"The church is the assembly of saints in which the gospel is taught purely and the sacraments are administered rightly. And it is enough for the true unity of the church to agree concerning the teaching of the gospel and the administration of the sacraments." The Augsburg Confession, Article VII.
I'll admit it's a little "un-Lutheran" of me, at least according to Garrison Keillor's "Lake Wobegon" stereotype, but some days I'm really proud of my church.
There's no way Martin Luther could've predicted on All Hallows Eve of 1517, as he was posting his 95 theses, the 16th-century equivalent of a blog post that went viral, that some day in the distant future in a distant land people would still use that day to commemorate God's ever-reforming church. Nor, of course, could he have foreseen that this commemoration would happen within a week or so of our election day: a time when ordinary citizens take into their hands a power unparallelled in history, to decide our own future, to reform our country and our world. But I think God was up to something here.
I invite you to download and read the linked pastoral letter of our synodical bishop, Wolfgang Herz-Lane, addressing "Question 6," regarding the Civil Marriage Protection Act passed by the Maryland state legislature. As the letter mentions, Bishop Herz-Lane writes at the express request of 2012 the Delaware/Maryland Synod Assembly, and after organized discussion forums throughout the synod, and of course, much prayer.
I've read the letter over several times now, and here's what you're NOT going to find there:
1) A systematic Lutheran theology of marriage. Bishop Herz-Lane does make reference to "Human Sexuality: Gift and Trust", the ELCA's 2009 Social Statement on human sexuality in general, and the controversial issue of publicly accountable, lifelong, same-gender relationships in particular. But even when he does, he makes clear that the document doesn't try to settle these issues once and for all, but rather underline how ambivalent, divided, and lacking in consensus our church was on this issue 3 years ago, and continues to be today. Our strength comes not from agreeing on every issue, but from continuing to struggle with it together, and in the mean time, trusting in God's grace.
2) A "voting guide" for this or any other issue. Lutherans don't do "voting guides." To quote directly from the letter,
"Unlike some other churches, the ELCA does not tell its members how to vote in the public arena. The Lutheran church was born rejecting the notion that a priest or a bishop or even a pope should be telling folks what to believe and how to act."
Does this mean in our political discourse that we don't bother to talk together about scripture, about the Christian tradition, about the values Jesus and his disciples held dear? Nope. Does it mean we should just shut up about how we're going to vote, and refrain from sharing our opinions and even lovingly challenging others to reflect on theirs? Absolutely not. In fact, it means that this discussion should happen, and not be shut down by any human authority. It should take place with each believer on equal footing under God's Word and our God-given gift of moral discernment.
3) A blanket condemnation of proponents OR opponents of this legislation. Part of what makes our country so strong is our freedom of religion: to believe and organize our communities of faith as we so choose. That said, in light of recent actions of the U.S. Conference of Catholic Bishops, I have to admit that I feel a lot of sympathy for American Catholics as election day approaches. The idea that I might not be welcome to the Communion meal if I were to support this legislation, let alone if I were to identify as gay and ask my fellow citizens for the same civil rights they enjoy every day, is one that is, admittedly, foreign to me.
This leads me to what our bishop's letter DOES say. It gives some background on the struggle of the ELCA and its predecessor bodies with this issue. It assures congregations and pastors that, just as the ELCA is not forcing anyone to perform a ceremonies they can't in good conscience support, neither will the state of Maryland should this law pass. The letter makes the distinction, first made by Martin Luther himself, between marriage as a legal contract, ratified by the state, and the blessings churches can choose to offer on that contract. It even reveals the bishop's own opinion on the issue. But most importantly, it affirms the Lutheran tradition of embracing paradox: Justified and yet sinners, Law and Gospel, God's kingdom as "already" and "not yet". It affirms that agreement on this or any social issue is not a prerequisite for communing or being "church" together. We can be church and disagree. You can come to God's banquet table no matter where your conscience leads you on this issue, because the only thing you need to be to eat there is a sinner, who knows that only God can save you.
Full disclosure: I happen to agree with Bishop Herz-Lane on this issue, and plan to vote accordingly. I believe, after much study, prayer and discussion with other Christians, that the 6 or 7 Bible passages that seem to speak to homosexuality do not, in my view, apply to committed life-long same-gender relationships in the modern day. I believe that even if they did apply, it would be the job of the church to preach and teach this in a loving way, relying on the Holy Spirit to influence hearts and minds, rather than to exert civic law as a blunt instrument to deny the civil rights of any group.
But with all that said, I believe even more strongly in the church as God's people, called by God through our baptism,and gathered, not around any social issue, but around God's Word and Jesus' Body and Blood. I believe that what makes church is not lock-step agreement up and down the ballot, but our common acknowledgment of the Good News: that Jesus has given his life to forgive our sins, and that we are made right with God by our faith. I believe in the paradox of intelligent, faithful Christians who hold opposing views, gathering, as forgiven sinners, for the meal of grace. I'm pro-paradox and I vote!
Friday, October 12, 2012
Friday, September 28, 2012
Fun Facts (and Myths) About Angels
Well, believe it or not, I had a little time on my hands this week, and I decided to do some self-guided continuing education. As you may or may not know, Today is the Festival of St. Michael and All Angels (which is, interestingly enough, the one and only Christian commemoration of a saint who is not a human being). Since Salem is the only congregation I've ever served that not only celebrates this festival each year, but also chooses it as our "Confirmation Sunday" in which our youth say "yes" to their baptism, I thought I'd do a little Biblical sleuthing on the subject of angels. Who and what are they, what do they do, and why should we care?
So, without further ado, here are Four Myths About Angels, Debunked by the Bible.
Myth #1: Angels Have Wings. Hey, I'm not one to call into question just about every religious drawing, Christmas ornament, and motivational poster you've ever seen...it's just not in the Bible. Angels are often described as beautiful (and more often, good-looking people are described as "looking like an angel"), but by and large, the only descriptor we have is that angels look like people. In fact, they are frequently mistaken for people, even by the most spiritually "in touch" of Biblical characters.
Now, there are a couple of Bible verses that suggest angels can fly. Revelation is pretty saturated with that kind of stuff. There is, of course, the story of the angel announcing Jesus' birth, which, if you already picture angels having wings, kind of "seals the deal" for that image. I mean, how else could angels go "back into heaven", right? But remember, Luke's gospel ends with Jesus' ascension, and I've never heard of anybody claiming that he had wings. Now the story of Jacob's ladder might be another one to make us think twice, but then...ummm...why would they need a ladder?
Now, I don't want you thinking that the whole "angels have wings" thing was completely plucked out of the sky (pun intended). It wasn't. It's just that there are these other heavenly creatures called Cherubim and Seraphim, who not only are described as having wings, but it's their distinguishing characteristic. It's the Cherubim that show up in artwork in the Holy Temple(wings and all). and Seraphim, as you may remember, figure prominently in Isaiah's call story. But, uh, here's the thing with that...see, the word "Seraph" in the Old Testament is also used for poisonous serpents. So, a serpent, that has six wings rather than two, bears little or no resemblance to an "angel" as described anywhere else in the Bible. Kind of a mystery, really, but it's clear these are 2 different things. Moving on...
Myth #2: Angels are assigned to individuals for protection. You've probably seen many a cartoon in which an angel is tasked with guarding an individual human, and find themselves getting distracted, with hilarious results. Sorry, Loony Toons fans. Also not Biblical. There are several references to an angel traveling with the Israelites in the wilderness, and helping them as a nation, but only in a couple of isolated cases do we see an angel show up to guard one person. Interestingly, both of those are in Daniel. The first is the good ol' fiery furnace, and the second is Daniel in the Lions' Den. Now there have been books and books written about the peculiarities of Daniel, but suffice it to say this is a theme that we don't find throughout scripture.
In fact, in Matthew and Luke, the Devil even tries to draw Jesus into some magical thinking in the "guardian angel" department by inviting him to jump off the pinnacle of the temple. Needless to say,this does not fly. Angels are almost always sent to deliver messages from God: not to be God's bouncers, nor God's special email-forward-based good luck charms. Hate to break it to you, but when you stub your toe, it's usually your own fault.
Myth #3: Satan used to be an angel. Alright, so I'm sure you can tell me the story. Lucifer was the most powerful angel, he wanted to be as strong as God, he got all his buddies together and tried to conquer Heaven, but God won and cast them down to hell. We've all heard it. But here's my challenge to you: which book of the Bible is that story in?
The answer: none of them. Most of what we think we know about Satan's "back story", we know from the brilliant imagination of John Milton in Paradise Lost. (Just like most of what we think we know about hell comes from Dante in the 13th century, but that's another post for another day.) Admittedly, Milton based his story on commonly accepted Christian and Jewish traditions. But not on the Bible. I found four references that, if you already believed this story, you could use as flimsy evidence that it's biblical, but not one of them, taken either by itself or even as a group, gives you a fully formed narrative.
First, there's Isaiah 14:12, in which the King James Bible mistakenly translates "Day star" as "Lucifer." No modern Bibles translate it that way, because it's based on the Latin rather than the original Hebrew. Oh, and plus, if you read the whole chapter, it's actually about the king of Babylon, so...
Second, there's Luke 10:17-20., where Jesus says he watched Satan fall from Heaven. But it seems weird that these disciples would come back from exorcising demons, and Jesus would change the subject to primeval history. Seems more likely, don't you think, that Jesus is using figurative language about how his disciples are currently "unseating" the Devil and the forces of evil from the places of cosmic authority? Like, right now, as opposed to before creation began?
Third, there's 2 Corinthians 11:14, where Paul says the Satan disguises himself as an angel of light. That's right. Disguises. Which would make a heck of a lot more sense if he's, you know, not actually an angel of light. Otherwise he's the equivalent of those teenagers who show up at your door each Halloween with no costume on and demand candy. (Not that I see no relation to the Evil One there, but I digress...)
Fourth, we've got Revelation 12:7-12, where our buddy Michael heads up an army to cast Satan and his angels out of Heaven. But then, there's the whole thing where all of Revelation, including this passage, is John's visionary account of God's justice and mercy for the future...not the past.
Myth #4: Angels are exclusively celestial beings. This one falls into the "why should we care?" department. And maybe I should've put it first, since by now if you've been waiting for that, you're totally bored. But here it is, plain and simple. "Angel" is Greek for "messenger." In fact, the word is sometimes used interchangeably for human messengers. So, whether or not you can get your head around the idea of these strange, possibly extra-terrestrial, airborne humanoid beings, flitting around doing God's will, you have to admit it: we're surrounded by angels. We're surrounded by messengers. If you have ever carried a word of hope from God to a loved one, you are an angel. If you have ever uttered the words, "Christ is Risen indeed! Alleluia!" you are an angel. If you have ever been affirmed for who you are as a beloved child of God, you have been attended by angels of the Lord. So Happy St. Michael's to you, my friends, and to all my fellow angels.
So, without further ado, here are Four Myths About Angels, Debunked by the Bible.
Myth #1: Angels Have Wings. Hey, I'm not one to call into question just about every religious drawing, Christmas ornament, and motivational poster you've ever seen...it's just not in the Bible. Angels are often described as beautiful (and more often, good-looking people are described as "looking like an angel"), but by and large, the only descriptor we have is that angels look like people. In fact, they are frequently mistaken for people, even by the most spiritually "in touch" of Biblical characters.
Now, there are a couple of Bible verses that suggest angels can fly. Revelation is pretty saturated with that kind of stuff. There is, of course, the story of the angel announcing Jesus' birth, which, if you already picture angels having wings, kind of "seals the deal" for that image. I mean, how else could angels go "back into heaven", right? But remember, Luke's gospel ends with Jesus' ascension, and I've never heard of anybody claiming that he had wings. Now the story of Jacob's ladder might be another one to make us think twice, but then...ummm...why would they need a ladder?
Now, I don't want you thinking that the whole "angels have wings" thing was completely plucked out of the sky (pun intended). It wasn't. It's just that there are these other heavenly creatures called Cherubim and Seraphim, who not only are described as having wings, but it's their distinguishing characteristic. It's the Cherubim that show up in artwork in the Holy Temple(wings and all). and Seraphim, as you may remember, figure prominently in Isaiah's call story. But, uh, here's the thing with that...see, the word "Seraph" in the Old Testament is also used for poisonous serpents. So, a serpent, that has six wings rather than two, bears little or no resemblance to an "angel" as described anywhere else in the Bible. Kind of a mystery, really, but it's clear these are 2 different things. Moving on...
Myth #2: Angels are assigned to individuals for protection. You've probably seen many a cartoon in which an angel is tasked with guarding an individual human, and find themselves getting distracted, with hilarious results. Sorry, Loony Toons fans. Also not Biblical. There are several references to an angel traveling with the Israelites in the wilderness, and helping them as a nation, but only in a couple of isolated cases do we see an angel show up to guard one person. Interestingly, both of those are in Daniel. The first is the good ol' fiery furnace, and the second is Daniel in the Lions' Den. Now there have been books and books written about the peculiarities of Daniel, but suffice it to say this is a theme that we don't find throughout scripture.
In fact, in Matthew and Luke, the Devil even tries to draw Jesus into some magical thinking in the "guardian angel" department by inviting him to jump off the pinnacle of the temple. Needless to say,this does not fly. Angels are almost always sent to deliver messages from God: not to be God's bouncers, nor God's special email-forward-based good luck charms. Hate to break it to you, but when you stub your toe, it's usually your own fault.
Myth #3: Satan used to be an angel. Alright, so I'm sure you can tell me the story. Lucifer was the most powerful angel, he wanted to be as strong as God, he got all his buddies together and tried to conquer Heaven, but God won and cast them down to hell. We've all heard it. But here's my challenge to you: which book of the Bible is that story in?
The answer: none of them. Most of what we think we know about Satan's "back story", we know from the brilliant imagination of John Milton in Paradise Lost. (Just like most of what we think we know about hell comes from Dante in the 13th century, but that's another post for another day.) Admittedly, Milton based his story on commonly accepted Christian and Jewish traditions. But not on the Bible. I found four references that, if you already believed this story, you could use as flimsy evidence that it's biblical, but not one of them, taken either by itself or even as a group, gives you a fully formed narrative.
First, there's Isaiah 14:12, in which the King James Bible mistakenly translates "Day star" as "Lucifer." No modern Bibles translate it that way, because it's based on the Latin rather than the original Hebrew. Oh, and plus, if you read the whole chapter, it's actually about the king of Babylon, so...
Second, there's Luke 10:17-20., where Jesus says he watched Satan fall from Heaven. But it seems weird that these disciples would come back from exorcising demons, and Jesus would change the subject to primeval history. Seems more likely, don't you think, that Jesus is using figurative language about how his disciples are currently "unseating" the Devil and the forces of evil from the places of cosmic authority? Like, right now, as opposed to before creation began?
Third, there's 2 Corinthians 11:14, where Paul says the Satan disguises himself as an angel of light. That's right. Disguises. Which would make a heck of a lot more sense if he's, you know, not actually an angel of light. Otherwise he's the equivalent of those teenagers who show up at your door each Halloween with no costume on and demand candy. (Not that I see no relation to the Evil One there, but I digress...)
Fourth, we've got Revelation 12:7-12, where our buddy Michael heads up an army to cast Satan and his angels out of Heaven. But then, there's the whole thing where all of Revelation, including this passage, is John's visionary account of God's justice and mercy for the future...not the past.
Myth #4: Angels are exclusively celestial beings. This one falls into the "why should we care?" department. And maybe I should've put it first, since by now if you've been waiting for that, you're totally bored. But here it is, plain and simple. "Angel" is Greek for "messenger." In fact, the word is sometimes used interchangeably for human messengers. So, whether or not you can get your head around the idea of these strange, possibly extra-terrestrial, airborne humanoid beings, flitting around doing God's will, you have to admit it: we're surrounded by angels. We're surrounded by messengers. If you have ever carried a word of hope from God to a loved one, you are an angel. If you have ever uttered the words, "Christ is Risen indeed! Alleluia!" you are an angel. If you have ever been affirmed for who you are as a beloved child of God, you have been attended by angels of the Lord. So Happy St. Michael's to you, my friends, and to all my fellow angels.
Monday, August 27, 2012
The "Toddler Arsenal" and Holy Flexibility
Do not remember the former things,
or consider the things of old.
I am about to do a new thing;
now it springs forth, do you not perceive it?
-Isaiah 43:17-18
At breakfast today with Laura and the kids, it occurred to me that in the last few years, we have developed, in my humble opinion, a pretty impressive arsenal of tricks to get our kids to eat their food. Here are a few of my favorites:
The "Mr. Salt and Mrs. Pepper". In this classic technique, an ordinary salt and pepper shaker--found at almost any dinner table--transform into the characters of Mr. Salt and Mrs. Pepper from Maggie's favorite show, Blue's Clues. It seems Mr. Salt and Mrs. Pepper are eager to see Maggie eat her food--especially if it's a new food. She doesn't much care about our opinion, but Mr. Salt and Mrs. Pepper have much more clout.
The, "If You Don't Want it, I'll Eat it..." It's a good thing this works as well as it does, because bad as it sounds, I actually am often tempted to eat their food.
The "One, Two, Eat a Bite." A simple chant we started with Maggs early on. It often leads to dancing, clapping, table-thumping, and spontaneous vegetable ingestion. The rhythm is, indeed, going to get you...
The "Keg Stand." Please pardon the crass name. We developed this for Soren, because apparently a frat-party atmosphere is conducive to infantile digestion. We simply chant, "Sor-en, Sor-en, Sor-en...." again with the clapping, stomping, table-thumping, until he takes a good bite, and we explode in applause. Especially effective in fine restaurants.
Good Old Reverse Psychology. We just look at Maggs, and say something to the effect of, "Don't you dare eat that carrot!" and act positively outraged when she does. Great for kids in a rebellious or silly mood.
So I never really examined before exactly why we go to such lengths to get our kids to eat. I mean, nutrition is one thing, but for that, we could just leave out cups of cereal, animal crackers, soy nuggets and carrot sticks all day, and sit down to a nice quiet meal as a couple. It could be Laura's and my passion for diversity, and the strong sense that the kids will miss out on lots of good foods if they don't try. (Green Eggs and Ham is a bedtime standard in our house.) But it seems like a lot of effort to put in at every single meal, knowing the kids will probably just revert to Pizza, noodles and Ben & Jerry's their Freshman year of college anyway, like any other red-blooded American kids.
The deeper element I think we, and lots of other parents are working on with our kids, is what might be called "Holy Flexibility": a sense that what lies outside our realm of experience need not be frightening. In fact, the Bible says God almost always calls us from beyond our sphere of knowledge. Holiness, from the earliest stories of God's people, is by definition that which is set apart, and "other." Less like PB&J, and more like Pad Thai.
God called Abram to leave his ancestral home of Haran at age 75. God called the people of Israel out of a fixed status quo in Egypt--oppressive though it was--to a new life of freedom across the sea. Jesus called his disciples to think differently about where God lives, and whom God loves and cares about. He invited them to a New Covenant in his blood. And even after his resurrection, He kept calling believers to keep their ears open: new plans and new horizons were coming their way. From accepting Gentile believers, to processing their experience of God as Three-In-One, all the way down to the last two centuries, beginning to hear God's call for equality of all God's children, an end to slavery and imperialism, a beginning of new opportunities for women and racial integration, God keeps doing new stuff, and we don't want to miss it.
So, this evening at dinner, I plan to try my best to see in our daily cheer-leading ritual more than just vitamins, minerals, and table manner training, but also another step in our process of making disciples. Good thought, anyway. We'll have to see how it goes...
or consider the things of old.
I am about to do a new thing;
now it springs forth, do you not perceive it?
-Isaiah 43:17-18
At breakfast today with Laura and the kids, it occurred to me that in the last few years, we have developed, in my humble opinion, a pretty impressive arsenal of tricks to get our kids to eat their food. Here are a few of my favorites:
The "Mr. Salt and Mrs. Pepper". In this classic technique, an ordinary salt and pepper shaker--found at almost any dinner table--transform into the characters of Mr. Salt and Mrs. Pepper from Maggie's favorite show, Blue's Clues. It seems Mr. Salt and Mrs. Pepper are eager to see Maggie eat her food--especially if it's a new food. She doesn't much care about our opinion, but Mr. Salt and Mrs. Pepper have much more clout.
The, "If You Don't Want it, I'll Eat it..." It's a good thing this works as well as it does, because bad as it sounds, I actually am often tempted to eat their food.
The "One, Two, Eat a Bite." A simple chant we started with Maggs early on. It often leads to dancing, clapping, table-thumping, and spontaneous vegetable ingestion. The rhythm is, indeed, going to get you...
The "Keg Stand." Please pardon the crass name. We developed this for Soren, because apparently a frat-party atmosphere is conducive to infantile digestion. We simply chant, "Sor-en, Sor-en, Sor-en...." again with the clapping, stomping, table-thumping, until he takes a good bite, and we explode in applause. Especially effective in fine restaurants.
Good Old Reverse Psychology. We just look at Maggs, and say something to the effect of, "Don't you dare eat that carrot!" and act positively outraged when she does. Great for kids in a rebellious or silly mood.
So I never really examined before exactly why we go to such lengths to get our kids to eat. I mean, nutrition is one thing, but for that, we could just leave out cups of cereal, animal crackers, soy nuggets and carrot sticks all day, and sit down to a nice quiet meal as a couple. It could be Laura's and my passion for diversity, and the strong sense that the kids will miss out on lots of good foods if they don't try. (Green Eggs and Ham is a bedtime standard in our house.) But it seems like a lot of effort to put in at every single meal, knowing the kids will probably just revert to Pizza, noodles and Ben & Jerry's their Freshman year of college anyway, like any other red-blooded American kids.
The deeper element I think we, and lots of other parents are working on with our kids, is what might be called "Holy Flexibility": a sense that what lies outside our realm of experience need not be frightening. In fact, the Bible says God almost always calls us from beyond our sphere of knowledge. Holiness, from the earliest stories of God's people, is by definition that which is set apart, and "other." Less like PB&J, and more like Pad Thai.
God called Abram to leave his ancestral home of Haran at age 75. God called the people of Israel out of a fixed status quo in Egypt--oppressive though it was--to a new life of freedom across the sea. Jesus called his disciples to think differently about where God lives, and whom God loves and cares about. He invited them to a New Covenant in his blood. And even after his resurrection, He kept calling believers to keep their ears open: new plans and new horizons were coming their way. From accepting Gentile believers, to processing their experience of God as Three-In-One, all the way down to the last two centuries, beginning to hear God's call for equality of all God's children, an end to slavery and imperialism, a beginning of new opportunities for women and racial integration, God keeps doing new stuff, and we don't want to miss it.
So, this evening at dinner, I plan to try my best to see in our daily cheer-leading ritual more than just vitamins, minerals, and table manner training, but also another step in our process of making disciples. Good thought, anyway. We'll have to see how it goes...
Thursday, August 23, 2012
Accepting, Celebrating, Living in God's Image
So God created humankind in his image,
in the image of God he created them;
male and female he created them.
Gen. 1:26
I've had a lot of pretty good evenings this summer. But last night was without a doubt the best. A nice Italian dinner, a glass or two of Chianti, and a couple of the most disgracefully awful bowling scores I've ever put my name to...all with the woman I love, to celebrate nine years of marriage. I am so thankful to God for the wild ride we've taken, and for the family we've become.
Like many couples who've spent nine years together, there's a certain comfort that sets in...you know each other's tastes, jokes and stories, you get a sense of what will make them happy, what will make them laugh and cry, what they'll find exciting or frightening. Being comfortable is a good thing sometimes.
But more than comfort, what makes me smile as I write this is the sense of being accepted and celebrated, and the joy of accepting and celebrating another, all the more now that we really know each other, and begin to discover how much more there is to know. The woman I know today, I love all the more, because of the gifted counselor she is becoming and the lives she will change for the better; the compassion she is instilling in our son; the strength and confidence she is instilling in our daughter.
The Bible says that from the very beginning humankind was meant to reflect the image of God, not just individually, but in close community. Accepting the other and being accepted. "In the image of God he created them; male and female he created them." It is not gender in itself--maleness or femaleness--that causes us to bear God's image, but rather, our capacity to love and fully commit to another. I feel that God's image really has been reflected to a fuller degree in my life as a member of a family than as an individual.
As Laura and I continue to live out our call as partners and teammates in the adventure of life in Christ, I give thanks to God. I pray that all who feel called to do so, can share this same gift of acceptance, of celebration, of commitment to another's good, as a training ground for the love to which Jesus calls us all. I pray this for those who can legally marry in their state, and for those who look forward to having that right acknowledged someday by their fellow citizens.
I am truly grateful for my best friend, my life coach, my muse, my high school crush, my wife. May God bless you and your family--whatever shape it may take--as richly as God has blessed me.
in the image of God he created them;
male and female he created them.
Gen. 1:26
I've had a lot of pretty good evenings this summer. But last night was without a doubt the best. A nice Italian dinner, a glass or two of Chianti, and a couple of the most disgracefully awful bowling scores I've ever put my name to...all with the woman I love, to celebrate nine years of marriage. I am so thankful to God for the wild ride we've taken, and for the family we've become.
Like many couples who've spent nine years together, there's a certain comfort that sets in...you know each other's tastes, jokes and stories, you get a sense of what will make them happy, what will make them laugh and cry, what they'll find exciting or frightening. Being comfortable is a good thing sometimes.
But more than comfort, what makes me smile as I write this is the sense of being accepted and celebrated, and the joy of accepting and celebrating another, all the more now that we really know each other, and begin to discover how much more there is to know. The woman I know today, I love all the more, because of the gifted counselor she is becoming and the lives she will change for the better; the compassion she is instilling in our son; the strength and confidence she is instilling in our daughter.
The Bible says that from the very beginning humankind was meant to reflect the image of God, not just individually, but in close community. Accepting the other and being accepted. "In the image of God he created them; male and female he created them." It is not gender in itself--maleness or femaleness--that causes us to bear God's image, but rather, our capacity to love and fully commit to another. I feel that God's image really has been reflected to a fuller degree in my life as a member of a family than as an individual.
As Laura and I continue to live out our call as partners and teammates in the adventure of life in Christ, I give thanks to God. I pray that all who feel called to do so, can share this same gift of acceptance, of celebration, of commitment to another's good, as a training ground for the love to which Jesus calls us all. I pray this for those who can legally marry in their state, and for those who look forward to having that right acknowledged someday by their fellow citizens.
I am truly grateful for my best friend, my life coach, my muse, my high school crush, my wife. May God bless you and your family--whatever shape it may take--as richly as God has blessed me.
Monday, August 13, 2012
Extremists for Love
So the question is not whether we will be extremists, but what kind of extremists we will be. Will we be extremists for hate or for love?
-Martin Luter King, Jr., from Letter from a Birmingham Jail
These days I feel like my heart has a hundred-pound weight chained to it. I've just read about yet another act of domestic terrorism near Texas A&M, in a month that has held far too many already. There are too many grieving families to pray for; too many police officers and families of fallen officers who will carry this trauma for the rest of their lives; too many communities where people will think twice about even leaving their homes; and too many hearts of perpetrators filled with so much darkness and foreboding that it's an effort to pray for them, even when they need it most.
I hate that this is the third national-news-making shooting right here in the U.S. of this month, and I'm just now feeling impassioned enough to blog about it, let alone take action, or even determine what the appropriate action might be. I hate that when these events clump together, they lose focus in the public (and in my own) mind, when they are distinct, carried out by different people in different places under different circumstances. I hate that this has become a political football for both sides over gun control. I hate that others see it as some kind of vague "sign of the times," and as an excuse to be even more fearful, paranoid and unwilling to try to understand our neighbors. I hate the sick feeling I get in my stomach when I look at a few of these situations and realize that, while it's impossible to see inside someone else's heart, some of these shooters were not just despairing or without hope. The Aurora shooter, for instance, was not just armed to the teeth, but covered in defensive gear, which seems to suggest he had not lost hope for himself: he just wanted to steal it away from others.
I hate a lot of things about these situations. But more than anything, I hate the impression, sometimes even the notion I get in my own heart, that in the midst of all this, the church is not doing anything relevant. That we're not taking any action. That we're just sitting around, praying, keeping our eyes on the skies.
You see, I am blessed to work for a church that does a lot of what the world considers really good things. We spend a lot of time, energy and money feeding the poor, clothing the naked, caring for the homeless, and welcoming the stranger. These things are uncontroversially good. Not only did Jesus actually tell his disciples to DO these things, but most people, religious or secular, would clap us on the back for doing them. They make us feel like we're actually accomplishing something, instead of expending all that effort throwing fancy words and phrases into the Sunday morning air, and handing out little crumbs of bread and sips of wine.
But here's the thing: as proud as I am of my congregation for those works of compassion, as hard as I'll fight to ensure we keep doing them, as much good as I truly believe they do and as pleased as I believe God is with them, those things can be done by just about any charitable organization, and often are. We do not have the market cornered on compassion. Target, the Rotary Club, the American Legion, and in fact every middle- and high school student in Maryland as a graduation requirement, have joined us in that effort; for which I thank God.
But what Target, the Rotary club, and your average middle school class can not do is raise people up believing they are a cherished and beloved child of the creator of the universe. They can not tell a child that nonviolence is not only a practical solution, but also the way of the savior of humankind, who has already triumphed over death. They can not tell a story that helps people make sense of their past, present, and future, in light of a God who loves us so much that no boundary--not even death--would separate him from dwelling among us. They can not give a person the kind of hope that helps us to sing hymns of praise even as we stare into the face of our own mortality.
Of course I don't mean to say that all acts of violence would come to an end if people just worshiped and prayed more, as if Christians are immune to despair, hopelessness, hatred. They wouldn't, because clearly we aren't. But what I do mean to say is that evangelism matters. The story we are called to tell, the teachings we are called to pass on, the faith and trust we are called to impart, the imperative not just to love our neighbors as ourselves but also to love God with heart, soul, mind and strength: those things matter. They do make a difference. They are not an afterthought, but the very heart of hope for almost two billion people on this planet, and they are worth sharing.
As we Christians grieve with yet another set of victims and pray for yet another community in turmoil, let's remember: our news really is good. So let's not hide it under a bushel basket anymore.
-Martin Luter King, Jr., from Letter from a Birmingham Jail
These days I feel like my heart has a hundred-pound weight chained to it. I've just read about yet another act of domestic terrorism near Texas A&M, in a month that has held far too many already. There are too many grieving families to pray for; too many police officers and families of fallen officers who will carry this trauma for the rest of their lives; too many communities where people will think twice about even leaving their homes; and too many hearts of perpetrators filled with so much darkness and foreboding that it's an effort to pray for them, even when they need it most.
I hate that this is the third national-news-making shooting right here in the U.S. of this month, and I'm just now feeling impassioned enough to blog about it, let alone take action, or even determine what the appropriate action might be. I hate that when these events clump together, they lose focus in the public (and in my own) mind, when they are distinct, carried out by different people in different places under different circumstances. I hate that this has become a political football for both sides over gun control. I hate that others see it as some kind of vague "sign of the times," and as an excuse to be even more fearful, paranoid and unwilling to try to understand our neighbors. I hate the sick feeling I get in my stomach when I look at a few of these situations and realize that, while it's impossible to see inside someone else's heart, some of these shooters were not just despairing or without hope. The Aurora shooter, for instance, was not just armed to the teeth, but covered in defensive gear, which seems to suggest he had not lost hope for himself: he just wanted to steal it away from others.
I hate a lot of things about these situations. But more than anything, I hate the impression, sometimes even the notion I get in my own heart, that in the midst of all this, the church is not doing anything relevant. That we're not taking any action. That we're just sitting around, praying, keeping our eyes on the skies.
You see, I am blessed to work for a church that does a lot of what the world considers really good things. We spend a lot of time, energy and money feeding the poor, clothing the naked, caring for the homeless, and welcoming the stranger. These things are uncontroversially good. Not only did Jesus actually tell his disciples to DO these things, but most people, religious or secular, would clap us on the back for doing them. They make us feel like we're actually accomplishing something, instead of expending all that effort throwing fancy words and phrases into the Sunday morning air, and handing out little crumbs of bread and sips of wine.
But here's the thing: as proud as I am of my congregation for those works of compassion, as hard as I'll fight to ensure we keep doing them, as much good as I truly believe they do and as pleased as I believe God is with them, those things can be done by just about any charitable organization, and often are. We do not have the market cornered on compassion. Target, the Rotary Club, the American Legion, and in fact every middle- and high school student in Maryland as a graduation requirement, have joined us in that effort; for which I thank God.
But what Target, the Rotary club, and your average middle school class can not do is raise people up believing they are a cherished and beloved child of the creator of the universe. They can not tell a child that nonviolence is not only a practical solution, but also the way of the savior of humankind, who has already triumphed over death. They can not tell a story that helps people make sense of their past, present, and future, in light of a God who loves us so much that no boundary--not even death--would separate him from dwelling among us. They can not give a person the kind of hope that helps us to sing hymns of praise even as we stare into the face of our own mortality.
Of course I don't mean to say that all acts of violence would come to an end if people just worshiped and prayed more, as if Christians are immune to despair, hopelessness, hatred. They wouldn't, because clearly we aren't. But what I do mean to say is that evangelism matters. The story we are called to tell, the teachings we are called to pass on, the faith and trust we are called to impart, the imperative not just to love our neighbors as ourselves but also to love God with heart, soul, mind and strength: those things matter. They do make a difference. They are not an afterthought, but the very heart of hope for almost two billion people on this planet, and they are worth sharing.
As we Christians grieve with yet another set of victims and pray for yet another community in turmoil, let's remember: our news really is good. So let's not hide it under a bushel basket anymore.
Friday, August 3, 2012
It's Part of Our Story
And not only that, but we also boast in our sufferings, knowing that suffering produces endurance, and endurance produces character, and character produces hope, and hope does not disappoint us, because God’s love has been poured into our hearts through the Holy Spirit that has been given to us. Romans 5:3-5
There's just no other honest way to say it: it's been a hell of a month here at Salem. I'm surely not the only one among us who is somewhat glad to close the book on July, and pray fervently that August is nothing like it.
Granted, there have been many highs: walking through the Exodus story with our Confirmands at Mar-Lu Ridge; praising and serving God with 33,309 high school students at the ELCA Youth Gathering; worshiping with and hearing from Annie Bunio, our missionary teacher in Tanzania (although technically that was August 1st).
But the lows have been very low. This month alone, we have had to say goodbye to three faithful, beloved, active members of Salem; and mourned with at least three other member families at the untimely loss of spouses, parents, and even children. My prayers remain with the Grempler family; the Van Sant family; Alice Meier and her family; The family of and all who were close to Claire Graham; Mary Kay, Shannon and Alaina Willing and their family; and Paul and Lynda Bell, their son Robert, and his children; among so many others who are crying out to God for comfort and peace. I invite you also to join me in daily lifting up Dave, our senior pastor, as he seeks to provide spiritual leadership and a word of good news in this time of deep struggle.
I have long held the belief that times of crisis are not very good times for theological teaching. The absolute worst funeral sermons I have ever heard have been theological expositions on the finer points of the resurrection of the body, or of atonement theory from a "turn or burn" standpoint, when what everyone really needed to hear was that God is weeping with them, and that Jesus is making all things new.
But with all that said, I'd like to share with you something that might be helpful now, or might be something to come back to later: in the cross of Christ, we have a unique way of processing our suffering. The cross allows us to stop avoiding, ignoring, or trying to escape suffering, but rather to allow its presence in our story as God's children. We can stop trying to "make everything OK," but rather admit we're not OK, and hand our stories over to God.
Saint Paul wrote about how the message of the cross seemed to most people of his time to be utter foolishness. And if we really look at it, maybe it would seem that way in our own culture, too. We live among a people obsessed with "holding it together," with projecting an image of success, of unflappability, of single-handedly overcoming every kind of adversity life throws at you. Western culture idolizes the "rags to riches" stories, the stories of "self made" men and women who take the hand that they're dealt and turn it into health, wealth, fortune and fame. I'm still not sure our culture knows what to do with a God who, being all-sufficient and all-powerful, emptied himself and became a human being, and suffered death right here among us. It doesn't compute. It doesn't allow us to do what we tend to do with our suffering: to minimize it, to ignore it, to stick it in the closet and pretend it's not there.
But when we affirm that in the cross of Christ, God came to suffer with us, we are affirming two important things.
The first is that the fact that we're suffering is not "OK" with God, and it doesn't have to be "OK" with us. Jesus would not have spent his entire ministry healing the sick, feeding the hungry, casting out demons, and taking such an outspoken stand against political and religious oppression that it ultimately cost him his life, if he believed all that stuff was "God's will." He did not tell the synagogue leader that his daughter had died because "God needed another angel in his choir," and he did not justify the ailment of the paralyzed man by saying it was somehow "in God's plan." He healed them. In his every word and deed, Jesus demonstrated that God wants abundant life for us, and God weeps with us when, because of a sinful world gone haywire, that life is taken from us. God does not push buttons to make people suffer. Instead, on the cross, God takes our pain and dies with it there. Martin Luther once said, "a theologian of glory calls evil good and good evil. A theologian of the cross calls the thing what it is." We don't have to do theological gymnastics trying to justify why our pain is somehow "good" and God wants it. God doesn't. God wants to take our pain to the cross, and raise us to new life.
The second thing we affirm in the cross is that although our suffering is not "OK," it can be part of our story--even a central part. You would think that in telling the story of Jesus' life, the first Christians would kind of gloss over the story of his death. It's unpleasant. It brings back painful memories. It makes the "hero" of the story look vulnerable and weak. In telling our own life stories, we often gloss over those painful times. They rarely make it into our photo albums, or our family Christmas letters. And yet they are a part of our story. They help to form us, and make us who we are. And by finding ways of retelling our story, even the most difficult parts, we can discover how God has been present with us all along, not causing our suffering, but bearing it with us and finding ways to turn our pain into healing. To be a child of God is to be more than what has happened to us, but to let all that has happened to us be a witness to our crucified lord: the one who rose from the grave, and was recognized by his disciples not by a crown or shining lights of glory, but by his own wounds. In the same way, our wounds may stay with us, and remain a part of our story, but in the hope of Christ, we know the story itself will be one of healing.
As I said, all this may be too much to process now, and to be honest, part of why I'm posting this is to try and process it myself. But alongside my prayers for healing for so many of my sisters and brothers in Christ, I also lift up prayers that when we are in pain, we can come to the cross: that we can lift up our stories to Jesus, and see his presence with us each step of the way.
There's just no other honest way to say it: it's been a hell of a month here at Salem. I'm surely not the only one among us who is somewhat glad to close the book on July, and pray fervently that August is nothing like it.
Granted, there have been many highs: walking through the Exodus story with our Confirmands at Mar-Lu Ridge; praising and serving God with 33,309 high school students at the ELCA Youth Gathering; worshiping with and hearing from Annie Bunio, our missionary teacher in Tanzania (although technically that was August 1st).
But the lows have been very low. This month alone, we have had to say goodbye to three faithful, beloved, active members of Salem; and mourned with at least three other member families at the untimely loss of spouses, parents, and even children. My prayers remain with the Grempler family; the Van Sant family; Alice Meier and her family; The family of and all who were close to Claire Graham; Mary Kay, Shannon and Alaina Willing and their family; and Paul and Lynda Bell, their son Robert, and his children; among so many others who are crying out to God for comfort and peace. I invite you also to join me in daily lifting up Dave, our senior pastor, as he seeks to provide spiritual leadership and a word of good news in this time of deep struggle.
I have long held the belief that times of crisis are not very good times for theological teaching. The absolute worst funeral sermons I have ever heard have been theological expositions on the finer points of the resurrection of the body, or of atonement theory from a "turn or burn" standpoint, when what everyone really needed to hear was that God is weeping with them, and that Jesus is making all things new.
But with all that said, I'd like to share with you something that might be helpful now, or might be something to come back to later: in the cross of Christ, we have a unique way of processing our suffering. The cross allows us to stop avoiding, ignoring, or trying to escape suffering, but rather to allow its presence in our story as God's children. We can stop trying to "make everything OK," but rather admit we're not OK, and hand our stories over to God.
Saint Paul wrote about how the message of the cross seemed to most people of his time to be utter foolishness. And if we really look at it, maybe it would seem that way in our own culture, too. We live among a people obsessed with "holding it together," with projecting an image of success, of unflappability, of single-handedly overcoming every kind of adversity life throws at you. Western culture idolizes the "rags to riches" stories, the stories of "self made" men and women who take the hand that they're dealt and turn it into health, wealth, fortune and fame. I'm still not sure our culture knows what to do with a God who, being all-sufficient and all-powerful, emptied himself and became a human being, and suffered death right here among us. It doesn't compute. It doesn't allow us to do what we tend to do with our suffering: to minimize it, to ignore it, to stick it in the closet and pretend it's not there.
But when we affirm that in the cross of Christ, God came to suffer with us, we are affirming two important things.
The first is that the fact that we're suffering is not "OK" with God, and it doesn't have to be "OK" with us. Jesus would not have spent his entire ministry healing the sick, feeding the hungry, casting out demons, and taking such an outspoken stand against political and religious oppression that it ultimately cost him his life, if he believed all that stuff was "God's will." He did not tell the synagogue leader that his daughter had died because "God needed another angel in his choir," and he did not justify the ailment of the paralyzed man by saying it was somehow "in God's plan." He healed them. In his every word and deed, Jesus demonstrated that God wants abundant life for us, and God weeps with us when, because of a sinful world gone haywire, that life is taken from us. God does not push buttons to make people suffer. Instead, on the cross, God takes our pain and dies with it there. Martin Luther once said, "a theologian of glory calls evil good and good evil. A theologian of the cross calls the thing what it is." We don't have to do theological gymnastics trying to justify why our pain is somehow "good" and God wants it. God doesn't. God wants to take our pain to the cross, and raise us to new life.
The second thing we affirm in the cross is that although our suffering is not "OK," it can be part of our story--even a central part. You would think that in telling the story of Jesus' life, the first Christians would kind of gloss over the story of his death. It's unpleasant. It brings back painful memories. It makes the "hero" of the story look vulnerable and weak. In telling our own life stories, we often gloss over those painful times. They rarely make it into our photo albums, or our family Christmas letters. And yet they are a part of our story. They help to form us, and make us who we are. And by finding ways of retelling our story, even the most difficult parts, we can discover how God has been present with us all along, not causing our suffering, but bearing it with us and finding ways to turn our pain into healing. To be a child of God is to be more than what has happened to us, but to let all that has happened to us be a witness to our crucified lord: the one who rose from the grave, and was recognized by his disciples not by a crown or shining lights of glory, but by his own wounds. In the same way, our wounds may stay with us, and remain a part of our story, but in the hope of Christ, we know the story itself will be one of healing.
As I said, all this may be too much to process now, and to be honest, part of why I'm posting this is to try and process it myself. But alongside my prayers for healing for so many of my sisters and brothers in Christ, I also lift up prayers that when we are in pain, we can come to the cross: that we can lift up our stories to Jesus, and see his presence with us each step of the way.
Monday, June 11, 2012
Are You "Religious But Not Spiritual?"
"Jesus said to her, ‘Woman, believe me, the hour is coming when you will worship the Father neither on this mountain nor in Jerusalem... But the hour is coming, and is now here, when the true worshipers will worship the Father in spirit and truth, for the Father seeks such as these to worship him. " John 4:21, 23
I have heard and read a great deal in the last fifteen years or so about a movement sweeping the nation: "Spiritual, But Not Religious." (Or SBNR, if you want to be "hip" to the terminology). I even read a report in the May 18 Christian Century about some of the first comprehensive research into this group, which shattered some of my stereotypes, and gave me the distinct impression of what I had already suspected: this phenomenon is here to stay.
The "SBNR's" are those in our society who feel no need to identify with a particular historic faith tradition in order to commune with the Divine: they pursue the experience without the expectations, Jesus without the Church, belief without doctrine, transcendence without all the meetings and paperwork.
And you know what? I don't blame them. Really. I mean, sometimes I want to. I often want to vent my frustration at what I perceive to be my own self-centered, non-commital, complacent generation of Americans, who seem perfectly content "waitin' on the world to change." But in this case, I honestly can't. In this one, isolated and very unique case, it is not all John Mayer's fault. :-)
Instead, it is the fault of too many people of faith (myself chief among them) who slip into a whole other trap: "religious, but not spiritual." Those of us who get off on the process of it all, of making things go; the joiners, the frequent volunteers, those of us who thrive on the modest martyrdom of being the "20% of church members who do 80% of the work", those of us who just can't bring ourselves to pray properly until the budget is balanced and the banners are hanging straight and the potluck is organized and the organ's in tune and the children's sermon is both theologically sound and developmentally appropriate and the windows are either open or closed, depending on current weather conditions (and it doesn't hurt if I personally have accomplished each of those things, to be sure they're done right). Those of us who risk hyperventilation from our exasperated sighs, yet show up early every Sunday morning. And hey, that's kind of what I do for a living, so please understand the log in my eye is clearly visible to me. A big worry for me is that there are too many of us in the Church more wrapped up in how much we love to hate the church, than how much we love Jesus. We are religious-but-not-spiritual. Let's get real: Who would want to get on this ride if it's making us committed Christians so sick to our stomachs?
But there's a twist: we religious-but-not-spiritual types are not limited to church members. In fact, I'd venture to say that many in this growing number of religiously unaffiliated are religious-but-not-spiritual, too, meaning they live captive to a law: it's just not the law of organized religion. Any of us who lives in a law-based reality--a reality populated by carrots and sticks, where only I make things go, where it all depends on my own actions, where the defining precept is "If I do X, then Y will happen", but we've lost sight of why we even want"Y" to happen--is what I would call "religious but not spiritual." It is so, so common. We value rules over relationships.
You may be religious-but-not-spiritual about your job. About parenting. About your marriage. About politics. Heck, even about your favorite baseball team. And yes, when we're not careful, those of us who claim the name of "Christian" can become religious-but-not-spiritual about worship, prayer, Bible study, theology and church work. Guilty. But that's not what Jesus wants.
What Jesus wants is much simpler, and yet, much tougher to get our heads around. He envisions a day when we'll worship "in spirit and truth." We will be with God because we want to be. We will be freed of feeling entrapped by the things we once loved, including our own ideas of what church "has to be." We will connect with God--and with others--not following any preordained set of rules, but rather in the way that best reflects our love for one another; whether that's in the Cathedral, in the cafe, or at Costco. That's the vision. And you (yes, YOU, dragging your feet to church for the fourth evening this week, and YOU, who decided to study music because you love it but are currently unable to look at your violin without getting an ulcer, and YOU, who are "living the dream" of making your target income at 30, but are never, ever home to enjoy it) you can not get there by your own action. Only God can make us truly "spiritual" beings in the way that will connect us with the Divine in all things. There's no set of rules we can follow to make it happen. It's not a trophy to be won. It's forgiveness and friendship through Christ: a gift of God. Here it is. Take it.
So here's the deal: it is time to stop shouting at the folks who don't want on the ride, and start asking why it's making us so green in the face. It's time to stop doing the stuff that makes us sick, and let God build a ride that we, the world around us, and most importantly, God, can enjoy together. We have got to stop treating spirituality and religion like mortal enemies, and allow the Spirit to birth a religion that will carry us on for another 2,000 years, and beyond. Let's confuse our surrounding world a bit, by inviting God to make us "spiritual AND religious." Now that could catch on.
I have heard and read a great deal in the last fifteen years or so about a movement sweeping the nation: "Spiritual, But Not Religious." (Or SBNR, if you want to be "hip" to the terminology). I even read a report in the May 18 Christian Century about some of the first comprehensive research into this group, which shattered some of my stereotypes, and gave me the distinct impression of what I had already suspected: this phenomenon is here to stay.
The "SBNR's" are those in our society who feel no need to identify with a particular historic faith tradition in order to commune with the Divine: they pursue the experience without the expectations, Jesus without the Church, belief without doctrine, transcendence without all the meetings and paperwork.
And you know what? I don't blame them. Really. I mean, sometimes I want to. I often want to vent my frustration at what I perceive to be my own self-centered, non-commital, complacent generation of Americans, who seem perfectly content "waitin' on the world to change." But in this case, I honestly can't. In this one, isolated and very unique case, it is not all John Mayer's fault. :-)
Instead, it is the fault of too many people of faith (myself chief among them) who slip into a whole other trap: "religious, but not spiritual." Those of us who get off on the process of it all, of making things go; the joiners, the frequent volunteers, those of us who thrive on the modest martyrdom of being the "20% of church members who do 80% of the work", those of us who just can't bring ourselves to pray properly until the budget is balanced and the banners are hanging straight and the potluck is organized and the organ's in tune and the children's sermon is both theologically sound and developmentally appropriate and the windows are either open or closed, depending on current weather conditions (and it doesn't hurt if I personally have accomplished each of those things, to be sure they're done right). Those of us who risk hyperventilation from our exasperated sighs, yet show up early every Sunday morning. And hey, that's kind of what I do for a living, so please understand the log in my eye is clearly visible to me. A big worry for me is that there are too many of us in the Church more wrapped up in how much we love to hate the church, than how much we love Jesus. We are religious-but-not-spiritual. Let's get real: Who would want to get on this ride if it's making us committed Christians so sick to our stomachs?
But there's a twist: we religious-but-not-spiritual types are not limited to church members. In fact, I'd venture to say that many in this growing number of religiously unaffiliated are religious-but-not-spiritual, too, meaning they live captive to a law: it's just not the law of organized religion. Any of us who lives in a law-based reality--a reality populated by carrots and sticks, where only I make things go, where it all depends on my own actions, where the defining precept is "If I do X, then Y will happen", but we've lost sight of why we even want"Y" to happen--is what I would call "religious but not spiritual." It is so, so common. We value rules over relationships.
You may be religious-but-not-spiritual about your job. About parenting. About your marriage. About politics. Heck, even about your favorite baseball team. And yes, when we're not careful, those of us who claim the name of "Christian" can become religious-but-not-spiritual about worship, prayer, Bible study, theology and church work. Guilty. But that's not what Jesus wants.
What Jesus wants is much simpler, and yet, much tougher to get our heads around. He envisions a day when we'll worship "in spirit and truth." We will be with God because we want to be. We will be freed of feeling entrapped by the things we once loved, including our own ideas of what church "has to be." We will connect with God--and with others--not following any preordained set of rules, but rather in the way that best reflects our love for one another; whether that's in the Cathedral, in the cafe, or at Costco. That's the vision. And you (yes, YOU, dragging your feet to church for the fourth evening this week, and YOU, who decided to study music because you love it but are currently unable to look at your violin without getting an ulcer, and YOU, who are "living the dream" of making your target income at 30, but are never, ever home to enjoy it) you can not get there by your own action. Only God can make us truly "spiritual" beings in the way that will connect us with the Divine in all things. There's no set of rules we can follow to make it happen. It's not a trophy to be won. It's forgiveness and friendship through Christ: a gift of God. Here it is. Take it.
So here's the deal: it is time to stop shouting at the folks who don't want on the ride, and start asking why it's making us so green in the face. It's time to stop doing the stuff that makes us sick, and let God build a ride that we, the world around us, and most importantly, God, can enjoy together. We have got to stop treating spirituality and religion like mortal enemies, and allow the Spirit to birth a religion that will carry us on for another 2,000 years, and beyond. Let's confuse our surrounding world a bit, by inviting God to make us "spiritual AND religious." Now that could catch on.
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