"The Situation in Judea"

Mark 13:24-37 

Advent 1

11-30-2014

Jerusalem was on fire, and everybody knew it.

Talk was of a full-scale revolt.

The Jews in Rome would talk about the latest news they got from friends and relatives back home. They’d huddle closer and lower their voices when Aurelia walked by.

She didn’t blame them. A wealthy Roman citizen like herself: they probably thought she’d turn them in for sedition. They couldn’t know that Aurelia worshiped the same God they did. She was careful who she told about that.

She had learned to hold her tongue at her husband’s dinner parties, when people talked about “The Judean situation,” and said things about her new family of faith, like, “If those agitators want to go up against Rome, and burn down their own city, it’s on them.”

Even some of her closest friends didn’t know what she did in the early hours each Sunday morning: quietly unlocking the back door to her large house, inviting Christ-followers from all walks of life, both Jews and Gentiles, into her dining room by candlelight, to eat, and sing, pray, and tell stories. 

It was the stories that first got her attention: of this Jewish peasant from the far Eastern territories, who announced a kingdom of justice and equality, who embodied the presence of the One God of the universe, and who resisted oppression, even to the point of dying on a cross, and rising, in the early hours of a Sunday.

And this Sunday, hours before dawn, as she stood in her atrium and peered up at the fading stars, it was to this man, the Son of God,

that she prayed:

“Watch over my new brothers and sisters in that land. 
And watch over my son.

Keep him safe.”

There was a knock at the door.

Her heart sped up.

She unlatched the door, opening it just a crack.

Standing there was Joshua, a contractor who had worked on her house, and his wife Esther.

Members of her congregation.

“Joshua, Esther…hello…

you’re the first ones here.”

Esther spoke up first.

“Yes, Aurelia my dear, so sorry if it’s a bad time. We wondered if we could have a word before worship.”

“Of course,” Aurelia said, opening the door and inviting them inside.

“What’s on your mind?”

Joshua’s eyes were fixed on the floor

as Esther began.

“You’ve been such a good friend to us, Aurelia. We were so thankful when you lent us that money after Joshua hurt his back, and we still intend to pay the rest back, so please know it isn’t you…but…”

“We can’t worship here anymore,”

Joshua blurted out.

There was silence.

“Oh, I’m so sorry…” Aurelia said.

“It really isn’t you,” Esther continued. “It’s just…you know Joshua lost his cousin in Judea last month, and it’s getting even worse now, and it’s…it’s not that we approve of violent revolt, but at the same time, people know we come here. Maybe your friends don’t,

but ours do.” 

“I think I understand,” Aurelia said.

“See, that’s part of the problem,”

Joshua replied, “You think you understand. You’ve studied our stories, our faith, like a school subject. How we’ve been conquered, enslaved, scattered across the world. What  you don’t know is how it feels to live with it all the time. How closely and cautiously the merchants watch us. How the soldiers look at us, like terrorists, like any moment we’ll pull out our knives and attack. You’ll never understand that. And the thing is, our friends, the people I do business with…they know who you are. And they just…they don’t understand what we do here.”

There was a long silence.

Aurelia spoke up. “I see.

So is this about my son? Titus?”

Joshua’s face fell.

“I can tell you that doesn’t help. I mean he’s an officer. He’s not just taking orders down there, he’s giving them. While our people die! And meanwhile we come here, week after week.”

“Alright,” Aurelia said. “Do what you need to do, of course. I really will miss you…will you at least stay for today’s meal?”

Esther looked troubled.

“I’m not sure we should.”

“Look…it’s okay, really,” Aurelia said, “These are such hard times. But you’re my friends. If not for you, I’d never have known the Lord. You both have a long day of work ahead. Just eat with us. Just to say goodbye.”

“Well…alright, we’ll stay for a bit,”

Joshua said at last.

The food was good, as always.

Aurelia and the servants had prepared it last night, so they could eat together. But it was tense, and quiet. Like a funeral. People spoke quietly. The Gentiles and Jews sat separately, which had always bothered Aurelia,

but today even more so.

She ate silently, her mind adrift.

How can I love Christ, yet follow him in secret?

How can I sit silent,

while my brothers and sisters suffer?

And yet, how can I speak out, without being seen as disloyal to my country? My family?

Could Titus lose his rank because of me?

“Aurelia. Aurelia!” Her husband had her elbow. 
“head out of the clouds, dear. It’s time to start.”

“Oh, yes…thank you. Greetings in Christ, sisters and brothers. Does anyone have a word from the Lord this morning?”

The silence stretched longer than normal.

“I do.”

All eyes turned to Mark, a middle-aged Roman, with jet black hair, graying at the temples. 

“Grace to you, my brothers and sisters. 

As you know, I spent several years following Peter, the apostle of the Lord. I heard his stories many times, and I have begun collecting others.

Peter once spoke of a time in the last week of Jesus’ life, in Jerusalem, when he taught about the end of the world.

A time of great suffering, when the sun and moon will go dark, and the stars will fall, and even the powers in the heavens will be shaken. He said that even some of us would live to see these things.

Hearing the news from Jerusalem, the signs are abundant: it would certainly seem that the day is drawing closer. The powers of this earth, the institutions we rely on to keep us safe and do justice, have shaken our trust.

Our footing is not sound.

And yet, we wait. We wait in hope.

Because the Lord could come tomorrow, or in a thousand years, or two thousand,

but the kingdom he announced,

the kingdom of unity and love,

can come now. Immediately.

God’s Spirit is with us, drawing us together, Jews and Gentiles, rich and poor, slave and free. We need no Savior from the clouds for that: God is already doing it here.

God’s Spirit draws together the fruits of our labor, to feed the poor and care for the sick among us.

More than that, God’s spirit is drawing together these healing stories: stories not just about a God of power and glory in the clouds, but a God who walked as one of us: who did not dismiss or belittle the pain of any man, woman, or child, but instead came to serve them, and give up his life for them—and for us—on the cross.

Heaven and earth may pass away,

but his words never will.

We bear in our hearts this story—his story, which I have begun committing to writing—In our words and deeds,

Reminding our world that each life lost,

whether like ours or very different,

was a child of God, for whom Jesus died,

and while he weeps with us at the injustice,

He comes to establish peace,

And yet he has come, in our community of love.

These are dark days.

But we keep awake for signs of his presence, and we wait in hope.”

A few others shared reflections and prayers.

After the Lord’s Supper, each one left for the day’s work. In the weeks after, Aurelia would see Joshua and Esther in the marketplace from time to time.

They’d nod and smile politely.

They finally did pay the money back;

she knew they would.

In the following year, Aurelia became very ill.

The congregation came late one night, to pray and lay hands on her.

She felt a pair of hands join the rest as they prayed. 
When she opened her eyes,

there was Esther with the others.

During her illness,

Titus had pulled every string he could

to get reassigned to the capital.

He spoke more softly and seemed more anxious than the boy she had known,

But he was home.  

And early one Sunday morning when she was feeling better, she woke him from an uneasy sleep.

“My son,” she whispered,

“It’s time to wake up. It’s high time you met some friends of mine…”

Sermon from "FreeRide" Middle School Retreat, 18 October 2014

When I was first ordained, I used to post the manuscript to almost every sermon I preached on a blog, and I got out of the habit. It goes without saying that what's on the page does not always reflect what I say (especially in a case like this where, following the lead of Jason Chesnut, the chaplain at FreeRide 2014, I tried to be as independent of the page as possible), and what I say does not always reflect the way folks hear and understand it. I've gotten back more than enough confirmation worship notes to know this is the case. But in response to a couple of requests, and the fact that the non-middle school aged members of Salem were mostly not there, here's a copy of at least what I planned to say at worship during the Delaware/Maryland Synod's Middle School Retreat this past Saturday.

Mark 12:28-34

The First Commandment

 One of the scribes came near and heard them disputing with one another, and seeing that he answered them well, he asked him, ‘Which commandment is the first of all?’ Jesus answered, ‘The first is, “Hear, O Israel: the Lord our God, the Lord is one; you shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your mind, and with all your strength.” The second is this, “You shall love your neighbour as yourself.” There is no other commandment greater than these.’ Then the scribe said to him, ‘You are right, Teacher; you have truly said that “he is one, and besides him there is no other”; and “to love him with all the heart, and with all the understanding, and with all the strength”, and “to love one’s neighbour as oneself”,—this is much more important than all whole burnt-offerings and sacrifices.’ When Jesus saw that he answered wisely, he said to him, ‘You are not far from the kingdom of God.’ After that no one dared to ask him any question.

Hey FreeRide. Would you pray with me?

Lord God, We love you.

I mean, we think we love you.

Well, we’re trying to figure out

How to love you.

It’s confusing. And it’s hard.

But thanks for loving us,

Even as we struggle with what that means. Amen.

So, when I was going into seventh grade,

My Dad became a pastor, and my family moved from Ohio to Michigan.

and…It was different.

In Ohio, elementary school went through sixth grade, but in Michigan,

Everybody had already been in Middle school for a whole year when I got there.

It took me like three whole days to figure out how to open my locker. But not only was the place different, but I started to feel different. I had all new friends, I started to listen to different music, I was trying to figure out who I was now. And up here on the screen I want to show you, at the beginning of 8^th grade, who I thought I was. 

This is the cover of my 8^th grade journal that I had to do for school. There’s Archangel and Beast, two of my favorite X-men, Mr. Spock of course, Daredevil (before the lame movie came out), and right here is Chris Cornell from Soundgarden. Oh, my gosh you guys. Soundgarden rocked. I can’t even tell you. I mean, here’s Bono from U2, they’re OK in their own non-Soundgarden-y way, but Soundgarden was just epic. I even drew a picture of me, in my future band, which was going to rock like Soundgarden, and of course Spider-man would be a fan, so that was all going to be great.

But the problem was, I was in confirmation, right? Who here is in confirmation? Who here has to take confirmation from their dad?

Been there.

So we were learning about the Ten Commandments, and about how we’re supposed to have no other Gods, and love God more than anything else, and here was this page full of stuff I loved, but…

Where was God?

In fact, for me, part of why Soundgarden rocked so hard was they were like, dark and brooding and loud, and basically everything churchy music wasn’t, and I was starting to play guitar, and I wanted to make dark, brooding, loud music too, and I started to wonder…

Do I love God enough?

And then, you guys…I started to, you know, meet girls and stuff? And I guess I, sort of liked them or whatever—shut up!—but as I started dating, I thought to myself, “Dude, I definitely do not think about God half as much as I think about my girlfriend. So what’s wrong with me?”

So Jesus is in the middle of a serious throw-down with the Pharisees and Sadducees in

 Jerusalem. They’re debating about God stuff, and the Pharisees are throwing all these Biblical ninja-stars at him, like, “well what about this?” pshhhewww! And Jesus is like, “Well here’s what I think about that,” Whaaa! And they’re trying to trick him, but he’s doing all these sweet Bible-ninja moves and stuff, and while this is going on, this scribe comes up.

And a scribe’s job was to know the whole Bible, because most people couldn’t read, so they’d just ask a scribe what the right thing to do was. And this was a big job you guys, because you know how you have to learn the 10 Commandments in confirmation? So, what if there were, I don’t know, 613 of them? That’s how many commandments there were just in the first five books of the Bible, you had to learn those, and then there were like other commandments you should follow just to be sure you would never break those commandments, so yeah. The scribes were basically people who stayed in Confirmation class until forever. So this scribe sees Jesus’ Bible ninja moves, and he wants to figure him out, so he asks this simple question: “which commandment is first of all?” Not out of ten, but out of 613!

And Jesus doesn’t even blink. He takes something from Deuteronomy, and something from Leviticus and puts them together: “Love the Lord your God with all your heart, with all your soul, with all your mind, with all your strength, and love your neighbor as yourself.”

And here’s where the miracle happens you guys, because for a moment, the Bible-ninja battle stops, and Jesus and this scribe agree with each other. And there’s no other place in the Gospels where this happens.

So this commandment must be huge, right?

So I was listening to this as a teenager, and I had all this guilt, because I loved lots of stuff that wasn’t God, and I didn’t like, spend all my time listening to Church music doing church stuff with church friends

and having a churchy time at church. So I knew in my mind, I wasn’t loving God enough.

Honestly, I wasn’t even really sure

where God fit in.

So a couple years later, I got this weird invitation: I had written some songs—dark, brooding, loud of course—and a pastor invited me to like, play them at a church event, in front of a bunch of church kids. And I was like, “Have you heard my music?” But I went up, and I got onstage, and for the whole time, I was apologizing to the crowd, I said, “I’m so sorry guys, the stuff I do doesn’t talk about God, it’s not really Christian, Sorry.”

So I finished up, and got offstage, and this big burly guy from Wisconsin pulled me aside—he was the keynote speaker for the whole thing—and he looked at me and said, “Tim, don’t ever say your music isn’t Christian. You’re a Christian, and you’re using the talents God gave you, and talking about your life. And that glorifies God.”

And that turned everything around for me, because I suddenly realized that loving God wasn’t just about what all I did inside a church building with other church people, it was about living my whole life, and using all my gifts and all the stuff I like doing, from a place of love.

It was about knowing in my heart that God made me this way for a reason, and that Jesus didn’t die for the fake, smiley, churchy version of me: Jesus died for the real me, who loved to head-bang and read comics and talk to girls, and that God was using all that stuff in me, to help me love my neighbors and make their lives better.

Jesus did that with his disciples: He didn’t call Peter and James and John and say, “Hey, stop fishing because I want you to do my thing!” He said, “Hey, you’re good at fishing, so I want to teach you how to do it for God!”

And that’s how Jesus is calling you, too.

So, believe me: you’re not going to learn all 613 commandments. You’re never going to be able to just spend your whole lives doing churchy stuff and listening to church music

with churchy people,

and God doesn’t want you to!

God loves you! Jesus died for you! The real you! The you that likes what you like, and is friends with who you’re friends with, and plays the sports you play and reads the books you read.

And I know you’re still trying to figure out who you are—here’s a secret: you never stop—but God doesn’t want you to become a different person. God wants you. God wants to use the things you’re already good at, not just on Sundays, but seven days a week—to make the world a better place to live in, a world that’s more fair and kind and loving, and where more people know how much God loves them and that Jesus gave his life for them.

Obviously, we do plenty of stuff that God doesn’t want us to, and it’s impossible to ever fully stop.

But even when we mess up, God uses those mess-ups, because the more we mess up, the more we remember God forgives us, and the more thankful we are, and the better we are at letting other people know they’re forgiven too. See how that works? That’s some forgiveness ninja stuff right there. God is good.

Because God loves you and Jesus died for you—the real you—that love will catch on in your life, in the things you like to do, and you’ll be able to love your neighbor as yourself.

Like a love-ninja. Amen.

Faith Isn't a Thing. It's How You See Things.

"[Jesus] himself is before all things, and in him all things hold together. He is the head of the body, the church; he is the beginning, the firstborn from the dead, so that he might come to have first place in everything."

Colossians 1:17-18

It's funny how connected to the school year our lives remain, even years after we leave school. Everything seems to kick-start again in September.With a daughter in the public school system, for me it's even more of a stark change now, from "summer vacation" (which is its own kind of busy) to "busy," followed by "busier", "busiest," "winter break," "busy," "busier," "busiest", and back to "summer vacation".

Round and round we go.


And do you know? We wear it like a badge. We pant, we roll our eyes to our friends and neighbors, we laugh at ourselves for burning the candle at both ends, we burn out, we drop a bunch of stuff, we start to ease back in, we burn out again, and we acknowledge to anyone who'll listen just how ridiculous we think it is.


But we like it. We find worth in how much we can do. We wouldn't admit it publicly, but we like being wanted in more than one place at once, we like having a full calendar, flitting from place to place, putting out various fires in our lives. We idolize busy people. The best kind of person, for us, is a person whose every waking hour is accounted for, who's operating at maximum efficiency, who just could not possibly fit in one more thing.

Let me be clear about this: if you identify with this, I have zero intention of passing judgment on you. It's how I often operate too. There can be other posts about Sabbath rest: about finding our value, not in what we do, but in the fact that God values us, and how by God's grace, the world goes on even when we take a breather. We need those reminders too, but that's not what I want to talk about.

What I'd rather talk about right now is what often happens when we think of "church" as part of our list of "things". You know, that list of things that starts growing in September, and keeps growing in October, and by December is so long that only by virtue of a sugar-cookie-induced frenzy of holiday mania could you ever get to the bottom of it.

The list that you reevaluate in January...and start crossing the "non-essential things" off.

Mind you, you can be just about as busy as you want here at church. We do have a full calendar. I was here a couple Tuesdays ago and the building was being used by

seven

different

groups.

Seven.

Christian congregations are not the "busy-ness police". In fact, when we're not careful, showing up for every last event connected with a congregation can be a way of feeding our busy-ness addiction. "Church" as a list of events can be a medium for our mania: a way to distract ourselves from major problems in our lives, which our faith really ought to be helping us face head-on.

But there's a big, glaring difference between "church"--meaning, what you do with your brothers and sisters in Christ as part of this congregation in this place--and "faith", meaning your lifelong walk of trusting in Jesus Christ. "church" is a "thing", or maybe even a group of "things", that you can add and subtract from your list. 

Faith is not a thing, as such.

It's the way you see everything. Each thing in your life. It's not something you add to your schedule, and show up for at a given place and time. It's a perspective. It's the lens through which you see your whole life. How you spend your money, your time, your soul. 

You may think you know where I'm heading: that I'm going to end up giving you a pass, and telling you that you can worship where you are, on the soccer field or at the campground with the Scouts, or at the bar, or on the climbing wall.

Nope. Sorry.

Worship feeds our faith. Being accountable to other Christians, showing up for them, like they have agreed to show up for us, adding our voice and being built up by theirs, has been throughout the millennia one of the most reliable ways to be faithful, and being faithful is what having faith looks like when it's more than an idea: when it takes on flesh.

But worship is not the only way.

Worship--at least the kind of worship we strive for together--should feed into your week. It should adjust your lenses, and help you focus and see Jesus moving and dancing throughout the hectic week you're getting set for. It should connect you to the life you're already living, rather than introduce you to a whole new list of "church-y" things to do with your week.

Being in worship is important, and generally it won't happen by accident, so it's important to set goals (and not beat yourself up if you don't meet them! If you meet every last goal you set, you might want to set some more challenging goals!). But being in worship is not the same as faith. Going to church is not faith. Going to church is a thing. It's an important thing, but it's a thing. A blip on your Google calendar. A line in your paper planner. Faith is how you read the whole thing.  

Good News for People Who Love Bad News

"A theology of glory calls evil good and good evil. A theology of the cross calls the thing what it actually is."

Martin Luther, Heidelberg Disputation, 1518 

I'm not sure what it is about this summer--whether it's an all-time high in public awareness due to the 24-hour news cycle, or whether the last 8 to 12 weeks have been objectively more terrible than average for the citizens of planet earth--but this summer is starting to remind me of the title of one of my favorite albums by Modest Mouse: "Good News for People Who Love Bad News." 

Ebola. War in Israel/Gaza, Ukraine, Afghanistan, Iraq, Syria. Unaccompanied minor refugees. Unrest in Missouri, and the ever-present demon of institutional racism. And to top it off, a U.S. legislature that has pretty much proven itself incapable of legislating.

Considering that very few of our own personal lives are the proverbial "bed of roses" to begin with, and that there are real, measurable effects on our brains from being exposed to news like this--especially if it's sensationalized, as so much news today is--it would seem a natural reaction for Christians to view their faith as a kind of "escape." To sing songs like, "I'll Fly Away", to focus on "positive thinking", to just praise God, keep smiling through it, and know that our present sufferings are not forever. Maybe things are bad here on earth, but my, oh my, won't Heaven be great?

Well...yes, it will, but there's more to it than that. Especially at times when things seem really bad, we get tempted by what Martin Luther called the "theology of glory." The idea that God is only really visible in strength, in power, in positive experiences, in good vibes, in the warm-fuzziness of life. The idea that faithfulness to God comes hand in hand with happiness and success, and that if you don't have one or both of those things, all the time, then there's something wrong with your faith. 

Luther believed the opposite. He wrote, "He who does not know Christ does not know God hidden in suffering." If we are unwilling to look into the darkness in our lives and in our world, then we will never find the Savior who entered into that darkness for us. If we are unwilling to admit that suffering exists, then we can not claim that Jesus suffered for us. Without looking at the cross of Christ, any suffering, injustice, sin, and death in our lives becomes a plague, which we must escape at all costs to avoid infection. But looking directly at the cross, we see the face of God hidden in the face of an executed criminal, being tortured to death by a reigning Empire--and once we see God's face there, we realize that there is no darkness into which God can not go, and has not gone. 

Without the cross, we dare not face reality. If it's all up to us to fix this world, then it's most certainly time to "fly away". Turn off the TV, unplug the computer, power down your phone, and run off into the woods somewhere, hoping the world won't catch up. 

But if, on the cross, we can indeed see a Savior--the one who accepts every moment of our lives, no matter how awful, into his own body and fills it with God's forgiving presence--then we can stare down anything else in this life, knowing that God is there, too. 

This does not make us as Christians responsible for staring down every last dark hole, much less crawling into it and personally rescuing all those inside. We aren't obliged to be tied to our TV's, computers and phones, having the latest info on every emerging crisis and taking the next plane to head it off. In fact, just the opposite. A theologian of the cross knows that the final word in the face of sin and death was spoken from the cross: "It is finished." Therefore, we bear in our hearts the Good News to all who suffer, that Christ suffers with us, and that with death comes resurrection. We need not be saviors, because the world has only one of those, and he did the "saving" 2,000 years ago. 

A theologian of the cross is a person with no need to "escape" this world, nor to be perpetually martyred for it: a person set free to do what she can to love her neighbor as herself, while trusting her entire life to the One who first loved us.      

 

What I Learned at the Dentist

Today was my semi-annual dentist visit, and it was, as expected, a mixed experience. On the one hand, my teeth feel more clean and fresh than they have in...well...six months, I guess. On the other hand, my gums hurt like the dickens, and it's my own fault for not flossing as much as I should.

Overall, I feel great about getting back in the habit of seeing a dentist regularly, but it took a long time to get back to it. As in, before moving to Catonsville, I'm pretty sure the last time I was on my parents' insurance plan. The reasons why I stopped going were obvious at first--didn't have great insurance during seminary--but then became more blurry as time went on. And it occurs to me that this might be a parallel and a point of understanding for me, of what it is that makes folks stay away from church for months and even years at a time. It's always been a part of my life, and maybe has for you too, and that's why it's especially important to have these "connection points" to help understand the increasing number of folks who do not worship anywhere, and haven't for a long time, if ever. Here are some things that kept me away from the dentist...

1. The Precipitating Event: Graduating College. I did not graduate college thinking, "Oh, I'm so relieved I don't have to go to the dentist anymore!" I wanted to go; I just couldn't make it happen in that chapter of my life. Anytime a big thing changes in your life, lots of little things change too. So it is with worship. Maybe you graduate high school, you move, you have a baby, you switch job schedules, you get married, you take a long trip somewhere, and before long, you haven't worshiped in a year, and it's hard to get back. My experience is that the big traumatic conflicts, or the fundamental shifts in faith perspective, happen far less often in our lives than simple changes in routine.

2. The Guilt. Oh, the Guilt. What's funny about going to the dentist is everybody I know basically believes in going to the dentist. I was among them. And yet, for the better part of a decade, I did not go. And the worst thing was, the longer it got since I went, the harder it was to imagine going. Like those folks who give me the line, "Oh, I think that church would fall down if I walked in those doors", I had this deep sense of dread. The dentist will ream me out. The dentist will get up in my face and shout at me for not flossing. I will have a hundred cavities. They'll just pull all my teeth out and give me dentures. The reality, however, was that once I found a dentist and made an appointment, it ended up being a pretty chill encounter. Got the teeth cleaned. No cavities. Actually got a compliment for brushing. The guilt was much ado about nothing. I would venture to say about our congregation (and I'd better be right!) that the guilt trip folks imagine after being gone awhile will simply not take place. But in order to learn that, you have to come...

3. "Busyness". It took us a while, and a lot of work, to find a dentist. It's phone calls, and web sites, and getting recommendations from friends, and a lot of stuff that's easy to put on the back burner. It's kind of a low priority, honestly, unless you're one of those super-disciplined, organized people who sits down on a quiet day and pays bills and balances checkbooks and dusts, and if you are, you have my deep respect, because I'm more of the "sit in front of the TV and try my level best to recover from the whirlwind of a week I've had" type of guy. Oh, we are so busy as a culture. Too busy to eat right, too busy to care for our teeth, too busy to dust, and way too busy to worship. And it really does take a lot of work to find a congregation that seems to "fit" for you and your family. And I can tell you that it's worth it, and that God does have a church in mind for you, but really, you won't believe me until you find that church.

4. Forgetfulness. Let's call it what it is. Honestly, as busy as we were, the thought occurred to me, "man, we should go find a dentist" about as often as we should have been going in the first place...maybe once every six months or so.

That is, until it was time for Maggie to go for the first time. That changed everything, because in helping Maggie on this first step of caring for her teeth, it finally occurred to Laura and me that we also have teeth, and it would look pretty silly if we asked Maggie to do something that we ourselves could not be bothered to do. So we became a dentist-going family yet again. I've heard this again and again with church...that it's concern not for our own spirits, but for our children's spirits, that brings us back to worship. And yeah, I think God can work with that. Maybe the love we have for our kids is one way God can teach us love for the children of the world. Maybe it's through our concern that they learn to be "good people" that God can convict us of our repeated failed attempts to be "good": about our need for God's grace, and to hear those words of forgiveness each day.

Finding a dentist is a pain. Going there takes time out of your day, and it's not always your top priority, and sometimes it hurts, and once in a while they find something you wish wasn't there. But I go because accountability to others is a major way God works with us. Just brushing by myself isn't going to cut it.

So it is with worship.

"Off the Grid" in Christ

"All who believed were together and had all things in common; they would sell their possessions and goods and distribute the proceeds to all, as any had need. Day by day, as they spent much time together in the temple, they broke bread at home and ate their food with glad and generous hearts, praising God and having the goodwill of all the people. And day by day the Lord added to their number those who were being saved."

Acts 2:44-47

Well, It's been about fifteen years since I've had a role in a full-length play (even longer since I've dared to appear in a dance number--and if you come see the show, you'll know that's for good reason!) but this weekend, I'll be joining with some other members of Salem, and our surrounding community, to put on a production of, "Oliver!" This is, of course, based on the Charles Dickens novel, Oliver Twist, in which the title character, an orphan relegated to a workhouse in awful conditions, eventually finds solace in a community of pickpockets in the slums of 19th century London.

I'm amazed the more I think of this story, and--though of course this instance of it existed only in the imagination of Charles Dickens--how often the basic elements of it repeat themselves in human history. Seems like every time the formal structures of a society make up their minds to ignore some need, or stop caring for some of God's children, somewhere "off the grid", up like weeds pop up these little communities of care for one another. They are by no means perfect, but up they pop, as an indictment of the society itself.

It occurs to me that there is a prophetic spirit buried within the human community. In the Bible, God often mentions writing God's law--God's expectations for human life together--on the hearts of the people. Not in a book, or in a societal structure, but more like, somehow encoded in our DNA: right from wrong, justice from injustice.

The technical term for this type of view is "natural law," and I'll warn you, it's not conventionally viewed as very "Lutheran." We Lutherans believe that humans by ourselves--without God's word--are not capable of doing anything but sinning and falling short of God's expectations. If we took the natural law principle and did "what is within is," society would look even worse than it does today.

But at the same time, "God's word" and "human institutions" are two very different things. And so, when those in power fall asleep at the switch--when kids start to go hungry, when debts get out of control and whole nations are taken into indentured slavery, when empty worship and piety starts to stand in for real acts of mercy in the world--then God's word goes "off the grid," into communities willing to do the work of love which those who rule over them are not.

One such community arose around the prophetic ministry of Jesus of Nazareth, and continued after his unjust death at the hands of those in power. Not only did his community continue, but they continued and grew stronger with the express belief that his presence continued with them, guiding them each step of the way. They took care of the widows, the orphans, the slaves, the prostitutes, the ones that their public institutions had agreed to ignore, and they did it not to win elections or campaign dollars, but because they believed it was their commission from God to do so. And they believed--probably rightly--that if they didn't care for each other, no one else would.

It's funny where this prophetic spirit will arise. Whether it's in the surprisingly egalitarian pirate crews of the 17th and 18th centuries, or the grass roots Catholic Worker Movement arising out of the poverty of the depression era, God's Word often does not wait for approval from a president, a congress, a pope or a pastor. It just gets working in the heart of a community, and wild things start to happen. Like Grace.