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

Soul Music

I see that a new version of “Name That Tune” will be broadcast in the new year. You know that game, that show. Someone guesses the name of tune from notes played. Actually, in the versions I have seen before, the guess is more based on the questions that are asked than it is on the notes that are played. “I can name that tune in one note” says the contestant. Because he or she knows the answer from the clues that were given. Not because they can figure out the song from a single note. How many songs start with the same note? Lots, I suspect.  

I suppose it might be possible if the song was your song. Recognizing your song by one note, I mean. Your song. Which might mean a song you wrote. Or it might be a song that resonates in your soul. A song that somehow sheds light on life itself; that speaks of deep meanings and truth, the truth by which you live your life. Your song. Your soul music.

Christmas time is a time of music. Especially this year, in this separated, distant season. We need music to speak to us, to speak for us. We’ve gone through our entire Christmas music collection and are still craving more. We replay, but also seek out new music. Or music that isn’t just Christmas music and yet has somehow come to speak of the season. I dug out our cd of the Messiah today. We think of the Messiah as Christmas music, but it is more. I played the Nutcracker Suite from the Tchaikovsky collection yesterday. It was combined with excerpts from the Sleeping Beauty Ballet, but that was ok. I needed to hear it. 

But there are other songs that speak to our soul these days. I found one last year that came back to me again this Advent. It is an unusual choice, I’ll admit. Better Days by the Goo Goo Dolls. Never been a big Goo Goo fan, to be honest. But someone directed my attention to this adventish song. And I was captured by it.

And you asked me what I want this year / And I try to make this kind and clear / Just a chance that maybe we'll find better days / 'Cause I don't need boxes wrapped in strings / And designer love and empty things / Just a chance that maybe we'll find better days  

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=i-kHleNYIDc

Songwriter and lead singer for the Dolls, John Rzeznik sang an acoustic version of this song from his front porch during the first lockdown and it was streamed on Facebook, and he encouraged his fans to stay safe and do what was needed during this time. Even as he and all of us hoped for better days. I don’t know what the numbers were for that stream, but I’m sure it tapped into something deep in all of us. 

So take these words and sing out loud / 'Cause everyone is forgiven now / 'Cause tonight's the night the world begins again

Luke 1:46-55   And Mary said, "My soul magnifies the Lord,  47 and my spirit rejoices in God my Savior,  48 for he has looked with favor on the lowliness of his servant. Surely, from now on all generations will call me blessed;  49 for the Mighty One has done great things for me, and holy is his name.  50 His mercy is for those who fear him from generation to generation.  51 He has shown strength with his arm; he has scattered the proud in the thoughts of their hearts.  52 He has brought down the powerful from their thrones, and lifted up the lowly;  53 he has filled the hungry with good things, and sent the rich away empty.  54 He has helped his servant Israel, in remembrance of his mercy,  55 according to the promise he made to our ancestors, to Abraham and to his descendants forever." 

Mary didn’t write this song, but it was still soul music for her. It came from the depths of her new experience. Mary was be all accounts very young, a teenager or even preteen. And yet there is a depth here. A surprising prophetic depth that can barely be understood, let alone explained.

A few verses earlier in Luke’s account she is standing with a puzzled look on her face in front of an angel. “How can this be?” she squeaks. It is beyond her, this whole event, this Annunciation, and you can hear the capital A in the description. Certainly Mary could. She knew, somehow, that this was big, bigger than her and for some unexplainable reason including her. “How can this be?”

And now, in the presence of another, a woman too old to be a mother, more suited for the geriatric ward than obstetrics, Mary - too young to be a mother - sings with a wisdom beyond her scant years. Sounding like a prophet of old, she should have slipped in a “thus saith the Lord” somewhere along there, then we wouldn’t have had reason to doubt where she stood. She stands in a line of proclaimers who want us to know that God is about to turn the world upside down. And she does it with a song. A song of praise and hope, a song of confidence and glory, a song of blessing and presence. A song of completion though all is just barely begun.

It is because she now sees differently. The life within her has affected her vision, and she sees the better days that are just beyond our reach, or already here but hidden. And she sees it so clearly will be becomes an is. Notice all the past tense verbs in Mary’s song. “He has shown strength... He has scattered … He has brought down and lifted up … He has filled the hungry, He has send away the full. He has. Not He will, or He might, or maybe someday something like this just might occur. He has, Mary sings. From her soul. The soul now giving life to God, the soul now housing the savior, about to birth the hope of the world. No wonder she sings soul music.

Soul music, according to one definition is gospel music that has gone to town. The styles, the forms, the passion of gospel music burst out of the church and began to address the world, secular themes and issues and became known as soul music. The gospel at loose in the world. What better description for Mary’s song can we find than that? This isn’t simply a song about spiritual themes and churchy attitudes. This isn’t a song about faith development divorced from interaction in a messy and broken world. This is soul music, echoing the cry of a heart longing for redemption and the hope of a faith resting in the promises of God while working through the body of Christ to bring this hope to reality in the world in which we live.

No doubt there are some music aficionados out there who are thinking to themselves, “I’ve heard some of what is called soul music and it sounds about as far from the gospel as you can get.” And you’d be right. That’s always the danger when you take your faith to work outside of the church, it can get messy, it can get confusing, it can lose its way. It happens at times, that’s part of the risk of living your faith. But it can also get deeper, get stronger, get more real. Listen closely, those themes, that hope is still out there, being sung by those who wouldn’t call themselves churchy types, in fact go out of their way to distance themselves from us. And yet the passions, the hopes still bubble away out there. And maybe our job is to see with new eyes this world in which we live. 

I need some place simple where we could live / And something only you can give / And that's faith and trust and peace while we're alive / And the one poor child who saved this world / And there's ten million more who probably could / If we all just stopped and said a prayer for them

Said a prayer with our hands and our pockets as well as our words. Sang our songs, our soul music with motions, actions; not just emphasizing but enacting the better days we know are right here, right around the corner. Soul Music. Christmas is the perfect time for soul music. No, better than that, Christmas demands soul music. Demands that we be in touch with our souls, the deepest part of ourselves, the connective tissue of all our relationships, and most of all, the hope. No, the Hope, that we can begin to see better days.

From our house to all of yours, from our corner of the social isolation to yours, from our souls to yours, La Donna and I wish you the merriest of Christmases, and the better days of the New Year.

Shalom, Derek

Finding Christmas

 “Where are you Christmas / Why can't I find you / Why have you gone away / Where is the laughter / You used to bring me / Why can't I hear music play / My world is changing / I'm rearranging / Does that mean Christmas changes too”

Where Are You Christmas

by James Horner, Mariah Carey, Wilbur Jennings

Cindy-Lou Who, with her big sad eyes and her elfin face, looks up at the Grinch packing up Christmas in her house and says “Santy Claus, why? Why are you taking our Christmas tree? Why?” 

It feels as though someone has come into our homes and stolen away Christmas. We heard from our daughter and her boy friend in Boston that the month-long trip to parents in North Carolina and Nashville was off. They didn’t want to take the risk of traveling and gathering with people with the surge of cases and infections. Our son in Indianapolis told us that if he came to visit us for Christmas he would then be required to quarantine himself from his workplace and would miss out on over two more weeks of pay. We said it made sense not to come. So, just like Thanksgiving, La Donna and I will be here with an aging dog and grumpy and attention deficit cats for Christmas. All we want is for them to come home for Christmas. Or to go home, or open the home. To be at home. We seem lost without a place to gather and to celebrate and to be. To just be. 

Blame the virus, blame the government, blame the fears or the unwillingness of people obsessed with “rights” and unwilling to take precautions, blame a fantasy green furred intruder and his dog with a deer antler tied to his head. Blame whoever you want, but Christmas is lost and it just won’t be the same. 

Luke 1:26-38 In the sixth month the angel Gabriel was sent by God to a town in Galilee called Nazareth, 27 to a virgin engaged to a man whose name was Joseph, of the house of David. The virgin's name was Mary. 28 And he came to her and said, "Greetings, favored one! The Lord is with you." 29 But she was much perplexed by his words and pondered what sort of greeting this might be. 30 The angel said to her, "Do not be afraid, Mary, for you have found favor with God. 31 And now, you will conceive in your womb and bear a son, and you will name him Jesus. 32 He will be great, and will be called the Son of the Most High, and the Lord God will give to him the throne of his ancestor David. 33 He will reign over the house of Jacob forever, and of his kingdom there will be no end." 34 Mary said to the angel, "How can this be, since I am a virgin?" 35 The angel said to her, "The Holy Spirit will come upon you, and the power of the Most High will overshadow you; therefore the child to be born will be holy; he will be called Son of God. 36 And now, your relative Elizabeth in her old age has also conceived a son; and this is the sixth month for her who was said to be barren. 37 For nothing will be impossible with God." 38 Then Mary said, "Here am I, the servant of the Lord; let it be with me according to your word." Then the angel departed from her.

Luke reminds us that God has different ideas about home than the rest of us do. Solomon’s temple was quite a structure, and God apparently liked it well enough. Well enough to visit, but it was never really God’s home, or so it seems. For one thing it was always called Solomon’s temple. God says to David “Your son will build my home” when he said in the Hebrew scripture text for the fourth Sunday of Advent,. We all assumed God meant Solomon, the son who built the temple.

But, God had a different son in mind. God was thinking of the one that Gabriel would call, “the Son of the Most High,” the one that would “reign over the house of Jacob forever, and of his kingdom there would be no end.” That’s the son who would build God’s home. No one quite got that. David didn’t really understand what God meant. Solomon didn’t really understand either, but he got the construction crew out anyway. No one knew what God really meant— no one, but Mary.

But then the indications are that Mary didn’t really understand either. How could she? Just imagine, this young, unmarried, soon-to-be married girl, gets a message from God. And the message is, God’s coming home. Taking up residence. In her. Excuse me?

This nothing special, backwoods, teenager was going be God’s home for a few months. And talk about your troubling house guests! Feet on the furniture are nothing compared to this. Those who are mothers, who have experienced the joy of pregnancy and birth know better than the rest of us the hard realities of this little event. Here we are a few days before Christmas talking about Mary finding out she’s going to be pregnant, and then Wednesday night, she gives birth. Pretty amazing, really. But not real. She carried this load just like everyone else; she hurt and she sweated and she paced and she groaned and she struggled and she wondered and she worried and she bled and she gave birth in a barn because no one was willing to give her a bed. “Greetings favored one, the Lord is with you.” The Lord has a different idea of favoritism than we do. The Lord has a different idea of blessing than we do. The Lord has a different idea of home than we do.

“Come home,” says the Lord to us at Christmas time. “Come home.” David wanted to build a house for God on the tallest hill in Jerusalem, where God could be removed and distant and overlook all the people who would have to go out of their way to give obedience to God. But God wanted to build his home a little closer to the deep realities of living in this world so that we would be surprised by God where we live. God wanted to build his home where we sweat and labor, where we work and play, where we laugh and cry, where our hearts are lifted up and often broken and sometimes healed.

David wanted God’s home on a mountain, but God wanted his home in the womb of a virgin, in the feed box behind an inn in the little town of Bethlehem. God wanted his home in the backwoods region of Galilee, on the roads of the countryside, in the grassy place where five thousand sat and ate their fill. God wanted his home in the birthing units and wedding celebrations and the dinner parties. God wanted his home in the tear-filled bedrooms and sick beds and the graveyards of his children. God wanted his home in the court rooms and prison cells and then on the streets of sorrow of Jerusalem and the dark hill called Calvary.

The point is you can’t lose Christmas. It comes to you. Wherever you are. Christmas isn’t found in the traditions and the practices, in the customs and the patterns of our celebrations. But neither is it found in the sharing and the connections of family and friends who gather, who come home for the season or the celebration. It is something deeper, something inside. It is a part of you. Born in you and from you. And yes, it does find a more joyful expression when we connect with others, with loved ones and strangers alike. But that joy transcends distance, transcends disappointment, overcomes fear and hesitation. You can’t lose Christmas.

God wants his home in your home, in the living rooms and kitchens and playrooms and bedrooms of your life. God calls to us at Christmas and says, “Greetings, favored ones! I’m coming home, coming home for Christmas. And like any baby born in our midst, he says, “I won’t take up much room, just all that you have. Is there room for me? I’m coming home.” And off to the side, almost out of our vision, an angel waits for our answer.

Shalom, Derek

The Dog with a Clock in His Head

 There’s been an odd things going on in our house for the past few months. OK, I realize that was one of those, what do you call them, duh kind of statements. I mean who hasn’t been having an odd thing going on in their houses these past few months? It’s a pandemic for Pete’s sake! Odd things are de rigeur. And who is Pete anyway? And what does de rigeur mean, for Pete’s sa... 

Pete, say some of the researchers of language and idioms (no, not idiots, that’s a different field of inquiry all together), might actually have referred to St. Peter the sort of head of the merry band of apostles. It was another attempt to be able to swear without actually “taking the Lord’s name in vain,” because someone frowned on that. (See Exodus 20 for the full frowning list.) So, they invented words that were close, “gosh darn” for example. Well Pete was close to Christ, so we started saying for Pete’s sake. 

De rigeur is French that leaked over into English and it means “required by etiquette or current fashion.” Which means, by the way, that political correctness isn’t new. And the French started it. So there.

Where was I? Oh, yes, the odd thing. In addition to all the pandemically inspired odd things happening in our house and yours, we have a different odd thing. Or maybe different, I don’t know. Maybe this thing is happening everywhere. Maybe you have this thing too, and will nod along knowingly as I tell you of this odd thing. Which means it isn’t an odd thing after all. I mean, if it is happening to you, and everyone else, it can’t be odd, can it? Can an odd thing be universally odd?  But then, since it involves our dog, Nick, the three legged rescue terrier mix of doubtful parentage, then perhaps it is still odd.

And what is this odd thing you ask, hoping that I’ll get to the point however odd it might be? Well, the odd thing is Nick seems to know what time it is. Even when we forget. Although, to be honest, daylight savings time threw him off a bit. Not only does he know what time it is, he knows what we should be doing at what time. Which, frankly is how we became aware that he knew what time it was. He isn’t able to say to us, hey did you realize it is 4:45 in the afternoon? No, he doesn’t give us time checks, nor does he bark out the number of the hour on the hour. That’s not happening. Though, I confess, that would be odd.

No, here’s what happens. He gets restless, he whines and fusses and is unable to settle. That’s not new, he’s done that before. Like when he has to go out, or needs to chase a squirrel or bark at a cat. Except, we kept discovering that those weren’t the things he was upset about. He would fuss, but wouldn’t go out when we got his leash. Or run to the window and bark. He was obviously trying to get us to do something, but we sometimes has trouble figuring out what that something was.

After a while it dawned on us that he had figured out our schedule. There were certain things that happened at certain times. We got up at this time, we did his morning walk, his morning pill (he has arthritis in his hip, maybe both, can’t really tell since he only has one back leg), then we did breakfast, and went to work. I had the long commute upstairs to my home office, La Donna sat at her desk in the family room. Then we had coffee break, later was lunch, then afternoon tea, then end of work day and then dinner and then evening pill and then reading or TV in our chairs. It was a routine. He figured it out. And if we got off track, or forgot something, or did something out of order, or took too long to do something, he fussed. If La Donna went to her computer in the evening instead of her easy chair, he fussed. If we forgot his pill, or if daylight savings time made him think we forgot his evening pill, he fussed. It was weird. He’s not a herd dog, but it is like he was trying to keep our lives on track. Follow the schedule people! For heaven’s sake! Or Pete’s. Or Nick’s. He’s doing his best to make sure we have a routine. And heaven forfend if we skip a meal or worse yet, eat in front of the TV. Unless it’s popcorn, because he loves popcorn. And how in the world he knows it’s Sunday and should be time for popcorn, I have no earthly idea. Except maybe virtual church in the morning followed by hours of football in the afternoon, might be a clue.

We sometimes complain about a routine. And yet all of us are a bit lost without something consistent in our lives. We know who we are by what we do, at least in part. Sure, it is bigger than that. We are bigger than that. There is something of essence about us, we are who we are because of our creation, because God made us and claimed us. No question. Yet, our living comes alive in our doing, in our routines. The patterns we create in our lives give texture and rhythm to who we are and how we encounter the world. 

Ritual is the theological word for routine. We do these things in this way, again and again, and we encounter God in our ritual. We become aware of God’s presence as we commune and kneel and pray or sing and gather. We fill up our lives with doing of holy things. And a sacramental approach to life says that anything can be a holy thing if we’re paying attention. Any action, or routine, can be full of God’s presence, with the breath of the Spirit if we stay in tune with that, if we set our minds on the things above. And the things above doesn’t mean we think of heaven up above, but of the things that lift us up rather than pull us down. We think of higher things, of service, or caring, of love. And when we ask how do my routines speak of love or any of these things, that’s how we grow in our faith. That is how we make the most of the time.

Colossians 4:2-6 Devote yourselves to prayer, keeping alert in it with thanksgiving. 3 At the same time pray for us as well that God will open to us a door for the word, that we may declare the mystery of Christ, for which I am in prison, 4 so that I may reveal it clearly, as I should. 5 Conduct yourselves wisely toward outsiders, making the most of the time. 6 Let your speech always be gracious, seasoned with salt, so that you may know how you ought to answer everyone.

Another of Paul’s lists. A list is another routine, of a sort. It is a way of shaping our lives as though who we are and what we do matters. This is, Paul says, making the most of the time. One of the hardships of the pandemic is that our routines are shattered. And some might even lose their way in the midst of it, or lose themselves in the process. Finding ways to make the most of the time is one of the techniques we have of keeping ourselves sane during the pandemic. But maybe there is more to it than our sanity, as important as that is. Maybe there is something of faith there. Maybe even the simple things of our daily existence, our daily routines can be alive with the Spirit of the living Christ. 

Which is how we get to gratitude. This is Thanksgiving week here in the US. Many are missing the routines and rituals of that festive day, many are facing being alone, families scattered and apart. A zoom chat Thanksgiving doesn’t sound all that great. But then staying healthy does. Gratitude can still be the core of our living in this un-routine holiday. If we live alive to the moment, if we remember who we are and whose we are, then gratitude flows like a stream through all our routines. And turns routines into rituals of grace. 

Nick is trying his best to keep us on track with our lives. He sometimes strains with the effort and we haven’t given him the respect that is due his most difficult task. But in this strange time we are learning even more to be thankful. For the family that we are, human and furry both. For grown up kids making their way despite setbacks and roadblocks. For the beauty of a new place and work that sustains us both. For life and health and hope and for joy. And for friends near and far. All of whom we wish the happiest of Thanksgivings and the blessedness of routine. 

Shalom,  Derek 

The Calm

Do you hear that? Behind the silence, a hum, perhaps. Maybe a vibration, an electricity that prickles the skin, raises the hairs on your arm. I remember sitting in the big old parsonage in Larwill, Indiana, just off the highway, listening to the radio tell us about a tornado sighting not far from town. And we waited. It looked green outside, a strange cast to the coming wind. We didn’t speak, didn’t breathe hardly. Just waited, afraid of the destruction to come. But not able to do anything, just wait.

The calm before the storm. That’s what it feels like this weekend. Let’s be honest, some of us are afraid. A recent poll said a significant number of people are worried about violence after the election. Those who aren’t afraid of violence are probably afraid of the outcome. It seems like so much is on the line. The storm that is coming might sweep us all away.

Too much? Overreaction? Maybe. But overreaction seems to be the theme of year. The political ads tell us if this party wins there will be terror in the streets. If the other party wins there will be the end of truth and the collapse of democracy. No wonder we are scared. No wonder we wait uneasily in our socially distant houses. No wonder we feel abandoned by hope. On the brink of a national election we should feel united, the betterment of the country in mind. Instead we feel broken and alone.

Waiting alone is the worst kind of waiting. We may think that’s what we want, so our fears don’t show. But the fear multiplies when we’re alone. Lying awake in our bed, we stare at the digital clock counting down our uncertainties late into the night. We are hardest on ourselves, particularly when we are alone. We reexamine every decision, every choice. We question every thought or inclination. We doubt ourselves, and become suspicious of everyone else. 

This is why it is the modus operandi of those who seek to dominate us try to separate us from one another, to create an us and them; real Americans and our enemies. It’s not a matter of disagreement, of differences of opinion, it is fear and suspicion, division and distrust. The more we are alone, the more we are broken into pieces. 

But that aloneness itself is a lie. Oh, it is often our human experience. We feel alone, abandoned, separate. But we aren’t. Sometimes our experience doesn’t reflect reality. There is a deeper truth that we forget. Especially in times of high stress, or threatening times. That deeper truth is that we are bound together by the source of being.

Isaiah 43:1-7 But now thus says the LORD, he who created you, O Jacob, he who formed you, O Israel: Do not fear, for I have redeemed you; I have called you by name, you are mine. 2 When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; and through the rivers, they shall not overwhelm you; when you walk through fire you shall not be burned, and the flame shall not consume you. 3 For I am the LORD your God, the Holy One of Israel, your Savior. I give Egypt as your ransom, Ethiopia and Seba in exchange for you. 4 Because you are precious in my sight, and honored, and I love you, I give people in return for you, nations in exchange for your life. 5 Do not fear, for I am with you; I will bring your offspring from the east, and from the west I will gather you; 6 I will say to the north, "Give them up," and to the south, "Do not withhold; bring my sons from far away and my daughters from the end of the earth -  7 everyone who is called by my name, whom I created for my glory, whom I formed and made."

There are a bunch of little words that we have to note in this text. Oddly, this time it is the little words that carry the weight of meaning. The first little word to note is “when.” Read verse two again. There are two descriptions of the reality in which we are living. Or so it seems to me. Passing through waters and going through fire. Can you find a better description of 2020? Whether you talk about the pandemic or the racial uprising or the never-ending hurricane season, we’re either passing through deep waters or going through a fire. We are under threat. But notice how the prophet introduces these circumstances. When you pass through the waters, when you walk through fire. When. Not if. Or not “should you be so unfortunate as to find yourself in these difficult situations.” No, he very boldly, and unfortunately truthfully says when you walk through fire. When. It’s going to happen. We might hope we can live free of difficult times, but deep down we know that the rain falls on the just and the unjust. We know that stuff happens, to any of us, to all of us, stuff happens. When.

The second little word makes a world of difference in our difficult circumstances. And that word is “with.” When you pass through the waters, I will be with you, and they will not overwhelm you. How do we know they won’t overwhelm us? Because it sometimes feels like I’m about to be overwhelmed, I don’t know about you. How are we to hear this promise? Through that little word “with.” We won’t be overwhelmed because we aren’t alone. 

How does that work, exactly? If we could claim this truth, God is with us - we are not alone, then we will find resources that just might surprise us. When we realize that we are not alone, then we look for those who will walk beside us and share our hope and strength and work to change the circumstances that are threatening to overwhelm us. When we claim the presence of God as a given, then we shape our responses around that peace and that love that makes our world a kin-dom like place to live. This is why John Wesley’s supposed dying words were “Best of all, God is with us.” 

But you might say, presence doesn’t change anything. On one level that is true. Nothing is changed in terms of the circumstance. But everything has changed in terms of the resources available to respond to the circumstances. When we embrace that presence, when we acknowledge that God is with us because God loves us (another small word in the text above), then our sense of self and our ability to react to the waters that threaten us, to find resources around us and within us expands into the wideness of God’s mercy. 

The other truth to read in this passage is the somewhat obscure ending. There is a lot we don’t know about the history of this text. But what is clear is that God promises to gather us together. God says you work better as a community, as a nation unified. So, God says, I will gather you from the separation in which you have found yourselves. You may seem so far apart that you are no longer one people. But God can bring us together, God can overcome that distance. If we are willing to be brought together. 

That’s the key. God doesn’t overwhelm our will. If we choose to be separate, if we choose to be alone, we can be. But that is not what God wants for us, or from us. And it begins with the realization that we are not alone. It’s a counter-cultural message to be sure. In our society we value the rugged individual who fights alone against all odds. That makes a cool movie. But it isn’t the way to live in the real world. We’re better, no, it’s more than that, we’re made to be together. To be one. That was Jesus’s prayer for us. That we would be one. One in the way that Jesus is one with God. Intimate, supportive, sacrificial, love alive in our oneness. 

The storm will come. We might as well admit it. But it doesn’t have to overwhelm us. If we simply remember that we are not alone. We can then rise to the hope that brings us. Thanks be to God.

Shalom, 

Derek