Nothing Matters and Everything Is Important

The podcast that the worship team at Discipleship Ministries produces is called Worship Matters. Yes, I got the idea from a worship planning team from a former church (thanks guys!) But it fits. Because that is what we are about: worship that matters and the matters that constitute worship. I invite anyone interested in listening to check us out. You can find us on Spotify or through our website (https://www.umcdiscipleship.org/content-library/tags/worship-matters-podcast). We just recorded our 41st episode of the biweekly podcast, so there are plenty to choose from. (And in case you’re wondering “biweekly” can mean both twice a week and every two weeks. Isn’t that confusing? Seems like we should have separate words for those two things. In this case, the Worship Matters podcast case, it means every two weeks. So, 41+ episodes (and I say 41+ because we did a couple “special editions” that weren’t in the episode count) is more than a year and half’s worth, so there’s plenty to listen to.

These last few episodes have been a mini series titled “In-Person” Worship. So many churches are returning to in-person after a year of virtual worship. Some are already back, others not yet, some are trying it short term, and others do a special in-person worship for Easter or another high holy day before returning to the virtual format. But the vaccine roll out and the changes in attitude toward the pandemic made us feel like it would be good to find out what matters when returning to in-person worship. We’ve had a great time talking with pastors and worship leaders and various folks about the process, both of moving to virtual worship and the shift back to in-person. One of our repeated questions is what did you learn? What did you learn about worship, what did you learn about your church, what did you learn about what really matters in all of this? 

In most cases the answers came easy, even if the learning didn’t. It was a struggle for everyone, but I have been constantly amazed at the imagination and perseverance and buckets of hope that I have seen through this year long ordeal. Yes, there are some churches that won’t make it through, watch the church closure list at Annual Conference this year, it might be tragic. But at the same time there have been churches and communities of faith who have thrived and are looking to the post-pandemic era as a fresh start for a whole new vision of church. One element of this new enthusiasm is that the pandemic has asked us all to reassess what really matters.

This came to me during our latest podcast, which will be posted Monday, April 12th. We were interviewing the Rev. John Thornburg who works with the Texas Methodist Foundation and calls himself an encourager. I like that, and I think it is an appropriate way to describe not just his ministry through the Foundation, but his personality as well. But it was actually my colleague, Diana Sanchez Bushong who set my head spinning and this blog to begin to take shape. Diana is the Director of Music Ministries and has been helping churches and choirs and musicians of all sorts navigate the covid protocols with as much grace as possible. We were discussing the effect of the lockdown and the move to virtual worship, sharing what we learned, and Diana said “for one thing, we learned we don’t need the building to be the church!”

We don’t need the building? Now, just wait a darn minute. Those buildings are a source of pride and joy in the life of many a community. They inspire us and give us a sense of awe and wonder. For some they can be intimate and bring us a sense of the closeness of God. A church building can be an object of beauty and a hint of the glory of God. At the same time, especially for those of us who have worked in the church for most of our lives, a church building can be like home, a place of familiarity and comfort and belonging. How can you say we don’t need the building?

Because for a year we didn’t have one and we were still the church. Sure, there are those who don’t feel like it, who say the church has been closed down. Some are even angry about it, seeing it as an intrusive government keeping us from obeying our God to worship. Yet, there was no prohibition on being the church, only gathering in the building. Slowly we learned the building didn’t matter. Oh, it changed things when we no longer had the usual routines and the default position of “going to church.” But it made us rethink church completely. It made us and is still making us decide that when it comes to being the church nothing matters. Nothing external anyway. Nothing tangible. We can be the church, it doesn’t matter where, it doesn’t matter when. Nothing matters. We don’t need a building.

Ok, so now what? Do we tear them all down? Isn’t all that stuff we said still true? Don’t they inspire and all that stuff? Certainly they can and they do. But so do a lot of things. Part of what happens when we decide that buildings don’t matter, or even that nothing matters is that we find that everything is important. We begin to see that while nothing can keep us from being the church, being the body of Christ at work in the world, there are lots of things that can help us live that life. Nothing matters, but everything is important.

Matthew 6:25-34 "Therefore I tell you, do not worry about your life, what you will eat or what you will drink, or about your body, what you will wear. Is not life more than food, and the body more than clothing?  26 Look at the birds of the air; they neither sow nor reap nor gather into barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not of more value than they? 27 And can any of you by worrying add a single hour to your span of life? 28 And why do you worry about clothing? Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow; they neither toil nor spin, 29 yet I tell you, even Solomon in all his glory was not clothed like one of these.  30 But if God so clothes the grass of the field, which is alive today and tomorrow is thrown into the oven, will he not much more clothe you-- you of little faith? 31 Therefore do not worry, saying, 'What will we eat?' or 'What will we drink?' or 'What will we wear?' 32 For it is the Gentiles who strive for all these things; and indeed your heavenly Father knows that you need all these things. 33 But strive first for the kingdom of God and his righteousness, and all these things will be given to you as well. 34 "So do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will bring worries of its own. Today's trouble is enough for today.

That’s what I now hear Jesus saying in these verses from the Sermon on the Mount. Nothing matters, but everything is important. That’s how he is able to say to us, don’t worry, but pay attention. This isn’t about wasting time, about being idle. This is about being aware of the Presence in the most surprising of places. We are finding God outside of the church buildings for the first time in a long time. Not in the once-in-a-lifetime trips to the Grand Canyon or the Redwood Forest. But in our own neighborhoods, in the flowers that grow in the fields around us, and the birds that sing so loudly in the trees outside our bedroom windows. Their song is a hymn to the awakened, to the ones who are paying attention. 

Then, once we wake up to the presence in the world around us, then we can begin to sense the presence in the people around us. First in those we know and love already, and then, if we try, if we resolve to trust in that presence, in the ones we can learn to love, the ones who are different from us, as different are birds from lilies and yet resonate with the presence of God. We don’t love them because we’re supposed to, we love them because they are important. Because we find our way to worship with them, through them, because of them. We wake up to every grain of sand and hue of skin, and are inspired by the beauty of each and of all. We don’t worry because we trust. We don’t worry because we sense God’s presence everywhere. We don’t worry because we are leaning in so that we might worship, in buildings and in the world. Buildings don’t matter, nothing matters in the way that leads to worry. But everything is important in the way that leads to worship.

Thanks be to God and to the church that has left the building. 

Shalom, 

Derek

A Better Out

You might have been under the impression that my full time job is working for the denominational agency Discipleship Ministries. Nothing could be further from the truth. Now that the agency has shifted to a work from home model, my full time job is opening the door for the cats. Oh, sure, I do spend some time writing or zooming for the agency, but seriously, it’s the cats. They are patio obsessed. See, they don’t actually go wild and free, our patio is walled and gated, protected and confined to a degree. But out nonetheless. And the cats love it. And want it. On a regular basis. Let me out they say in their insistent kitty way. So, I do. We do. Again and again we open that door to let them out.

Except, it has been winter. Ish, anyway, this is Nashville after all. So, Tennessee winter. But cold and wet and not at all sunny. And the cats don’t like it. They want out, but they don’t want that out. They want a better out. What is astounding is how their desire for this better out drives them so completely. They’ll pound on the door to be let out and I’ll let them out. Then, seconds later they’ll want back in, blaming me for the condition of the out that they found. But then, a few moments later they’ll be back wanting out again, certain in their little kitty hopes that this time it will be better. Warmer, dryer, sunnier, this time the out will be the out they seek. 

But it isn’t. Again and again, it isn’t. Sometimes, they’ll give up for a while. While they take a nap to restore their hope, or get a snack to build up their strength. Or get a drink from the dog’s water simply because they know it irritates him. But, actually, they won’t be giving up. Just biding their time. Until they come back and want the door opened to their better out. No matter how many times I tell them the out is still cold and wet and gray, they need to see. They need to believe that there is a better out waiting for them this time.

I have to admire their tenacity. And their persistent hope. The vision of this better out shapes their behavior on an irritatingly consistent basis. And I have to confess, when I stop to reflect, I’m humbled by them.

Colossians 1:9-14  For this reason, since the day we heard it, we have not ceased praying for you and asking that you may be filled with the knowledge of God's will in all spiritual wisdom and understanding, 10 so that you may lead lives worthy of the Lord, fully pleasing to him, as you bear fruit in every good work and as you grow in the knowledge of God. 11 May you be made strong with all the strength that comes from his glorious power, and may you be prepared to endure everything with patience, while joyfully 12 giving thanks to the Father, who has enabled you to share in the inheritance of the saints in the light. 13 He has rescued us from the power of darkness and transferred us into the kingdom of his beloved Son, 14 in whom we have redemption, the forgiveness of sins.

This is one of the contested letters of Paul. Many New Testament scholars think that this letter was written after Paul’s death by one of his followers. Moreover, by the time of the writing of this letter Colossae had already been destroyed by an earthquake. The city was never rebuilt after that event, history tells us. So, even if there had been a church there, it was gone now. But the writer would have known that, so why write to the church there? Maybe this writer knew this was like writing scripture. Well, not scripture per se, but a letter that would have a wide ranging impact. Perhaps this letter, like all these letters, weren’t just for one collection of Christians in one place at one time. Maybe it was a letter for many. For those who were shaken, like Colossae had been shaken. Those who were scattered and uncertain, and wondering whether anyone saw them, if there was hope for them in this desperate situation. Maybe the letter was written to those who at the end of their rope, who’ve lost sight of their out.

You knew I was going there, didn’t you? We look out through the sliding door and the out that we see isn’t the out that we wanted. It isn’t the out that we hoped for. But where is our out? When we read a passage like this one from Colossians, our inclination is to think that it is talking about heaven. Inheritance makes us think of after death. The kingdom of the beloved son is another world and not this one. Even Jesus said my kingdom is not of this world. Right? So, all we can hope for is a change that will come in that great someday in the future. Certainly, the hope of heaven is a powerful one, we ought not diminish that. But there is so much more on offer here.

Colossians was written to convince the readers that they already have received the inheritance. Let that sink in for a moment. This isn’t a promise that we are waiting for, this isn’t something that we can only claim when we leave this world. It is ours now. We are citizens of the kingdom of the beloved son already. Right now. Right here.

But wait. If that is true, then why doesn’t it look like it? Why do we stand at the door and look longingly for an out we don’t see? Because there is work to be done. It’s as simple as that. The writer says that prayers continue and that the hope in those prayers is that you, me, us - we Colossians who have been shaken by who knows what - will know what God’s will is in our lives. Why that prayer, if not to imply that there are things to be done, there is an out to be built. 

It is about the lives we are called to live. Did you read that? It’s not just about the ascension into heaven when that time comes, but how we live each and every day. We are encouraged to bear fruit in every way as we grow in the knowledge of God. As we grow in knowledge? Meaning we don’t wait until we understand all things, we don’t wait until we know every perfect answer, we don’t wait until we have the perfect argument for faith. No, we bear fruit every day as we grow in knowledge. Meaning that sometimes we’ll get it wrong. Sometimes we say the wrong thing or do the wrong thing. We can’t avoid that, we are human, we are living in an out that isn’t the one we are being shaped for. But we are working each day, step by step, bit by bit, to transform the world in which we live so that with joy we can go out and bask in the knowledge of the beloved son. 

We’re banging on the doors, wanting to go into that longed for out. And often we are startled by the out we find, and our inclination is to scurry back in to the warmth of homes and safe communities of faith.  But if we have the courage of cats, we’ll be back again, looking for the out that is promised. 

And now excuse me, someone wants me to open the door again. Because who knows, it might be a better out this time.

Shalom,

Derek

Our Lights Are Still Burning

Our Christmas lights are still burning tonight. 

I know, it seems a strange thing to post tonight. A strange argument to begin on this day, January 6th. When should you take your lights down? Some do it early, some do it later, a few leave them up all year. If there was ever a year to leave them up, it seems that this one might be that year.

What are the lights for, what do they represent. Lots of things, more things than I really want to go into right now. But one thing on this Epiphany night that they represent is hope. Hope that Christ is with us. Hope that peace is possible. Hope that no matter how dark it might seem, we can cling to the light, lean into the light, let the light shine.

Epiphany is a declaration that Christ is real and is indeed the light of the world. The symbol of the star that guided the magi speaks of something that goes beyond the comfortable boundaries of me and mine. It speaks of a proclamation of justice and of peace, driven by the immense and almost incomprehensible love of God for all people.  Epiphany is our guiding star, our reminder that we are people who are know Emmanuel, God with us. 

It is hard, which is a word that barely bears the weight of pain we feel, to lean into the light in moments of brokenness and shame in the precious halls of our democracy. It is hard to keep the light burning when anger and fear seems to hold the day. 

So, how do we respond? What should we do as people of light, as people of hope? 

I have two responses building in me at this moment. One is to stand with my Lord and weep over the city.

Luke 19:41-44 As he came near and saw the city, he wept over it, 42 saying, "If you, even you, had only recognized on this day the things that make for peace! But now they are hidden from your eyes. 43 Indeed, the days will come upon you, when your enemies will set up ramparts around you and surround you, and hem you in on every side. 44 They will crush you to the ground, you and your children within you, and they will not leave within you one stone upon another; because you did not recognize the time of your visitation from God."

Yes, weep for the city, for the nation, for the ideals that are shaken at this moment. Jesus did. I find great comfort in that. Weep but not in despair. We weep because we know there is hope; even in the pain there is hope. We weep because even in this vacuum of leadership we know who leads us. We know how we are to conduct ourselves. We know how to honor our God by loving our neighbor as ourselves. Even when that is hard.

Which is why our lights are still burning on this dark night. We proclaim Emmanuel. We cling to hope. Even today. Especially today. And we stand in that glow and pray for our nation, for the people who are hurting and who are angry and who are so grievously misled. Our lights are still burning.

May it always be so.

Shalom, Derek