Why I Hate Annual Conference

My daughter Maddie would tell me “hate is a strong word, daddy.” And she would be right. With her spiritual guidance ringing in my ears, I should confess that I don’t really hate Annual Conference. But despise seemed too extreme even for me. I thought about titling this “Why Annual Conference Wears Me Down,” but then you might think it was a statement about my aging or unfit body. That isn’t what I mean, however, though I am aging and unfit. On the other hand, I love walking, and have refused the shuttles and elevators by choice, preferring to enjoy the sights and sounds of walking back and forth across the Ball State campus.

So, it is not a physical wearing down that brings me to this essay. Rather, Annual Conference wears down my soul. It erodes my sense of call and place in the church. Now, let me point out an omission in the title of this rant. (OK, I’ve named it!) I didn’t say “Why I Hate The Annual Conference.” The Annual Conference is the body that gives me a place to live out my call, to exercise my gifts, whatever they may be. Beyond that the Annual Conference is my family, brother and sister clergy, many of whom have been formational in profound ways, some of whom have shared significantly in a variety of moments of my life, and a few of whom I name as some of my closest, deepest friends. In addition, the Annual Conference, in a variety of iterations, has been my family since my birth. The Annual Conference baptized me, sent me and my family hither and yon across Indiana into a rich tapestry of living environments for which I am grateful.

No, I don’t hate the Annual Conference. I couldn’t, because it is me or in me, and in those I love, including my congregations, yesterday and today. Most of you reading this are also the Annual Conference. So, read carefully, please. It is not the entity, but the gathering. Once a year, hence annual, the entity gathers together representatives to do the business required by the human institution that we are, and - in theory - the spiritual booster shot and call to accountability that John Wesley envisioned when the Methodist movement began.

If you had asked me five years ago why I was reluctant to go to Annual Conference I would have talked about the mind-numbing tedium of the administration of the Conference - and a whole lot of it focused on the benefits for me and my colleagues. The rules and regulations of churches and institutions are frighteningly complex. The structures of the Annual Conference would cause a Washington bureaucrat to stare open-mouthed in amazement. Thankfully, the church and the Conference have people who love to wrangle out the details with exacting care. I’m glad they are there, but also wish they would do it behind closed doors! I was reluctant to attend Conference because of the necessary tedium of the institution, or so I thought.

I don’t know whether things have changed lately. Perhaps in our panic in the face of decline has brought about a shift in emphasis during the annual gathering. Or maybe I was just oblivious to it until the cumulative effect has worn me down to a raw, overly-sensitive mass of insecurities. But for the past few years, it seems as though the main purpose of Annual Conference is to tell me how worthless I am.

Probably an overstatement, but it doesn’t feel that way. Over and over again I am told that I am not doing the right things, that I’m valuing old out-dated ideas, that I am contributing to the continued decline and irrelevance of the church.

Let me give you an example: A bishop told us this year that since he hasn’t been able to find a radio station that plays organ music and 18th Century English hymnody that we ought to junk the tradition. It doesn’t speak any more, he claimed. He also introduced us to the fact that most folks, particularly young people, don’t wake up or go to work with a desire to sing 18th Century English hymns. And he’s right, I have to say. But then, I doubt that most young people wake up with a burning desire to read a confusing ancient text with a dizzying array of literary styles and references to obscure historical events. Or, come to think of it, they probably don’t go to work with a hankering to know a two thousand year old son of a carpenter from a tiny Middle Eastern country who only managed to preach and teach for three years before meeting a grisly end. So, by the bishop’s logic we should dismiss the bible and Jesus because they are no longer relevant. Let me put some minds at ease and point out that the bishop in question is not our bishop, but a hired gun who came to conference to sell a book, I mean to teach us something about being the church.

I liked the book, I think that the bishop is on to something, to be honest. I’ve used it in a class, and used it to take a look at some of the things I do and the priorities I have. But I was a bit surprised to hear the claim that there is only one way to be the church and our way isn’t it. It seems to me that the theology of the Wesley hymns is so much deeper than much of what seems popular in worship today. Maybe the form doesn’t appeal like it used to, but surely there are other choices than abandoning something that has fed centuries of Methodists and others and taught us the essence of our faith.

Maybe I’m overstating. Maybe I’m misreading. Maybe I’m whining a bit. Or more than a bit. But it seems to me that there is room in the United Methodist Church for a variety of approaches, a variety of styles, and to continue to be told that unless you do it this way you aren’t really doing it right, or well wears on me after a while.

So, let me turn away from all of that and toward a bible study which is what this space is supposed to be about. When I asked Don what the scripture is for this weekend, since I am heading out of state to prepare to teach in the School of Christian Mission this summer, he said there isn’t a text for worship. ... sigh ... But, the text for the Lifetree ministry which is forming the basis for our Sunday morning worship is this:

1 Corinthians 13:4-7 Love is patient; love is kind; love is not envious or boastful or arrogant 5 or rude. It does not insist on its own way; it is not irritable or resentful; 6 it does not rejoice in wrongdoing, but rejoices in the truth. 7 It bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things.

OK God, I can take a hint. Get over myself and listen again. Being loving includes loving even bishops and Annual Conferences. “Does not insist on its own way.” You know, sometimes trying to be like Jesus is darned hard. “Not irritable or resentful.” Come on, give me a break. “Bears all things ...”

These verses, and a number of others I have to admit, are why I’ll go again next year. I admit that I have things to learn. I confess that I don’t always do things right. And I am sure that I don’t have all the answers. So, I’ll keep plugging away. And I hope you’ll keep plugging away where you are too.

Maybe hoping all things is a better way for all of us.

Shalom,
Derek

Anniversary

I know, I know, you are looking at the heading of this essay and thinking, “how long are we going to have to hear about the 30th anniversary of his marriage to his lovely wife?” And my answer would be, as long as it takes to make up for years of neglect!

Sorry, no. That isn’t really my answer. Because I’m not talking about that Anniversary. As significant as that is. I’m talking about a different anniversary. This past week I had another significant milestone. On June 1, 1985 I was ordained an elder in the United Methodist Church. Twenty-five years, just a few years short of half my life. If you add in the years since I was ordained a deacon (we used to do things differently in the UMC), or the years since I started seminary you end up with more than half my life I have been pursuing this call.

Or being pursued. If you sit down and count it up, on good days it seems like six of one and half dozen of the other, when it comes to pursuing or being pursued. On not as good days it seems like half of one and six dozen of the other! It’s a question we clergy frequently ask ourselves and anyone around us who will sit still long enough to listen (sorry, you’re elected this time!), whose idea was this anyway? How did I get myself here? We are always teaching our kids about making good choices, but maybe we are just messing with them. Maybe the choices aren’t really ours to make after all. At least after that first one. The one that knocks us off our horse on the way to Damascus.

Oh, wait. Now I’m getting me mixed up with Paul. Maybe I should return to the purpose of this essay and do a bible study. I told the group that gathers on Wednesdays to look at the text that I wasn’t really sure why I chose Galatians 1:11-24 for this week’s text. I’m still not sure how it is going to turn into a sermon in time. But now I’m wondering if maybe it wasn’t my choice after all!

Galatians 1:11-24 For I want you to know, brothers and sisters, that the gospel that was proclaimed by me is not of human origin; 12 for I did not receive it from a human source, nor was I taught it, but I received it through a revelation of Jesus Christ. 13 You have heard, no doubt, of my earlier life in Judaism. I was violently persecuting the church of God and was trying to destroy it. 14 I advanced in Judaism beyond many among my people of the same age, for I was far more zealous for the traditions of my ancestors. 15 But when God, who had set me apart before I was born and called me through his grace, was pleased 16 to reveal his Son to me, so that I might proclaim him among the Gentiles, I did not confer with any human being, 17 nor did I go up to Jerusalem to those who were already apostles before me, but I went away at once into Arabia, and afterwards I returned to Damascus. 18 Then after three years I did go up to Jerusalem to visit Cephas and stayed with him fifteen days; 19 but I did not see any other apostle except James the Lord's brother. 20 In what I am writing to you, before God, I do not lie! 21 Then I went into the regions of Syria and Cilicia, 22 and I was still unknown by sight to the churches of Judea that are in Christ; 23 they only heard it said, "The one who formerly was persecuting us is now proclaiming the faith he once tried to destroy." 24 And they glorified God because of me.

“Not of human origin,” Paul writes. On the one hand you could read this as saying, “hey, it’s not my fault! Don’t blame me, blame God, why don’t you?” Paul says he was doing pretty well on his own, until God got hold of him. “I advanced in Judaism beyond many among people of the same age, for I was far more zealous for the traditions of my ancestors.”
I was, says Paul, one of those who didn’t like change. One of those who thought everything was fine the way it was. Better than fine, it was the way it was supposed to be. And when someone came up with a new way of doing things, I was one of the first to shout them down. We’ve never done it that way before!

But then God got hold of me, Paul points out, and now everything is different. So radical was the change that I had to go away for three years to sort it all out. You don’t like what I’m saying, take it up with God!

Before I get even more carried away imagining Paul’s state of mind, let’s jump back into the historical context a little bit and see if we can figure out why Paul is taking the approach that he takes. The problem we often have in reading the Epistles is that we are never quite sure why they are written. In almost every case the letter is in response to something else, and it is a something else we don’t have. We can make some guesses based on the content of the letters. Sometimes, the writers refer to a letter that they received, or a conversation that they had. Sometimes it simply says “I have heard about you” or something to that effect. But we rarely have concrete evidence of what it was that caused the letter to be written.

In the case of Galatians, Paul is boiling hot. He skips over the usual pleasantries in the opening of his letter to get right to the problem. Verse 6, instead of giving thanks for the community of faith that they were, as was usual, he says “I am astonished that you are so quickly deserting the one who called you in the grace of Christ ...” Apparently there is a group of folks following Paul, going to the new churches and telling them that Paul has it all wrong. That Paul got a crash course in Christianity from the Apostles in Jerusalem, but didn’t hang around long enough to really learn it. And now he is running around in the Gentile world lopping off important bits and giving you a defective gospel. So, don’t listen to him and his emphasis on grace.

Paul’s defense is that he didn’t choose the Word he shares, the Word chose him. He didn’t invent the gospel he proclaims, it was given to him. And it didn’t come from any human agency. How does he know this? Because they, the other humans, didn’t like it either! When Paul went to the Apostles with the commission to share the good news of Jesus Christ with the Gentiles, the Apostles resisted him. It took a long drawn out argument that might still be going on (in fact it is still going on, but that’s the subject for another time) if it weren’t for some divine intervention involving a bed sheet and some pigs and lobsters (read Acts 10).
It is obvious from the biblical record that God wants this message out. And sometimes it goes out because of the work of the church, of the faithful people of God. But sometimes it goes out in spite of the church and the people of God who firmly believe they are being faithful. We must always remember that though we are a part of the story, it is not our story alone. We don’t own the copywrite, we don’t control the distribution. Our job has never been the hearing of the Word, that is up to the Spirit. Our job has simply been the telling of it, which is sometimes done with words and sometimes done with our lives. We are casters of the seed of faith, we don’t control how and where it takes root and begins to grow. And sometimes God surprises us in which seeds begin to bear fruit.

After twenty-five years of casting that seed and watching what God has done with it, I continue to be surprised. I continue to be involved in ministries I had no intention of doing, but because that is where the need is, because that is where the fruit is, because that is where God is, then I will go too. Paul ends this first chapter in Galatians with a word of hope for me, and I hope for you. The result of all of our efforts is that they might have “glorified God because of me.” Amen.

Shalom,
Derek

Therefore

I learned in English class that you really shouldn’t start a sentence with “Therefore.” At least I think I learned it there. When you get as old as I am then things tend to blur together. It might have been English class. It might have been something I read in a comic book. It might have been a dream I had. Or something my mom told me. Who knows? Does it matter? Not really. Except that I wanted to have little bit of authority behind the statement. Since I was going to take on Paul.

OK, I’m not really going to argue with Paul about grammar. Especially since he was writing in a different language. And remembering Greek grammar rules is even more of a stretch than remembering English ones. Just sayin’.

But it doesn’t feel right does it? Just jumping in with a “therefore” as Paul does so often. Whole sections, completely new ideas, thoughts seemingly out of left field just appear with a “therefore” as though the connections ought to be obvious. But they aren’t. Sometimes.

Some people just talk like that, I know. As though you were supposed to remember everything that went before. There is a story of a United Methodist pastor who was serving a church when he got called to be a District Superintendent. He served in that capacity for six year and then when it was time to receive an appointment, we was sent to the church he left six years earlier. His first sermon back in the pulpit began “As I was saying...”

“Therefore” implies a connection, a line of argument. What follows “therefore” is built on what goes before. It is a pointer to a conclusion, or at least a resolution of some sort. It is also an indicator that something important is coming. Pay attention, it says, here’s is where we were heading, this is what I mean. Here we go!

Romans 5:1-5 Therefore, since we are justified by faith, we have peace with God through our Lord Jesus Christ, 2 through whom we have obtained access to this grace in which we stand; and we boast in our hope of sharing the glory of God. 3 And not only that, but we also boast in our sufferings, knowing that suffering produces endurance, 4 and endurance produces character, and character produces hope, 5 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.

Therefore, since, says Paul. Because of this one thing, this one relationship, then everything else follows. So, it must be important for us to understand what came before. “Since we are justified by faith,” he says. Ah, pretty important. For Paul this is the center of everything. Justification by faith. It is what captured Luther’s attention so radically that he launch the whole Protestant Reformation. Important stuff, then.

There is a problem, though. I hesitate to bring it up, because it doesn’t really affect this passage. It is a part of what comes before. Yet, it is important because of the “therefore.” It is a part of the “since.” It is the foundation of the peace that is offered here. It is the foundation of the hope we end up with. So, I can’t help but trouble you a little bit with this debate. Forgive me.

The problem is in the phrase “pistis Christou” (at least that is the transliteration from the Greek). “Pistis” is the word for faith, and “Christou” is the genitive or possessive form of Christ. So, you are asking, where’s the problem? Well, most of the time the genitive form gets translated with an “of,” but then sometimes it is translated with an “in.” So, the problem is which is it?

Funny how a two letter word can cause such turmoil in biblical scholarship. But it does. There are opposing camps, and have been almost from the beginning of the church, that are aligned on each side of this debate. It is almost as though you can see those marching around with T-shirts emblazoned with “OF” and those with tattoos in gothic script reading “IN.”

OK, not quite. Makes an interesting picture of a bunch of scholarly types in gang attire with appropriate colors, snarling at one another in their turf wars, though. Doesn’t it? Maybe not. Sorry.

“Faith in Christ” verses “faith of Christ.” That’s the struggle. That’s the debate. Reams of paper have been used in making the case for each, and I don’t propose to present the arguments adequately. But to grossly simplify it is basically asking the question who’s faith is doing the work here? “Faith of Christ” implies that it is the faith of Jesus, the life he lived and the sacrifice he made that brings salvation. “Therefore, since Christ’s faith has saved us, we have peace with God.” And peace in this sense means a relationship. Because of what Christ has done, we now can approach God, we now can be reconciled, made right with God. It was his action, his faithful living and dying that did this. We are saved by the faith of Christ. But then, we don’t have to, in fact really can’t do anything. It is Christ’s faith, and we are simply blessed recipients of the benefits.

Unless, it is “faith in Christ.” Because that means that it is us, that we generate this faith, we are responsible for it. It is our effort, our work to have faith. We are engaged, we have to claim the gift, it is up to us. It is a choice we make. But, it could lead to the understand that we have to have the right kind of faith, or the right amount. It provides an escape clause for unanswered prayer, for suffering - “if you only had enough faith.” Which troubles us to no end. Or it should anyway.

So, which is it? Uh. Jesus provides the access, according to verse two. Access to the peace, the relationship with God that we crave. But then we are shaped as we go through suffering, we learn to endure - to hold on to faith. We create character, by taking the pieces of our lives, the good and the bad and the ugly, and work to shape them into something resembling the life of Jesus. And we live in hope because we see ourselves in process of becoming more like Christ. It is the labor of living, the working out of our own salvation with effort and energy.

But then this hope does not come from within. It is poured into our hearts by the Holy Spirit. Which means that the answer to the question of whether it is the faith of Christ or our faith in Christ must be “Yes!”

Is that cheating? Sorry. But it also seems to be true. It is an odd, no wait, it is a mysterious combination of our own efforts and the grace of God; it is our spirit and God’s Spirit intertwined in this wonderful dance called faith. The truth is we can’t know what is our effort and what comes from God, or rather we don’t usually know until afterwards.

Therefore, we live in hope, we reside in peace with God, we act in love in all things. Therefore.

Shalom,
Derek

Other Tongues

Sitting in Christ Church Cathedral in Nashville Tennessee, two rows up in front of me I saw a woman whose name tag announced that she had come from Columbia City, Indiana. I didn’t know her, but it still had that small world feel to it when I spied her point of origin. I also ran into a former associate pastor, and a couple I had worked with at Choir School and various other conference events, not to mention a fellow pastor from here in town that I knew was going to be there.

But that familiarity was not the real eye-opener. No, I think it was the diversity. There were Lutherans and Presbyterians, Baptists and Disciples, Canadians and Europeans, Northerners and Southerners, Parthians, Medes and Elamites. Uh, sorry, got carried away and jumped ahead into the text for a moment there. Forgive me.

It is just that there was a feeling of Pentecost about the place. Surely you were aware that this Sunday is Pentecost, one of the big three festivals of the Church from the beginning. Easter was the biggest, of course, and Epiphany and Pentecost were the sign posts around which the Christian life oriented. But, while Easter and Epiphany are self-explanatory in their importance; why Pentecost? If Jesus is the center of the faith, then his Resurrection and his Incarnation would be natural foci for us. But what is it about Pentecost that puts it in such a position of importance?

One commentator states that the debate on the importance of Pentecost centers around the issue of birthday or broadening. Which explains everything, doesn’t it?

The familiar reading for Pentecost Sunday is the recounting of the event in the second chapter of Acts. Take a look and see if that importance is revealed.

Acts 2:1-21 When the day of Pentecost had come, they were all together in one place. 2 And suddenly from heaven there came a sound like the rush of a violent wind, and it filled the entire house where they were sitting. 3 Divided tongues, as of fire, appeared among them, and a tongue rested on each of them. 4 All of them were filled with the Holy Spirit and began to speak in other languages, as the Spirit gave them ability. 5 Now there were devout Jews from every nation under heaven living in Jerusalem. 6 And at this sound the crowd gathered and was bewildered, because each one heard them speaking in the native language of each. 7 Amazed and astonished, they asked, "Are not all these who are speaking Galileans? 8 And how is it that we hear, each of us, in our own native language? 9 Parthians, Medes, Elamites, and residents of Mesopotamia, Judea and Cappadocia, Pontus and Asia, 10 Phrygia and Pamphylia, Egypt and the parts of Libya belonging to Cyrene, and visitors from Rome, both Jews and proselytes, 11 Cretans and Arabs-- in our own languages we hear them speaking about God's deeds of power." 12 All were amazed and perplexed, saying to one another, "What does this mean?" 13 But others sneered and said, "They are filled with new wine." 14 But Peter, standing with the eleven, raised his voice and addressed them, "Men of Judea and all who live in Jerusalem, let this be known to you, and listen to what I say. 15 Indeed, these are not drunk, as you suppose, for it is only nine o'clock in the morning. 16 No, this is what was spoken through the prophet Joel: 17 'In the last days it will be, God declares, that I will pour out my Spirit upon all flesh, and your sons and your daughters shall prophesy, and your young men shall see visions, and your old men shall dream dreams. 18 Even upon my slaves, both men and women, in those days I will pour out my Spirit; and they shall prophesy. 19 And I will show portents in the heaven above and signs on the earth below, blood, and fire, and smoky mist. 20 The sun shall be turned to darkness and the moon to blood, before the coming of the Lord's great and glorious day. 21 Then everyone who calls on the name of the Lord shall be saved.'

You can’t help but notice that Luke struggles to describe this event. He uses words that come close, but aren’t quite it. “A sound like” he writes, “tongues as of fire.” It was sort of like wind, but not quite, it was kind of like fire but that wasn’t it either. It is an event that goes beyond description, beyond experience almost.

But the something that happens has an effect. It leaks out into the street beyond. And passers-by are caught up by the sound that they hear. Voices, words, wrapped in the language of home. That is what makes them stop. I imagine in a cosmopolitan city like Jerusalem, that is difficult to keep the noise down at the best of times. So, overhearing would be a common experience. But this one was different. They were drawn by the familiar language that they heard. It made their hearts stop for a moment as they tuned their ears more carefully to the words.

There is a story of an American tourist in Germany. The tourist had no knowledge of German whatsoever, and had wandered off the tourist trail and found himself in a small village where he was having trouble making himself understood. He was about to panic when he was caught in a sneezing fit. A passerby smiled and nodded at him and said “Gesundheit!” The American rushed after the man and declared, “O good, you speak English!”

We all long for a familiar sound, for the language of home. We long for a connection. That was what was heard on that Pentecost morning. That was what the languages offered the passers by. So, they stopped and listened. Some wondered and, I suspect, hoped. Others scoffed, being of a cynical bent. “They must be drunk!” they shouted. If there is an alcoholic beverage that allows you to speak in foreign languages, I’m going to get me some.

You would have thought that Peter’s defense might have been that. Drinking teaches you languages? Intelligible languages, that is. Nonsense. You’re the ones talking crazy! But that wasn’t his defense. Instead he went with the “it’s only 9am” defense. It’s too early to be drunk! Or as Bishop Will Willimon said in a sermon about the Pentecost event - “Peter said, we’re not drunk ... yet.”

The tongues that were not quite like fire, and not really like tongues either, but some visible manifestation of an invisible presence, were making connections. It was one, divided and settling on each, says Luke in his struggling for words. It was one presence, one sound, and it was heard by each, who then echoed the sound so that more heard. It wasn’t an experience to keep to one’s self, that much is plain. It was meant to be shared. It was meant to be community building.

So, whether it was a birthday, the beginning of the church, as some argue; or a broadening, the opening of the doors of the church to include all, either way it was a building of community. It was making connections. It was building up the body. Pentecost is about the church being the church. Pentecost reminds us that this is a small world, and wherever you go you are likely to find members of your family gathered around the living Word and the winds of the Spirit.

Shalom,
Derek

Shall We Gather?

A week from today I’ll be on my way to Tennessee. I am attending my favorite Conference of the year, the Festival of Homiletics. Every year in May many of my favorite preachers gather for a conference, a festival of preaching and worship. From Monday through Friday I will listen to sermons and lectures and musicians all designed to help me do this thing I love to do called preaching. It is for inspiration and instruction, for connection and application. It is, as I said my favorite time of year. You should thank me for going. Otherwise, I would be even more boring than I am! Which might be hard for some to imagine, I realize.

This year the Festival is in Nashville, which means it is only a couple of hours from my folks. So, it only makes sense to go a couple of days early and spend some time with them. It means we have to shift Maddie’s birthday a little bit (for which she is being sort of gracious about - sort of) and to plug Pastor Kent in to preach for another Sunday. He also was gracious in accepting the additional burden. So, I get to check in on the folks in Paris before heading to Nashville for the Festival.

Nashville, yes that Nashville, the one you’ve been reading about in the papers. The Nashville that got over fourteen inches of rain in one twenty-four hour period. The Nashville around and through which flows the Cumberland River that crested at fifty one feet, some twelve feet above flood stage. That Nashville! Which is also the Nashville that is home to some of the denominational offices and the publishing house for the United Methodist Church.

The Festival organizers have been sending almost daily email updates, telling us that all is well with the sites we are going to use. They are even sending some suggestions as to how we might help. (Which we plan to do through out usual channels - which is why I included the statement about United Methodist connections there. As usual UMCOR is already at work - you can donate too, if you want. Call the church office or check out UMCOR online.)

But you can’t help but wonder if it is a good idea to go. Gathering at the river doesn’t seem like smart thing to do right now. I remember my dad telling me about the people who lived on the banks of the Mississippi River in his hometown of Memphis. They were frequently washed out by the rising waters, and yet time after time they returned there. It didn’t make much sense to him as a boy, and it doesn’t make much sense to me now.

Yet we seem drawn to the rivers, despite the danger. The river was a means of transportation and commerce, on the one hand. But it was also where the most fertile land was. In Egypt, the growing season was defined less by the weather, and more by the rhythms of the River Nile. When the waters receded, the farmers would swoop in and plant and grow and harvest, hopefully before the waters began to rise again.

Despite the danger the river was a source of life. So people are willing to put themselves at risk for the sustenance of that life. It is that passion, that desire, that longing for life in all it’s fulness that John the Evangelist taps into in the concluding chapters of Revelation. He sees the culmination, the destination of that striving. And, interestingly enough, the destination is a city with a river running through it.

Revelation 21:10, 22 - 22:5 And in the spirit he carried me away to a great, high mountain and showed me the holy city Jerusalem coming down out of heaven from God. ... I saw no temple in the city, for its temple is the Lord God the Almighty and the Lamb. 23 And the city has no need of sun or moon to shine on it, for the glory of God is its light, and its lamp is the Lamb. 24 The nations will walk by its light, and the kings of the earth will bring their glory into it. 25 Its gates will never be shut by day-- and there will be no night there. 26 People will bring into it the glory and the honor of the nations. 27 But nothing unclean will enter it, nor anyone who practices abomination or falsehood, but only those who are written in the Lamb's book of life. Then the angel showed me the river of the water of life, bright as crystal, flowing from the throne of God and of the Lamb 2 through the middle of the street of the city. On either side of the river is the tree of life with its twelve kinds of fruit, producing its fruit each month; and the leaves of the tree are for the healing of the nations. 3 Nothing accursed will be found there any more. But the throne of God and of the Lamb will be in it, and his servants will worship him; 4 they will see his face, and his name will be on their foreheads. 5 And there will be no more night; they need no light of lamp or sun, for the Lord God will be their light, and they will reign forever and ever.

OK, the river is only a small part. In worship I plan to focus on a different image. There are just so many to choose from. One commentator suggests that the best thing the preacher could do would be to simply read the poetry of the passage and then invite folks to meditate on the imagery and then sit down. Oh, I wish I were brave enough for that.

Instead, let me gaze with you at the river for a moment. Verse ten is included in the reading to give us some perspective. Instead of watching the city being lowered down on top of us, we now stand with John on a mountain. Mountains in apocalyptic literature are places of wisdom and refuge. We have been brought to this mountain in order to gain some perspective.

What we see first is light. Light everywhere, but not from any usual source natural or human made. Instead, we can see, the light is from the Presence of God. And then we are surprised to note that we can see the Presence of God, we can see God face to face and not be destroyed. Amazing.

Then we note the river. The water of life, clear as crystal, meaning clean and pure and safe. The source of the river is the throne, that very Presence we noted earlier. And alongside the river is a tree, that is twelve trees. Wait, what? John describes it as “the tree of life” but that it has twelve kinds of fruit. Not your average tree, you might say. However you might picture it, the meaning is abundance, constant abundance. There is no dry period, no out of season. There is always something ripe and ready and sustaining.

It is, in short a perfect place to gather. Rivers in the bible are often barriers, things that have to be crossed to reach a destination. Until this one. The river is the destination. It is the source of life and health and wholeness. To gather at the river is to find your way to all that you need, and all that you are. But we gather with the saints, it is also a place of community and connection. We gather together, not just go by ourselves.

I’m going to visit my parents to check on them, true. But also to be checked on. To gather with those I love and be sustained and strengthened. Gathering, whether it is weekly at worship, or with colleagues for inspiration and instruction, or on special occasions with family, is like entering the kingdom, like coming home to where our Lord is and where we are most genuinely ourselves. Shall we gather?

Besides it is the best Mother’s Day I could come up with! Happy Mother’s Day, Mom! I love you.

Shalom,
Derek

Youthen

So, did you miss me last week? Yes, well, I meant to tell you that I was going to skip a week, for Spring Break and all, but then I forgot. Sorry about that. I’ll try to remember to announce in this space when there is going to be a gap, so you aren’t hanging around your computers all day looking for a your bible study. Not that anyone does that, except in my imagination, but still it is only common courtesy. So, forgive me.

In fact there shouldn’t be one from me this week either, since I’m not preaching again. Wow, two weeks without preaching. I’ll probably get withdrawal symptoms or something. Not to worry, I’ll make up for it next week, since I am preaching on Sunday at Aldersgate and then preaching on Monday in Indianapolis for the Indiana Conference on our Life Together for clergy. But more on that later.

The explanation for this week is that it is Youth Sunday at Aldersgate. Which means that our preachers are a number of youth in confirmation class this year, as well as singers and servers and announcers and members of the band. So, anything that I might say in this space will probably have even less to do with what happens on Sunday morning than usual! Just sayin’.

But I still felt moved to put something here, so as not to go dark two weekends in a row. As I was pondering what approach I might take I was reminded of a line from a film about King Arthur and Camelot (Can’t remember which one exactly - sorry). It when Arthur was describing his teacher and mentor Merlin. He explains that Merlin actually moves backward through time, living in reverse from everyone else. It’s a quite complicated concept, because for him the last time he spoke to you would be for you the next time he speaks to you. Makes your head spin just trying to figure it out. But Arthur sums it all up by saying that Merlin doesn’t age, he Youthens.

Given the amount of money the we baby boomers spend on trying to stay young, it seems like there is marketing potential in the ability to Youthen. But then I thought that the real benefit of Merlin’s take on living, is a spiritual one rather than a physical one. The old “If I knew then, what I know now” kind of thing. But then, does foreknowledge really help us all that much. Maybe. If we use it. But if we don’t? Well, ask Peter.

How many times does Jesus tell the disciples what is going to happen? But what do they do with that information? Does it save them from acting stupidly when push comes to shove? Do they rise to the occasion and seize the moment and stand on their principles and beliefs? What was that Peter, didn’t quite hear your mumbled response to my probing questions?

Maybe living backward wouldn’t save us, maybe foreknowledge wouldn’t keep us safe. Maybe we need a different way of figuring out how to Youthen. Maybe it isn’t about chronological age, but about spiritual youth. Maybe what we need is not a way to go back and live knowing, but a way to start over and live forgiven.

At least that’s what it seems that Peter needed.

John 21:15-19 When they had finished breakfast, Jesus said to Simon Peter, "Simon son of John, do you love me more than these?" He said to him, "Yes, Lord; you know that I love you." Jesus said to him, "Feed my lambs." 16 A second time he said to him, "Simon son of John, do you love me?" He said to him, "Yes, Lord; you know that I love you." Jesus said to him, "Tend my sheep." 17 He said to him the third time, "Simon son of John, do you love me?" Peter felt hurt because he said to him the third time, "Do you love me?" And he said to him, "Lord, you know everything; you know that I love you." Jesus said to him, "Feed my sheep. 18 Very truly, I tell you, when you were younger, you used to fasten your own belt and to go wherever you wished. But when you grow old, you will stretch out your hands, and someone else will fasten a belt around you and take you where you do not wish to go." 19 (He said this to indicate the kind of death by which he would glorify God.) After this he said to him, "Follow me."

John outlines a pretty elaborate conversation between Jesus and Peter on a beach one early morning after Easter. And a whole lot can be heard in these words. I’ll be interested to hear from our Confirmation youth as they approach these verses on Sunday morning.

There is something here about service, and the source of the service not being obligation or duty but love. There is something here about obedience to the one we call Lord, but that too grows out of love and a relationship that is all encompassing. There is something here about following to the ends of the earth, about allowing our life agendas to be set not by our own grand plan but by the will of the one we follow.

But whatever else might be in here, I hear quite clearly a process of forgiveness wrapped up in these words. I hear redemption. I hear an opportunity to if not undo what had been done, then at least a chance to overlay a denial with an affirmation just as strong, just as nerve wracking, just as deeply felt. A chance, in other words, to start over. To step back, to Youthen.

OK, maybe it is a leap we shouldn’t be taking. But when Jesus told us to become child-like in order to live in the Kingdom, maybe a part of what he was offering was a way to start over. Maybe it was an offer to Youthen our lives enough to know the freedom of life in the Spirit.

We who will gather for worship will be privileged to be led by some of our youth this Sunday. I for one will hope to hear some fresh insight, some new opportunity. Do we still have things to teach them? Certainly. But do they have things to teach us? Most assuredly.

So come and listen and learn, come and set aside your preferences and limited expectations. Come and let the Spirit blow through you. Who knows you just might come out feeling ... younger.

Or forgiven.

And loved.

Shalom,
Derek

Holy Saturday

Do you hear that? No, not the neighbors taking the opportunity of the finally spring like weather to edge their sidewalks. Listen for a moment. Listen deeper. Listen with your faith and not your ears. Listen and you will hear all of creation holding its breath. Leaning forward in anticipation and wonder.

The gospels are strangely silent on what happened on Holy Saturday. After the incredible detail of that Good Friday, there are no words left to describe Saturday: the Sabbath day in between. The reason why there was a delay. The laws prevented the work of tending to the dead, the preparing of the body for burial. A forced pause in the terrifying events of the past few days. A cloud of fear and doubt surrounding them as they wondered what might be next.

Did they huddle together, taking comfort from their shared grief? Did they run to familiar places and reach out for hands that were curiously, painfully empty? Or did they avoid looking at the despair in each other’s eyes, afraid that alongside the grief and the pain would be accusation and disappointment; or were they simply afraid that seeing another who had given themselves to him would bring the hurt and memories rushing back and unleash another flood of tears, despite the feeling that there were no tears left?

The Sabbath belongs to God. That was what the law said, that is what their practice taught them. You can’t help but wonder, however, whether those who had lost their purpose for living even bothered to go through the motions. Did they sit in the pews while the familiar words bounced off their numb consciousness, barely aware of their own bodies as they stood and sat, as they knelt and repeated the words that were as familiar to them as their own names? Or did they discover a growing resentment building up inside of them as they watched their fellow worshipers singing praise as though the world had not come to an end, as though this was just another day to acknowledge the goodness of God? Did they want to shout out “how can we sing the Lord’s song in this foreign land?”

Or did they know, deep down, that their anger wasn’t at the blind worshipers, not at their neighbors and family members who were simply doing what they always had done without a second thought? Did they reach inside far enough to realize that their disappointment, their frustration, their anger was at God? Did they compose psalms in their minds that they didn’t dare bring to their lips? That God who had seemed so tantalizingly close whenever he spoke, who seemed to be flinging wide the doors to this wondrous kingdom that was so much a part of him as if anyone and everyone could find their way there, now seemed so far away as to be a dream you can’t quite remember upon waking. God had let this beautiful vision of Someday slip through the divine fingers with careless abandon.

So maybe they hid, afraid of Roman power so excruciatingly evident on Friday, wary of Jewish authorities who, having tasted blood, just might be hungry for more, and even let down by God, the one he called Father, who had abandoned them with a brutal indifference. Maybe that is why we don’t know any details of that Holy Saturday, no one ever had the strength to talk about what they did or thought or felt on that day. And each was painfully alone in their private hell.

I guess I shouldn’t say we don’t know any details of that day. We know one detail. We have one thread in the tapestry of Holy Saturday. Not much to go on, I admit, not enough to give us a sense that we know the whole story. But maybe enough to color the day with a little more light then we might have imagined at first glance.
Luke 24:1-12 But on the first day of the week, at early dawn, they came to the tomb, taking the spices that they had prepared. 2 They found the stone rolled away from the tomb, 3 but when they went in, they did not find the body. 4 While they were perplexed about this, suddenly two men in dazzling clothes stood beside them. 5 The women were terrified and bowed their faces to the ground, but the men said to them, "Why do you look for the living among the dead? He is not here, but has risen. 6 Remember how he told you, while he was still in Galilee, 7 that the Son of Man must be handed over to sinners, and be crucified, and on the third day rise again." 8 Then they remembered his words, 9 and returning from the tomb, they told all this to the eleven and to all the rest. 10 Now it was Mary Magdalene, Joanna, Mary the mother of James, and the other women with them who told this to the apostles. 11 But these words seemed to them an idle tale, and they did not believe them. 12 But Peter got up and ran to the tomb; stooping and looking in, he saw the linen cloths by themselves; then he went home, amazed at what had happened.

Did you see it, right there in the first verse? “Taking the spices they had prepared.” Whatever else happened on Holy Saturday, at some point someone stopped and took the time to gather together the items they would need for the ritual task of caring for the dead. Maybe it was an attempt to stop thinking and slip into rote responses, maybe it was a way of focusing away from eternal implications and onto mundane responsibilities. Maybe it was just easier, taking inventory, setting aside cloth and spices, remembering the prayers over the dead that had to be spoken as each item was applied. Maybe it allowed them to return to a simpler time, as they remembered assisting their mothers when they cared for old Aunt Judith who had lived a long and happy life, with mother teaching them the how and the why and the blessing it was to be able to serve.

That’s the thread of hope I see in Holy Saturday. In the midst of despair and suffering, it was the call to service that rose up in them, or some of them anyway. It was service that got them to dry their tears enough to think outside themselves for a moment. To get their feet moving again, to distract themselves from their grief by the busyness of their hands.

Maybe they remembered his words, about giving yourself away to find yourself, about Samaritans who bind up wounds, about loving your neighbor. Maybe that is what sustained them through the darkness of Holy Saturday. That thread of service born out of love. Maybe that was what gave them a sense of purpose when their hearts were broken. Maybe that was what gave them strength to put one foot in front of another on this interminable day.

Maybe that is what brought them back to the place where hope was reborn. “But,” says Luke, “but on the first day of the week...” What a grand and glorious reversal. “On the first day of the week” everything changed. The certainty of death was shattered with the breaking of dawn on that first day of the week. The despair of denial was destroyed with the rolling away of a stone too big to move.

And the announcement, the angelic announcement that was indeed good news of a great joy, told them in no uncertain terms that Holy Saturday was over. “Why do you seek the living among the dead?” they said with a chuckle behind glowing hands. You can almost see this Laurel and Hardy pair falling over themselves, giddy with the announcement they had to give. “He is not here!” they proclaimed with a heavenly guffaw. And holding their sides with delight, they sent the women off with a simple task.

It is our task too, our Easter task. “Remember,” they said. Remember what he said. Remember, by telling the story to one another and the world. Remember by walking as he walked, by loving as he loved, by serving. Remember. Even on Holy Saturday, because they come with painful regularity, even on Holy Saturday, remember.

Then they remembered. Happy Easter.

Shalom,
Derek