I am writing once more about schism in the Episcopal Church (see my first blog on this subject) because it has been on my mind, and because several of you have asked me to say more about it. Sometimes I feel like one of those biblical characters who receive an angel in the night, or a word in their dreams, or a message during the night watches, for I often receive/hear words, sentences, even paragraphs while I am sleeping. I know that might sound odd, but there it is. And last night I did have some nudges about this subject.
I recently saw a picture in the New York Times with all the bishops that will be trying to put together a new province of the Episcopal Church (or whatever they might call it) in this country. I also read that disaffected Anglo-Catholics and unhappy evangelicals and even some folks from the Reformed Episcopal Church (this offshoot happened in the last 19th century) will be attempting to form this new church. As I read this I felt—and this was a something that I related in my earlier piece—a great sense of sadness, but I also felt rather surprised. I know people in all three groups, have friends in all three groups, and it is hard for me to imagine how they are going to find a way to get together, to create something from scratch, and to forge ahead. The Anglo-Catholics left the church over the ordination of women and the new prayer book, but they did not, at least many of the ones I know, have any issue about ordaining gays. The evangelicals left the church over ordaining gays, but they have no problems with women’s ordination or the new prayer book. The Reformed Episcopal folks left 130 years ago because they felt that the church was becoming too Catholic. So, how these folks are, again, going to make a new church—well, I just don’t know. Right now they are coalescing around what they are against—and that is the Episcopal Church—but when they get over being against us, how are they going to create a church that can be for something, that can have a new mission and purpose. Being against things is easy, but it doesn’t have much staying power or much life.
There is nothing particularly noteworthy or insightful about any of the above words. And nothing in that above paragraph came to me early this morning. What did come to me is that here we are with all this brokenness, all these schisms and splits, during this time of year when we proclaim the birth of the One who came to heal all brokenness. Jesus came to heal the breach between God and us, between heaven and earth, and he came to teach us and show us that we are all children of God and brothers and sisters to each other. But here we are fighting and scraping and taking our toys (or our churches) and going off to build a new home only with those who agree with us.
The One who was born for us, who gave his life for us, who was raised from the dead for us, intends for his reconciling love to embrace all, to make peace with all. So, all our schisms and divisions are sin; all of them miss the mark; all of them fall short of God’s desire for us. And all schisms and divisions are naive. People attempt to build a perfect church, a pure church, a righteous church, a liturgically correct church, a biblical inerrant church, but have these people forgotten or are they in denial about who they are, who people are in general? We are all sinners and fools; we all make mistakes; we all are mottled; there are no pure and perfect saints.
In the early church the culture looked on the Christian community and said, “See how they love each other.” Now the culture looks on and thinks, “See how those Christians fight.” Our schisms and divisions undermine the mission of Christ to reconcile all of us to God and all of us to each other.
So, what do we do here at Palmer about all this? We pray. And, we continue to keep on keeping on right where we are with God’s mission of love for all in and from this holy and messy and real community we are blessed to be in together. At the manger, which is where we all are called to arrive, we are called to kneel, to adore, to give thanks, to lay down all that separates us from God and from other. Jesus was born into our midst to make us all family. As we go about that work together, we will find that Christmas is not a day, not a season, but our lives.
Tuesday, December 16, 2008
Wednesday, November 26, 2008
Bishop Doyle's Apostolic Ministry and Ours
Just minutes before the start of the 9 o’clock service this past Sunday I heard that someone had fallen on the steps in the front of the church. I rushed from my office, where I had been meeting with our new bishop, Andy Doyle, to see who it was and it quickly became apparent that the person who had fallen was Joanne’s (Andy’s wife) mother, Mary. Almost instantly it became clear that Andy needed to be with his family at that moment and not leading us in services.
As I have reflected upon all that transpired so quickly on that morning I want to say how profoundly grateful I am to the people of Palmer who acted with such care and poise and competence and calm. On one level we missed seeing and hearing from our new bishop—he will have many more visits in the years to come—but on another level I hope that he and his family will not forget the love and support that they all received from us. That is good. And that is as it should be.
I have been privileged to know quite well all the bishops that I have served. They have all been pastors and friends. I know from every one of them that their work and ministry can sometimes be lonely and hard—just like with any other person in a leadership position. It is important that all leaders have safe places, welcoming places, refueling places, places where they do not have to prove or defend themselves. As Andy starts this new ministry and as he continues in it, I pray that Palmer will be that kind of place for him and Joanne and their daughters, Caisa and Zoe. (What a blessing it was to see their two daughters with “Uncle” Ed Razim about halfway through the 9 o’clock service all huddled up with the Razim boys, Thomas and Alex. It was a snapshot of the Kingdom and the Church at its best.)
And so, as much as we may have missed hearing from Bp. Doyle about his hopes and visions for our common life together, we did—under difficult circumstances—greet and care for him and his family, which is indeed part of the Apostolic Ministry that we share together in Christ’s name and to His glory.
As I have reflected upon all that transpired so quickly on that morning I want to say how profoundly grateful I am to the people of Palmer who acted with such care and poise and competence and calm. On one level we missed seeing and hearing from our new bishop—he will have many more visits in the years to come—but on another level I hope that he and his family will not forget the love and support that they all received from us. That is good. And that is as it should be.
I have been privileged to know quite well all the bishops that I have served. They have all been pastors and friends. I know from every one of them that their work and ministry can sometimes be lonely and hard—just like with any other person in a leadership position. It is important that all leaders have safe places, welcoming places, refueling places, places where they do not have to prove or defend themselves. As Andy starts this new ministry and as he continues in it, I pray that Palmer will be that kind of place for him and Joanne and their daughters, Caisa and Zoe. (What a blessing it was to see their two daughters with “Uncle” Ed Razim about halfway through the 9 o’clock service all huddled up with the Razim boys, Thomas and Alex. It was a snapshot of the Kingdom and the Church at its best.)
And so, as much as we may have missed hearing from Bp. Doyle about his hopes and visions for our common life together, we did—under difficult circumstances—greet and care for him and his family, which is indeed part of the Apostolic Ministry that we share together in Christ’s name and to His glory.
Tuesday, November 18, 2008
Schisms in the Episcopal Church
This past weekend the Episcopal Diocese of Fort Worth became the fourth diocese to break with the national church. Many of you asked me on Sunday how I felt about this break. Mostly what I feel, at least initially, is sadness.
I was once connected to a church that eventually broke from the Episcopal Church over the revision of the Book of Common Prayer and the ordination of women. Both of these changes took place in the mid to late 1970s, and my parish priest was adamantly opposed to both of them. When he dropped me off at seminary in September 1980, he said, “I am leaving you here in order to learn how to protect the one, holy, catholic, and apostolic faith that was once delivered to the apostles.” It felt like a heady, heroic charge and I was ready to embrace it with zeal and conviction. Until. Until I began to read the bible. Until I began to reflect upon what it meant to be the church. Until I tried to make sense of how Jesus lived, how he acted, how he dealt with and treated people, how and why he died. I had once believed—and I had certainly been taught this—that God could be captured, or least better and more completely captured, by some particular words in a bible or a prayer book. But then I began to see and understand that all of our language about God is provisional, that all of our concepts about God can at best only point to God, suggest God, give us hints and guesses and whispers about God. I had once believed that only men could stand at the altar because Jesus had only chosen men to be among his apostles. But this understanding began to break down when I read in Genesis that we are all made in God’s image (1:26f), when I read in Romans that all of us fall short of the glory of God (3:9 f), when I read in John that Jesus died to bring all of us to himself (12:32), and when I read in Galatians that “There is no longer Jew or Greek, there is no longer slave or free, there is no longer male or female; for all of [us] are one in Christ Jesus.” (3:28)
Many of the people that I trained with came from and then returned to these dioceses that have left the church. One of the dangers of being a church in schism is that schism leads to schism, which leads to yet more schism. Another danger for churches who are inclined to leave in order to find or make another church, a purer church, is that they tend to define themselves by what they are against rather than what they are for, and that they often move towards a fortress-mentality and embattled-spirituality, rather than a vision-oriented, mission-minded, ministry-shared, and hope-inspired life.
While I do understand how and why some churches, some dioceses, could be upset or even angry about how the Episcopal Church has made some decisions in recent years, I am, finally, distressed about all such schismatic activity. I am distressed for those who leave and I am distressed for those who stay. I am distressed for all of us because I believe that we all need each other. At our best, Anglicanism has had room to disagree, room to see things differently, room to be both Protestant and Catholic, room to believe different things about how Jesus is present in the Eucharist, room to be more pastorally-oriented or more prophetically-edgy, room to stress contemplative spiritually or muscular social action, room to wrestle with different readings of scripture. Now there is less room, it seems, and that make me sad and distressed. I don’t want to be in a church of ghetto like-mindedness or conformity. I like a messy church, a church full of people who are passionate about their ideas, their theologies, their instincts about faith and discipleship, but then a church that can get on its knees together, that can admit our sins and foolishness together, that can receive mercy and grace and love together. I don’t want to be kneeling next to someone who agrees with me—I often don’t even agree with myself—but next to someone who is going to love me, just like I am going to pray to love them, despite our differences and through our disagreements.
I wrote that I am initially sad about Forth Worth and others dioceses leaving the Episcopal Church, but sad is not where I end up. Where I end up is galvanized. I feel galvanized because I am ever clearer about how important our work is and how much we are daily in the business of being used by God to save lives. We have work to do at Palmer and from Palmer, so let us not be distracted by what happens in Forth Worth or wherever else. We need to stay informed, we need to pray about all these matters, but then we need to pray for God’s mission in and with and through us to have energy and faith and enthusiasm and life. Our work, our joy, is to give comfort to the dying, forgiveness to sinners, community to the lonely, hope to the despondent, purpose to the apathetic, strength to the forlorn, and love to all.
I was once connected to a church that eventually broke from the Episcopal Church over the revision of the Book of Common Prayer and the ordination of women. Both of these changes took place in the mid to late 1970s, and my parish priest was adamantly opposed to both of them. When he dropped me off at seminary in September 1980, he said, “I am leaving you here in order to learn how to protect the one, holy, catholic, and apostolic faith that was once delivered to the apostles.” It felt like a heady, heroic charge and I was ready to embrace it with zeal and conviction. Until. Until I began to read the bible. Until I began to reflect upon what it meant to be the church. Until I tried to make sense of how Jesus lived, how he acted, how he dealt with and treated people, how and why he died. I had once believed—and I had certainly been taught this—that God could be captured, or least better and more completely captured, by some particular words in a bible or a prayer book. But then I began to see and understand that all of our language about God is provisional, that all of our concepts about God can at best only point to God, suggest God, give us hints and guesses and whispers about God. I had once believed that only men could stand at the altar because Jesus had only chosen men to be among his apostles. But this understanding began to break down when I read in Genesis that we are all made in God’s image (1:26f), when I read in Romans that all of us fall short of the glory of God (3:9 f), when I read in John that Jesus died to bring all of us to himself (12:32), and when I read in Galatians that “There is no longer Jew or Greek, there is no longer slave or free, there is no longer male or female; for all of [us] are one in Christ Jesus.” (3:28)
Many of the people that I trained with came from and then returned to these dioceses that have left the church. One of the dangers of being a church in schism is that schism leads to schism, which leads to yet more schism. Another danger for churches who are inclined to leave in order to find or make another church, a purer church, is that they tend to define themselves by what they are against rather than what they are for, and that they often move towards a fortress-mentality and embattled-spirituality, rather than a vision-oriented, mission-minded, ministry-shared, and hope-inspired life.
While I do understand how and why some churches, some dioceses, could be upset or even angry about how the Episcopal Church has made some decisions in recent years, I am, finally, distressed about all such schismatic activity. I am distressed for those who leave and I am distressed for those who stay. I am distressed for all of us because I believe that we all need each other. At our best, Anglicanism has had room to disagree, room to see things differently, room to be both Protestant and Catholic, room to believe different things about how Jesus is present in the Eucharist, room to be more pastorally-oriented or more prophetically-edgy, room to stress contemplative spiritually or muscular social action, room to wrestle with different readings of scripture. Now there is less room, it seems, and that make me sad and distressed. I don’t want to be in a church of ghetto like-mindedness or conformity. I like a messy church, a church full of people who are passionate about their ideas, their theologies, their instincts about faith and discipleship, but then a church that can get on its knees together, that can admit our sins and foolishness together, that can receive mercy and grace and love together. I don’t want to be kneeling next to someone who agrees with me—I often don’t even agree with myself—but next to someone who is going to love me, just like I am going to pray to love them, despite our differences and through our disagreements.
I wrote that I am initially sad about Forth Worth and others dioceses leaving the Episcopal Church, but sad is not where I end up. Where I end up is galvanized. I feel galvanized because I am ever clearer about how important our work is and how much we are daily in the business of being used by God to save lives. We have work to do at Palmer and from Palmer, so let us not be distracted by what happens in Forth Worth or wherever else. We need to stay informed, we need to pray about all these matters, but then we need to pray for God’s mission in and with and through us to have energy and faith and enthusiasm and life. Our work, our joy, is to give comfort to the dying, forgiveness to sinners, community to the lonely, hope to the despondent, purpose to the apathetic, strength to the forlorn, and love to all.
Tuesday, November 11, 2008
Post-Election Hope
I remember the summer of 1968. I remember watching the Democratic Convention come unraveled. It felt to me, at 12, like the whole country was coming apart. That spring Martin Luther King had been killed, which touched off rioting in Detroit, an hour from our home in Ann Arbor. Later, Robert Kennedy was shot. I can remember the exact moment when news of their deaths came onto the television. And then that summer in Chicago—more chaos and fragmentation.
I remember all these moments from 1968 as I watched thousands of people gather in Chicago last Tuesday night at the very place where the Democratic Convention had been held. Maybe now the forces that were unleashed 40 years ago can come to rest. Maybe now the hopefulness that so many people had then, a hopefulness that has been lost to so many leadership messes and betrayals and cynicism and partisan bickering—yes, maybe now we can find, we can be given, some hope again.
I know that Senator Obama’s election is not good news to all of you, and I know that there is still great unease or anxiety with many folks in our country (I was troubled to see how gun sales spiked last Wednesday). At the same time, there does seem to be, at least to me, more hope both here and abroad over this election than I have felt for a long time.
Some of this hope comes from our President-Elect being of mixed race. For those of us, like me, who can remember how the races had once been so segregated (I can still remember “colored” signs), this election seems just incredible. We have, obviously, come a very long way in less than 50 years. This does not imply that we still do not have a long way to go as we live into the Biblical vision that we are all made in God’s image and that we must seek and work for justice among all of God’s children.
I am also sensing hope because it seems that President-Elect Obama really does want to reach across the aisle, that he understands that he needs to be president for all of the people in this land, regardless of whether they voted for him or not. There is a crisis here at home—crises, really—that will need cooperation and reconciliation in Washington. I have been disturbed my some columnists talking about this election as a “mandate,” and encouraging Senator Obama to move ahead even more boldly that he had talked about on the campaign trail. (See Paul Klugman’s editorials from this past week.) I think such advice is shortsighted, if not self-defeating and even duplicitous.
I once read (I think these words come from Abraham Lincoln) that leaders must be “dealers in hope.” The problems and challenges for President Bush and for President-Elect Obama are enormous right now. We must pray for both of them during this time of transition.
Regardless of how any one of us voted, it is time to move on and rally behind and pray for our land and its leaders. Christians are called to be hopeful people because we believe that “…[we] can do all things through him who strengthens [us].” (Phil. 4:13)
As I write these words on this day, November 11th, I am cognizant of and thankful for all those who have served this country, all those who have given their lives, all those families who have lost a loved one in conflict. Please join me in praying for all of them, and please join me in praying for all those who are now serving our country and putting themselves in harms way.
In God’s peace, Jim
I remember all these moments from 1968 as I watched thousands of people gather in Chicago last Tuesday night at the very place where the Democratic Convention had been held. Maybe now the forces that were unleashed 40 years ago can come to rest. Maybe now the hopefulness that so many people had then, a hopefulness that has been lost to so many leadership messes and betrayals and cynicism and partisan bickering—yes, maybe now we can find, we can be given, some hope again.
I know that Senator Obama’s election is not good news to all of you, and I know that there is still great unease or anxiety with many folks in our country (I was troubled to see how gun sales spiked last Wednesday). At the same time, there does seem to be, at least to me, more hope both here and abroad over this election than I have felt for a long time.
Some of this hope comes from our President-Elect being of mixed race. For those of us, like me, who can remember how the races had once been so segregated (I can still remember “colored” signs), this election seems just incredible. We have, obviously, come a very long way in less than 50 years. This does not imply that we still do not have a long way to go as we live into the Biblical vision that we are all made in God’s image and that we must seek and work for justice among all of God’s children.
I am also sensing hope because it seems that President-Elect Obama really does want to reach across the aisle, that he understands that he needs to be president for all of the people in this land, regardless of whether they voted for him or not. There is a crisis here at home—crises, really—that will need cooperation and reconciliation in Washington. I have been disturbed my some columnists talking about this election as a “mandate,” and encouraging Senator Obama to move ahead even more boldly that he had talked about on the campaign trail. (See Paul Klugman’s editorials from this past week.) I think such advice is shortsighted, if not self-defeating and even duplicitous.
I once read (I think these words come from Abraham Lincoln) that leaders must be “dealers in hope.” The problems and challenges for President Bush and for President-Elect Obama are enormous right now. We must pray for both of them during this time of transition.
Regardless of how any one of us voted, it is time to move on and rally behind and pray for our land and its leaders. Christians are called to be hopeful people because we believe that “…[we] can do all things through him who strengthens [us].” (Phil. 4:13)
As I write these words on this day, November 11th, I am cognizant of and thankful for all those who have served this country, all those who have given their lives, all those families who have lost a loved one in conflict. Please join me in praying for all of them, and please join me in praying for all those who are now serving our country and putting themselves in harms way.
In God’s peace, Jim
Tuesday, November 4, 2008
Election Day: Plus One
Today is a big day. I know that we make that statement every election day, and, of course, every election day is a big day. But this year, it feels bigger, more important, more critical. Maybe it feels that way, at least to me, because we are fighting wars on at least two fronts abroad. Maybe it feels that way because of the global financial meltdown. Maybe it is because of heightened tensions and even a little “saber-rattling” with Russia. Maybe it is because we don’t seem to have a clear plan, much less the resolve, to lead more environmentally-sensitive and responsible lives. Maybe it is because our political process seems ever more acrimonious and divided. Maybe it is because we seem to have lost some momentum and hope as a country since 9/11.
It is a big day, no doubt about it. But tomorrow may be—Election Day: Plus One—an even bigger day. Let me explain, or rather, let me share a prayer. Tomorrow I am hoping and praying that if Senator McCain wins that he will call Senator Obama, or that if Senator Obama wins that he will call Senator McCain. I know that both of them will have a great deal to do tomorrow and many phone calls to make, but, again, I hope and pray that one of their first calls, and perhaps the most important call, will be to each other. And I hope and pray that that call isn’t just a courtesy call, done out of formality. No, I hope it is a substantive call, a call for help, a call to mend the fences and come together and cooperate and find common ground and a pledge to do all each one of them can do - individually and as partners - to move this country forward, to move away from fear and anxiety, to join forces as they provide leadership and vision. The election will be over, so let the fighting stop. The votes will have been counted, so let us count on both of them to help this nation, and it will take a bi-partisan approach. The winner will have been declared, but tomorrow will be the time to move beyond winners and losers to seek the ways and means for all of us to win and fix and expand and cooperate together. In fact, if we stay with the winners and losers format, we will all be losers. We will lose as a nation, and the world will also be worse off in the absence of our leadership.
Beyond your hope for whoever you are voting for today, I hope that you will join me in praying for whoever is elected. Across this land tomorrow will be a day to take down our signs supporting one particular candidate or party. Instead of having someone’s name emblazoned in our front yards imagine if we had signs with a dream or desire that we might have for the people of this land: Hope, Courage, Vision, Sanity, Peace, Abundance, Faith, Trust, Integrity, Justice, Progress. Now, that would be something to behold. Not names, but dreams.
I have cast my vote—I did it at Fiesta last week and I had many good and interesting conversations as I stood in line. Across party lines and waiting lines we spoke and shared and joked and hoped. It was a great moment that made me proud and thankful to be an American.
I hope that you would join me in praying on Election Day: Plus One. That you would commit to praying that whoever wins this election will reach out to the one who received fewer votes so that both parties can find some reconciliation, some common cause for the good of all, and some common vision that together they can once more lead this land, this country, this people to a better and brighter and stronger future, not only for our own sake but the sake of all the world.
It is a big day, no doubt about it. But tomorrow may be—Election Day: Plus One—an even bigger day. Let me explain, or rather, let me share a prayer. Tomorrow I am hoping and praying that if Senator McCain wins that he will call Senator Obama, or that if Senator Obama wins that he will call Senator McCain. I know that both of them will have a great deal to do tomorrow and many phone calls to make, but, again, I hope and pray that one of their first calls, and perhaps the most important call, will be to each other. And I hope and pray that that call isn’t just a courtesy call, done out of formality. No, I hope it is a substantive call, a call for help, a call to mend the fences and come together and cooperate and find common ground and a pledge to do all each one of them can do - individually and as partners - to move this country forward, to move away from fear and anxiety, to join forces as they provide leadership and vision. The election will be over, so let the fighting stop. The votes will have been counted, so let us count on both of them to help this nation, and it will take a bi-partisan approach. The winner will have been declared, but tomorrow will be the time to move beyond winners and losers to seek the ways and means for all of us to win and fix and expand and cooperate together. In fact, if we stay with the winners and losers format, we will all be losers. We will lose as a nation, and the world will also be worse off in the absence of our leadership.
Beyond your hope for whoever you are voting for today, I hope that you will join me in praying for whoever is elected. Across this land tomorrow will be a day to take down our signs supporting one particular candidate or party. Instead of having someone’s name emblazoned in our front yards imagine if we had signs with a dream or desire that we might have for the people of this land: Hope, Courage, Vision, Sanity, Peace, Abundance, Faith, Trust, Integrity, Justice, Progress. Now, that would be something to behold. Not names, but dreams.
I have cast my vote—I did it at Fiesta last week and I had many good and interesting conversations as I stood in line. Across party lines and waiting lines we spoke and shared and joked and hoped. It was a great moment that made me proud and thankful to be an American.
I hope that you would join me in praying on Election Day: Plus One. That you would commit to praying that whoever wins this election will reach out to the one who received fewer votes so that both parties can find some reconciliation, some common cause for the good of all, and some common vision that together they can once more lead this land, this country, this people to a better and brighter and stronger future, not only for our own sake but the sake of all the world.
Tuesday, June 24, 2008
"At Rites for Russert, A Time to Mourn, A Time to Embrace"
At Tim Russert’s funeral last week, his son Luke requested that Senators McCain and Obama sit next to each other. He then from the pulpit exhorted them and other politicians to “engage in spirited debate but disavow the low tactics that distract Americans from the most important issues facing our country.” (It is obvious that the apple didn’t fall too far from the tree on this one.) At the end of the service, the two candidates embraced. It was indeed a time to mourn and a time to embrace.
As I pictured that moment of the two candidates embracing some words from scripture came into very sharp focus for me:
So if anyone is in Christ, there is a new creation: everything old
has passed away; see, everything has become new! All this is from
God, who reconciled us to himself through Christ, and has given us
the ministry of reconciliation; that is, in Christ God was reconciling
the world to himself, not counting their trespasses against them,
and entrusting the message of reconciliation to us. So we are
ambassadors for Christ… (2nd Cor. 5: 17-20a)
As we move into this next round in the political season, I hope and pray that both candidates, and all those who will be advising them, can remember this moment, this embrace, this willingness to let go of their differences, so that they could be leaders together, Americans together, wanting and hoping and speaking the best for their country, and for this world, together. That is my hope and my prayer. Like many of you, I am tired and fed up with how polarized the political parties are right now, and have been. I am tired and fed up that there seems to be so little ability to compromise, to negotiate, to reach across the aisle, to seek not what is best for “my” party, but best for this nation and our connection to all other peoples and nations. I am tired and fed up with the lack of civility and sensibility and humility. I am tired and fed up the posturing, the obfuscation, the oscillating. Would that both parties and our whole political process could repent; that is, turn around; that is, make some changes; that is, soften its heart and enlighten its mind.
Now, what made John McCain and Barack Obama embrace each other at the end of this service? Now, it would be all too easy to say that Luke Russert had somehow embarrassed them to do so. After the son’s impassioned words—even prophetic words—about the political process, they would have looked churlish not to embrace, not to make some show of civility. Yes, that would be an easy position to take, and a cynical one. Maybe I am a bit of a idealist, but I am going to hope and pray that they embraced each other because they knew and felt that Luke Russert had spoken the truth and that his words spoke to their best and truest selves, the selves that first led both of them into politics. That is what, for now, I am going to believe about that moment—that it was a moment of truth and character, and that it was not a staged moment for the cameras or the press.
It is imperative for all of us as Christians to see and read these words from scripture not just in political ways, but also in personal ways. As Paul says, because Christ has reconciled us to God we are now called to be ambassadors of reconciliation ourselves. As the work of reconciliation happens between us and God—and I believe that this is a life-long, maybe even eternity-long, process—so we must commit our time and energies and words to being reconcilers in every aspect and in every relationship of our lives. Every. Reconcilers with God. Reconcilers with ourselves, our humanity, our limits, our mistakes. Reconcilers with those who are closest to us. Reconcilers at work. Reconcilers in our neighborhoods. Reconcilers in our extended families. Are we? Often not. Often we hold onto our grudges, nurse our grievances, share our unhappiness, foment mutinies, and augment disagreements. And what is the result from all this acting out? Pain. Loneliness. Separation. Grief.
So, who is the John McCain or the Barack Obama that you need to reach out to, to embrace, to move with to some higher ground? You know whom. Don’t pretend otherwise. We all have our lists. Well, it is time to shorten our lists. As we do that hard work of reconciliation, remember always, with gratitude, how Christ Jesus has reconciled us to God. He had to spill his blood to reconcile us to God. Often we need to shed our own blood—the blood of our hurt or pride or wanting to be in control or needing to be right—for us to do the reconciling work we need to do. Where does reconciliation in this world begin? You and me with God, with ourselves, and with each other.
As I pictured that moment of the two candidates embracing some words from scripture came into very sharp focus for me:
So if anyone is in Christ, there is a new creation: everything old
has passed away; see, everything has become new! All this is from
God, who reconciled us to himself through Christ, and has given us
the ministry of reconciliation; that is, in Christ God was reconciling
the world to himself, not counting their trespasses against them,
and entrusting the message of reconciliation to us. So we are
ambassadors for Christ… (2nd Cor. 5: 17-20a)
As we move into this next round in the political season, I hope and pray that both candidates, and all those who will be advising them, can remember this moment, this embrace, this willingness to let go of their differences, so that they could be leaders together, Americans together, wanting and hoping and speaking the best for their country, and for this world, together. That is my hope and my prayer. Like many of you, I am tired and fed up with how polarized the political parties are right now, and have been. I am tired and fed up that there seems to be so little ability to compromise, to negotiate, to reach across the aisle, to seek not what is best for “my” party, but best for this nation and our connection to all other peoples and nations. I am tired and fed up with the lack of civility and sensibility and humility. I am tired and fed up the posturing, the obfuscation, the oscillating. Would that both parties and our whole political process could repent; that is, turn around; that is, make some changes; that is, soften its heart and enlighten its mind.
Now, what made John McCain and Barack Obama embrace each other at the end of this service? Now, it would be all too easy to say that Luke Russert had somehow embarrassed them to do so. After the son’s impassioned words—even prophetic words—about the political process, they would have looked churlish not to embrace, not to make some show of civility. Yes, that would be an easy position to take, and a cynical one. Maybe I am a bit of a idealist, but I am going to hope and pray that they embraced each other because they knew and felt that Luke Russert had spoken the truth and that his words spoke to their best and truest selves, the selves that first led both of them into politics. That is what, for now, I am going to believe about that moment—that it was a moment of truth and character, and that it was not a staged moment for the cameras or the press.
It is imperative for all of us as Christians to see and read these words from scripture not just in political ways, but also in personal ways. As Paul says, because Christ has reconciled us to God we are now called to be ambassadors of reconciliation ourselves. As the work of reconciliation happens between us and God—and I believe that this is a life-long, maybe even eternity-long, process—so we must commit our time and energies and words to being reconcilers in every aspect and in every relationship of our lives. Every. Reconcilers with God. Reconcilers with ourselves, our humanity, our limits, our mistakes. Reconcilers with those who are closest to us. Reconcilers at work. Reconcilers in our neighborhoods. Reconcilers in our extended families. Are we? Often not. Often we hold onto our grudges, nurse our grievances, share our unhappiness, foment mutinies, and augment disagreements. And what is the result from all this acting out? Pain. Loneliness. Separation. Grief.
So, who is the John McCain or the Barack Obama that you need to reach out to, to embrace, to move with to some higher ground? You know whom. Don’t pretend otherwise. We all have our lists. Well, it is time to shorten our lists. As we do that hard work of reconciliation, remember always, with gratitude, how Christ Jesus has reconciled us to God. He had to spill his blood to reconcile us to God. Often we need to shed our own blood—the blood of our hurt or pride or wanting to be in control or needing to be right—for us to do the reconciling work we need to do. Where does reconciliation in this world begin? You and me with God, with ourselves, and with each other.
Tuesday, June 17, 2008
Lambeth Reflections and Prayers
Our presiding bishop, Katherine Jefferts Schori, has asked all the congregations in the Episcopal Church to pray for the Lambeth Conference (L.C.), which will be taking place this July in England. I have asked Kristin to include the prayers we have been asked to pray in our liturgies this Sunday and I have asked her to write a short article about the background and purpose of this conference. Most often the L.C. doesn’t really get on the radar screen with most Episcopalians. Most often it happens and few things are reported. Undoubtedly, the atmosphere around this year’s L.C. (they transpire every ten years) will not be so quiet. Undoubtedly, many folks will be anxious to hear what is discussed, what reports are written, what is decided.
I think that the biggest issue that will be on the table at the conference will be how we can stay together as the Anglican Communion, which currently numbers about 80 million members and which many people now feel—fear—is close to schism because of our ongoing bitter dispute about homosexuality, and most particularly about whether or not we ordain homosexuals and bless their relationships. This long simmering conversation came to a controversial head when our General Convention in 2003 gave its consent to Gene Robison, the bishop-elect in New Hampshire, to be the first openly gay and domestically partnered bishop in the Anglican Communion. This decision—which was by approximately a 60/40 split—led a number of American churches to break with the Episcopal Church and to seek what is called “alternative episcopal oversight” from bishops in Uganda, Nigeria, and elsewhere in the Global South.
I am not going to try to guess about what is going to happen at this conference. We will, though, inform you about what happens and what could be the possible implications for our common life. I have asked Mark Crawford to do a Sunday morning program for us when the conference is over in August.
If you are interested in reading at least one person’s take on the L.C., I would invite you to look at article by Garret Keizer, titled, “Turning Away From Jesus—Gay Rights and the War for the Episcopal Church,” which is in the latest Harper’s magazine. The title enough got my attention when I was recently at the airport looking for something to read, but so did the author. I knew Garrett through some mutual friends in the Northeast from years ago. He used to serve as an Episcopal priest in Vermont.
Just as I am not going to guess about what might happen at Lambeth this summer, I am also not going to try to summarize Garrett’s long and dense and informative piece, except that—if I understand him correctly—it seems to me that he is saying that in all of our worries and concerns and papers and statements about what to do in our church we may be turning away from Jesus. He starts his article by quoting from the end of John’s gospel: “Do you love me?” You will remember that Jesus asked Peter this question after Peter had denied him three times. Three times Jesus asks this question. Three times Peter says that he does love Jesus. And three times Jesus tells Peter to feed the sheep.
I recently had a meeting with one of the bishops of the Global South. He was here in town meeting folks, trying to get a wide understanding of the Episcopal Church, and perhaps he was also making some new friends and trying to gather some support, financial and spiritual, for his work there. I met with him—and I know that this may surprise some of you—because it has been my hope and prayer to maintain as many friendships as I can “across the aisle” on all the issues. I was very moved by his faith, his piety, his zeal for the gospel, his concern for his diocese and the greater church, for his leadership abilities. The longer we talked, however, the more I began to detect a difference in our visions for the church. Whereas I could tell that he wanted a “holy” church I want a “whole” church. I am not saying that he doesn’t want a whole church, and I am not saying that I don’t want a holy church. But there is a difference. Ideally, of course, we could combine both into a sacred synergy, but when it comes down to our day-by-day life, and if I need to give some ground for one or the other, I will, again, choose a whole church. As much as I acknowledge that we do need to be holy, I do not want us to be a “holier-than-thou” church. As much as I think we ought not just to blend into the rest of the culture, that we need to be salt for the world and light for our society, I have some anxiety about churches that overly stress the holiness piece because they tend to become puritanical and judgmental and before you know it there is no room for regular folks, for sinners, for the sick and lost and needy and broken; which, when you think about it and get honest about it, includes us all. Places that stress holiness tend to lose wholeness, tend to get stingy on mercy, tend to draw lines in the sand, tend to put restrictions about who can come, who can receive the sacraments, who can join. Places that stress holiness tend to like neat and tidy definitions about who the saints are and who the sinners are, but my experience of my life and my experience of being a pastor for 25 years has shown me that we are all a combination of both.
Although I said I will not give any predictions about what will happen at this summer’s Lambeth Conference, I will share a dream about what could happen. I would dream, hope, and pray that the Archbishop would just junk the agenda of all those who are driven that this conference yield some definitive statements about how we are going to deal any and all of the urgent issues. I would hope that he would lock up all this newsprint, stifle all the positions papers, close all the computers, and send the media packing. Once all that was done, I would hope that he would invite every bishop there to fast and pray and be quiet. And then I would hope that he would invite all of them into small groups where they could pray together, share their stories and joys and struggles and sins with each other, where they could affirm and proclaim and then cry out that we are all—all—of us sinners saved by the grace of God through Jesus. And then, have communion. Communion with God. Communion with each other. Communion with their deepest and best and most holy and unholy, their most whole and unwhole, selves. And then I would pray that they would come back to all the rest of us and say that they didn’t get the “issue” (whatever the issue might be) fixed and decided upon, but that they did have a Pentecost moment, a repentance moment, a vision moment, and that now, today, this fall, they are committed to doing all that they can to lead and guide and motivate us into being the kind of church for all of God’s children where love and mercy and grace and peace can be so manifest, so infectious, that we can, with God’s help, change this world once more. I want them to proclaim that the Acts of the Apostles has never ended, that we have started again, and that mission will be our foundation and goal and cornerstone and future. That is my hope. And my prayer.
I think that the biggest issue that will be on the table at the conference will be how we can stay together as the Anglican Communion, which currently numbers about 80 million members and which many people now feel—fear—is close to schism because of our ongoing bitter dispute about homosexuality, and most particularly about whether or not we ordain homosexuals and bless their relationships. This long simmering conversation came to a controversial head when our General Convention in 2003 gave its consent to Gene Robison, the bishop-elect in New Hampshire, to be the first openly gay and domestically partnered bishop in the Anglican Communion. This decision—which was by approximately a 60/40 split—led a number of American churches to break with the Episcopal Church and to seek what is called “alternative episcopal oversight” from bishops in Uganda, Nigeria, and elsewhere in the Global South.
I am not going to try to guess about what is going to happen at this conference. We will, though, inform you about what happens and what could be the possible implications for our common life. I have asked Mark Crawford to do a Sunday morning program for us when the conference is over in August.
If you are interested in reading at least one person’s take on the L.C., I would invite you to look at article by Garret Keizer, titled, “Turning Away From Jesus—Gay Rights and the War for the Episcopal Church,” which is in the latest Harper’s magazine. The title enough got my attention when I was recently at the airport looking for something to read, but so did the author. I knew Garrett through some mutual friends in the Northeast from years ago. He used to serve as an Episcopal priest in Vermont.
Just as I am not going to guess about what might happen at Lambeth this summer, I am also not going to try to summarize Garrett’s long and dense and informative piece, except that—if I understand him correctly—it seems to me that he is saying that in all of our worries and concerns and papers and statements about what to do in our church we may be turning away from Jesus. He starts his article by quoting from the end of John’s gospel: “Do you love me?” You will remember that Jesus asked Peter this question after Peter had denied him three times. Three times Jesus asks this question. Three times Peter says that he does love Jesus. And three times Jesus tells Peter to feed the sheep.
I recently had a meeting with one of the bishops of the Global South. He was here in town meeting folks, trying to get a wide understanding of the Episcopal Church, and perhaps he was also making some new friends and trying to gather some support, financial and spiritual, for his work there. I met with him—and I know that this may surprise some of you—because it has been my hope and prayer to maintain as many friendships as I can “across the aisle” on all the issues. I was very moved by his faith, his piety, his zeal for the gospel, his concern for his diocese and the greater church, for his leadership abilities. The longer we talked, however, the more I began to detect a difference in our visions for the church. Whereas I could tell that he wanted a “holy” church I want a “whole” church. I am not saying that he doesn’t want a whole church, and I am not saying that I don’t want a holy church. But there is a difference. Ideally, of course, we could combine both into a sacred synergy, but when it comes down to our day-by-day life, and if I need to give some ground for one or the other, I will, again, choose a whole church. As much as I acknowledge that we do need to be holy, I do not want us to be a “holier-than-thou” church. As much as I think we ought not just to blend into the rest of the culture, that we need to be salt for the world and light for our society, I have some anxiety about churches that overly stress the holiness piece because they tend to become puritanical and judgmental and before you know it there is no room for regular folks, for sinners, for the sick and lost and needy and broken; which, when you think about it and get honest about it, includes us all. Places that stress holiness tend to lose wholeness, tend to get stingy on mercy, tend to draw lines in the sand, tend to put restrictions about who can come, who can receive the sacraments, who can join. Places that stress holiness tend to like neat and tidy definitions about who the saints are and who the sinners are, but my experience of my life and my experience of being a pastor for 25 years has shown me that we are all a combination of both.
Although I said I will not give any predictions about what will happen at this summer’s Lambeth Conference, I will share a dream about what could happen. I would dream, hope, and pray that the Archbishop would just junk the agenda of all those who are driven that this conference yield some definitive statements about how we are going to deal any and all of the urgent issues. I would hope that he would lock up all this newsprint, stifle all the positions papers, close all the computers, and send the media packing. Once all that was done, I would hope that he would invite every bishop there to fast and pray and be quiet. And then I would hope that he would invite all of them into small groups where they could pray together, share their stories and joys and struggles and sins with each other, where they could affirm and proclaim and then cry out that we are all—all—of us sinners saved by the grace of God through Jesus. And then, have communion. Communion with God. Communion with each other. Communion with their deepest and best and most holy and unholy, their most whole and unwhole, selves. And then I would pray that they would come back to all the rest of us and say that they didn’t get the “issue” (whatever the issue might be) fixed and decided upon, but that they did have a Pentecost moment, a repentance moment, a vision moment, and that now, today, this fall, they are committed to doing all that they can to lead and guide and motivate us into being the kind of church for all of God’s children where love and mercy and grace and peace can be so manifest, so infectious, that we can, with God’s help, change this world once more. I want them to proclaim that the Acts of the Apostles has never ended, that we have started again, and that mission will be our foundation and goal and cornerstone and future. That is my hope. And my prayer.
Tuesday, June 10, 2008
More Reflections on Race and Leadership
Ten years ago this weekend I made a significant leadership mistake. James Byrd had just been killed in a hate crime by three white supremacists in Jasper, Texas. I don’t exactly remember the timing of this terrible event, but I do know that when I showed up on the Sunday following it, that I didn’t pray or preach about it. I didn’t do anything with it. I remembered driving to Palmer on that Sunday thinking about what to do, what to say, but nothing came to me. I felt overwhelmed. I felt angry. I felt repulsion. But, again, I didn’t do anything because I didn’t exactly know what to do.
After service two women, both of whom were black, came up to me with tears in their eyes and anger in their voices. Both of them were disappointed with me, with us, that no mention of this crime was mentioned. Both of them questioned whether Palmer could be their home after this omission. Even though I apologized to them on that morning and even though I did so in writing that week, that moment has lingered with me for ten years. I was reminded of “missing the mark” on my own leadership in the articles that came out this past week, and I hope and pray that I never make that mistake again. When the Columbia blew up, we dealt with it. When 9/11 happened, we dealt with it. When Katrina happened, we dealt with it. When the church does not deal with such events, we’re not being faithful. We are not called to be a holy huddle, shielding ourselves from the world. We are called to be aware of what is going on around us and we are challenged to then make theological and spiritual sense of these events. And even if we cannot always make sense of what goes on—like with Katrina—we are called to pray for what is going on, trusting that our praying makes a difference. What I learned from those two women is that when a calamity or tragedy or crime of this kind of magnitude happen, something, anything, needs to be said, even if you don’t exactly know what to do or what to say. Do something. Don’t flinch. Don’t wait for the perfect words or the perfect plan. It would have been enough for me to acknowledge the event, to pray for James Byrd’s soul, to pray for the people of Jasper, and to pray for the life and soul of this nation, of all nations, that hate crimes everywhere would cease.
One way that I can do penance (and yes, I do believe in doing penances) is to confess to all of you how I felt like I let you down 10 years ago. Another way that I can do penance is to invite you to watch a documentary on Episcopalians’ role in the slave trade which will be airing this month, titled “ Traces of the Trade: A Story From the Deep North." I saw some excerpts of this film at the last General Convention (it was still in production), and I will say that I was very sad and aggrieved about the role that certain families of the Episcopal faith had in the slave trade. For instance, the DeWolf family of Rhode Island was the largest slave-trading family in early America. More than 10,000 slaves came here in the holds of their ships. Among the DeWolf lineage were several bishops, one presiding bishop, and many priests.
I knew very well one of those descendents. His name was Halsey DeWolf Howe, and he was the first person who wrote to congratulate me on being called as rector to the last parish where I was privileged to serve. He was a priest who had served all over New
England, and he had just retired to the small town where I had just been called. Halsey and I became very good friends, and he soon came onto the staff at St. Peter’s. I wish I could say that Halsey and I had talked about his ancestors, but we didn’t. I had no idea that his family had such a history.
For Halsey’s sake, for I am sure that this documentary would be deeply disturbing and embarrassing to him, and I am glad that he is no longer here on this earth. For our sake, though, I would ask us to watch this documentary ourselves.
In a recent sermon, I talked about how all racism is sin. I also talked about how we can—even with the best of intentions and with the best of beliefs—indulge in racism ourselves. In subtle ways. Unconscious ways. And then I gave an example of how I had recently done it myself at a store with someone who didn’t understand me not because they were dumb, but because we spoke different languages.
All racism is sin because we are all made in God’s image and because we are all precious in his sight and because we all need each other and because something goes bad and ugly in our own hearts when we indulge in it and because we do harmful things to others when we allow it or embrace it or subscribe to it.
I am, again, sorry that I let you down, let those ladies down, let God down on that Sunday 10 years ago. I give thanks that we have a God of mercy and that we are about second chances. I do give thanks for the painful honesty of those women, however. I learned a lot on that Sunday. I learned that leadership means that we have to pay attention to the world, that we need to bring the world’s concerns and ills and joys into the church, and that we need to find ways to pray and address those issues, so that we can then enter back into the world better equipped to be salt and light and leaven to a world that needs our witness and presence.
After service two women, both of whom were black, came up to me with tears in their eyes and anger in their voices. Both of them were disappointed with me, with us, that no mention of this crime was mentioned. Both of them questioned whether Palmer could be their home after this omission. Even though I apologized to them on that morning and even though I did so in writing that week, that moment has lingered with me for ten years. I was reminded of “missing the mark” on my own leadership in the articles that came out this past week, and I hope and pray that I never make that mistake again. When the Columbia blew up, we dealt with it. When 9/11 happened, we dealt with it. When Katrina happened, we dealt with it. When the church does not deal with such events, we’re not being faithful. We are not called to be a holy huddle, shielding ourselves from the world. We are called to be aware of what is going on around us and we are challenged to then make theological and spiritual sense of these events. And even if we cannot always make sense of what goes on—like with Katrina—we are called to pray for what is going on, trusting that our praying makes a difference. What I learned from those two women is that when a calamity or tragedy or crime of this kind of magnitude happen, something, anything, needs to be said, even if you don’t exactly know what to do or what to say. Do something. Don’t flinch. Don’t wait for the perfect words or the perfect plan. It would have been enough for me to acknowledge the event, to pray for James Byrd’s soul, to pray for the people of Jasper, and to pray for the life and soul of this nation, of all nations, that hate crimes everywhere would cease.
One way that I can do penance (and yes, I do believe in doing penances) is to confess to all of you how I felt like I let you down 10 years ago. Another way that I can do penance is to invite you to watch a documentary on Episcopalians’ role in the slave trade which will be airing this month, titled “ Traces of the Trade: A Story From the Deep North." I saw some excerpts of this film at the last General Convention (it was still in production), and I will say that I was very sad and aggrieved about the role that certain families of the Episcopal faith had in the slave trade. For instance, the DeWolf family of Rhode Island was the largest slave-trading family in early America. More than 10,000 slaves came here in the holds of their ships. Among the DeWolf lineage were several bishops, one presiding bishop, and many priests.
I knew very well one of those descendents. His name was Halsey DeWolf Howe, and he was the first person who wrote to congratulate me on being called as rector to the last parish where I was privileged to serve. He was a priest who had served all over New
England, and he had just retired to the small town where I had just been called. Halsey and I became very good friends, and he soon came onto the staff at St. Peter’s. I wish I could say that Halsey and I had talked about his ancestors, but we didn’t. I had no idea that his family had such a history.
For Halsey’s sake, for I am sure that this documentary would be deeply disturbing and embarrassing to him, and I am glad that he is no longer here on this earth. For our sake, though, I would ask us to watch this documentary ourselves.
In a recent sermon, I talked about how all racism is sin. I also talked about how we can—even with the best of intentions and with the best of beliefs—indulge in racism ourselves. In subtle ways. Unconscious ways. And then I gave an example of how I had recently done it myself at a store with someone who didn’t understand me not because they were dumb, but because we spoke different languages.
All racism is sin because we are all made in God’s image and because we are all precious in his sight and because we all need each other and because something goes bad and ugly in our own hearts when we indulge in it and because we do harmful things to others when we allow it or embrace it or subscribe to it.
I am, again, sorry that I let you down, let those ladies down, let God down on that Sunday 10 years ago. I give thanks that we have a God of mercy and that we are about second chances. I do give thanks for the painful honesty of those women, however. I learned a lot on that Sunday. I learned that leadership means that we have to pay attention to the world, that we need to bring the world’s concerns and ills and joys into the church, and that we need to find ways to pray and address those issues, so that we can then enter back into the world better equipped to be salt and light and leaven to a world that needs our witness and presence.
Thursday, June 5, 2008
"Islam 101 Lecture Costs Principal Job"
When I started blogging last week (I still can’t believe I am doing it given what a neophyte I am with all things electronic) I didn’t think I was going to have much to say. I thought I would do the men’s bible study notes (it has been very gratifying to me to hear from so many of you who appreciate getting these reflections) and that I would on a monthly basis send you all some thoughts on leadership in a column I am calling “Leadership and Life.” That is all that I thought I would do; but then…but then there seems so many other things that catch my interest and so many other topics that you are sending my way. So, here is another.
Some of you may have seen in the Houston Chronicle today an article with the title from above. The principal from Friendship Junior High had allowed an Islamic group to make a 40 minute presentation to students last month is now the “former” principal. The superintendent had authorized that the presentation only be given to staff and not to the students, but something happened from the hand-off from her office to the principal of the school, which led to the presentation happening in front of nearly 900 students. The origins of the presentation stemmed from a father contacting the Council on American Islamic Relations (CAIR) in Houston after his son had been physically attacked at the school because he is Muslim.
After this presentation, which CAIR has described as Islam 101, community members flooded the district with complaints and it then became a “hot topic” on a local radio station. All of this led, again, to the principal being given other work to do, effective immediately.
Some parents were relieved about the principal’s dismissal and some were concerned. As a religious person and leader, I am in the second group. If the principal clearly disobeyed the instructions from the superintendent, then I can understand his or her removal; but if he or she was removed because he or she simply allowed the presentation to happen and because the instructions from the superintendent’s office may not have been clear, then, again, I am very concerned.
It seems to me—and now I about to launch into my own views about all this—that it is imperative that we as Christians learn about other faiths, that we learn what the similarities are, the differences are, that we accept, honor, and sometimes even celebrate those differences, and that we learn how to co-exist in this world together, all of us as God’s children. We need not, and this I believe passionately, be worried, intimidated, anxious, or afraid of other faiths. I want to live into my Christian faith with conviction integrity, and I would hope that Jews and Muslims and others would do the same.
I was recently at the Emery Weiner School here in Houston, and I told all of the high school kids that I was there to “proselytize.” I thought that the headmaster, my friend Stuart Dow, was going to “lose it.” I then asked the kids what it has felt like to be proselytized by one of their friends and the response I heard from them was uniformly ugly. (As much as I believe it is important for us to share our faith, we need to find a way to do it that is kind and gracious and sensitive.) Despite hearing their comments, I reiterated that I was there to proselytize, and then I said, “I am not here to invite you to be Christians but to be good Jews, or good people of faith from whatever faith tradition that you come from. Don’t just be cultural Jews; don’t just show up for Yom Kippur or any of the other big, holy days. No, live deeply into your faith every day, remembering that we are not human beings with a spiritual life, but spiritual beings with a human opportunity.”
The superintendent of the schools wrote a letter to all of the parents describing Friendswood as “a faith-based community,” while also apologizing to all of them that the program happened. Now, this is, I think, a rather odd statement. Is the superintendent suggesting that Islam is not faith-based?
And then all of the angry responses to her and all of the outraged comments on the radio station—what do we make of all that? One thing to make of all this is that we, many Christians, are woefully ignorant about the deep connections that we have with both the Jewish and Muslim faiths. And now is time for a little bible study. Our great-great grandparents in the faith, Abraham and Sarah, were called by God to leave their homeland and to begin a family (See Genesis 12). God told them that if they followed his invitation that he would bless them to be a blessings to all the nations of the world. (This will be the text that I will be preaching on this Sunday.)
Four chapters into the narrative, scripture tells us that Sarah continued to be barren, and so Sarah gave Abraham her slave Hagar so that she could bear children for them. According to ancient custom, a wife could give her maid to her husband and claim the child as her own. Abraham “went in to Hagar, and she conceived,” and she called her son Ishmael. Hagar then looked with contempt on Sarah, the barren one, and Sarah was not pleased, so began to treat her harshly. Hagar ran away. Out in the wilderness an angel of the Lord finds her and sends her back to her mistress. Later, in chapter 21, Sarah bears Isaac and when she sees Abraham’s two sons, Ishmael and Isaac, playing together she has Hagar and this other son banished. Just as she and the boy are about to die of thirst, an angel of the Lord comes to her and says, “What troubles you Hagar? Do not be afraid; for God has heard the voice of the boy where he is. Come, lift up the boy and hold him fast with your hand, for I will make a great nation of him.” (Gen. 21:17-18) Although Ishmael was not the heir of the promise, God did promise to be with the boy and his descendents. Muslims trace their lineage to Abraham through Ishmael, which means that Jews and Christians and Muslims—all of us—are related in the faith.
Now, by saying that we are related I am not meaning to imply that we are all one; nor, am I meaning to so blur the edges and distinctions that we just have one muddy-non-descript-smorgasbord of faith. There are differences. Important ones. But, again, we are all related, and we are all, according to Genesis chapter one, God’s children. Which means that we need to learn about each other—learn not only what we believe, learn what we share in common, learn what is different, but also learn how to get along in this world.
No doubt the horrendous attacks of 9/11 have made it hard for many of us to think about Muslim people in kindly ways, but we need to be very clear that many, many Muslims are just as appalled and angry about these attacks as we are. We need to remember that many Muslims have chosen this country as their home and that many of them have chosen to flee from the fundamentalist regimes of their homelands.
Let me say again that I don’t entirely know the circumstances of that principal in Friendswood being demoted. If he or she was being insubordinate, then he or she may have needed to go. But if he or she was sent packing because the superintendent was placating an angry group of parents, then we must on some level acknowledge that in all of these proceedings involving a 40-minute presentation on Islam 101 many people have not even practiced Christianity 101. You will remember that Jesus said, “Love the Lord your God with all of your heart, mind, and soul, and love your neighbor as yourself.” And even if any of us do think the Muslims as our enemies, we are still commanded to love them.
One irony in all this is that Friendswood is called by that name because a Society of Friends had once settled there. During these times, times that are fraught with so much suspicion and fear and anxiety, how can we learn to be friends across the lines and boundaries and divisions?
When Abraham died, both Ishmael and Isaac peacefully stood at this grave (see Gen. 25:9). What do we need bury for the sons and daughters of Ishmael and Isaac to peacefully co-exist today?
Some of you may have seen in the Houston Chronicle today an article with the title from above. The principal from Friendship Junior High had allowed an Islamic group to make a 40 minute presentation to students last month is now the “former” principal. The superintendent had authorized that the presentation only be given to staff and not to the students, but something happened from the hand-off from her office to the principal of the school, which led to the presentation happening in front of nearly 900 students. The origins of the presentation stemmed from a father contacting the Council on American Islamic Relations (CAIR) in Houston after his son had been physically attacked at the school because he is Muslim.
After this presentation, which CAIR has described as Islam 101, community members flooded the district with complaints and it then became a “hot topic” on a local radio station. All of this led, again, to the principal being given other work to do, effective immediately.
Some parents were relieved about the principal’s dismissal and some were concerned. As a religious person and leader, I am in the second group. If the principal clearly disobeyed the instructions from the superintendent, then I can understand his or her removal; but if he or she was removed because he or she simply allowed the presentation to happen and because the instructions from the superintendent’s office may not have been clear, then, again, I am very concerned.
It seems to me—and now I about to launch into my own views about all this—that it is imperative that we as Christians learn about other faiths, that we learn what the similarities are, the differences are, that we accept, honor, and sometimes even celebrate those differences, and that we learn how to co-exist in this world together, all of us as God’s children. We need not, and this I believe passionately, be worried, intimidated, anxious, or afraid of other faiths. I want to live into my Christian faith with conviction integrity, and I would hope that Jews and Muslims and others would do the same.
I was recently at the Emery Weiner School here in Houston, and I told all of the high school kids that I was there to “proselytize.” I thought that the headmaster, my friend Stuart Dow, was going to “lose it.” I then asked the kids what it has felt like to be proselytized by one of their friends and the response I heard from them was uniformly ugly. (As much as I believe it is important for us to share our faith, we need to find a way to do it that is kind and gracious and sensitive.) Despite hearing their comments, I reiterated that I was there to proselytize, and then I said, “I am not here to invite you to be Christians but to be good Jews, or good people of faith from whatever faith tradition that you come from. Don’t just be cultural Jews; don’t just show up for Yom Kippur or any of the other big, holy days. No, live deeply into your faith every day, remembering that we are not human beings with a spiritual life, but spiritual beings with a human opportunity.”
The superintendent of the schools wrote a letter to all of the parents describing Friendswood as “a faith-based community,” while also apologizing to all of them that the program happened. Now, this is, I think, a rather odd statement. Is the superintendent suggesting that Islam is not faith-based?
And then all of the angry responses to her and all of the outraged comments on the radio station—what do we make of all that? One thing to make of all this is that we, many Christians, are woefully ignorant about the deep connections that we have with both the Jewish and Muslim faiths. And now is time for a little bible study. Our great-great grandparents in the faith, Abraham and Sarah, were called by God to leave their homeland and to begin a family (See Genesis 12). God told them that if they followed his invitation that he would bless them to be a blessings to all the nations of the world. (This will be the text that I will be preaching on this Sunday.)
Four chapters into the narrative, scripture tells us that Sarah continued to be barren, and so Sarah gave Abraham her slave Hagar so that she could bear children for them. According to ancient custom, a wife could give her maid to her husband and claim the child as her own. Abraham “went in to Hagar, and she conceived,” and she called her son Ishmael. Hagar then looked with contempt on Sarah, the barren one, and Sarah was not pleased, so began to treat her harshly. Hagar ran away. Out in the wilderness an angel of the Lord finds her and sends her back to her mistress. Later, in chapter 21, Sarah bears Isaac and when she sees Abraham’s two sons, Ishmael and Isaac, playing together she has Hagar and this other son banished. Just as she and the boy are about to die of thirst, an angel of the Lord comes to her and says, “What troubles you Hagar? Do not be afraid; for God has heard the voice of the boy where he is. Come, lift up the boy and hold him fast with your hand, for I will make a great nation of him.” (Gen. 21:17-18) Although Ishmael was not the heir of the promise, God did promise to be with the boy and his descendents. Muslims trace their lineage to Abraham through Ishmael, which means that Jews and Christians and Muslims—all of us—are related in the faith.
Now, by saying that we are related I am not meaning to imply that we are all one; nor, am I meaning to so blur the edges and distinctions that we just have one muddy-non-descript-smorgasbord of faith. There are differences. Important ones. But, again, we are all related, and we are all, according to Genesis chapter one, God’s children. Which means that we need to learn about each other—learn not only what we believe, learn what we share in common, learn what is different, but also learn how to get along in this world.
No doubt the horrendous attacks of 9/11 have made it hard for many of us to think about Muslim people in kindly ways, but we need to be very clear that many, many Muslims are just as appalled and angry about these attacks as we are. We need to remember that many Muslims have chosen this country as their home and that many of them have chosen to flee from the fundamentalist regimes of their homelands.
Let me say again that I don’t entirely know the circumstances of that principal in Friendswood being demoted. If he or she was being insubordinate, then he or she may have needed to go. But if he or she was sent packing because the superintendent was placating an angry group of parents, then we must on some level acknowledge that in all of these proceedings involving a 40-minute presentation on Islam 101 many people have not even practiced Christianity 101. You will remember that Jesus said, “Love the Lord your God with all of your heart, mind, and soul, and love your neighbor as yourself.” And even if any of us do think the Muslims as our enemies, we are still commanded to love them.
One irony in all this is that Friendswood is called by that name because a Society of Friends had once settled there. During these times, times that are fraught with so much suspicion and fear and anxiety, how can we learn to be friends across the lines and boundaries and divisions?
When Abraham died, both Ishmael and Isaac peacefully stood at this grave (see Gen. 25:9). What do we need bury for the sons and daughters of Ishmael and Isaac to peacefully co-exist today?
Tuesday, June 3, 2008
Reflections on the Connections Between Faith and Politics June 2, 2008
Well, I have never wanted to be boring from the pulpit, and it is clear to me that my sermon from May 18th touched a lot of nerves. If you were not in church, don’t despair. You can know either hear it or now see it on our website.
In that particular sermon I started by saying that I wanted us to “come alongside” the congregations in the United Church of Church, whose president and senior leader had asked all the congregations of that denomination to talk about race relations on that day in response to The Rev. Jeremiah Wright’s sermons. Since Rev. Wright’s sermons had been shown for the last three months in the media, the U.C.C. has had to face a public relations challenge. You will, of course, remember that Rev. Wright is a U.C.C. minister.
One concerned parishioner wrote that he didn’t believe that the issue was about race, but about a “spiritual leader committing the sin of breaking two of the Ten Commandments on the pulpit, in order to make a point. (1. Bearing false witness and 2. Taking the Lord’s name in vain.” He went on to write, “My concern is that by your taking on the request from the UCC president to speak about race last Sunday, without addressing the issue above, could appear as an endorsement of Rev. Wright’s words and actions. I would hope that you would not sanction the use of such words, or such actions, from the pulpit or any other place, by a minister of any other ‘ordinary’ person. I would like to know your position on this aspect of the issue and have your dissect the dynamic situation surrounding the Rev. Wright for all of us, either singularly, or as a panel of clergy.”
I think that these are fair questions, and I will choose to address them singularly. If any of you should desire to find out what any of our other clergy think or feel, I know that they would be glad to hear from you.
I will admit that I am not a big media person—that probably doesn’t come as a surprise to most of you. I try to keep up as best I can, but I tend to be more of a reader than a watcher. I know that if I am going to do the class next year—the Gospel 360—with much credibility and currency then my habits will need to change. By not commenting on Rev. Wright’s sermons, I was in no way giving any kind of sanction to his sermons, to his language, to his examples, to his positions. Being a preacher myself, I know that you must sometimes speak to the brink, that is, you must speak in big ways, in startling ways, in challenging ways, in sometimes confrontational ways, to get people’s attention. The scriptures are full of such examples, and even Jesus himself often resorted to rhetorical-hyperbole in order to get his point across. One example of this is when he said that we needed to hate our father and mother and everyone else in order to follow him. Jesus does not mean these words literally, for that, of course, would be inviting his disciples to break one of the Ten Commandments. Jesus was using this very confrontational language in order to tell us that he must be first in our lives.
Let us return to Rev. Wright. As much as I understand using big language to wake people up, to shake them up, I also know that the preacher must be very careful about not saying things so big that he or she stops making sense, that he or she doesn’t begin to sounds like just a ranting fool, that he or she doesn’t become so offensive that people shut down. Do I support him using the Lord’s name in vain from the pulpit? Of course not. Now, let us pause for a moment here. Using the Lord’s name in vain doesn’t simply mean using God’s name along with a swear word. That is just simplistic. Using the Lord’s name in vain means using the Lord’s name and connecting it to causes and issues and stances that are not about the Lord’s desires for our lives. Using the Lord’s name in vain happens when we pray for things that we have no business praying for, when we try to use the Lord to substantiate our own needs or positions. Let us face it: we have all used the Lord’s name in vain. Moving on. Or do I support Rev. Wright bearing false witness from the pulpit or anywhere else? Again, no. I think it was irresponsible for him to suggest that the United States government may have had a hand in creating the AIDS epidemic; I thought his comments that attack on the World Trade Center arose from crimes of American foreign policy were unguarded and inflammatory; I thought him calling down God’s wrath upon this nation frightful and unfaithful. Now, having said all that, and having, I hope, distanced myself from him, I would still—as I said in the sermon—like to invite us to think about whether or not this very angry man might, just might, have something for us to consider.
I am sure by now that most of you have seen or read that Senator Obama has now resigned his membership from Trinity United Church of Christ in Chicago. After Michael Pfleger, a Catholic priest, gave a guest sermon mocking Senator Hilary Clinton for crying in New Hampshire, while also suggesting that she felt “entitled” to the nomination because she is white—this sermon was given at Obama’s church—Obama really had no choice but to resign. I believe his leaving was not just an expedient and political move, but also a wise and faithful one.
This past weekend the Houston Chronicle ran an editorial titled “Pastor Problems: Partisan preaching adds little value to presidential campaigns—and much to regret.” The gist that I derived from this article was that all the candidates would do well to keep their distance from their pastors, except perhaps for private issues, that that we, the electorate, would do well to build a wall between church and state. Although I would never want a theocracy of any type of stripe, and although there are some connections between the religious right and the political right that make me uncomfortable, and although I see many difficult challenges on how religion and politics intersect and speak to each other, I would not ever want to entirely or totally divorce religion from the political realm. I have never, and will never, tell you how to vote or who to vote for, but I have and I will invite you to have a conversation between your religious convictions and your political views. If we do not make that connection, if we do not have that conversation, both our religion and our politics will be impoverished. If we don’t try to connect our faith to our politics, the church has just retreated into being a “holy huddle,” focused on the “by and by,” so heavenly directed that it isn’t much earthly good. Such a faith, such eviscerated faith, is not the Biblical faith. Such a faith has no connection to all the great prophets, no connection to the Genesis narrative when God created everything, including the political realm, no connection with the God who so loved the world that he gave his only Son. The voice of the churches made a faithful difference during the civil rights movement and in the abolition of slavery movements in both England and the United States.
That is probably enough for now, except I would ask you to be praying right now and in the days ahead for all of the candidates, for this nation and all of its people, for healthy and strong leadership to emerge, and for our relationship and leadership in the world. Lord, have mercy. JWN
In that particular sermon I started by saying that I wanted us to “come alongside” the congregations in the United Church of Church, whose president and senior leader had asked all the congregations of that denomination to talk about race relations on that day in response to The Rev. Jeremiah Wright’s sermons. Since Rev. Wright’s sermons had been shown for the last three months in the media, the U.C.C. has had to face a public relations challenge. You will, of course, remember that Rev. Wright is a U.C.C. minister.
One concerned parishioner wrote that he didn’t believe that the issue was about race, but about a “spiritual leader committing the sin of breaking two of the Ten Commandments on the pulpit, in order to make a point. (1. Bearing false witness and 2. Taking the Lord’s name in vain.” He went on to write, “My concern is that by your taking on the request from the UCC president to speak about race last Sunday, without addressing the issue above, could appear as an endorsement of Rev. Wright’s words and actions. I would hope that you would not sanction the use of such words, or such actions, from the pulpit or any other place, by a minister of any other ‘ordinary’ person. I would like to know your position on this aspect of the issue and have your dissect the dynamic situation surrounding the Rev. Wright for all of us, either singularly, or as a panel of clergy.”
I think that these are fair questions, and I will choose to address them singularly. If any of you should desire to find out what any of our other clergy think or feel, I know that they would be glad to hear from you.
I will admit that I am not a big media person—that probably doesn’t come as a surprise to most of you. I try to keep up as best I can, but I tend to be more of a reader than a watcher. I know that if I am going to do the class next year—the Gospel 360—with much credibility and currency then my habits will need to change. By not commenting on Rev. Wright’s sermons, I was in no way giving any kind of sanction to his sermons, to his language, to his examples, to his positions. Being a preacher myself, I know that you must sometimes speak to the brink, that is, you must speak in big ways, in startling ways, in challenging ways, in sometimes confrontational ways, to get people’s attention. The scriptures are full of such examples, and even Jesus himself often resorted to rhetorical-hyperbole in order to get his point across. One example of this is when he said that we needed to hate our father and mother and everyone else in order to follow him. Jesus does not mean these words literally, for that, of course, would be inviting his disciples to break one of the Ten Commandments. Jesus was using this very confrontational language in order to tell us that he must be first in our lives.
Let us return to Rev. Wright. As much as I understand using big language to wake people up, to shake them up, I also know that the preacher must be very careful about not saying things so big that he or she stops making sense, that he or she doesn’t begin to sounds like just a ranting fool, that he or she doesn’t become so offensive that people shut down. Do I support him using the Lord’s name in vain from the pulpit? Of course not. Now, let us pause for a moment here. Using the Lord’s name in vain doesn’t simply mean using God’s name along with a swear word. That is just simplistic. Using the Lord’s name in vain means using the Lord’s name and connecting it to causes and issues and stances that are not about the Lord’s desires for our lives. Using the Lord’s name in vain happens when we pray for things that we have no business praying for, when we try to use the Lord to substantiate our own needs or positions. Let us face it: we have all used the Lord’s name in vain. Moving on. Or do I support Rev. Wright bearing false witness from the pulpit or anywhere else? Again, no. I think it was irresponsible for him to suggest that the United States government may have had a hand in creating the AIDS epidemic; I thought his comments that attack on the World Trade Center arose from crimes of American foreign policy were unguarded and inflammatory; I thought him calling down God’s wrath upon this nation frightful and unfaithful. Now, having said all that, and having, I hope, distanced myself from him, I would still—as I said in the sermon—like to invite us to think about whether or not this very angry man might, just might, have something for us to consider.
I am sure by now that most of you have seen or read that Senator Obama has now resigned his membership from Trinity United Church of Christ in Chicago. After Michael Pfleger, a Catholic priest, gave a guest sermon mocking Senator Hilary Clinton for crying in New Hampshire, while also suggesting that she felt “entitled” to the nomination because she is white—this sermon was given at Obama’s church—Obama really had no choice but to resign. I believe his leaving was not just an expedient and political move, but also a wise and faithful one.
This past weekend the Houston Chronicle ran an editorial titled “Pastor Problems: Partisan preaching adds little value to presidential campaigns—and much to regret.” The gist that I derived from this article was that all the candidates would do well to keep their distance from their pastors, except perhaps for private issues, that that we, the electorate, would do well to build a wall between church and state. Although I would never want a theocracy of any type of stripe, and although there are some connections between the religious right and the political right that make me uncomfortable, and although I see many difficult challenges on how religion and politics intersect and speak to each other, I would not ever want to entirely or totally divorce religion from the political realm. I have never, and will never, tell you how to vote or who to vote for, but I have and I will invite you to have a conversation between your religious convictions and your political views. If we do not make that connection, if we do not have that conversation, both our religion and our politics will be impoverished. If we don’t try to connect our faith to our politics, the church has just retreated into being a “holy huddle,” focused on the “by and by,” so heavenly directed that it isn’t much earthly good. Such a faith, such eviscerated faith, is not the Biblical faith. Such a faith has no connection to all the great prophets, no connection to the Genesis narrative when God created everything, including the political realm, no connection with the God who so loved the world that he gave his only Son. The voice of the churches made a faithful difference during the civil rights movement and in the abolition of slavery movements in both England and the United States.
That is probably enough for now, except I would ask you to be praying right now and in the days ahead for all of the candidates, for this nation and all of its people, for healthy and strong leadership to emerge, and for our relationship and leadership in the world. Lord, have mercy. JWN
Leadership and Life - Volume One
At our Vision Review day on April 27th, I said that I would begin writing a column for our leaders that would be titled “Leadership and Life.” I also said that we would be recommencing our leadership days, which I anticipate happening between 2-4 times a year. Our first Leadership Day will take place on Saturday, August 16th, from 9-12. The reason I am committing to doing these columns and restarting these days is that I am seeing a need right now to help our leaders be leaders, to equip them, encourage them, inspire them, feed them, and celebrate them. I have been committed to thinking about leadership for many years now because I am very clear—as I am sure many of you have heard me say on numerous occasions—that things rise or fall upon leadership. In this series, which I plan to write every month, I will be sharing some pieces of scripture that have spoken to me and inspired me to keep on being a leader myself. I have learned things from God’s call to Abraham and Moses and Isaiah and Gideon and Jeremiah and Esther and Mary and Paul and Timothy that I would like to share with you.
Let us begin by looking at Jesus’ call to the disciples: “As he [Jesus] walked by the Sea of Galilee, he saw two brothers, Simon… and Andrew his brother, casting a net into the sea—for they were fishermen. And he said to them, ‘Follow me, and I will make you fish for people.’” (Matthew 4:18f)
In this story we not only see the beginning of discipleship—those are the follow me words—but also apostleship—those are the fish for me words. Before these two fellows, and then James and John soon afterwards (and all the rest for that matter) could go out and catch for Jesus, they had to be caught by Jesus. Once caught, though, they are invited to go catch. Jesus wants them to go catch because he wants all of the fish—that is all of us—to be caught up in his nets of love and grace.
I want to work a bit more on that phrase “once caught, go catch” because I think about leadership in a similar way. Before you can lead, you must be led. Our leadership for Jesus must be derivative to his leadership in us. Which then begs this question: Is Jesus your Leader? The leader of your life, your relationships, your minds and hearts and souls? Is Jesus your leader at work, at home, at play? We cannot lead folks, lead ministries, beyond Jesus’ leadership in us. When we put a cap on what we allow Jesus to do in us we put a cap on what Jesus can do through us.
Another thing I would like to say about Jesus and leadership is that we have no “ownership” to any piece of our leadership. Because we belong to Jesus—at least that is what we profess in faith—so does all of our leadership and ministry belong to him. It is not so much that we do leadership for Jesus, but that He does his leadership in us, with us, and through us. Now, to say that all leadership and ministry is about Jesus, that is belongs to Jesus, that it begins and ends in Jesus, can sound rather humbling—well, it is; but it is also freeing. Freeing because we can cast down the burden that leadership and ministry can often bring to any one of us. I know that it can be hard for some of us to remember that Jesus (along with the other persons of the Trinity) can run this world and can even run the church and our lives. Our job, our role and calling, is to show up, to sign up, to be willing to be used, and to align our lives in accordance with God’s desire and design upon our lives, His church, and this world.
One of the things that I must be very careful about in my own leadership is that I get into trouble when I go about leadership and ministry in such a way and at such a pace that I compromise or undermine or erode Jesus’ leadership and ministry in me. That is when I get “burned-out.” That is when I begin to push and lose perspective. That is when I forget that I am not in the project business, but the people business, and that finally all we do needs to be done in love
So, let me come back to you and to your leadership. The more you invite Jesus to be your leader in every aspect of your lives the more you give Him room to work his leadership in and with and through you for others. So, just where are with Jesus and His leadership in your life? Do you want to take your own leadership to the “next step?” Then let it start with letting Jesus take you to His step in your life.
Let us begin by looking at Jesus’ call to the disciples: “As he [Jesus] walked by the Sea of Galilee, he saw two brothers, Simon… and Andrew his brother, casting a net into the sea—for they were fishermen. And he said to them, ‘Follow me, and I will make you fish for people.’” (Matthew 4:18f)
In this story we not only see the beginning of discipleship—those are the follow me words—but also apostleship—those are the fish for me words. Before these two fellows, and then James and John soon afterwards (and all the rest for that matter) could go out and catch for Jesus, they had to be caught by Jesus. Once caught, though, they are invited to go catch. Jesus wants them to go catch because he wants all of the fish—that is all of us—to be caught up in his nets of love and grace.
I want to work a bit more on that phrase “once caught, go catch” because I think about leadership in a similar way. Before you can lead, you must be led. Our leadership for Jesus must be derivative to his leadership in us. Which then begs this question: Is Jesus your Leader? The leader of your life, your relationships, your minds and hearts and souls? Is Jesus your leader at work, at home, at play? We cannot lead folks, lead ministries, beyond Jesus’ leadership in us. When we put a cap on what we allow Jesus to do in us we put a cap on what Jesus can do through us.
Another thing I would like to say about Jesus and leadership is that we have no “ownership” to any piece of our leadership. Because we belong to Jesus—at least that is what we profess in faith—so does all of our leadership and ministry belong to him. It is not so much that we do leadership for Jesus, but that He does his leadership in us, with us, and through us. Now, to say that all leadership and ministry is about Jesus, that is belongs to Jesus, that it begins and ends in Jesus, can sound rather humbling—well, it is; but it is also freeing. Freeing because we can cast down the burden that leadership and ministry can often bring to any one of us. I know that it can be hard for some of us to remember that Jesus (along with the other persons of the Trinity) can run this world and can even run the church and our lives. Our job, our role and calling, is to show up, to sign up, to be willing to be used, and to align our lives in accordance with God’s desire and design upon our lives, His church, and this world.
One of the things that I must be very careful about in my own leadership is that I get into trouble when I go about leadership and ministry in such a way and at such a pace that I compromise or undermine or erode Jesus’ leadership and ministry in me. That is when I get “burned-out.” That is when I begin to push and lose perspective. That is when I forget that I am not in the project business, but the people business, and that finally all we do needs to be done in love
So, let me come back to you and to your leadership. The more you invite Jesus to be your leader in every aspect of your lives the more you give Him room to work his leadership in and with and through you for others. So, just where are with Jesus and His leadership in your life? Do you want to take your own leadership to the “next step?” Then let it start with letting Jesus take you to His step in your life.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)