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?

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. 

Owning Our Stories

Recently at our church, we heard the story of a little-known Jewish rabbi meeting a Samaritan woman by a well. Hopefully, this story from the gospel of John is familiar, as Jesus demonstrates how God knows each of us intimately – to good, the bad, and everything else in between. And yet, even knowing all of our stories, God loves us anyway. It’s an extraordinary thing. No wonder the woman jumps up, forgetting her jar, which was the whole reason she had come to the well in the first place, and runs back to her town to share the news of the man who “told me everything I have ever done” (John 4:39).

In worship, we watched a spoken word poet interpret this story who repeated the phrase, “to be known is to be loved and to be loved is to be known.” It’s true for all of us. To take the time to know someone is an act of love. And to love someone truly and honestly takes getting to know them. So how do we recognize and own our stories?

We are unique among all of God’s creation in that human beings are story-making creatures. We use stories to make sense of the world around us and experiences in it. To tell a story is to impart meaning to an event or series of events.

Consider your own life story. If I were to ask you to tell me about yourself, you would pick and choose which things are most important, most clearly definitive about who you are – your hopes, your grounding, your values. You might tell me about where you were born or about your family of origin, since those first few years leave deep imprints on all of us. Or you might start with your work or family, considering your current relationships and commitments the most important part of the story.

Storytelling has been a feature of all cultures in all ages. Through the stories they tell, people connect, establish their identity as a group, and been entertained and taught. Through stories, we pass on the legacy of memories, values, traditions, and beliefs from generation to generation. The stories we tell shape who we are and who we become.

Stories are not just for children, as we retell the stories of Little Red Riding Hood or the Three Little Pigs. If we listen, most of our days are consumed with stories. We tell our friends or family members about our day, we cast plans for the future, we share news about loved ones. But now most of our stories come to us through television, movies, and other forms of media. And if we’re not grounded in our own story, in who we are and are striving to become, then we can easily “be conformed to this world” (Romans 12:2).

So, where do you tell your story? More importantly, what story is the bedrock of your life? Much of the Bible are the stories of God’s ongoing involvement in the lives of God’s people. When we retell these stories, our faith is strengthened. Over time, God’s story of love and redemption in Jesus Christ becomes our story.

Over the season of Lent, our church has been reaffirming its foundational beliefs, those core stories that shape us as Christians and as United Methodists. This Sunday, we’ll take a look at our belief in the guidance of Scripture. The Bible is much more than the flat type on the page. It’s a library, a collection of various literary styles written over time, to capture the story of God’s people. In our encounters with Scripture, we believe it’s possible to hear the voice, see the ways, and receive the guidance of our living God.

We often prefer to bend the text to suit our present limitations, to prove our point, rather than let the story of God’s love for creation speak to us and, ultimately, transform us. Rarely does the Bible cooperate with our search for quick, easy answers or clear, simple ideas of God. Instead we are drawn into the complexity of our mysterious God, where our assumptions are challenged and we are pushed out of our comfort zones. The good news is that a better story awaits. Glory be.