all the things I can't give you: a letter to my children

Almost two months ago now, I started work in a very fancy area of Dallas. Each day I drive by all the schools that look so amazing, that would inspire and fascinate your growing minds. I look at them, at the lovely gardens outside, at the high walls that will keep us out because, despite the good and noble work that mommy and daddy do, we live on the southern edge of middle class.

I remind myself that this is silly, that there are lots of very good schools out there. After all, I went to public schools and I turned out ok. Of course, there were not so many standardized tests then and we didn't live in such a desperately competitive environment, but it'll turn out.

But then I get to thinking about all the things I can't give you.

I would give you the best of everything. I know it's unrealistic and dreadfully expensive, but the deep part of me that values you so highly wants only the best for you. Sturdy, stylish shoes that care for your arches and soft, protective clothes that feel good against your skin but keep you from boo-boo's. Organic, farm fresh, happy foods to nurture your body and engaging, brain-tickling teachers and schools to nurture your mind. Wonderful vacations seeing the world and time spent living into our family and friends, near and far. But I know I can't afford to give you all these things. Already I've had to explain to my big boy why we can't have the birthday party at the go-cart track or the amusement center. And I'm sorry.

If I can't give you the best of everything, then I would give you joy. A way of seeing the good in things and people that doesn't necessarily take money. Something transcendent beyond the regular happiness that I hope you feel regularly. Today I get to see my big boy dance to the music playing at the burger place, without thought that anyone may be looking or judging. Today I hear my baby giggle with delight when his tummy is tickled or when we crawl after him down the hallway. Today I hear my big boy work on humor by knock knock. Today I see the sun break through clouds in my baby's smile when he sees me. I would give you this wellspring always, but I know it's not possible. And I'm sorry.

If I can't give you joy, then I would give you safety. That no one in this great, wide world would hurt your body, your mind, or your spirit. That you could walk the streets or go see a movie or travel any where your curiosity desired without fear. But every news story I hear tells me that I can't give you this. Everywhere I turn, I see other mothers and fathers struggling and weeping and grieving because this life has hurt their baby. And I'm sorry.

If I can't give you safety, then I would give you resilience - the incredibly ability to re-form yourself in healthy ways after the forces out there have de-formed you. Your dad and I have reflected lately that we both seem to be resilient; we can bounce back from horrible things and keep moving forward. But as I look at my life, I realize that this strength is wrested from the hands of adversity. I can't just give this to you. And I'm sorry.

My dear ones, I feel so sad knowing all the things I can't give you. I know there are lots of things I do give you and others you'll simply have to find or earn for yourself, but out of my deep, boundless love, I want to give you so much!

But because of who I am and whose I am, I know I will give you this one thing if nothing else - I will introduce you to the God who loves you even more than I do. I know your walk with God will look different from mine. I know you may run in the other direction at times in your life. And I'm so sorry that some of your discipleship may fall under the judgmental eyes of the people in mommy's church(es) who may have very particular expectations of what a pastor's child should do or say or believe.

I can't give you faith, but I can make room for it in our life together and show you how I stumble through each day. I can give you space each night to pray for the Paw Patrol pups and Grandad and Grandmary and Bubi and everyone in your class.

Just the other night, my big boy struggled with the reality of death, wondering what it would mean to die, filled with the sadness of being separated from mommy and daddy and brother. So I gave you what I had - the reassurance that "to die is different from what any one supposed, and luckier" (as Walt Whiman put it) because it means you get to go to God's house.

I'm not sure exactly what God's house looks like, but I know our brother, Jesus, went ahead to make a place for us there. And I'm sure that there's so much of every good thing there, because God provides what we truly ever need. God gives of God's self, pouring out love and grace and mercy for ever and ever.

So, sweet babies, while I'll still get caught up in the relentless pursuit of mine and more sometimes, because I'm only human, too, I'll do my best to keep introducing you to our great God. It's absolutely the best gift I can give you.

What comes first?

Have you ever been on a mission trip? I didn’t have the opportunity until I was an adult. I was a volunteer youth counselor, one of those adults who assisted the youth pastor and came alongside the youth during Bible study or camp or retreats or Sunday school. I was just out of college, but our cadre of counselors spanned age, gender, education level, ethnicity, etc. to better allow the youth to find someone with whom they could really connect.

So, I’m in my early 20’s, newly married and new to Texas, working as an administrative assistant when the youth pastor asked if I would be one of the adults on the summer senior high trip to Proyecto Abrigo. And it was such a life-changing experience that I was glad to use all my vacation time for the year on it.

Proyecto Abrigo builds cinder block homes for poor families in Tierra Nueva, Mexico, which is just outside Juarez. And by “home,” it’s more the size of what you and I would consider a small bedroom. But they were significant improvements over cardboard shacks, houses made from old shipping pallets, or living in an old school bus.

While we were there, the program director made sure we went to the restroom before we left the dormitories in the morning, since there was no place to go on the work site except for the community hole at the end of the block. While we worked under the diligent eyes of the maestros, local men who served as the foreman for each house, we were careful not to trip over the daisy-chained electrical cords that supplied what electricity there was from the central pole in town.

But one of the challenges I faced most consistently were the roads, or rather the lack of them. Tierra Nueva was being constructed on top of sand, which had been piled up over an old garbage dump. Yes, it was new earth, but the kind that was given to the poorest of the poor who were willing to stake a claim and build a house there.

Each morning, our mission group caravanned to the work site. I often drove one of the big, white vans. There were established ruts that ran through town after you left the paved road, but they were easy to confuse. And you always had to be on the look out for the odd bus that would come careening around a tight turn. But somehow, it all worked out.

I was reminded of this experience when a pair in the Krum church, a mother and son, went to serve for a week as a part of a medical mission in Haiti. Seeing the mother this past Sunday, which was the first time since she returned, although I have been moved to tears by her Facebook posts of pictures and reflections, I asked her how the trip was.

“It was amazing.” She talked about the children’s lives that had been changed because these medical professionals were willing to take time out of their own busy practices to give their skills and training away. She noted that while they probably all had distinctive and precise ways they operated at home, they were able to come together as a team, making do and making it work for the sake of the community they were serving.

And then she said something that has stuck with me that spoke to me at a deeper level; she said, “I think it’s because none of it was ‘mine’ there. It was all ‘ours’ whether it was the medical supplies or the roads. The driving was crazy, but there were no accidents because we were all in it together, trying to get from one place to another.”

Can you imagine it, brothers and sisters? A world where we’re not so stuck on what is “mine,” but instead we work together? We all succumb to the temptation at times to put “me and mine” first.

But Jesus said to his disciples, “Do not worry about your life, what you will eat, or about your body, what you will wear. For life is more than food, and the body more than clothing…Instead, strive for his kingdom, and these things will be given to you as well” (Luke 12:22-23, 31).

When we seek the kingdom first, by serving others, whether they share our faith or not, everything else falls into place in our lives. May you find your God-given way to serve!

What's in a Day?

With the ice days this week, I've been given the gift of rearranged time. Not extra time, since all the work I miss while spending more time with my family will have to made up somewhere, but my days were definitely rearranged. Instead of heading into the office, hearing the busy, happy sounds of our Children’s Day Out, meeting with event planners and premarital couples, visiting the homebound and the hospitalized, and all the other moving parts of pastoral ministry, I've been at home.

And unlike some of my colleagues, who don’t have young children at home, my work has had to be put on hold for the most part. Even as a write this article, my 5-month-old son is asleep on my chest and I’m balancing the laptop on my legs while reaching around him to type. It’ll work for a while, until he wakes up, but my “productivity” is definitely down.

Instead, I've made painter’s tape spider webs with my 4-year-old and tossed cotton ball “flies” into it. I've taken naps with my baby. We painted toast and made cookies. It’s good stuff. The days slip easily by, with no one paying too much to the hours.

But there was one day, one 24-hour period, that changed the world. This year at the Krum Church, to observe the season of Lent, we are going to walk beside Jesus through the last 24 hours of his earthly life. Jesus is believed to have died at the age of 33.

And while the gospel writers devote most of their attention to the last 3 years of his life, each one devotes the most attention to the day he was crucified. The last 24 hours of Jesus’ life is the continuation of the love story between God and creation. God would take it upon God’s own self to lay down his life for our sake.

Beginning on Thursday evening after sunset, Jesus would eat the last supper with his disciples, pray in the garden of Gethsemane, be betrayed and deserted by his friends, be convicted of blasphemy by the religious authorities, be tried and sentenced for rebellion by Pontius Pilate, be tortured by Roman soldiers, and experience crucifixion, death, and burial.

When the apostle Paul summarized the gospel for the Christian community in Corinth, he said, “I decided to know nothing among you except Jesus Christ, and him crucified.” The suffering, death, and resurrection of Jesus represent the heart of the gospel and the completion of God’s saving work.

This past Sunday, we started with the Last Supper. If you missed it, you can head over to our Facebook page (Krum First United Methodist Church) to watch a video. Through that meal, Jesus transformed the Passover Seder, the reminder of the Exodus and God’s central saving act for the Jews, into our Holy Communion, the reminder of Christ’s sacrifice and God’s central saving act for us.

This meal is how we remember the story of who we are and whose we are. And, if we let it, it can reshape our lives. Just as the Passover Seder moves those at the table from slavery to freedom, our Communion can move us from slavery under sin and death to freedom in Jesus Christ.

We all have stories that define us. Words spoken over us or about us come to become the voice within us, defining not only our past, but predicting our future. But instead of the hurts, injuries or insults we may cling to, God invites us to let Communion define who we are. Through it we remember that someone saved us. We remember that God, walking in human flesh, suffered and died for us to be free.

In breaking bread with his disciples, Jesus taught them one last time. He showed them his love. He gave them a meal by which they would remember him for the rest of their lives. And from that time on, every time Jesus’ disciples have shared this meal, it binds us together and reminds us that he is never far away.

This Sunday, we’ll continue on to the garden of Gethsemane. There the betrayal that Jesus had predicted over his last meal will come to past and his closest friends will desert him. It’s a dark day to keep pace with our Lord. But, if we let it, the gospel will continue to transform our lives. 

Angels and Mothers-in-Law

This past week at the Krum Church, we dove into Mark’s gospel to hear about our kingdom work. We’re in the middle of a series, moving from water to glory.

A few weeks ago, we talked about our baptisms as we remembered Jesus’ baptism. In baptism, we are adopted by God and put on a new family name – Christian. And when we become a part of the family, it’s time to take on the family business.

Last week, our reading started at Mark 1:21, but already in this gospel we've met John the Baptist, witnessed Jesus' baptism and the voice from heaven, seen God's Spirit driving Jesus into the wilderness to encounter and resist Satan, then Jesus’ return to announce the presence of the kingdom of God and calls hearers to repentance before calling Simon, Andrew, James and John to fish for people. Mark’s gospel is a fast-paced adventure story, characterized by phrases like “just then,” “immediately” and “at once.”

The text we studied focused on Jesus’ teaching in a synagogue and exorcism of an unclean spirit – both offering windows into his authority.

Authority – now there’s a concept I often struggle with. Usually authority means someone’s authority over me and the necessity of my obedience and submission. Not my favorites. But as I've struggled with these ideas in the course of my discipleship, a hymn came to my aid – “As the Deer,” whose opening lyrics are based on Psalm 42.

As the deer longs for the water, / so my soul longs after you. / You alone are my heart's desire / and I long to worship you. (Refrain) You alone are my strength, my shield / To you alone will my spirit yield. / You alone are my heart’s desire / and I long to worship you 

Hearing this song, sung by a youth choir many years ago, was like a key in the lock for me when it comes to authority. To GOD alone will my spirit yield. It was entirely freeing. I don’t have to bow down to worldly powers or consent to abuse by a partner. I don’t have to be satisfied with making 70 cents on the dollar or concede my unique gifts because of any classification under the sun. I don’t have to be content with the world and its exercise of authority.

I yield to God. That’s what I’m called to as a Christian in the world. It means I might be going against the grain sometimes. Really, if I’m not swimming upstream in this broken, hurting world, I’m failing to follow my savior.

I don’t have to worry about God abusing God’s authority over me the way I might worry about worldly powers. While corporations, countries, and citizens destroy the earth and degrade the image of God in each person, God is all about the liberation and redemption business. I can give myself wholly over to God’s authority, because God loves each of us so much, myself included, that God gives love and sacrifices God’s own self.

In a worldly sense, Jesus didn't have any power. He wasn't a king with political or military power. He wasn't a priest, who had the power in Roman Judea. He wasn't even a scribe with the authority of Jewish tradition. The only authority he had was the supreme confidence that what he did and said was God's will and God's truth. He lived into God’s kingdom, bringing a glimpse of life as it will be.

In a world plagued by powers that try to enslave us, Jesus breaks through. We are rescued from evil, injustice, and oppression by the authority of the crucified and risen Christ. When we put ourselves under the Lordship of Jesus Christ, we become agents who break the bonds that enslave our brothers and sisters.

So what does that have to do with angels and mothers-in-law? I’m sure not all of you are blessed with a wonderful mother-in-law like mine. I've heard enough grumbling and joking to know that.

But this Sunday we’ll take another look at Mark’s gospel, picking up in chapter one where we left off last week. Immediately after he rebukes an unclean spirit in the synagogue, Jesus goes to Simon Peter’s house, where his mother-in-law is in bed with a fever. Jesus heals her and she responds in one of the biggest surprises in the whole gospel.

Water-washed & Spirit-born

A couple of Sundays ago at the Krum Church we did two fun things: 1) we celebrated Epiphany (when the 3 wise men, kings, or magi – whatever you want to call them – came to worship the Christ child) and 2) we started our new Sunday schedule with two worship services (11am and 5pm). I came home Sunday night intoxicated on a blend of joy, Holy Spirit, and exhaustion. It was magnificent.

Last week was no less exciting as we launched into our new series – “from Water to Glory.” As a liturgical, connectional church, we keep the Christian calendar. This means that last Sunday was the time we were called to remember the Baptism of the Lord. Jesus, who knew no sin, came to be baptized by his cousin, John, in the river Jordan. And in that moment, as he came up from the water, the Spirit appeared like a dove and the voice of God spoke, "You are my son, the Beloved; with you I am well pleased" (Mark 1:11). 

In the sacrament of baptism, we are born anew by water and the Spirit (John 3:5). We are water-washed and Spirit-born, brought into a special covenant as God’s grace is poured out upon us.

As United Methodists, we understand God to be the one who acts in baptism. Yes, we show up, we profess our faith, we present our child, but ultimately baptism is something God does with, for, and to us. As such, we don’t baptize someone more than once, although we do take opportunities, like this Sunday, to remember our baptism and be thankful.

Because I believe that God speaks over each of us in our baptism and beyond, “You are my child, my beloved; with you I am well-pleased.” Of course we feel inadequate, we may try to quibble and say that those words only apply to Jesus. Most of those protests come from the place of shame, because we don’t feel like we deserve for God to feel that way about us. After all, unlike Jesus, we’re not perfect!

But hear this good news, brothers and sisters – God loves you and there’s nothing you can do about it. Whether or not you are ever baptized, God is just crazy about you, so much so that God will keep calling you and calling you and calling you, like a suitor who won’t take a hint. God wants a relationship with you!

Not because you did anything to deserve it. None of us deserve it. But simply because God made you for God’s self. You are God’s beloved child and God wants to be in your life like any good parent does.

As much as I get frustrated, tired, and otherwise less than good in my parenting relationship, it’s been a place of unsurpassed divine revelation for me. When I look at my boys, when I hold them in my arms, when I observe their wit, their curiosity, their humor – my heart swells with love. And if my little old heart, puny and human, can feel this depth of love, I can’t even begin to imagine what God feels for each of us. God’s love is an ocean compared to my water drop.

We make a covenant in our baptism and when we accept God’s grace that we will grow by faith toward perfection in love. Make sure you heard that correctly – perfection in love, not the world’s standards of perfection which are all warped and tangled up with fame, wealth, success, etc. God in Jesus Christ doesn’t promise those things. Being a follower of the crucified and risen One doesn’t come with a lot of guarantees of worldly comfort.

But being perfected in love is a different story. It means letting your heart grow, letting your love swell to encompass not just your family, your friends, your tribe. If you let God really get ahold of you, you find yourself loving strangers, enemies, those the world finds unlovely and unlovable. It’s an uncomfortable spot, because when you love others, really love them despite everything else about them save that they are God’s own child, you can’t treat them the same way anymore.

That’s the ground we’ll cover at the Krum Church these next few weeks. How do we grow from the waters of baptism to the glory of resurrection? We’ll look to the pioneer and perfecter of our faith as the trailblazer for our own journeys. May we have the grace to let God work in us!

Independent, Free, & Brave

“We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness. That to secure these rights, Governments are instituted among Men, deriving their just powers from the consent of the governed...”

I imagine, like most people, that I often observe traditions without giving them too much thought.

That’s been the case for me with July 4 most years. The day would find me in typical celebration of this American holiday – enjoying a barbeque with friends and family and ooo-ing and ahhh-ing over fireworks.

But this year I spent some time with my good friend, Google, digging into our collective roots, reading our Declaration of Independence, and ruminating on what our unique society has created and taken over the course of nearly 240 years of being.

The quotation above is just a small snippet from the beginning of the Declaration of Independence, laying the groundwork for setting forth a list of grievances against the King in order to justify the breaking of ties between the colonies and the mother country in the eyes of the world. While a vote in the Continental Congress severing our ties actually happened on July 2, 1776 and there is some dispute about when the Declaration was signed, some suggesting dates as late as August, July 4 has come to be the date when we celebrate this document and the foundation it laid for our country.

As much as we celebrate, I wonder how much we believe the words of the document itself? Do we really believe that “all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness?” Of course, Mr. Jefferson, as chief author of the Declaration, speaks in the mode of his day. I would hope that our postmodern sensibilities would include women in our belief of equality, although we’ve had voting rights for less than 95 years. And there are so many other glaring inequalities that you and I could cite.

Even as I write this, I wonder where to take my stand. The 56 signers of the Declaration obviously felt compelled to take their stand, to stake their reputations and their lives with bold strokes of ink. A wise colleague of mine differentiates carefully between “kingdom issues” and the sensationalized issues we see bandied about by pundits. He takes his stand on matters of the kingdom, those things that are close to the heart of God. The other he lets fall away like dross.

I appreciate his wisdom because I’ve seen too many good and godly people take their stand and alienate people left and right. Our magnificent nation staked its claims on these self-evident truths of equality and yet like so many of us, individually, has wandered, strayed, and sinned with startling regularity. Jesus cries, “"Jerusalem, Jerusalem, the city that kills the prophets and stones those who are sent to it! How often have I desired to gather your children together as a hen gathers her brood under her wings, and you were not willing!” (Matthew 23:37).

I wonder what Jesus cries when he looks over our nation. Are we willing? As Barbara Brown Taylor wrote, “If you have ever loved someone you could not protect, then you understand the depth of Jesus’ lament. All you can do is open your arms. You cannot make anyone walk into them. Meanwhile, this is the most vulnerable posture in the world - wings spread, breast exposed - but if you mean what you say, then this is how you stand.”

Jesus chooses to identify as a mother hen - no fangs, no claws, no rippling muscles - who stands between the chicks and those who mean to do them harm. All she has is her willingness to shield her babies with her own body. Which Jesus does, arms spread, breast exposed.

I believe God’s Word still speaks, seeking to gather us in, guiding us in the ways that lead to life. If we mean what we say, let’s take our stand. May we use our independence in ways that glorify God! 

Finding our Meaning

When you are a little kid, you don’t get to decide much about your life. At least I know that’s the way of it most of the time in my house with my 3-year-old son. His agenda is directed, for the most part. “It’s dinner time, please come to the table.” “It’s almost time for bed, let’s put on our PJ’s.” “Please hurry, we’re running late.”

As often as I can, I try to give him some decisions, letting him try out his human autonomy in safe ways. We intentionally started this after I read an article on toddler-guided walks. I have always enjoyed neighborhood walks – getting exercise, visiting with neighbors, and enjoying outdoor time. When my son was an infant, this was easy and adult-guided since he was in his stroller. But as he became a toddler, it became clear that his idea of a walk and my idea of a walk were different.

Every so often, we would take a toddler-guided walk. I put aside the frustration and enjoyed seeing the world anew through his eyes. He was eager to pick up sticks and leaves, handing me the best treasures to take home. Once we discovered a little pile of sand at the bottom of a neighbor’s driveway and spent a good 30 minutes playing there.  And I’ve had the delight of sharing some of the fun things I remember from my childhood – blowing dandelion puffs, playing with roly-poly’s, and watching the wind make pinwheels whirl.

It’s a gift to get out of my head, off of my agenda, and engage with the world in the present moment. As human creatures, we tend to live in the past, reliving old glories and rehashing old mistakes, or the future, thinking about dinner or planning for retirement. It’s hard for us to live right here, right now, even though it’s all we really have. That’s part of the wisdom in the prayer Jesus taught his disciples. “Give us each day our daily bread” (Luke 11:3). When we pray, Jesus encourages us to live in this moment, to ask for what we need this day.

When we have time, we take little boy-guided drives. On the way home, my son regularly requests to see the police cars, the fire trucks, or the house that was damaged by fire and is being repaired. On our way between the fire trucks and the house, there was another house under construction. We both enjoyed seeing the work progress and noted when it was finished.

But just yesterday, my son asked, “What did they do to that house?” “They fixed that house so people could live there. A house is meant to be lived in,” I said. Again, being in the moment, explaining this beautiful, broken creation to my child, led me to a little epiphany. We are all meant for something.

In the words of one of our newer hymns: “As a fire is meant for burning with a bright and warming flame, so the church is meant for mission, giving glory to God’s name. Not to preach our creeds or customs, but to build a bridge of care, we join hands across the nations, finding neighbors everywhere” (Ruth Duck, The Faith We Sing #2237).

This past week, I got to join hands with my Jesus-siblings from four other local churches as we built a bridge of care to feed children in our community. Krum First United Methodist Church, Christian Center Assembly of God, First Baptist Church, New Beginnings Fellowship, and Plainview Baptist Church are working together to provide weekly lunch sacks to students served by the free or reduced lunch program in Krum ISD.

 

I believe it pleases God when we set aside our differences of creed and custom to do good in God’s name. Monday mornings we roll up our sleeves, sorting food and stuffing sacks. Monday evenings we head out into our community, distributing food. Each church is handling different food items as well as providing volunteers. If you are interested in serving, please just get in touch with any of the churches. We’d be glad to have you! And if you know of a child who might be hungry this summer, get in touch with us so we can let you know where they might go to receive.

As sons and daughters of our God, we are meant for something. Connect with a family of faith to go deeper, love more, and find your meaning in this life.

Waiting on God

I hate waiting. There, I said it, and I’m pretty sure I’m not alone. We wait in lines and in doctors’ waiting rooms. We wait for test results and for traffic lights to change. We wait for our favorite TV shows to start and for our loved ones to arrive home.

So it was a surprise when I was following the readings for this Sunday to find the word that summarized the reading, Acts 1:6-14, was “wait.” I read it again, but that was the word the Spirit had for me in this season. So, I set out to overcome the glorification of busy-ness that our culture often promotes and find the way that Easter people wait.

The first memory that came to me was the mornings at my grandparents’ house on the lake. They have both gone on to glory now, but when I was little, I would often spend a good bit of my summer with them.

Each morning, I would stumble out of bed, blearily setting out to find my grandparents. Without fail, they would be out in the “arky” room, a screened in porch with a beautiful view of the lake. My Mumo would open her arms and I would climb into her lap, just resting in their soft conversation and the smell of coffee. Together, we would wait with the earth, watching the birds and squirrels go about their business, seeing the sun crest the tree line, all of creation coming to be a new day without haste or any effort from us.

Waiting is a common theme in our Scripture. Abraham and Sarah wait for the child who will fulfill God’s promise to them. God’s people are enslaved in Egypt, waiting for deliverance, then wandering and waiting for forty years in the desert before they enter the Promised Land. A persecuted and suffering nation waits expectantly for God’s promises to be fulfilled in a Messiah who will bring justice and usher in a new kingdom.

So it should come as no surprise that the first verse from the reading for Sunday, Acts 1:6, poses a question from the disciples to the risen Christ, “Lord, is this the time when you will restore the kingdom to Israel?” The disciples are a part of a waiting people and they are anxious for the time to be now. Like a child on a road trip, they wonder, “Are we there yet?”

Despite what some would have us believe, God’s great acts in history don’t occur everyday or even frequently. Most of the Bible deals with real people living in the long gaps between God’s mighty acts. We can wonder why we have to wait so long, and get frustrated that we’re not there yet, but this is part of the mystery of our God. Jesus replies to the disciples, “"It is not for you to know the times or periods that the Father has set by his own authority” (Acts 1:7).

So, what is our part to do as we wait? Our reading has a few words of guidance from those first disciples:

1) Don’t just stand around watching for Jesus to come back. This earned the disciples an angelic admonishment, “Men of Galilee, why do you stand looking up toward heaven? This Jesus, who has been taken up from you into heaven, will come in the same way as you saw him go into heaven” (Acts 1:11).

2) Wait for the Holy Spirit. “But you will receive power when the Holy Spirit has come upon you; and you will be my witnesses in Jerusalem, in all Judea and Samaria, and to the ends of the earth” (Acts 1:8).

3) Stay together and pray. “All these were constantly devoting themselves to prayer, together” (Acts 1:14a).

Bishop Will Willimon writes that “waiting, an onerous burden for us computerized and technically impatient moderns who live in an age of instant everything, is one of the tough tasks of the church.” Waiting implies that there is something that needs to be done that’s beyond our individual abilities. Something that can only be done together, undergirded by prayer and by the power of the Holy Spirit.

So Easter People wait. We wait actively, not staring up at heaven, but engaging our lives for the sake of the gospel with our brothers and sisters in Christ. I pray this Sunday finds you devoting yourself to prayer, together with a family of faith. There’s always room for you at our house.

The Reality of Evil

A few years ago, a colleague of mine introduced me to NPR. Since then, I’ve gotten fond of feeling smarter when I get out of the car. Recently, I caught part of All Things Considered, featuring Emily Parker, the author of Now I Know Who My Comrades Are, as she explained how the Internet is changing activism. While the program itself was interesting, one quote resonated with me: “Fear, isolation, and apathy are the most effective weapons of authoritarian regimes.”

Beyond the intentional use of these tools by tyrannical governments, these same things are just a few of the ways that evil works in creation. While many folks are not quick to talk about evil, it is a reality that exists in our world. And we can’t fully appreciate the love and grace of God without measuring the height and depth of evil.

Some talk about evil in a personified way – the devil or Satan (from the Hebrew word ha’satan, which simply means “the accuser”). Others, myself included, tend to talk about evil as the accumulation of sin, personal and corporate, that has accumulated over time such that none of us get to start with a blank slate in this life.

Evil is insidious. To share a personal example, this week, I had to make a decision about an invitation from my conference, the regional body that oversees United Methodist churches. It was a great honor and something I have sincere interest in doing. However, there remains the little fact that the start of the training would fall right around my due date. I was divided. Did I decline for the sake of my family and potentially set my career back? Or did I commit to the training, pressing through the late stages of pregnancy and the sleepless nights as the mother of a newborn?

I ended up calling a trusted friend to hear my thoughts and help me figure out what I should do. And through our conversation, I saw clearly how I had resisted evil in one little way in my life. I overcame my fear of appearing weak or unambitious to discern what was truly right for me, what was truly life-giving and of God in this season of life. I refused to let myself be isolated, thinking that I had to make this decision alone without prayer and counsel.

Fear, isolation, and apathy affect us individually and corporately. The Wall Street Journal reported that recent voter turnout for federal elections in India reached 66%, or about 814 million people. In comparison, 57.5% of eligible voters in our country voted in the 2012 elections, which equates to 126 million people. It astonishes me that so many of us don’t vote when the right to vote was so contested and hard won for many. It’s apathy. It’s believing that our voice doesn’t matter. It’s withdrawing our gifts and graces from the larger body. And it’s not a way that leads to life.

These are only a few examples of things that can be the slippery slope, the seemingly innocent temptations, the habits of our minds, and the way evil can work in the world. This week, at the Krum Church, we’ll talk about how Easter people work the fields. I’m not much of a gardener or farmer, as any of my church folks can tell you, but I do believe that Jesus calls us to the fields.

For the past few weeks, I’ve also been out asking for donations or sponsorships for our Senior Breakfast. It’s a 50+ year tradition our church has of celebrating our graduating seniors. And I’ve been wonderfully surprised at the generosity of our community. In many cases, all I have had to do is ask and the gifts are given, cheerfully and willingly. But I have to work the fields. The gifts don’t come in unless someone asks.

As Christians, we are called to do the same. Jesus “said to them, ‘The harvest is plentiful, but the laborers are few; therefore ask the Lord of the harvest to send out laborers into his harvest’” (Luke 10:2). Our brothers and sisters are waiting for a word of good news, something that gives hope and life in the midst of fear, isolation, and apathy. We have been entrusted with the gospel, not to hoard, but to share and celebrate. Our friends, family, and neighbors don’t become part of the Body of Christ unless someone asks. May we all be good news to someone this week!

Living in Community

Come Sunday at the Krum Church, we’ll remember that Easter people live in community. Not just the superficial community some of us may settle for – the wave to the neighbors, drive through downtown, smile politely but keep the deep things to ourselves stuff of over-scheduled, underfed lives. We are made to live in community. It’s what God intended! God, who lives in community within God’s own self in the eternal relationship between Father, Son and Holy Spirit, created us with the same capacity and necessity for love.

I found this wonderful story recently on Momastery, one of my favorite blogs: In carpentry, “sometimes an existing joist, which was designed to handle a certain load, becomes too weak. Maybe it was damaged by water or fire. Maybe it still has structural integrity but an addition is being constructed and the new load is going to be a lot heavier than before. Either way, now it is not as sturdy as it needs to be.

When a builder needs to strengthen that joist, she puts a new member right next to the original one and fastens the two together. Sometimes, two new joists are needed- one on either side. Do you know what they call that? A Sister Joist.”

We need our brothers and sisters and they need us. Sometimes something has happened in our lives, some tragedy or circumstance that has left us grieving and broken. Or perhaps good, new challenges have come along such as a change of job or the addition of children and the new load is heavier than before.

The common perception that Christianity is primarily about the individual and a personal relationship with Jesus Christ is an insidious, modern heresy. Like the serpent in the garden, it whispers that we can be enough on our own.

But look at Jesus’ own ministry! Jesus didn’t collect a studio of students and only teach private lessons. No, he called together a small group, knitting them together in relationship with himself as well as with one another. The small group of the disciples and their rabbi was dynamic and life-giving. It allowed for questions to surface and lessons to be taught while ensuring that when the teacher was no longer physically present, they wouldn’t be alone in this life. Not only would the disciples receive the gift of the Holy Spirit, to comfort and empower them, but they would have each other.

It’s a good thing for all of us who call ourselves Christian to echo this example. If, for today, we aren’t the joists that need shoring up, then we are the ones called to stand alongside others, to lend our strength for a season. Because it all goes around in time. Those who lend strength today will need to borrow it someday. And if we live outside a deep community, our resources in times of need will be sorely lacking.

Some of us are blessed to find our first and best community in our families. This week also brings us Mother’s Day, an American holiday which originated with Anna Jarvis, a laywoman from the Methodist Episcopal Church in Grafton, West Virginia in 1907.

While for some of us this holiday is a straight-forward obligation to call our moms or make sure we get a gift for the mother in our household, I ask us all to remember that for many, it’s not that simple. Motherhood, like any human relationship, can be a messy reality.

So, as you do your shopping or get your cards in the mail, consider praying for mothering relationships in all their forms. Those who have struggled with infertility. Those for whom motherhood was unwelcome or challenging. Those who have lost children to death. Those who have struggled in relationship with their mothers. Those who opened their hearts to children through adoption or foster care. Those who struggle to balance the demands of family life with work and other commitments.

Maybe Mother’s Day can be an opportunity to live a greater reality of what it means to be family. Jesus said, “Who are my mother and my brothers? Whoever does the will of God is my brother and sister and mother” (Mark 3:33, 35). In this simple statement, Jesus reconstitutes what it means to be a family, calling us to extend the love we usually reserve for our nuclear families much wider. So, this week, consider embracing the Creator’s blueprints and live in community.

Living as Easter People

Almost two weeks ago, we celebrated the resurrection of Jesus Christ. In our church, as in many, there was special music, lilies, friends and family – in short, it was our finest, offered to God in praise and thanksgiving for this miracle of redemption.

And yet, this past Sunday, many churches experienced one of the lowest Sundays in the year. It always strikes me as odd. We’ve just heard the good news, the best news, that our God is triumphant over death and offers us grace upon grace to live this life faithfully. Isn’t that the kind of thing that makes you hungry for more?

Or, is it like going to a rich banquet, with all the best trimmings and all our favorite foods, and when it’s over, we push our chairs back, loosen our belts, and feel no need for anything else. Is it possible to glut ourselves on the good news of Easter, letting its stores tide us over until next year, or maybe Christmas?

 

I certainly hope not. In our church, as in many traditional churches, Easter is understood not as one day, but as an entire season, called the Great Fifty Days. For fifty days we celebrate the resurrection, culminating on Pentecost, when we remember how the power of the Holy Spirit has brought the church into being.

To understand Easter as one day is to make the same mistake that many newlyweds make. They get so caught up in the wedding plans – the perfect cake, the perfect dress, the perfect music, etc. – that they forget about the hard, challenging, and very rewarding work of the marriage ahead.

So, we are called to live as Easter people all year long, not just on one Sunday. That’s what our church is focusing on through the Great Fifty Days. Last Sunday we walked with Thomas to affirm that Easter people believe, even though it’s often hard and messy.

This week, we’ll see how Easter people turn around. In Scripture, there are a couple of words used for the idea of turning around. The Hebrew is shuv while the Greek is metanoia. Both words are usually translated as repentance. Repentance goes beyond asking for forgiveness. It is a complete U-turn, a life transformation, a time when we turn our backs on old ways and live into new ones.

And it’s what God asks of us. It’s re-turning to God and focusing our lives on the source of all life and goodness. This Sunday, we’ll hear Peter’s witness, “Men of Judea and all who live in Jerusalem, let this be known to you, and listen to what I say. Therefore let the entire house of Israel know with certainty that God has made him both Lord and Messiah, this Jesus whom you crucified” (Acts 2:14, 36). The crowd was “cut to the heart and said to Peter and to the other apostles, ‘Brothers, what should we do?’ Peter said to them, ‘Repent, and be baptized’” (Acts 2:37-38a).

Baptism is the public ritual that acknowledges our spiritual death in sin and the gracious initiative of God to birth us anew. As United Methodists, the first question we ask those who come for baptism is: “Do you renounce the spiritual forces of wickedness, reject the evil powers of this world, and repent of your sins?” It gets at this idea of turning around. We acknowledge the path we are on is broken and misleading that no amount of repair we might attempt can ever make it right. We renounce it, we reject it, we turn and walk a different way.

God offers us new life in the resurrection of Jesus Christ. God offers us a new path on which to walk, the way of the Crucified and Risen One. We are baptized, cleansed, born anew by water and Spirit to walk in this new path of eternal life. And we are filled with the Spirit from that moment forward to make that path our own as we continue to turn from old allegiances or habits and learn how to live out the deliverance we have been freely given in Christ.

Easter is not just one day. If you’re looking for new life, if your ways aren’t working anymore, if you think it’s time to turn around and follow Jesus, I look forward to seeing you in church this Sunday. It’s a long road, but you have plenty of companions for the journey and a great guidebook.

Jesus Christ and His Reign

This Sunday, our church will make one final affirmation as we conclude our series on what we believe. We believe in Jesus Christ and his reign! It’s a shocking, countercultural statement to make, although most of us have lost touch with that.

But look at some of the story from Scripture – an embarrassing teenage pregnancy, a poor peasant couple forced to flee as refugees to Egypt after the birth of their baby, and King Herod’s slaughter of Jewish baby boys in a unsuccessful attempt to put an end to this new King. It doesn’t sound like a royal story. But this is the story of Jesus – a Messiah who goes to the poor and marginalized over the rich and powerful, a Savior who is rejected by the very people he is there to save, and a King who reigns from a bloody cross.

If we call ourselves Christians, this is the story we hold as true, and not just true, but the definitive bedrock of our life stories. At least, that’s what we say.

When I was in the ordination process in The United Methodist Church, which is a long and challenging journey, one of the questions I had to answer for the Board of Ordained Ministry was this, “How do you interpret the statement Jesus Christ is Lord?”

It takes going back to a governing system much different from our own to put understanding to this statement and yet it is the foundational affirmation of faith in the New Testament. Paul goes so far as to say that “no one can say ‘Jesus is Lord’ except by the Holy Spirit” (1 Corinthians 12:3).

In the governing system of the ancient near east, where Jesus was born and lived, there were those in power, like governors and kings, and they were often addressed as “Lord.” To call a poor, homeless, rebellious rabbi “Lord” was to pledge allegiance to a very different system than the one the world could see and touch. It was to risk your life as a citizen of the kingdom of God, rather than a subject under rule by Caesar.

A great way to get rid of Jesus is to make him out as a distant spiritual possibility, like a great historical figure or a warm, fuzzy feeling you get when singing your favorite praise song. But when you recognize Jesus as the Lord of your life, when you allow him to take up room, stake a claim on you, and take charge, it changes the dynamic. No longer is God a convenient genie, stashed in a pocket until we need to make a wish, what often may pass for prayer. Instead, Christ takes the lead in your life, reorganizing priorities and changing things so that you are living as a citizen of the kingdom of God, no matter what your earthly papers may say.

When we celebrate the resurrection of Jesus Christ this Sunday, we affirm that God is triumphant! God has the final say. Christ is victorious over death, such that we need not fear even the grave.

It’s a difficult reality to live out every day. On Sunday we confess Jesus is our Lord, but what happens on Monday? There’s a simple way to figure out where our allegiances really live – take a look at your calendar and your check book. Where do you spend your time and money? That’s where you’ll find your heart, “for where your treasure is, there your heart will be also” (Matthew 6:21; Luke 12:34).

So as we look forward to Easter Sunday, considering giving your Lord and King more than your words, more than an occasional Sunday morning presence, more than a logical assent to the idea that there is God. Give Jesus your whole self, your full commitment, and unswerving loyalty.

I’m looking forward to receiving our confirmands, those youth who have spent several months in fellowship and learning, into the kingdom. Through our ritual, they’ll renounce the spiritual forces of wickedness, reject the evil powers of this world, and repent of their sin. They’ll accept the freedom and power God gives them to resist evil, injustice, and oppression in whatever forms they present themselves. They’ll confess Jesus Christ as their Savior and promise to serve him as their Lord, in union with the church which Christ has opened to people of all ages, nations, and races.

They’ll be taking a bold step into the kingdom of God. I pray we all have the courage to follow!

The Power of Holy Week

Over the season of Lent, the church I serve has been affirming the basic beliefs we share in common with all Christians as well as a few distinctive things that make us United Methodists. This Sunday we reaffirmed that we believe in salvation for sinners.

It’s no coincidence that this affirmation comes on Palm/Passion Sunday. We step back in time through the power of scripture to witness Jesus’ entry into Jerusalem, riding humbly on a young donkey, as the crowds spread their cloaks and branches on his path, greeting him with glad shouts of “Hosanna!” This is the same crowd that will turn, with the guidance of their religious leaders, into the mob that lets the brutal criminal, Barrabas, go free while demanding that Jesus be crucified.

It’s always a difficult thing to embody this turn in one short worship service. The tradition of the church has given us a whole week to walk the final days to the cross together, which is called Holy Week. And we’ll have a couple of services to remember particular moments in Jesus’ last days, but we also recognize that life is evermore complex, busy, and fractured. While the medieval church may have had every confidence in attendance during Holy Week, the same just isn't true today.

So on Sunday, we went from greeting Jesus with triumphant shouts one moment, to lamenting our own betrayal of the Son of God in the next. It’s right for us to do this because to leap from Palm Sunday to Easter Sunday is to miss the drama of salvation that occurs during Holy Week. It’s like climbing from one beautiful mountaintop view to an even higher one, without experiencing the depth and darkness of the valley between them.

God, in the person and work of Jesus Christ, addressed the problem of sin that is real and deep. In some liturgies, or words of worship, Jesus is called the Lamb of God, who takes away the sin of the world. Growing up in a good-size city, I never had much opportunity to see lambs. But in the past few weeks, I’ve noticed something as I drive from my home to our church along McCart Street. There are sheep just east of the railroad tracks and it appears that many of the ewes have just had their lambs.

My son and I look forward to seeing them each day on our commute. They bounce on springy legs, finding joy in this new life. They explore the world, finding home and comfort near their mothers. But most of all, they strike me as so small, so fragile, so blameless and gentle. And this image, this vulnerable metaphor, is what our God – the creator of all life and savior of creation – choose to take on as God’s own way of being in Jesus.

I know God could have accomplished it another way. God could have behaved more like Samantha on Bewitched, twitching God’s nose and setting everything right again. But God didn't choose that way. God chose to continue to respect our free will, to come to walk alongside of us, to teach us and love us and ultimately die for us to show us that not even death can overcome God. If everything had been twitched into right-ness, I don’t know that we would have even noticed. Even as it is, many of us struggle to understand and appreciate just what God did for us. At least, I know I do.

I don’t look forward to Holy Week, but I know it’s good for me. Standing with the crowds, witnessing the sacrifice of my Savior, all with the knowledge of his resurrection in mind, makes me pause in awe and wonder.

Beyond Palm/Passion Sunday, we’ll remember the maundatum novum, or new commandment, at our Maundy Thursday service, reading the account of how Jesus, teacher and Lord, stooped so low as to wash his disciples’ feet. And on Good Friday at our service of darkness, we’ll watch as the light of the world grows dim as God incarnate consents to suffer and die.

We don’t have to pretend we don’t know the good news of the resurrection, but the light of Easter morning is so much brighter when we have waited in the darkness. I pray you find your way to the cross this week.