing to recognize that he would be willing to hurt Lucien to keep him quiet."

Vanier had to realize that he, someone who thought he had been called share his life with the weak, had in his heart the capacity to hate a weak person... as we face the mystery of pain, we confront the violence we harbor in our hearts, violence created by a world we cannot force to conform to our desires... and the only thing that matters (in the face of this violence) is that we be truthful; that we do not let ourselves be governed by lies and by illusion.
                                                                              Hauerwas, pp. 118-9

As in all spiritual deepening, humility and honesty are most often born of humiliation - facing, confronting, owning and surrendering the brokenness of our human reality - and this has become the core of my Lenten journey this year. Two truths keep rising to the surface within me, calling out to be embrace even as I hate them. As Vanier puts in in his paraphrase of Jung: most of us like to honor the call from Jesus to love the poor, wounded, frightened and alone as long as they remain "out there" - beyond us - the other. We're not so good at sharing this love within our own wounds. Yet without the honesty, patience and tenderness to love ourselves as our neighbor, our compassion remains incomplete and even fractured. 

+ First, I know a frustration that holds the potential to become a simmering anger. Whenever people waste my time, I come face-to-face with my life-long demon. Currently it rears its head whenever sloppy planning, binary thinking or wishy-washy words are spoken about living into radical trust. I can feel my blood start to boil whenever I bump into this fuzzy, extra-curricular approach to Christian community that so often carries the day. Deep in my soul, I know that this feeling is calling me to quit my obsession with judgment. Most of my life, I have tried to compensate for my insecurities by reading more than most, learning deeper than the status quo, and becoming the expert in my field. 

But this is only partially about my own emptiness and fears; I know descending into frustration doesn't advance the cause of Christ. It is also about owning the ways I have enabled the Christian minimalism I despise over the years. My emphasis in ministry over 35 years has centered on encouraging others to take small steps into discipleship. There is a place for authentic patience but I suspect that too often I have fostered more sloppy agape and cheap grace than Christian commitment. It feels as if I have not done my part in helping privileged people (like myself) repent our status quo of greed, violence and dishonest adoration of country. Walter Brueggemann is spot on when he writes...

Much of my current angst flows from this sense that much of my ministry has been too little, too late. I confess that a strategy for ministry first articulated by Eugene Peterson, one of working quietly and clandestinely to subvert popular culture, hasn't really worked. It isn't honest. It doesn't help anyone count the cost of following the Cross. Yes, it may have preserved my pension, but not a whole lot more. So, as I slowly exit this type of ministry and search for new directions I carry some shame about this failure. That's why it can be ignited into the flame of anger whenever watered-down and culturally addicted faith is confused for the upside-down wisdom of the Jesus. One of the Lenten truths being revealed to me this year has to do with owning my own shallow witness - especially as a pastor. I'm ok with most one-on-one connections, but have not been able to crack the nut of equipping more than a few people for radical compassion.

+ The other humbling truth I am bumping up against is the loss of energy for confronting bourgeois religion. I have simply run out of gas when it comes to challenging those who aggressively insist on confusing their business models for the ethical commitments of Christian community. Top down administration is NOT the way of Jesus who always listened first and found a way forward in mutual respect. Trying to squeeze the rule of bureaucracy into the Body of Christ violates trust and respect in the body. Always entering a conflict in community with the assumption that the other is trying to rip you off - or get something for nothing - or simply shirk his or her responsibility is clearly one time-tested approach to human relations - but I hate it.

To be fair, I've tried to be a hard ass manager/administrator who kicks butt with complicated and trying people. I've tried it and given it up, too. Not only does it foul the environment for ministry, it violates the love of Christ we are called to make flesh in our generation. It denigrates the weak among us and denies us the chance to learn what the foolishness of the Cross has to offer. In times past, In times past I have been up for this challenge and taken it on with vigor. But not any more. My engagement with this aspect of church is over: like St. Lou Reed said, "Stick a fork in it, its done!" I have come to see, in ways that are humbling and even sad to me, that I no longer have the strength to fight this fight. I've been worn down and worn out by bourgeois religion. My movement into semi-retirement is a small acceptance of this truth.

For me at this late stage of doing ministry, Jean Vanier's first and only question for the church is simple: Do you love me?  Do you love one another? Do you love Jesus?  None of us get this love completely correct all the time. We are all broken and ache for the grace born of honest confession and forgiveness. But our brokenness need not only serve as a reminder of our wounds; our wounds can lead us to truth - and then to trust - and an ever maturing experience of grace. As Vanier teaches: good hearted people so often want to "do" something to help the suffering. We want to make the world a better place. But "there is no way of doing something for other people if you do not first learn how to receive whatever gift they have to offer, which presupposes your willingness to accept that you also are a person in need." (p. 4) Hauerwas paraphrases L'Arche like this:

The practice of patient love - charity - teaches us not just to wash the feet of people with disabilities, but to have our feet washed by them, too. By having our feet washed by them, we may begin to recognize that we must first learn to receive if we are to give. A receiving, moreover, that requires that we acknowledge our wounds.

When I was visiting a woman in the nursing home yesterday she said

something to me that really caused me to listen more carefully to what God is saying in my heart this Lent. "You know what made me want to be a part of our faith community?" she asked as she prepared for yet another round of surgery. "It wasn't the music - but I like that - and it wasn't the liturgy - I was a Pentecostal - but came to like that, too. No, it was when you said out loud that YOU were broken." I sat in silence with her for a moment before she continued: "Besides your earrings, those words about being broken gave me the trust that maybe this was a place of God's love. You guys are my peeps!" The blessings of brokenness continue to be revealed and I am grateful.

At the close of this month, I am going on retreat in Ottawa. During that time away I will spend an afternoon and evening with one of the L'Arche communities. I will join in their music therapy time and then be a part of the dinner celebration. I am an amateur in the ways of L'Arche. But as Henri Nouwen writes, always remember that amateur literally means "a lover." And for this truth I give thanks today.

the charism of tenderness...

Two treats took place today amidst the usual work of office hours and pastoral visits. The first was a visit from a local non-profit administrator who wanted to see what our building looked like. After a walk through, she was stunned by the beauty of our Sanctuary: "Coming to work in here each day would be a total blessing." She's right: our worship space is moving in all the right ways.

The other took place during midday Eucharist. I had considered shutting this small 45 minute event down when I moved to part-time hours. But those who attend regularly asked to try to keep it going. There are usually only 5-7 of us - and it doesn't take much time - so for the sake of keeping our doors open in the wider community and ministering to this small group I've been giving it a shot. Today five new friends joined us - four under the age of seven!  Their presence changed everything in a joyful way and I kept hearing the words of Jesus in my heart:  let the little children come unto me! It was a gas.

Too many people are so addicted to the bottom-line edicts of business models that they miss the charism of tenderness God offers to those ready for the "downward mobility" of the Gospel.  In church, everything is about relationships not efficiency or even obvious productivity.  Brother Henri Nouwen put it like this earlier this week in a Lenten meditation: On the first Sunday of Lent, the Gospel text shows Satan taunting Jesus with three demands that are all too common place. 

Be relevant: do something the world will praise you for like making bread out of stones. Be spectacular: jump from the tower so that everybody can see you as someone so influential, so important. Be powerful: kneel before me and I will give you dominion over everyone and everything.

But Jesus said, "No." Because he knew that God's way is not to be relevant, or spectacular, or powerful. God's way is downward. "Blessed are the humble. Blessed are the poor of heart. Blessed are the peacemakers." Here is a self-portrait of Jesus who is also a reflection of God. In traditional language, Nouwen speaks of God as the Father and quotes Jesus saying: "Who sees me, sees the Father." When we read the Beatitudes, the Sermon on the Mount, we are given an image of the face of Jesus, a face that reflects the love of the Lord. Humble. Poor. Meek. Peacemaker. Thirsting for justice and peace. Full of mercy. In this Jesus invites us into the down-ward mobility of God’s grace that sacred love might become flesh within and among us. Jesus, let me abandon my fear, embrace your love and be transformed by your grace. Amen.

My experience with this is that it happens quietly and in the most humble settings. Lord, may we each have the wisdom to watch and wait rather than rush to accomplish one more task!  Let the little children come to me, indeed!

are you a public disciple of jesus?

This morning I asked my congregation:  When asked, "who are you?" why do most of us proceed to answer with something about our work? "I'm a teacher... a doctor... a therapist... a cook, truck driver, mom or dad" rather than say, "I am a disciple of Jesus?"  This was followed, of course, by an awkward pause as often happens in liberal/modest Protestant congregations when asked to self-identify as a person of faith. But it is a question worth some discomfort - so I will probably start next Sunday's conversation with it, too.

My point was to first help us feel our true discomfort about making our Christian faith the core of our identity; and, then second, wrestle with what to do about it. If our intimacy with God and our trust in the way of Jesus is essential to us, than why are so many of us antsy and awkward in claiming the way of Jesus in public? I then continued with the following worship notes...

We have, in my analysis, been seduced by the powers of this world – the same powers and temptations that challenged Jesus in today’s gospel – addicted to the dominate story of our culture and economy rather than informed and empowered by the alternative wisdom of God in Scripture. Brother Walter Brueggemann, whom I reference often as the wisest Old Testament scholar in our tradition, once noted: The crisis in the US church has almost nothing to do with being liberal or conservative; and has everything to do with giving up on the faith and discipline of our baptism and settling for a common generic American identity that is part patriotism, part consumerism, part violence and part affluence. And much of the crass reality of our day reflects this sad truth.

This Lent I would like us to learn how to do applied theology - using the words of Scripture and tradition in a practical way - to help us shape our lives as disciples. And there are three reasons way:

+ First, theology – literally the study of God talk as revealed in Scripture from the Greek words, theo + logos (God words) – both shapes how we hear the stories of the Bible and what we choose to do with them. True theology is never abstract; it is always ethical and grounded in how we treat one another and the fullness of God’s creation. Former pastor and professor, Barbara Brown Taylor, cuts to the chase about why this is essential when she notes: Jesus was not killed by atheism and anarchy. He was brought down by law and order allied with religion, which is always a deadly mix. Beware, therefore, those who claim to know the mind of God and who are prepared to use force, if necessary, to make others conform. Beware those who cannot tell God’s will from their own. Temple police are always a bad decision. And when chaplains start wearing guns and hanging out at the Sherriff’s office, watch out. Someone is about to have no other Lord or King than Caesar. Theology as ethics that take the flesh and blood of our neighbors seriously gives us a lens through which to understand religion and shape our own behavior.

+ Second, unlike other spiritual traditions, ours celebrates stories –

our own and those in Scripture – as testimonies of faith rather than tests of what is right and wrong. Sadly, this wonderful distinction is often fuzzy for contemporary people who have sometimes reduced it to: oh, in the Congregational or United Church of Christ, you can believe whatever you want to because we do not follow the historic creeds. Oh Lord, save us all! I actually heard that said to a new member class in my early days of leadership back in Cleveland: you can believe whatever you want! WRONG! Thanks for playing, but that is so troubling and mistaken that it must be challenged. Our radical freedom and expression of faith is creative, but it is rooted in the life, death and resurrection of Jesus. And while we can appreciate science and the truth found in other religions, OUR charism – our gift to the world – is learning how to name God’s still speaking blessing from within our own story. We, in other words, have been called to become personal theologians within the Christian tradition.

+ And third, most of the people who are coming into our faith tradition have roots in other faith experiences or none at all. You have heard me say that most of the people who are affiliated with the United Church of Christ in the 21st century come from formerly Roman Catholic backgrounds. And once we leave the cultural bubble of New England, we discover that there are mega-churches in the United Church that were formerly Black Baptist – or Charismatic LGBTQ Christians – or even liberation theology centers like President Obama’s former home church in Chicago. There are so many other ways of being the church than what we know in New England that we have come to summarize the challenge like this: In essentials, unity; in non-essentials, liberty; in all things, charity.

These three reasons – the ethical value of theology, the centrality of God’s love within our own stories of faith and the unique ways we in the United Church listen and claim God’s grace and justice for our time within a sea of religious diversity – are why I felt called to focus our Lenten journey on the Statement of Faith. Bonhoeffer put it clearly when he wrote that theology is all about listening to and following Jesus. And that is what Lent urges, too:

+ Last week on the Feast of the Transfiguration the gospel closed with the disciples hearing a voice from beyond that said: This is my Beloved… listen to him.

+ The first gospel story in Lent gives us three temptations faced by Jesus during his prayer and fasting in the wilderness: In the first, the devil invites Jesus to prove his intimacy with God through a display of power; that is, by establishing his authority and value through his own abilities. In the second, the temptation is to test God's fidelity: is God worthy of trust? And in the third -- more an out-and-out bribe than temptation -- Jesus is promised all the power and glory the earth can offer if he will give his allegiance and devotion to the Tempter. In each case, Jesus rejects the temptation and lodges his identity, future, and fortunes on God's character and trustworthiness.

And if you know the story – and were paying attention – you can’t help but notice that Jesus replied to the one who tries to seduce him with ego, wealth and political power by doing theology: to each of Satan’s challenges, Jesus quotes Scripture. But not as a game, but as a call to ethical living: God is my creator and the source of what I know love means in the real world. And just as Jesus was able to affirm this after his time of fasting, prayer and purification in the wilderness, Lent gives us a chance to do so, too. That’s the Lenten tradition, right: Prayer, fasting and sharing our resources with those in need? So before I ask you to consider the wisdom offered to us for Lent in the Statement of Faith of the United Church of Christ, let me pause for any questions and concerns. Are you with me about why I sense this could be useful for us as Lent begins?

Today we’ll consider some of the many layers of insight contained with the

opening verses of the Statement of Faith, but before we even look at the text, let me ask you two crucial questions:  1) We call this a statement of faith rather than a creed: what’s the difference?  2) We also understand faith to be the fusion of thought and action rather than mere intellectual assent: it is the difference between trust and belief – so how to you grasp that distinction?

The first stanza, if you will, speaks of God – the Triune God – Father, Son, Holy Spirit in traditional language – Eternal Creator, Inspiration for Jesus and essence of spiritual power and truth in more contemporary terms – each unique but always equal at the same time. Now let me say something quickly about the Christian commit-ment to God as Holy Trinity because many have noted that the blessings of Trinity have largely been forgotten by contemporary Christianity. And here’s the key: God lives in community. 

+ Not a privatized, individualized way of existence, but living in relationship – a relationship of creativity and love – which has profound implications for you and me. For if we have been created in the image of God, then we, too are to live beyond selfishness into relationships of meaning and compassion.

+ This is perhaps one of the most truly counter-cultural insights of the Christian tradition. Fr. Richard Rohr puts it like this: Our starting place with God as Holy Trinity is always original goodness, not original sin. This makes our ending place—and everything in between—a quest for an inherent capacity for goodness, truth, and beauty.” Human strength has traditionally been defined in asserting boundaries. God, it seems, is in the business of dissolving boundaries into the paradox of community and relationship.

There’s more to say about the Holy Trinity, but let’s look specifically at the opening of the Statement of Faith. If you want to follow along with me, the words are printed in your worship bulletin.

We believe in you, O God, Eternal Spirit, 

God of our Savior Jesus Christ and our God,

and to your deeds we testify: You call the worlds into being, 

create persons in your own image,

and set before each one the ways of life and death. 

You seek in holy love to save all people from aimlessness and sin. You judge people and nations by your righteous will declared through prophets and apostles.

And here’s what I want to highlight:

+ First, our tradition affirms that we trust that God IS God because of God’s deeds – that is, our knowledge of God is not only observable and verifiable, it is also experiential: the creation of life, forming us in the image of the holy and giving us free will to advance the ways of life or death.

+ Second, the urge and goal of God is to free us from aimlessness and sin by love, grace and relationship.

+ And third, all of creation – people, nations and the whole cosmos – experience God’s judgment as articulated through prophets and apostles.

Is that clear? Three broad insights about God and why they matter: First, God’s reality and truth are both observable and experiential. What does that say to you? Where do you observe the essence of God? How have you experienced God’s presence?

Second, life has a purpose established by God since before time – existence is not random – but grounded in creative love. Not only do we live into our deepest origins by loving relationships, but we were created to do so. What’s more, our lives only have their richest potential when we express love, creativity and compassion in flesh and blood relationships. What does that say to you?

And third, our choices have consequences. That’s what the judgment is all about as expressed by Israel’s prophets and the early Christian apostles: if we live as good neighbors, there is shalom. If we live as bullies from a core of selfishness, we have chaos, poverty and injustice. How does Walter Brueggemann put it? The prophetic tasks of the church as informed by the Old Testament are: to tell the truth in a society that lives in illusion – or fake news – to help one another grieve in a society that practices denial – especially about loving relationships – and express hope in a society that is addicted to despair.

So what are you thinking and feeling about what I’ve shared with you so far? Questions? Rebuttal? Solidarity? Concern? I don’t know who it was that said a preacher is not lifting up Christ’s gospel on Sunday if at least one person doesn’t want to stand up and shout… BS! This is counter-cultural stuff, so what’s going on for you?

Temptation and the lure of leaving God’s way for a self-centered life has been a constant.Whether it is ancient Israel’s wisdom tale of eating the fruit of the tree of the knowledge of good and evil and the chaos and pain that ensues, or, the sneaky bait dangled before us like Jesus confronting the seductive decoys of abundant wealth, political power or idolatry: God sets before us the ways of life and death. There are consequences to living into God’s harmony and judgments when we choose aggressive individualism. Such is the first insight that our tradition celebrates on this first Sunday in Lent. Take a moment to sit with this in quiet and then we’ll pray this together…

Jesus, remember me, when you come into your kingdom...

come to us and shared our common lot...

The Ash Wednesday preacher reminded us: We enter an observance of a Holy Lent in... community. Yes, there are personal aspects to our practice of prayer, study and sharing love; but this is always grounded and shaped by the life of our faith community. When was this wisdom discarded, buried and forgotten?

This year I am in a teaching conversation with my worship community re: the gift of shared spiritual formation given to us in the United Church of Christ's "Statement of Faith." There is no way of knowing whether this will have legs, but in these last days of pastoral ministry I sense an urgency to try. This will likely be my last Lent in this office. I don't practice fortune telling, so I don't know this for certain, but it is highly likely to be so. And as I go out, I want to share with others the same passion and verve that I was welcomed in to this tradition. 

Since 1957 I have been shaped by the ecumenical path of Reformed Christianity celebrated the essence of faith as noted in these old words:

God seeks in holy love to save all people from aimlessness and sin... In Jesus Christ, the man of Nazareth, our crucified and risen Lord, God has come to us and shared our common lot... God binds us in covenant with faithful people of all ages, tongues, and races... calling us to accept the cost and joy of discipleship as servants in the service of all... to all who trust, God promises forgiveness of sins and fullness of grace, courage in the struggle for justice and peace, presence in trial and rejoicing, and eternal life in God's kingdom which has no end.

Over the years this faith statement has been refined. Thankfully there are versions where the outdated exclusive language has been repaired, too. Such is the just and necessary new light we have seen as new occasions teach us new truth. Four phrases continue to resonate deep within my soul and my commitment to the community of Christ: 1) save all people from aimlessness and sin; 2) come to us and shared our common lot; 3) binds in covenant faithful people of all ages, tongues and races; and 4) promises forgiveness of sins and fullness of grace.  What more could we ask for during Lent 2015 than salvation from aimlessness and sin by a God who not only comes to us, but shares our common lot? This old poem of faith is saturated with Bonhoeffer and I hope it communicates with my community.

To deepen being a Lenten communicate within the wider Body of Christ this year, I am reading Henri Nouwen's last book, Adam: God's Beloved, as part of an on-line reflection community; as well as The Paradox of Disability, a reflection on Jean Vanier's L'Arche Community in anticipation of my visit to L'Arche Ottawa at the end of this month. 

Two closing reflections on this Sunday. As I was preparing to give a bass

lesson to one of the young people after worship, I was asked by a young mother:  Are children welcome at midday Eucharist? It was one of those beautiful pure requests that caught me off guard. And as I paused to listen to my heart I found myself smiling and replying:  Of course... this is Christ's open table. Truth be told, children have never come to this setting; it has tended to be a quiet, adult gathering. But of late, a few people with special needs and intellectual disabilities have joined us. The feast has changed and become more complete - all the more so with little ones. I hope this happens!

About twenty minutes later, during our bass lesson, the young student put his hands on the strings in an odd configuration and asked:  Is THIS a chord? It made me think of something the jazz masters in Nashville told me: Man, there are NO wrong notes, just some choices are better than others. So I said: You bet that's a chord, some are just more satisfying than others. He smiled and our lesson continued and now next Sunday he will be playing with us "Bless the Lord, My Soul" from the Taize songbook. Some days are better than others, too but all are connected to the One who has come to us, shared our common lot and saves us from aimlessness and sin.

running with abandon into the arms of sacramental living...

Somewhere along the way I lost my prayer beads. 

They have been MIA for at least a month. During a lovely frenzy of cleaning through papers and weird debris in my study, however, I found them buried under a stack of long paid-off bills, outdated worship bulletins and other junk. How like the Lenten journey is finding this treasure under all my garbage?

Funny how these quotidian parables pop up at just the right time if you are rested and paying attention. Last night, I was reading Springsteen's autobiography and just happened to check my phone. As I was about to shut it off for the night I saw a post from one of my oldest and dearest friends who was watching a Buffalo Springfield reunion clip on You Tube. I had just dog-eared a page in my book that made me think of him and our early days as guitar players - and here was another spontaneous connection of love and gratitude. I had to hit send! As the Master wrote:  "I didn't want to just meet the Beatles. I wanted to BE the Beatles!"

As a part of our downsizing in semi-retirement we've cleared out the basement of probably 500 books. (I'll be doing this again in my upstairs study later today.) What a treat to rediscover not only favorite texts saturated with sweet memories - D.H. Lawrence and Virginia Woolf along with Leonard Cohen and Kerouac - but notes from my children, inscriptions in Christmas books and even a few lyric sheets from my rock and roll band days in high school. I haven't thought about this tune since 1970 but hearing the Blues Magoos do it again filled me with thanksgiving all over again.

Sure there's a ton of nostalgia hanging around the junk and clutter in my house - goes with the territory, right? But without giving in too deeply to the trap of sentimentality, some of these unexpected treasures strike me as real life relics and icons that reconnect me to "that great cloud of witnesses." I don't subscribe to the false dichotomy between sacred and secular; rather, I experience many of these small items as a tangible connection to love shared then, now and forever. Just as I see the face of my Lord in the wounded neighbor in need, so too with the ordinary relics of love in my home. In an anonymous Biblical text once ascribed to St. Paul faith is described like this:

Now faith is the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen. Indeed, by faith our ancestors received approval. By faith we understand that the worlds were prepared by the word of God, so that what is seen was made from things that are not visible.

By faith - that is, trusting God's love beyond the obvious - small gifts, music, books and prayer beads link me to a love that does not stop. In my affection for such paraphernalia, I know I'm breaking ranks with my Reformed tradition and running with abandon into the arms of the sacramental church. Give me candles, incense, Eucharist and embodied acts of justice and compassion over abstract dogma and obtuse sermons any day! For some reason beyond my comprehension, my affinity for this path is ripening with vigor even at this early date in Lent. So let me return thanks to God and see what else awaits.

the journey of lent in a bonhoeffer mood...

On the third day of Lent I find I continue to be in a Bonhoeffer mood.

If you participate in Face Book you likely have seen both the call to "fast from all things Trump" for these 40 days and nights, as well as the retort that "only the privileged have the luxury to shut out the painful" in pursuit of the Lord. My take on Bonhoeffer is that he would be allied with the later. In Letters and Papers from Prison he wrote:  "To be a Christian does not mean to be religious in a particular way, to cultivate some form of asceticism... but rather to be fully human. It is not some religious act which makes a Christian what he is, but participation in the suffering of God in the life of the world." 

This clearly shaped the perspective of Pope Francis who suggesst that all who desire to fast this Lent consider not the mere absence of food:  "Do you want to fast this Lent?"

Then fast from hurting words and say kind ones. Fast from sadness and be filled with gratitude. Fast from anger and be filled with patience. Fast from pessimism and be filled with hope.

Fast from worries and have trust in God. Fast from complaints and contemplate simplicity. Fast from pressures and be prayerful.

Fast from bitterness and fill your hearts with joy. Fast from selfishness and be compassionate to others. Fast from grudges and be reconciled. Fast from words and be silent so you can listen.

Bonhoeffer practiced a dialectical interpretation of discipline and asceticism.  He taught - and lived - a way of being faithful that was grounded in following Jesus. Christ is the clearest expression and experience of God we can know so to follow is to do as Jesus did. That means that disciples are always made, not born through God's grace and human discipline. It takes a life time of practice to trust and follow Jesus as the man for others in the real world. Simultaneously, our discipline can never be explored in private nor become an end unto itself. Two quotes from The Cost of Discipleship speak to the tension of trusting God while cultivating spiritual practices in community. 

+ The first reminds us that disciples must practice spiritual discipline: If there is no element of asceticism in our lives, if we give free rein to the desires of the flesh (taking care of course to keep within the limits of what seems permissible to the world), we shall find it hard to train for the service of Christ. When the flesh is satisfied it is hard to pray with cheerfulness or to devote oneself to a life of service which calls for much self-renunciation.

+ The second suggests that we too often confuse personal discipline with the sacrifice of Jesus and substitute our piety for Christ's compassion and solidarity: There is always a danger that in our asceticism we shall be tempted to imitate the sufferings of Christ. This is a pious but godless ambition, for beneath it there always lurks the notion that it is possible for us to step into Christ's shoes and suffer as he did and kill the old Adam. We are then presuming to undertake that bitter work of eternal redemption which Christ himself wrought for us. The motive of asceticism was more limited--to equip us for better service and deeper humiliation.

Or as he later put it in Letters and Papers from Prison: “We have to learn that personal suffering is a more effective key, a more rewarding principle for exploring the world in thought and action than personal good fortune.”  Yes, we must learn to read Scripture and pray. Without a doubt, this must take place in community, too. But mastering a spiritual practice is never a Christian's goal. Rather, they are tools for living in a broken world on behalf of the wounded and marginalized. The call is not to a cloister, but to the Cross:

When a man really gives up trying to make something out of him-self-a saint, or a converted sinner, or a churchman, a righteous or unrighteous man…when in the fullness of tasks, questions, success or ill-hap, experiences and perplexities, a man throws himself into the arms of God…then he wakes with Christ in Gethsemane. That is faith, that is metanoia and it is thus that he becomes a man and Christian. How can a man wax arrogant if in a this-sided life he shares the suffering of God?

In this dialectic there is balance guided by the Spirit. There is also consequence for each disciple in relationship to the suffering Christ in the world. If we are fully engaged in solidarity with the pain of the world, we come face to face with our own inadequacy. Our powerlessness is where we learn to trust God - and even experience God's grace is humbling ways. As a servant baptized into the foolishness of the Cross, Bonhoeffer prayed:

Lord Jesus, come yourself, and dwell with us, be human as we are, and overcome what overwhelms us. Come into the midst of my evil, come close to my unfaithfulness. Share my sin, which I hate and which I cannot leave. Be my brother, Thou Holy God. Be my brother in the kingdom of evil and suffering and death. Come with me in my death, come with me in my suffering, come with me as I struggle with evil. And make me holy and pure, despite my sin and death.

No triumphalism here; no pious, other worldly mumbo jumbo either: just a humble cry for presence in the midst of solidarity and suffering. We cannot take away our own sin. We can only stand with our neighbors in love and mercy, throwing our lives against the wheels of oppression as Jesus did before us, trusting that in this God's word becomes flesh in our day. Lent is not the time to excuse our privilege, but rather to abandon it more fully. 

(NOTE:  Bonhoeffer wrote in another era, well before any serious consideration of inclusive language took place. I have, therefore, mostly shared quotes as they were written in the 1930s and 40s without embracing their exclusivity. I know this is painful for many of us and pray that even when his limitations hurt, you might practice simultaneous translation along with me to get to his core. Thank you.) 

observing a holy lent...

Last night I gathered with my colleagues in ministry - and the people from our five congregations - for Ash Wednesday: our invitation into a holy Lent. One of the celebrants shared the time-tested call as restated in the Reformed tradition:

I invite you in the name of Christ, to observe a holy Lent: by self-examination and penitence; by prayer and fasting; by works of love; and by reading and meditating on the Word of God.

I didn't grow up with this liturgy but have ripened into it with love as the years have matured.  At first, I was moved by the ascetic aspects of this season. Prayer and fasting gave me a way into the suffering of Jesus and taught me to bear the Cross intentionally. In time, however, I began to suspect that such an approach was merely the door through which all young believers greet the mysteries of contemplative prayer. Asceticism
has its place, but it is not our destination in Christ. As Bonhoeffer has noted:  asceticism is fundamentally self-centered while Jesus is the man for others.  Intuitively I grasped this truth 30 years ago although I didn't know Brother Dietrich's insights - but two clues pushed me beyond acts of self-denial.


The first was the practice of Centering Prayer. Fr. Keating was my link to the wisdom of Western contemplative spirituality and I devoured all of his writing. In one essay he confessed his own addiction to scrupulosity. If one hour of prayer was prescribed by his Benedictine prior, then he would push himself to spend three hours on his knees. If fasting for one day was the community rule, he would double it.  As those in a 12 Step program know scrupulosity, is all about going overboard with public acts of self-denial in the mistaken notion that self-initiating acts can heal and purify us. Keating wasn't happy - he wasn't filled with the Spirit's joy - but he kept trying harder until the monastery's prior told him:  Thomas, this year for Lent, when the others kneel and pray, you must go take a nap; and when they fast, you must drink a milk shake! This horrified and offended him and Keating inwardly resisted. But over the course of a tender and loving Lent he began to grasp that he could not punish his body into encountering Christ's love. Rather, he had to simply rest in a radical trust and let God renew him from the inside out. Clearly, the prior of that monastery saw how Keating's broken understanding of prayer was wounding him in an unhealthy way.

The second clue took place during my time of ministry in Tucson when the words "the joyful side of Lent" swelled up in my prayer. The movie, "Chocolate" was a visual reinforcement - and I've used it as study tool for Lenten devotions over the years - but the joy of Lent idea sprang from prayer. Working with my dear friends Roger and Debby, we transformed our desert Sanctuary into a garden of delight with flowers, shrubbery and art. I invited a local artist to paint his take on five different Bible stories that emphasized the upside-down nature of God's presence in Christ's ministry and his art was displayed on the Sanctuary walls. With a worship space that was filled with beauty rather than stripped naked, with visual art giving our prayers and conversation focus, we discovered a deeper hunger for both the traditional disciplines of Lent - prayer, fasting and sharing our resources with those in need - as well as the importance of committing to this journey as a community. Lent was no longer a private act but a shared practice of spiritual trust.  

This is likely the last year I will be leading a congregation into the Lenten practices. Already I am semi-retired and working only part-time in ministry. I am keenly aware of what this trajectory means for me personally and seek to be clear how it might matter to the congregation. My deepest hope is that together we might rediscover the joy of a holy Lent. Last night as I read the Epistle lesson in our ecumenical community and then served the Chalice I experienced a taste of what St. Paul prayed for us so long ago:

We don’t evaluate people by what they have or how they look. We looked at the Messiah that way once and got it all wrong, as you know. We certainly don’t look at him that way anymore. Now we look inside and see that anyone united with the Messiah gets a fresh start, is created new. The old life is gone; a new life burgeons! All this comes from the God... and now God has given us the task of telling everyone what he is doing. We’re Christ’s representatives. God uses us to persuade men and women to drop their differences and enter into God’s work of making things right between them. We’re speaking for Christ himself now: Become friends with God; he’s already a friend with you.

Please, beloved, we beg you, please don’t squander one bit of this marvelous life God has given us. God reminds us,

I heard your call in the nick of time;
The day you needed me, I was there to help.

Well, now is the right time to listen, the day to be helped. Don’t put it off; don’t frustrate God’s work by showing up late, throwing a question mark over everything we’re doing. Our work as God’s servants gets validated—or not—in the details. People are watching us as we stay at our post, alertly, unswervingly . . . in hard times, tough times, bad times; when we’re beaten up, jailed, and mobbed; working hard, working late, working without eating; with pure heart, clear head, steady hand; in gentleness, holiness, and honest love; when we’re telling the truth, and when God’s showing his power; when we’re doing our best setting things right; when we’re praised, and when we’re blamed; slandered, and honored; true to our word, though distrusted; ignored by the world, but recognized by God; terrifically alive, though rumored to be dead; beaten within an inch of our lives, but refusing to die; immersed in tears, yet always filled with deep joy; living on handouts, yet enriching many; having nothing, having it all.

May the peace and the joy of the Lord be within you all as you enter into the blessings of Lent.

entering new life through the ashes of death...

Today is a gray and foreboding day - perfect for Ash Wednesday! This year I am holding two unique quotes close to my heart as a way to shape my observance of Lent and to take it deeper. I was struck by Bonhoeffer's insistence that most acts of penance are nothing more than the reinforcement of spiritual individualism. "Oh, how sinful I am!" or "Look at how much I am able to suffer for the Lord!"  

What self-centered bullshit, right?  He goes on to note that asceticism is not a spiritual discipline, but rather a way of pumping ourselves up without doing anything to love or help our neighbor. That's why this year I want to take another step away from empty asceticism in the direction of full on living! What better way to follow Jesus than embodied love?!  The first quote, from Barbara Brown Taylor, has been haunting me for about a year:

What if church invited people to come tell what they already know of God instead of to learn what they are supposed to believe? What if it blessed people for what they are doing in the world instead of chastening them for not doing more at church? What if the church's job were to convince people that God needs them working in the world more than God needs them sitting in the pews?

This doesn't mean we know it all, nor does it mean the church is irrelevant to spiritual formation. It simply recalls for us that following Jesus is all about sharing love in the real world.  And that's where my second quote, from Pope Francis, cuts to the chase:

Do you want to fast this Lent? Then fast from hurting words and say kind ones. Fast from sadness and be filled with gratitude. Fast from anger and be filled with patience. Fast from pessimism and be filled with hope. Fast from worries and have trust in God. Fast from complaints and contemplate simplicity. Fast from pressures and be prayerful. Fast from bitterness and fill your hearts with joy. Fast from selfishness and be compassionate to others. Fast from grudges and be reconciled. Fast from words and be silent so you can listen.

This year my Lenten mantra is: No more pious bullshit. Help me keep it real, Lord.  To that end, March looks to be a time of deepening my connection to those I love:  celebrating one daughter's birthday, attending a young man's play, taking some of the family to dig Lisa Fischer, visiting the Brooklyn family for some sacred Louie time and then going on retreat to visit my friends at L'Arche Ottawa. We're also bringing to birth a lay visitation team at church to spread the love and share the cost and joy of discipleship. 

I don't know whether it is semi-retirement or a new focus of the heart - or some of both - but this Lent feels like a gift to me. It is yet another chance to enter new life and new ways of loving through the ashes of dying to old habits. Thanks be to God.

valarie kaur makes it real... THIS is the America I treasure!

There is not much more that I can add about this moment in time because sister Valarie Kaur articulates with grace, clarity, passion and integrity. So do yourself a favor and take this in - and KEEP taking this in - as you breathe, push and bring to birth a nation we can celebrate with pride and life-affirming love for all.

worship notes: bonhoeffer IV

NOTE: My concluding worship notes for the February Bonhoeffer series.

Thanks for joining us. Next week we start Lent and a conversation on what the United Church of Christ "Statement of Faith" means for the 21st century.

Introduction
Last week a once young but now middle aged member of my former church in Cleveland, OH died. Neil was just 53 years old. He was a big teddy bear of a man with a smile as wide as the Brooklyn Bridge. I had the privilege of being the celebrant at his wedding, working with his spouse in Trinity Church on Christmas pageants and Christian Education, baptizing both of his children, playing on an intra-church softball team with him and sharing hundreds of hours with his loving parents whom I treasured as the salt of the earth. I loved Neil – and his entire family – and wept when I received word of his passing.

The late Fr. Ed Hays of the Shantivanum Retreat Center in Lawrence, KS once wrote in a prayer book he called Prayers for the Domestic Church that before the days of instant global communications, the news of a loved one’s death used to arrive slowly and in small doses. “Today, families hear the news of death as it comes upon us from all over the world. The daily newspaper or television (and now internet) bring death into our homes on a constant basis… from the collapse of a mine in West Virginia, the crash of an airliner in the mountains of Peru, famine, police shoot-outs and accidents on the highway.” He continues:

Psychologically, all this death renders us numb… as we suffer from overexposure to the message that death has visited our world. As a result, such announcements call forth very little from within us… increasing the danger that we shall respond to the news of all death with a reflex-like word of regret and then move on with the normal business of daily life… Would that we acknowledge the fact that the message of death always comes to us wrapped in fear… and this can be good news if we allow this fear to awaken us to live more fully and lovingly… When the angel of death knocks at our door, touch our lives personally, it is always a sacred time of remembrance.
(Prayers for the Domestic Church, pp. 185-6)

He then offers a few prayer templates to help us practice honoring these deaths and remembering the blessing of love we received from these now deceased saints. When I heard of Neil’s death, I went back to this old prayer book and used these words to take stock of his departure.

Blessed are you, Lord our God, who is the keeper of the Book of Life. Today I have learned of the death of Neil, and as this type of news always does, it comes as a shock. We know, Lord, that we all must die…. But we still share the shock of death… May the news of this death be for me a holy message of how not to waste my todays – how not to be unprepared for the arrival of death in my own life – may I best remember Neil by being grateful for life today and by loving you, my God, with all my heart, strength and mind.

Insights
As I prayed these words once again, words I have used for over 40 years, they led me to recall others in my life who have gone home to the Lord – my sisters and parents, nephews and friends, precious members of four very different congregations – and these memories brought blessings to my heart. The angel of death, you see, comes to us as an ally of love and wisdom if we are open to God’s upside-down kingdom of grace. Then, as so often happens for me of late, these reflections morphed into a deeper inquiry into the trajectory of my own ministry – what I’ve learned and experienced over the years, what I believe matters and what I sense was a waste of time – and also how I sense I’ve been called by God to spend whatever time remains.

So, on this fourth and closing day of my series on the wisdom and value of Dietrich Bonhoeffer for our era, it has become clear to me that nearly 73 years after the great German theologian and social activist was martyred by the Nazis during WWII – some 60 years after Bonhoeffer’s ground-breaking and disturbing little book, Letters and Papers from Prison, was published in both German and English – and 50 years after the rise and fall of the “God is Dead” movement: the Western Church in Europe and the United States continues to avoid the critique Bonhoeffer offered to us as a way to reshape and re-form the Body of Christ for contemporary living – and that grieves me.

Like some of you, I have seen Vatican II come and go even as Pope Francis currently strives to ground his institution in modern ways of being faithful to the love of Jesus. The international charismatic movement blew through many congregations in the 70s and 80s with only to leave them no better for the excitement. There was a liturgical reformation in Roman Catholicism and the Reformed tradition, the buzz of the mega-church, the promise of renewal in the praise music phenomenon, and the enthusiasm and disappointment of all the various church growth movements in the USA and they all ignored the challenge of Bonhoeffer.

Like the disciples in this morning’s gospel text who are awed by the mystical prayer encounter they experience with Jesus on the mountain top – a wild spiritual revival linking the man for others with the law and prophets as Jesus is embraced beyond time and space by both Moses and Elijah – the American church aches for a similar enchantment. We yearn for a magic bullet or a quick fix from beyond rather than the sobering and straight-forward admonition of Scripture to simply follow Jesus: This is my Beloved, said the Lord, with whom I am well-pleased. Listen to him… and when they looked up they saw no one but Jesus alone. Over the past three weeks I have outlined for you the essence of Bonhoeffer’s thought about the contemporary calling of the church that looks to no one but Jesus and why it matters for us now. Today we need to talk about these ideas so that we discern how they might guide us at this point in our life together. So let me first summarize what I’ve shared with you and then invite us into a dialogue.

+ First, Bonhoeffer was clear that faith means following Jesus: faith is not about doctrine, nor denomination, religious tradition, ritual, superstition or anything abstract; faith is doing in our day what Jesus did in his. To do this requires a conversion or repentance from the Greek word metanoia to change direction or spiritual formation as children of God. Whatever way you put it, none of it means having a Damascus road experience like St. Paul. Rather it is all about getting over ourselves: over our selfishness, our fears, our habits and our addictions. This is what transformation and transcendence means today: getting over ourselves so that we can be available to others – especially those in need. Faith is following Jesus out into the world not about saving ourselves a parking place in heaven by saying magic words.

+ Second, God makes the idea of faith flesh in Jesus who lives as the man for others. There is no ambiguity in this confession: to be faithful is to reform our lives into the form of Christ. Like Jesus, “we do not live in a separate, divine, holy, and supernatural sphere. Rather, we do God’s will in the natural, historical, public and political world—in work, marriage, government, and church. As a theologian involved in resistance against tyranny, Bonhoeffer asked: What does it mean to act responsibly for God and country?” And he concluded it is being engaged with the real struggles of suffering people on behalf of compassion and social justice. Being women and men for others is seeing the Cross or the Banquet table in the heart of the village rather than relegating religion to extracurricular or part-time events on the sidelines of life. As we say in the United Church of Christ, it is about accepting the cost and joy of discipleship – being there for others – in real time.

+ And third, our practice of being the church is often backwards: the church exists for the world – not itself – and never for inner magical experiences. “The church is the Body of Christ only when it exists for others” Bonhoeffer taught, “It must share in the secular problems of ordinary human life, not dominating, but helping and serving.” In a letter of August 21, 1944 he wrote, “If we are to learn what God promises, and what God fulfills, we must persevere in quiet meditation on the life, sayings, deeds, sufferings, and death of Jesus.” The church had two jobs: it sends us outward to serve the community and calls us inward to learn how Scripture and prayer nourish encouragement.

Now that’s my summary: faith as following Jesus, Jesus as the man for others, the church as servant for the suffering of the world and the strengthening of discipleship. What I want to do now in anticipation of Lent – which begins in three days with Ash Wednesday and continues for 50 days – is talk together about these three ideas. You see Lent not only invites us into repentance – metanoia – getting over ourselves, it also asks us to renew our commitment to living as people for others as Christ did before us. That’s the whole point of the Lenten disciplines of prayer, fasting and almsgiving; Bonhoeffer said the Christian life is NOT built on asceticism which is all about the self, but rather about how living for others transforms the world and leads us to meet God in our neighbors.

So let’s playfully explore these truths in conversation and let’s push ourselves beyond any harmless generalities, too. Our tradition is incarnational, ok? Is that a familiar word? How would u describe it? The Oxford English Dictionary tells us that incarnate is derived from the Old Latin – incarnare – in + carn – within the flesh. But let’s be clear: incarnation is the soul of Christianity. God’s love becomes flesh. St. John’s gospel tells us that before the beginning of time the idea and light of the Lord existed – Logos in Greek literally means the words of life which rested within theon their eternal Creator. At the right time, logos was born into human flesh – real flesh and blood from the Greek sarx - and lived among us – literally eskenosen meaning pitched his tent in our neighborhood – bringing God’s eternal light into the world.

And that clearly informs Bonhoeffer’s theology, study of Scripture and insistence that whatever we do in the name of Jesus, it must incarnate the light, life and love of God in the real world.

+ So, faith as following Jesus: what does that mean in your life? Not someone else’s life – and not in some harmless generality – but in your life. How do you follow Jesus?

+ How about living as a person for others? How is compassion and justice for your neighbor revealed in your flesh? Your actions? Your checkbook or debit card?

+ And then how does our church exist for others? What does that look like – and why does it matter?

My mentor in a New York City urban ministry internship, the late Ray Swartzback, used to say that his vision of the church would be one where things were popping on Sunday morning and early afternoon but then dark and locked up the rest of the week. And the reason he made this bold statement was, like Bonhoeffer, Swartzy believed that the church must be out in the world – at city council, at local schools, on the picket line, at the hunger and homeless center, running for office and visiting the sick and afraid – not massaging their souls in the safety of the Sanctuary. There was always a time and place for Scripture and study – and even a little bit of time for the so-called business of the church. But more often than not, we got the balance inverted: we used the vast bulk of our time for committees and meetings instead of being out there doing what needs to be done. The church exists for others.

Conclusion
That is why we celebrate Transfiguration Sunday right before we start a holy Lent: it links our baptism with Christ’s, it connects the beginning of Epiphany with its close today, it joins the life of Jesus with both the suffering of Lent and God’s blessings at Easter, and it reminds us one more time that our faith rests upon listening to Jesus for a season rather than running off half-baked into yet more busy work that only clutters our hearts and minds rather than frees us for service. Epiphany comes after Christmas, right?

What story guides the celebration of Epiphany, do you recall? The arrival of the Magi – the Three Kings – and why is that important to us? Because these Wise Men and Women come from Iraq – they were Zoroastrians – or Gentiles to the Jews who both saw and trusted the light and logos of the Lord. Epiphany is the celebration of God’s light being shared with the whole world.

That’s the start of Epiphany and two days later comes… what? The feast of Christ’s baptism! And that’s where we first hear the words: This is my Beloved with whom I am well-pleased! And then we get the same words from God again on Transfiguration Sunday: this is my beloved! Today’s feast is to remind us that by our baptism we, like Jesus, are God’s beloved; and we, like the Christ, are committed to following the Lord all the way to the Cross: this is what faith means.

It is also what the meaning of our Lenten journey as we join Jesus as he heads into Jerusalem to face suffering and the Cross. Remember how explicit Bonhoeffer about learning Go’s will from the Cross? All we can know about the Lord has been revealed to us in Jesus on the Cross. So don’t rush too quickly to get to the good times of Easter. If you want to know what God’s will is for your life, or, where to find the Lord in the world: look for the Cross in the middle reality. Transfiguration Sunday leads us down from the mountain of mystical delight and into the valley of the shadow of death.

And with Jesus is heading towards the Cross we are told to listen to him – because we have something to learn that only Jesus can teach us. How, for example, does Jesus “approach his destiny in Jerusalem?” How does his walk inform our own calling to compassion and justice? Just as this Sunday connects our baptismal blessing with the cost and joy of discipleship, it unites us with Christ’s descent from the mountain into the valley of the Cross. It instructs to listen carefully to the Lord so that we might enter our challenge with his grace. And then, but only then, is there the hint of Easter:

Jesus comes to his disciples touches them with a sign of healing, commands them not just to stand up but literally to "be raised up!" and then commands them not to speak of this event until he himself has been raised for this is the hour of death…. Something greater born of this day is coming that cannot be comprehended until after the resurrection. So for now we must be silent.

We are being summoned by the Lord to learn to follow – to be there for others as he is always there for us – and to trust that the valley of the shadow of death is just as vital to our ministry as both the exhilaration of the mountain top and the bounty of the banquet table. As I look back on a long ministry, I give thanks to God that I am still around to share this extraordinary part of this journey with you. We have some import work and love to share in Christ’s spirit, beloved, so let us look to Jesus and Jesus alone in these times of trial