The Un-Holy Bible??

 

Ministers tend to have odd habits.

One of mine pokes its head up every time I set foot in a major bookstore.  Regardless of my purpose for entering the establishment, whether it be the need for a new cookbook or a fluff-filled sci-fi paperback, I inevitably end up staring at the shelves upon shelves of religious fare.  The racks of Bibles are of particular interest to me – in part because of my turbulent relationship with the Book, but mostly because of the various and sometimes sundry ways that the Book is marketed to a wide array of readers.

There is the “Duct Tape Bible” – an edgy-looking tome presumably intended for teenagers and some young adults, ”The Green Bible” – for burgeoning environmentalists,”The Life Application Study Bible” – for those who want to bring the Bible into conversation with their day-to-day living,  ”The Extreme Faith Youth Bible” – for young people who need scripture that goes beyond the normal, boring faith of their parents,  ”The Apologetics Study Bible” – for Christians looking to defend the reasonableness of their faith,  ”The Oxford Annotated Study Bible” – for the more academic of believers, ”The Good News Bible” – for those who didn’t enjoy reading the Bad News Bible… the list goes on and on and on.   And then, of course, there are dozens of varieties of “The Holy Bible” to choose from.

This bizarre (and VERY abbreviated) list brings me back to the habit I came close to describing:  I am very nearly obsessed with watching others select Bibles from the shelf.  

Some walk up knowing exactly what they are looking for.  They scan the shelves, irritated by the various other Bibles present – and when they find the “right” one, they snatch it and leave with satisfied, victorious expressions on their faces.  Others pace in front of the shelves, obviously overwhelmed by the sheer volume of options at their fingertips.  Still others walk up, see the plethora of Bibles and stiffen as though they have abruptly encountered a brick wall – these folks usually leave the section empty-handed with a slightly glazed expression.  And every once in while – very, very rarely – someone peruses the shelves with wonder, his or her face backlit with the whimsical joy of discovery and love for the written Word.

But, more often than not, the individuals I’ve watched don’t come looking for a new version, a new perspective, a new twist…

Instead, they come looking for “THE RIGHT” version. 

During  one of my people/Bible watching sessions, I gave in to the temptation to help someone find what she was looking for.  When I asked her which version of the Bible she was trying to find, she snorted at me with contempt and disbelief:  “I’m looking for the HOLY Bible.”  She then snatched a slimline leatherbound copy of the KJV off the bookshelf and stomped away.

I’m still trying to figure out which Bibles are holy – and which ones are not.

And I still watch people select scripture from the stacks.

And while I don’t know the answer to the “un-holy Bible” question, there is one thing I do know:

The holiest of those people-watching moments has never depended upon a particular translation, version, endorsement or binding.

Instead, the most sacred of those moments has invariably come in faces awash with wonder, resplendent with joy — the faces of people thrilled to discover that there is more than one way to know God, more than one way to  interpret the Word, and more than one way to share that word with others.

That love.  That joy.  That energy…

That’s what keeping something holy is all about.

And in that regard, they are all holy.  Even if “holy” isn’t printed on the spine.

Eldership at the Lord’s Table (Release Date: April 2010)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Elders at particular congregations may minister in a variety of ways, but the one common ministry setting for elders throughout the denomination is weekly ministry at the Lord’s Table. This resource is designed to give elders the instruction and assistance they need for their Table Ministry without expecting them to read a lengthy volume on history and theology.

 

You can pre-order the booklet by clicking here:  Eldership at the Lord’s Table

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Oh, God! Oh, God! Oh, God! (Release Date: February 2010)

Click here to pre-order a copy!!!

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Cha-Cha-Cha-Changes…

My, how quickly things can change…

Six months ago I believed that today, July 1, would be a wonderful day.  On this day of this year I would become a full-time Associate Minister here at First Christian Church.  On this day, in this place, I would begin growing and expanding the borders of my ministerial efforts – pastoral care, visitation, oversight of a new foray into Rotation Model Sunday School…  There were so many plans, so many hopes…

My, how quickly things can change.

Yesterday I accepted a call to full-time ministry at a different congregation in a different state.  Due to economic fears, financial fears, fear of change (the operative word here is fear), my position was not made full time and two months ago I found myself sticking a hesitant toe into search and call waters… Now, two months later, I am experiencing a new call (or at least a new direction for the call that has always been)… and despite the sadness of leaving what was, despite the grief for what could have been, I am excited for what is and what can be.  Everything has been spun around…and it is invigorating!

My, how quickly things can change!!

In the midst of all this, I can’t help but contemplate change.  I like to think myself a savvy embracer of change, but the past few months have forced me to acknowledge that change absolutely terrifies me.  I know that change is better than stagnation.  I understand that without change, we die.  I believe that the Spirit is constantly urging us towards more faithful manifestations of the Kin-dom of God on earth.  I preach these things, teach these things, pray these things…but when the breath of God starts blowing my direction, my first inclination is to dive for the storm cellar and wait it out in fretful hiding.

Why does change scare us so much?

I’m not sure that I have a definitive answer – but I can definitely speak for myself on this one.  Change terrifies me not because it points me towards the unknown but because it forces me to acknowledge that I am not in complete control of my life.  I’m not your stereotypical control freak – I enjoy chaos, am at home in liminal spaces, and am comfortable being flexible…so long as the chaos, liminality and flexibility don’t directly apply to my own life.  I don’t try to control the lives of others – but this doesn’t keep me from holding my own life between white-knuckled hands.  More often than not, I imagine myself in control of my own destiny – and consequently, even a breeze through the screen door of my life is usually treated like a tornado.

But are any of us really in control?  More importantly, do I really want to be in control?  The Dr. Phil inside my head leers at me with a “How’s that working out for you?” – and if I’m honest with myself, I have to admit that it hasn’t worked out very well.  When I hold my life in a vice-like grip, it doesn’t keep change from happening.  It just means that I arrive in a new place with more bruises than necessary.

I’m beginning to realize that part of treating myself gently involves loosening up and letting go.  Besides, a glass of iced tea tastes a whole lot better on a breezy front porch  than it does in a storm cellar… I haven’t gotten it all figured out, but this glass of tea might just be the beginning of some much-needed change.

Sometimes, the most profound and theological thing we can manage to say is: “God, this sucks.”

Things were supposed to get better in 2009.  After the chaos of 2008, we had such high hopes…

And now, here we are.

I don’t know about you, but things haven’t improved.  If anything, things have gotten worse.  The economy tanked, people are despairing to the point of self-destruction, marriages are falling apart due to stress and worry and financial woe, depression rates are soaring… the list goes on and on, and I’m intentionally only describing the happenings in our small Arkansas community.  I imagine that things are very much the same around the country and in your churches.

I’ve been trying very hard to keep my spirits up, and the effort was proving mostly successful – at least it was until the “C-Bomb” dropped.

Cancer.

Damn, I hate cancer.

Three weeks ago, my aunt was a perfectly healthy middle-aged woman.  She felt fine and her energy level was up, which is a good thing when you need to chase your 2 1/2 year-old grandson around every day.   When she went in to have a cyst removed, the doctors sent it off for tests as a matter of course even though they were certain it would prove to be benign.

Wrong.

Three weeks after that little outpatient surgery, our lives are upside down.  As it turns out, the cyst was merely the tip of a much larger iceberg.  Cancer has taken up residence throughout her body – liver, lungs, pancreas, brain – and fear has taken up residence in all of our hearts.  Just as the systems of the body are tied together and affected by the disease, ripples of terror have swiftly spread through the family.  She is a mother, a daughter, a sister, a grandmother, an aunt… each role points to another person grieving this bitter news.

And we each grieve in our own way.

One, the classic midwestern stoic, keeps a stiff-upper lip in public and breaks down into puddles when she is alone.  Another, rooted in a very particular religious background, plows forward with cheerfulness – certain that any display of grief is a sign of unfaithfulness.  My cousin grieves publicly – and feels crazy because “no one else around [her] is grieving”.  And here I stand in the middle, like a multifingered sign at a cartoon-crossroads, directing everyone towards the truth that we all grieve differently – AND THAT IS OKAY.

As for me, I am angry.  Angry that family members have to deal with this horrible reality.  Angry that we haven’t found a cure for cancer.  Angry that I can’t ball up my fist and shout at the heavens because, as the minister of the family, it is my job to be that aforementioned road sign.

The good news is, its okay to be angry.  Just as it is okay to cry or hide (for a while), it is okay to be mad as hell.  God can take it.   Sometimes, in the face of tragedy and loss, the most profound and theological thing we can manage to say is:  “God, this sucks.”

Why is that profound?  Because it is true.  This does suck.

And why is it theological?  Because it acknowledges that God knows this sucks and that God cares enough to listen to us in our anguish.

No matter what we deal with, no matter how we grieve, God knows our pain and hurts with us.  The Good News of the Gospel is not that God will whip out a magic wand and fix everything with a wrist-flick and a little “presto-chango.”  Instead, the good news is that when things hurt so bad that all we can do is cry, or hide, or scream, God is there with us.

Sometime this week I will probably take a moment to go outside.  As the sun shines down upon my face, I will thrust my fist into the air.  With all my breath, I will shriek out my theodicy:

“THIS SUCKS!  OH, GOD, THIS REALLY REALLY SUCKS!”

And when I’m done – when my breath is gone, my throat is tattered, and all I can hear is the exhausted rasping of my lungs – I’ll sit down on the curb, wrap my arms around my knees like a child, and rock in time with the Holy who whispers in return:

“I know, and I am here.”

HELP US HEAR YOU…

Whispering God,
your wisdom rustles through
the river reeds
and nudges us with watery tongue
when we stand upon the shore.

Help us hear you.

Laughing God,
your mirth resounds in
songbird gaiety
and bubbles forth from
chortling babes.

Help us hear you.

Shouting God,
your passion roars with
crashing wave
and pounds the senses
with avalanche crashing.

Help us hear you.

Thinking God,
your contemplation hangs
in the silence before morning
and pulsates through
misty mountain meadow.

Help us hear you.

You, O God,
Are in everything we hear,
If only we will listen.
Give us new ears and
work a new hearing within us
That we might be filled with wonder
as we receive strains of You
in your melodious creation.

Help us hear you.

Amen.

Persistence

Persistence

(The Mythic Tale of My Family)

 

 

Bob spent his tour of duty in World War II flying over England and North Africa.  He’d been lucky during the war and returned unscathed to his hometown in Southwestern Missouri.  Shortly after his homecoming, he met Dorothy.  Dorothy was slender and beautiful with a vibrant wit and eyes that lit up when she laughed.  The first time he met her he was overcome.  He couldn’t help himself.  It was love at first sight.  “Dorothy,” he said, “one day I’m going to marry you.”

 

The war hadn’t been kind to Dorothy.  Her fiancé had gone to war with the intention of marrying her upon his return.  But instead of a wedding band, Dorothy had received devastating news:  her fiancé had been killed in action. In her grief, Dorothy vowed that she was through with love.  It wasn’t worth the pain of loss, wasn’t worth the heartache.  She would be better off alone.  When Bob announced his intentions after their first meeting, all she could do was laugh.  Who did this strange young man think he was?

 

Bob courted Dorothy with calm determination.  They went for sodas and talked about the exotic locales he had seen while overseas.  He took her roller-skating and discovered they both had a knack for ballroom dancing on wheels.  As time went by, his occasional date turned into a regular dance partner; he’d whirl her around the rink while the local children watched in awe.  And through it all, though not an inherently pushy man, Bob ended every day by calmly stating, “Dorothy, one day I’m going to marry you.”

 

His persistence paid off.  In December of 1947 they were married.  Life took them many places, from the lows of the Great Depression to the highs of raising four children and eight grandchildren.  When adversity struck, they handled every situation with the same calm determination that Bob had during their courting days.  Jobs came and went and money was usually tight, but they rode each wave together and, more often than not, they were happy.  This happiness was bred into their children, creating a legacy in its own right.

 

In the 1990’s Bob’s health started to fail him.  A heart attack led to bypass surgery and then Parkinson’s disease began to shake his frame.  With every tremor, Dorothy stood by him, mirroring the persistent care he showed her so many years prior.  As family funds swirled down the whirlpool of prescription bills, she took on an extra job as bookkeeper, all the while tending him with loving calm.  When she was no longer able to handle the physical requirements of work or his care, her daughter Pam stepped to the plate, moved back in and practiced the persistent love her parents had taught her.  Similarly, their other children helped as they were able, combining their strengths and efforts to support their parents and one another. 

 

On a Saturday in August of 2000, Bob had a second heart attack.  He spent the night in the local hospital, Dorothy at his side whenever the doctors would allow it.  The next morning, when he would usually have been watching Dr. Schuller’s Hour of Power, a powerful second cardiac arrest took his life.  The doctor entered the waiting room and sorrowfully told Dorothy that Bob was gone.  The attack was too quick, too powerful, too unexpected.  She sat with family, soaking in the reality of the situation:  her partner in persistence was dead. 

 

Half an hour later, she still sat in the waiting room.  As children and grandchildren grieved around her, she saw the ICU door open.  The doctor ran to her in a state of shocked disbelief.  “I can’t explain it.  Not enough time.  Come with me.”  He grabbed her hand, pulled her into the room where Bob had died, and broke the news:  after being dead for thirty minutes, Bob had inexplicably returned.  There was no rational way to explain it.  He simply wasn’t going to leave this world without saying goodbye to her.  She sat with him, holding his hand for nearly fifteen minutes.  While he couldn’t speak, his eyes did all the talking.  They said their “I love you’s,” said their goodbyes and then, peacefully, he was gone again. 

 

It is easy to lose faith in the existence of love that truly lasts.  So many voices whisper to us that true, enduring love does not exist.  But I know those voices lie.  I have seen true love because I knew Bob and Dorothy.  I witnessed the last years of their life, grew up with the legacy of their love, and learned the most important lesson from them that a granddaughter could ever learn:  True love does not just happen and enduring love takes more than mere work.  In the end, true and enduring love takes that quality that Bob and Dorothy had:  persistence.

Prepare the Way!

Prepare the Way!

The Second Sunday of Advent

 

 

Surprising, wonderful God

You shock us with your grace

Shepherding us

Gathering us in your arms

When we blindly

Or willingly

Go astray

 

We wait for you

Shepherd God

Though we know not where you will lead us

 

We wait for you

Merciful God

unsure of why you offer us forgiveness

 

We wait for you

Unpredictable God

Knowing your surprises are on the move!

 

 —–

 

Something new is coming

We can smell it in the air

With its crisp cinnamon sweetness

 

Something new is stirring

We can feel the thrill of expectation

Rattling our chill dry bones

 

Something new is growing

We can hear it whisper above the din

Of ringing bells and shopping mall cacophony

 

 —–

 

The road of Advent-surprise awaits You, God

But it is cluttered with

The debris of our lives.

 

Fill in the valleys

The chasms we create between ourselves

And those who think or speak or dress differently

 

Level the hills

The pedestals from which we

Look down upon the choices others have made

 

Fill in the ruts

The wounds of grief and guilt

That cut into our spirits

 

Clear out the rocks

The stumbling blocks of our addictions

To drink and food, money and power

 

Make the way straight.

Like a nesting couple awaiting the arrival of a child,

Prepare the nursery of our hearts

So that we will be ready

For the birth of the Christ-child.

 

 

Amen

Praying For Peace in Greece…

The Christmas season can be many things:

a season of compassion and giving, or

a season of frenzied me-first materialism.

 

This year, as we strive to choose the former and eschew the latter,

let us pray for the people of Greece.

 

You may have seen the news reports.  The violence.  The tear-gas infused clouds of chaotic protest.

You may have heard the story of the youth who was killed by police.

If you have seen these things, then surely you have also heard the reports

that label protesters as hoodlums who will not show their faces.

 

What you probably haven’t seen is the following statement.

Circulated at his funeral, this litany was written by friends of the young one who was slain:

 

WE WANT A BETTER WORLD, HELP US

We are not terrorists, nor “hooded ones” nor “unknown-knowns”

WE ARE YOUR CHILDREN.
They are the “unknown-knowns”.

We have dreams. Don’t destroy them.
We are alive, don’t stop us

REMEMBER

You were also young once
Today you run after money, you only worry about
appearances, you’ve grown fat, you’re bald

YOU’VE FORGOTTEN

We hoped for your support
We hoped for your concern
so that it was us who made you feel proud, this time

BUT IT WAS IN VAIN.

Your lives are nothing more than lies, you’ve lowered your head,
You’ve dropped your pants and
you’re awaiting the day of your death

You lack imagination, you don’t love anything anymore, you don’t do
anything
creative
You only buy and sell

MATERIALISM ON ALL SIDES
LOVE ON NONE – THE TRUTH ON NONE

Where are our parents?
Where are the artists?
Why aren’t you in the streets?

HELP US
(signed) THE YOUTH

PS: Stop shooting tear gas. We’ve cried enough without your help!

———————————————-

 

Informed prayer changes us,

works its way past our preconceived notions

so that the peace we seek for the world

begins in our own hearts.

 

Having heard both “sides” of the story,

let us pray for the people of Greece.

And as we work this prayer within our hearts,

may God see fit to rework our lives

so that we may become

peacemakers

peaceseekers

peacesharers

 

May the peace of Christ be with you this Advent.

And as it is with you, so may it be throughout the world.

Blue Christmas…

This year has been hard…

In our congregation we’ve had a lot to work through.  Change.  Birth.  Death.  Growth.  Capital Campaign.  Fear.  And that was just the first half of 2008.  Then the economy crashed…  

The bankers, stock-advisors and contractors were hit first.  Some quietly went bankrupt while others still cling tenuously to their jobs.  The shockwave surged out from there, engulfing many in its path.  Money is tight all around – and people are scared.

By all reckoning, this should be a blue Christmas. 

————-

And yet, this Advent season has been a time of great warmth and light for our congregation.  I have been humbled and awed by the generosity of these people in this time:  

-The women saddened because someone else had already taken the tag they wanted off the angel tree – the tag for a teenager who wants an ipod

-The teenager silently slipping $20 bills out of his wallet for a special Christmas offering

-The choir members creating the perfect care package for a family who may spend Christmas in the waiting areas of a Children’s Hospital while their two year old fights for his life

These people remind me daily what Christmas is really about:  light in a time of darkness.

————-

Just as Christmas is celebrated as the days reclaim their power after the longest night of the year, our observance of the holiday – our remembrance of Christ’s birth as a part of God’s unexpected and unusual plan for the world – brings increased life and light into our homes, our hearts and our lives.                                                                                                                                             

In times such as these, we need Christmas.  When children teeter on the verge of death, we need the Christ-child.  When the finances are failing and things seem so very dark, we need the light of hope that spreads among Advent-minded people.  When all we can feel is the chill of fear and the numbness of grief, we desperately need the warm glow of God’s love revealed in the birth of that tiny, vulnerable baby. 

When the world is falling apart, we need Christmas.

And the miracle of it all is that no matter what each passing year gives or takes away, Christmas always comes.