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.

Conversations

I love serving in a ministry setting where there is such a diverse group of religious backgrounds.

Had a conversation today with someone who was incredibly stuck on the logical notion of Christian faith.  I hear over and over again that in order to be a good Christian a person has to always have their mind on Christ.  "Love the Lord with all your mind, heart, soul and strength" was even tossed out there and I didn't realize until later that the passage actually says "heart, soul, mind and strength."  Maybe I'm picking at nits, maybe not.

All I really wanted to say to this particular person was "Let Jesus out of your mind and into your heart!"  Even if you want to put the mind in front of the list of things to "Love the Lord" with, remember that it says LOVE the Lord.

I'm not saying that our faith needs to be an unthinking, mushy "love, love, love all you need is love" way of living.  We need to be, ought to be, thinking people.  But I truly believe that a life of faith is more than just intellectual assent to a list of ideas and it is much more than just mind over body; because if we believe we are saved by grace through faith and then force changed habits with mental will-power then all we've made Jesus into is New Year's Day and our faith-produced behavior is nothing but a resolution that we keep or don't keep.  Jesus wants us to be more than resolution keepers.

I have been fasting during the working day for almost 40 days now.  The fast began as a way to seek discernment about the future my family and I are being called into.  About two days ago, the way ahead was made clear, I know the direction, but I haven't finished my dedicated 40 day journey.  I had thought about ending the fast and happily eating lunch again with my co-workers and family, but I decided to give the last 4 days to God simply for the glory--simply because of love.

I don't say this for a pat on the back, or to get a "way to go!"  I say this because it's a real way, in my own life, that I am continuing to do something unpleasant, something I don't particularly want to do, out of love.  It's more than will power, more than mind over body--because my mind is yelling at me to eat because the season of discernment has ended and my body wants food.  The motivating factor is love not dedication to a habit.

More reflections on conversations coming up...

Deliver Me from My Certainty

In the sixth chapter of John's gospel, the crowd said about Jesus, "Is this not Jesus, the son of Joseph, whose father and mother we all know?"  The sparked my mind to think about the ways we box in Jesus; how we know what we know, and that's all we need to know.

I am blessed by something quite unique.  I preach in a multi-denominational, multi-ethnic worship gathering in an overseas military chapel.  Most of the people at this worship gathering would not see each other if we were not overseas, because we would all be worshiping in places where the folk look, talk, act and believe just like us.  

The biggest problem for the Church, especially in the West, is that we flock to places that revolve around doctrine rather than Jesus.  We look for places that--even if they speak of relationship over religion--still speak our preferred religious language.  Doctrine gives us the Jesus, whose mother and father we all know.

Maybe I'm guilty of mostly listening to people who speak my language, or my dialect, but I try to read authors who poke me out of theological box of comfort and say things like "following Jesus is more important that adhering to a specific set of doctrines."

This is a statement that I cannot attribute to any given author, but the theme certainly exists in many of the books I am currently reading.

I'll ask you, void, this question:  what do people want or need more: rule followers or Jesus followers?  And here's a follow-on question: which is more transformative: rule followers or Jesus followers?

I'm reading Len Sweet's book I Am a Follower, and in the first chapter he talks about this video that went viral a few years ago.  (The link is here: Sasquatch Dancer)  It shows this young man, who may or may not be in an altered state of reality, dancing in a hill all by himself at a music festival.  After a few minutes another person joins him and for brief moments they are in sync.  After a little bit, another person joins in, dancing in his own way, and not much after that it's a full on dance party. (The whole thing really makes me miss being at Grateful Dead shows, I must confess!)

If Jesus really is "The Lord of the Dance"--as the old hymn says--then he's the one who's playing the music, and he's waiting for us to get up and move to the melody.  The people around us are waiting, not for the choreography to be listed, nor for the rules for dancing to be explained; they are waiting for us to dance--they are waiting to see us move with love.

Throughout Scripture, God continually reminds people boundaries do not apply to the nature of God.  The best example is from Exodus where Moses is trying to get out of the task set before him.  He asks God, "What if I go to the Israelites and tell them 'The God of your ancestors sent me to you' and they ask for your name; what shall I tell them?"  To which God replies, "I am who I am. I will be who I will be." (Exodus 3:13-14)

God is bigger than any understanding we may have, no matter how big that understanding may be.  A name cannot define God; a concept cannot define God; a dogma cannot define God.  Jesus may be the clearest picture we have of God (and I believe He is) but even Jesus says there are things only God knows that he does not (Matthew 24:36).

What's my point?  The Church is more like the crowd in John 6 than we might like to imagine, and Jesus wants to free us from our certainty.

Randomness

I was sitting in the small chapel waiting to see if anyone was going to join me for worship on a rainy-remember-your-Baptism-July evening, listening to God, talking back to God, and listening some more.

I was looking around the room and reflecting on what is important to me as a fellow-prodigal pilgrim in the Way.  I see the Baptismal Font off to the left, sitting underneath the windows that are streaked with rain on one side and condensation on the other.  So fitting that so much water is visible around the font--were it sitting outside it would likely overflow with rain water.  Again, a fitting image.  I try not to think of how much I don't like the orange copper bowl and wooden stand--but then I remember it's not the style of font that matters, it's the grace we find there.

My eyes move to the table, covered with linen cloth.  I can smell the beeswax candles burning there.  I see the chalice and paten, prepared to offer the bread of heaven and wine of new life.  I forgot to stop at  the commissary to buy a loaf of bread, so there are wafers.  Yuck.  I am reminded of hearing a child talking to the priest I serve with about preparing for first communion.  The child said, "But, Father, the wafers taste...BAD!"  "But the love of Jesus is delicious," the priest responded.  Yes, even wafers and their poster board texture and paper like flavor can convey the delicious love of Christ.

The Book is sitting closed on the lectern, tabbed at the Hebrew Scripture Lesson and the Psalm.  I am struck this evening by the eulogy that David gives to Saul at the opening of 2 Samuel, the lesson I am teaching from this evening.  David weeps over the death of Saul; he tells his minstrels to teach this lamentation to the people.  David gives love to the man who hunted him, who tracked him down and persecuted him.  David sings in his honor and I pray that, someday, my heart will be like David's.

The things in this room: the water, the wafers, the wine, the Word--these things can open us to become like David, and even like David's greater Son.  These things are important to me.  I can sing the old hymn, the old camp meeting songs, the not so old praise choruses, and even the new contemporary music.   They all convey holy messages and bring our hearts into the presence of the Divine.  But these things--the water, the wafers, the wine, the Word--these bring the presence of the Divine into our hearts and that's what makes them so important.

An Invitation

I serve in a unique setting, as a United Methodist pastor.  My congregation has Baptists and Pentecostals and Lutherans and Methodists and Non-Denominatinal folks and seekers and skeptics aplenty--not to mention the ethnic diversity that exists in my congregation.  Serving this community is a blessing, truly it is--despite the challenges.

Today was Communion Sunday for my chapel family.  As I opened the table, calling to mind the interdenominational family that we are, and extending the invitation for anyone and everyone to hear Christ's welcome, I found myself remembering the story of Jesus and Zacchaeus.

"Jesus entered Jericho and was passing through town. A man there named Zacchaeus, a ruler among tax collectors, was rich. He was trying to see who Jesus was, but, being a short man, he couldn't because of the crowd.  So he ran ahead and climbed up a sycamore tree so he could see Jesus, who was about to pass that way.  When Jesus came to that spot, he looked up and said, 'Zacchaeus, come down at once. I must stay in your home today.'  So Zacchaeus came down at once, happy to welcome Jesus. Everyone who saw this grumbled, saying, 'He has gone to be the guest of a sinner.'" (Luke 19:1-7 CEB)

Luke goes on to say that Zacchaeus sold half of his belongings to the poor and repaid four times what he had cheated people out of by virtue of his job.

Why tell this story before celebrating Communion?

Because Jesus saw someone who was curious and, regardless of his holiness (or lack thereof), broke bread in his house.  "I must stay in your home today."

No conditions.

No "when you get your jacked up life in order, I'll come visit you."

Just "I want to break bread in your home."

What a beautiful reminder of the invitation that Jesus extends to us as we gather at His table.  We don't need to be committed.  We don't need to be holy.  We don't need to be anything but open to his grace.

I love this guy!

5 May 2012 "Untitled"

So my Global Church has been meeting for the last two weeks in Tampa, Florida to discuss our rules, regulations and polity.  We do this every four years.  More often than not a few people leave with hurt feelings, but we also tend to leave the meeting with a sense of accomplishment.

I am not sure how many people are leaving Tampa with a sense of accomplishment this year, but I was not there as a delegate so it's hard to judge what has been done, changed, updated, etc via twitter feeds, FB updates, and watching the live feed when I have been able (which hasn't been very much, since I live 13 hours ahead of the time zone in which GC2012 took place.

Here is what I have noticed, though:

We as a church believe in grace.  That is to say, we believe that God loves us immensely even though we're not always lovely people.  And...that God has come to us in the person of Christ to rescue us from our unloveliness.  We didn't earn the rescue, it's a gift, this thing called grace.  If there isn't much we can agree on as a church, we can agree on grace.

Some of us believe that since it's grace and grace is a gift, and we are only rescued by virtue of said grace, not by our deeds (because that would make grace merit based and not a gift) then everyone (an all inclusive everyone) is welcome in the church.  We are all broken and grasping for this mystery of grace; we are all thirsty and desperate for the cool water in the arid desert of life; we are all hungry for the crumbs that have fallen from our Master's table.  Everyone needs it.  Everyone wants it.  Everyone is welcome to come and receive it.  Grace isn't just for the ones who "properly repent" and grace isn't for those who live flawless lives.  Grace is something that we all want and need and how dare we as a Church (any church in my humble opinion) say who is eligible to give, receive, witness to or share this grace.

I look at the life of Jesus and I see a boundary crosser; I see a wall crusher; I see a trouble maker who welcomed the most questionable scoundrels of his neighborhood into the Dream of God, courtesy of grace.  He was accused of being a drunkard and a glutton; he (and his students/followers) were consistently asked why he hung out with such wretched people; he read the thoughts/faces of others who judged him for his questionable associations and he told them to go learn what this means:

I desire mercy not sacrifice.

What I don't get is what is so hard about talking about his life and ministry and letting the chips fall where they will.

I don't get why we have to quantify the brokenness in the lives of others in comparison to our own.  Actually I do get it; it makes us feel more worthy, like the religious guy in temple who said, "Lord I'm glad for my tithes and my holiness and my prayer life and the righteousness I demonstrate.  And I'm SUPER GLAD that I'm not like that horrible sinner over there--the one on his face in front of you--who is so aware of his need for grace that he won't even look at you--yeah, him.  I'm glad I'm not like him."  The thing is, the dude on his face is the one Jesus says we need to be like.  Yeah.  Cool, huh?

Me personally, I want to be more and more like that dude on his face; I don't ever want to forget how much I need God's grace-filled gift.

And this is what I dream of for my Church.  That we just toss the crumbs of grace out for the hungry to fill themselves on.  Or that we be like the sower who went out and threw seeds everywhere, not just in the places he knew to be fertile soil.  He threw the seeds to the ones who were doubt-filled, and to the ones who were full of worry, and to the ones who have hard hearts...because the cool thing about soil is that the more stuff grows in it, the more receptive it is.

I dream that we'll just sow seed and throw grace to everyone and anyone.  That we would make ourselves available to people who want to show us the places where life hurts.  And that when we see those hurting places, we won't judge or condemn or stare in shock, but offer grace, offer love, offer healing and wholeness.

As for me...