Invited in...

The other day, I saw a church Facebook post with a list of their upcoming events and worship services for the season of Advent – you know, the month-ish leading up to Christmas. The first two words of their post caught my eye and my heart:

Come home.

This church is a new start in the middle of suburban north Texas. Yes, most folks around here have probably been to a church at one point or another, may have even joined and had their name and contact information entered into a database, may have gotten pledge cards and small group information – but here is my question:

Can a church be our home?

Here is a list of things I associate with “home” 

• I can be myself there – no makeup, pajamas, may or may not have bathed that day, may or may not use a bit of profanity with the kids aren’t around
• I know where things are there – the water cups, the paper towels, the food, the comfortable places to sit, the bathrooms (and the extra toilet paper)
• The people who live there love me…and I love them. We get on each other’s nerves from time to time, but under all the normal rub of daily life, we love each other deeply.
• The people there know my story and I know theirs. We are constantly writing our stories together.

My husband and I have moved 8 times in our 15 years of marriage, so the physical space has become less and less important as long as our “home” can house all the things we need to make “home” together. We’ve added and subtracted bedrooms, given away furniture that no longer had a place, officed behind doors or in open spaces, cooked food in narrow galleys or wide open places with plenty of countertops.

But within whatever walls make our house, we make home there together. And I’m wondering how church can do the same. A few years ago, a church leader spoke of the difference it makes in a person’s life when they have “home” – a physical home, a medical home, and – yes – a faith home. When we put down roots and invest ourselves to the point of considering a place a home, we are healthier and more whole.

I know lots of folks who have a home where they lay their weary bodies down. And I know others who find a common home in coffee shops and bars, where the folks there know their names. I pray that we make our faith places homes – for ourselves and for others.

One of the new ways of being church and community that I love is Union Coffee. Recently I attended their State of the Union and 5^th birthday party as they shared stories, songs, cookies, and the news that they will soon be closing the doors on this location as they look toward two new places that will become home. One song they sing as a part of worship regularly speaks to this idea of home:

     Hold on, to me as we go
     As we roll down this unfamiliar road

     And although this wave is stringing us along
     Just know you’re not alone
     'Cause I’m going to make this place your home

     Settle down, it'll all be clear
     Don't pay no mind to the demons
     They fill you with fear
     The trouble it might drag you down
     If you get lost, you can always be found

     Just know you’re not alone
     'Cause I’m going to make this place your home

                                         - Phillip Phillips, “Home”

Dear ones, where do you find your home? 

What does it take for a place to feel like home for you?

But first, let me take a selfie

Last Wednesday, the youth at my church introduced me to this new, catchy little song by The Chainsmokers. Is it what we should be listening to at church? No. Is it what our young people are listening to? Yes. And as a church and a community, we’re naïve if we think we can ignore these things and expect them to go away.

“Can you guys help me pick a filter?
I don't know if I should go with XX Pro or Valencia
I wanna look tan
What should my caption be?
I want it to be clever…
I only got 10 likes in the last 5 minutes
Do you think I should take it down?
Let me take another selfie.”

Many people dismiss social media as some kind of fad – something that is here today and gone tomorrow. But Leonard Sweet, a leading pastor in the United Methodist Church, as well as other theologians, offer a startlingly different view. Sweet says that social media is as much a revolution to our culture as Gutenberg’s printing press. The printing press made it possible for ordinary people to have books, including the Bible. It made it worthwhile to learn to read, to be able to study and learn. No one alive now would turn their noses up at books, considering it irrelevant to their work.

Sweet warns that the same can be said for social media. We ignore it at our own peril since it is a paradigm-shifter, creating a new atmosphere that our children and youth will take for granted. Most of us already know that young people are tech-natives. They intuitively understand technology, using new smart phones, tablets, and other hardware and software with ease. And the pace of technological innovation is staggering.

Social media is just another advent in the rapidly growing world of technology. And like any tool, it can be used positively or negatively – in ways that encourage health, wholeness, and life or destroy it.

This song is proof of one destructive tendency our young people encounter everyday in their social media driven lives. “Selfies” are pictures of yourself that can be posted to a variety of social media platforms – Facebook, Instagram, SnapChat, etc. And, more importantly, they become a way of validating or negating self-esteem.

When I was a kid, I dressed in a relative void. I may have taken a couple of friends to the mall with me, to help me pick out the perfect outfit or prom dress, but otherwise, I trusted my own taste as well as the input from what my peers were wearing. And, if I didn't get it quite right, I only heard about it from a limited number of people, even when I was in a class of 500+.

Now, when a young person takes a selfie, they may have not even bought the clothes yet. They may be in the dressing room, considering the purchase, and instantly, they can have “likes” or comments from dozens if not hundreds of people. And, like so often when we are distanced by technology, folks can be cruel! The onslaught of comments and put-downs can damage our youth. I’m sure you've heard the tragic stories of young people hurt to such an extent by an overwhelming barrage of destructive comments via technology that they ultimately chose to take their own lives.

So what can we, as a community and as a church, do to help? The answer is not simply unplug, although carefully supervised screen time and online profiles is a wise course. But additionally, I would encourage us to build authentic, real-life community with our young people.

This Sunday at the Krum Church, we’ll be affirming our belief in the gift of the church. Church is not limited to a physical address, a building, or a place you go occasionally. In the New Testament sense, the church or ekklesia, is the gathering of those called out by God.

And just what are we called out of? We are called out of the ordinary, out of the typical, out of the complacent and self-centered. We are called out of normal human inclinations to be good news to the world – to feed the hungry, clothe the naked, and eat with sinners. In other words, we’re called to love God and to love our neighbor as ourselves. And a great place to start would be our young people. Consider how you might embody the unconditional love of God for someone who might desperately need it. 

Blessed Be the Tie that Binds

I live a tethered life. That’s become my working shorthand for the complex web of relationships that have created and connected me in this life. And those of you who know me know that when I commit to a relationship, professional or personal, I tend to go all in. There’s not any part of my heart that is left fenced off, with a “do not disturb” sign on the gate. I associate this “all in” willingness with not being a lukewarm Christian (as we read in Scripture, lukewarm persons of faith make Jesus want to throw up – “"I know your works; you are neither cold nor hot. I wish that you were either cold or hot. So, because you are lukewarm, and neither cold nor hot, I am about to spit you out of my mouth." (Revelation 3:15-16).

This past summer, I almost lost the feeling of all my tethers. I was like some ridiculous life-sized balloon, adrift in the atmosphere, until I felt the steady tug and tie of two bright stars, grounding my life and calling me home – the love of my son and husband. Of course there were other tethers still there, but in that bleak moment, I confess that I felt like I was coming undone, all the knots were slipping. It is often the relationships we knit together in our lives that can become the echoes of God’s love for us. And sometimes we need those echoes to be as loud as a freight train!

So now, I find myself in another time of transition. I have been appointed to serve as the senior pastor at Krum First United Methodist Church effective January 1. You can read more about this transition from the perspective of the Krum church’s current pastor, Christy Thomas, here. For my part, I am so humbled and honored by the opportunity. I am also simultaneously breathlessly excited, shaking in my boots, and snipping the beautiful tethers that have bound me in ministry at First UMC-Denton. It brings this hymn to mind:

          Blest be the tie that binds our hearts in Christian love;

          the fellowship of kindred minds is like to that above.
          Before our Father’s throne we pour our ardent prayers;
          our fears, our hopes, our aims are one, our comforts and our cares.
          We share each other’s woes, our mutual burdens bear;
          and often for each other flows the sympathizing tear.
          When we asunder part, it gives us inward pain;
          but we shall still be joined in heart, and hope to meet again.
                                                                      United Methodist Hymnal #557

I was looking over the order of worship planned for January 5 at the Krum church, so I could have an idea of what lies ahead. Tears pricked my eyes as I read the liturgy through which that body of faithful people will welcome me as their pastor – that I shall baptize new Christians, that I shall preside at the table to feed the family of faith, that I shall lead them in ministry to the community and to the world – these are all things I knew in my head, but I feel blessed beyond compare that they are receiving me for this ministry. I am tying all sorts of new tethers of relationship.

This is the church I chose, our United Methodist Church, and this is what I signed up to do. Our theology is sound and we are still called to spread Scriptural holiness over the land. Despite all the global church’s warts and failings, the movement of pastors, so that each one’s unique gifts and graces might continue to build up of churches (i.e. the people of God) can be an amazing, Spirit-filled thing. And I’m all in!

For All the Saints...

All Saints is a church observance that falls on November 1 each year, but in my experience, is typically observed on the Sunday closest. This year, as I anticipate that worship service, my heart aches and throbs within me as I face a day to be in front of my congregation, broken and human. Each new strength test has given me this anxious feeling, especially when I see them coming for some time.

So, I decided to process the deaths of the men in my life before I get there, hoping that while I’ll still be my messy, human self that morning, perhaps I can preserve a bit of the face I’ll paint on since I definitely don’t have the complexion of a soap opera actress and I get rather red and puffy when I’m tearful.

I’ve done enough funerals to know that those who have died and gone on to glory were still human. As a wise Methodist pastor once said, you don’t make a saint out of a sinner at the funeral. You honor who they were. And we are all sinners and saints, simultaneously, falling short and beloved of God. So here goes:

My grandpa

 

I have such great memories of my grandpa, many of which I tried to share by sending him cards as the end approached. I wanted him to know that I remembered him even before he’d gone. He was a gruff man, never saying, “I love you.” He was a war veteran and didn’t sit with his back to any room. He had some falling out with his parents and left home. I always wonder about the unspoken stories of his life since he shared so many other wonderful stories. I remember lingering around the table after dinner when I was growing up to hear him talk about family I had never seen, tell dirty jokes, and laugh. There was always so much laughter.

This saint always believed in me and was so proud of me, no matter how I fumbled along the way. If I said I thought I might go to Dartmouth after my undergraduate work, that Christmas brought me warm gloves for northern climes. If I said I might like to buy a house after seminary, my graduation present was a significant gift toward a down payment. If I asked him to walk me down the aisle, he did so, even though he never liked being the center of attention, making jokes and letting me know if I wanted to turn around right there, it would be ok. He may have been a cantankerous old man and hard to understand at times, but I know he loved me deeply and truly. That is a gift to me, solid ground in a stormy world.

 

My dad

It’s hard to conjure up memories of my dad because he left our family when I was entering middle school. It was better for my parents to divorce, but I never did understand why he couldn’t or didn’t love his children enough to stay in our lives, in whatever way he could. I remember my dad taking me fishing – I would run up and down the creek banks, eating wild blackberries, while he trolled the eddies trying to entice some crappie to bite. I remember helping him grease a brown paper back with Crisco in preparation for the Thanksgiving turkey that would bake in the oven. I remember the bite of his belt and his admonishment not to cry. I remember him leaning over to kiss me good night with a halo of alcohol around him. I remember the faded green tattoos on his arms and the scars from many surgeries wrapping around his body. And then, later, when I was a grown up, I remember seeing him small and frail and weak and I felt the fear and bitterness toward him evaporate, leaving me with only regret and pity.

This saint reminded me that we are all broken, struggling in our own journey and often bruising those closest to us as we grope toward grace. When he died this year, the 20 year estrangement was finalized and I was left to wonder that that was all there was to our story. Really? That’s it? The man who helped bring my flesh and blood into being and I have no more than a handful of memories and some scabbed over scars to show for it. It’s a cautionary tale for how I am in relationship with others.  

My son

This story was over before it started. I remember so many things, though, like the joy of seeing that positive pregnancy test and always knowing the start date of my last cycle before his conception since it was my birthday. I remember drinking so much water I thought my bladder would burst so that I could be sure to see my little baby at a 13 week ultrasound since I was nervous that it might be twins, which run in my family. I remember wondering why I didn’t get the super-sniffer or the thicker hair that had accompanied my first pregnancy. I remember being startled when my waistline disappeared almost immediately, although I was losing weight. I remember the joy I shared with my husband, son, and mother when we got to see his ultrasound at nearly 21 weeks, and I saw that I was expecting another son. I still have the list of names we were considering and there’s a closet full of baby things in the room that would have been his.

This saint reminded me that I’m not in control of my life, however much I may struggle to grasp it, mold it, and even at times convince myself that I’m the boss in my corner of eternity. This world is broken, twisted and contrary to the good creation God made, and we all feel the aftershocks of sin. My heart continues to break and I still cry a good deal, but I also feel stronger, more faithful, and more compassionate. In this loss, which shook me to my roots, I had to reach further down, further into true reality, to find my bedrock in God.

I encourage you to take time this day, this week, this season, to consider what all the saints in your life have given you – good, bad, or indifferent. We are who we are because of them.