Friday, November 23, 2012

Living in Compassion

My wife and I were walking through a local park this afternoon to the shopping arcade and the local coffee shop.  We crossed paths with someone who had been involved in a bit of a scandal in our community; this person smiled and waved and we did the same, but I think all of us knew that we all knew the situation.

It was sad and beautiful all at the same time because this person is carrying the shame/guilt of being part of a scandal in a small community and, like so many other folks I know, their sense of identity is grounded in their brokenness.  So when they see others, all they see is a mirror of shame and guilt.

I said to my wife as we passed farther away, "I love being an agent of grace."  And I do.  As a Chaplain, I get to hear lots of stories of brokenness.  I hear so many things that I don't want to know or don't need to know, but I hear them.  And as I hear the stories of the folks in my community, I become more and more certain of this one thing: Everyone needs compassion because everyone is broken.

We all have stories and within those stories are some notorious episodes that have the potential to mark our spirits with guilt and shame.  I believe this to be a universal truth: we are all broken, and we all need compassion.

I hope that if I can leave the many faith communities I have served one thing it is this: the Church (capital C, universal Church) needs to embrace something that most recovery groups practice and that is acceptance of brokenness.  I would love to lead a worship gathering that begins with the words "Hi my name is Daniel and I am a sinner." To which everyone present would say, "Hi, Daniel," and nod knowingly because we hold this one thing to be true: We are all broken and we all need compassion, and in that we have common ground.


Paul writes to his protege Timothy, "This saying is reliable and deserves full acceptance: 'Christ Jesus came into the world to save sinners'--and I'm the biggest sinner of all." (1 Timothy 1:15 CEB)

Yes, I can walk around my community and tell you stories about so many people.  But I don't because we all have stories and not every part of our story is something to be proud of.  I have stories, too; and a few of them are quite colorful (and some are pretty dark).  But I am not defined by my scandals; they make up who I am today, but they do not define me.  Compassion defines me...most of the time...hopefully...



It's about this time every year that I get a little homesick.  Maybe it's fitting that Advent (the season that leads up to the celebration of Christmas) stirs up some restlessness in me, but there's something about this season of the Church that tugs at my soul and draws me into liturgy.

Pretty much any other time of year I'm an electric bass wielding, hands in the air kind of guy.  I love loud, rockin' worship music.  When I'm synced with my drummer and the notes are flowing, there is space for God to reach me in the noise.

But there's something about Advent that draws me into stillness, and into quiet places of worship.  This is what I mean by saying I get a little homesick.

Growing up, my family moved around a lot.  I went to something like eight different schools in twelve years.  After high school I enlisted in the Navy and spent four years moving around a lot.  As a result, I can't stay anywhere for much longer than three or four years before I get the itch to move.  This is one of the good things about being an itinerant pastor and a military chaplain.  I get to move.  A lot.  So when I say that I get homesick, it's not for a place. I miss my family.  I miss them a lot.  But "home" is not a geographic location for me.  My heart does not pine for northwest Indiana or a specific house in that town.  

My heart pines for an experience of the Holy.  My heart pines for peace.  In the stillness and in the quiet places of Advent Liturgy, there is space for God to reach me in a way that noise and rockin' worship music cannot touch.

Which always leaves me with the dilemma of finding a middle road for the folks who still love it loud and my own needs.  I struggle with balance in this season because, like most pastors, I am so busy that if I do not stay plugged in, I run spiritually dry and am not of use to anyone.

So if you're reading this and you are not a pastor, or involved in worship leadership, please take care of those who are.  Know that we have needs that go beyond keeping others full, and to keep others full we need to stay spiritually connected ourselves.  And sometimes what we need and what others need are not the same thing.

O come, O come, Emmanuel.