Category Archives: faith

Sorting the Worries

What do you do when you retrieve the mail from your mailbox and discover someone else’s mail? It is an easy mistake for a mail carrier to make. Like the discovery of someone’s socks in someone else’s laundry pile at my house, it happens.

Mail, like socks, looks mostly the same. For socks, the logo might vary while mail might be differentiated by only a few letters and maybe one or two numbers.

When there is someone else’s mail in my mailbox, I put it back in the mailbox for the mail carrier to sort out, and I am done with someone else’s mail.

Why am I rambling on about misplaced mail and mail carriers? Because this reminds me of some of the worries we carry around. Among the pile of worries we schlep around, some are addressed to us and others are not. Can you think of one heavy worry you are carrying around that might be misplaced? Perhaps that particular worry does not belong in your mailbox, but ended up there by mistake. And now it is time to put it back in the mailbox for the mail carrier to sort out.

Take a look at the worries you are carrying around. Which are addressed to you and which are meant to be delivered straight to God? The latter letters can be let go. Leave it in the mailbox. God will take it from there.

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The Phone Call You Need to Make Today

Someone you know is having a rough day. You may not know it, because your someone wouldn’t want you to worry.

As your someone waits for a diagnosis, pushes through chronic pain, wrestles with gender or sexual identity, grieves a death, or struggles through another sleepless night with a new baby, you have no idea how alone your someone feels.

Loneliness is something of a pandemic these days. How ironic it is that most Americans feel a deep sense of loneliness and mistakenly believe we’re all alone in our loneliness. We are a community of lonely people, including the someone you know who is having a rough day who might be praying a version of this prayer from “Sheltering Mercy: Prayers Inspired by the Psalms,” Psalm 70:

Grant me strength, O Lord.
Can You not scatter these dark spirits
with the sound of a thundering army,
or twist their devil tongues to confusion?

On this day, you might be the one to scatter the dark spirits, to re-member (bring back together) someone with your community. You might be the one to embody the promise and join in the prayer of the next paragraph of Psalm 70:

For You,
Lord of light and beauty,
are Lord over death and darkness as well - 
all evil prostrates in Your presence.
Send those taunting voices back to the depths of the earth
where they belong.

There is a phone call you need to make today to scatter the dark spirits and reshape the community of the lonely into the community of the re-membered.

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Is it an Office or a Study?

Rooms have names to indicate their purpose. There is a bath in the bathroom, a bed in the bedroom, and a space for guests in the guestroom. The laundry room is for laundry, the living room is for everyday living, the playroom is for playfully making a mess.

At the church I serve, there is an office in which I work. An office is a space designated, of course, for working. In Latin, “office” literally means “work-doing.”

In the little church I grew up in, there was no office. The space designated for the pastor was called a study. I knew it as “the pastor’s study,” not “the pastor’s office.” On the occasions when I tagged along with my mom, who printed and folded bulletins in that space, I remember piles of books and that old-book-scent filling the room.

Deacons and pastors, what difference does it make if you call your work-space an office or a study? I wonder if it makes a profound difference. An office is designated for productivity and efficiency, a study is for learning. An office is for doing, a study is not only for doing but also for being. An office is for knowing, a study is for wondering. The installation rite for a pastor new to a congregation requires a response to this promise: “Will you be diligent in your study of the holy scriptures…”

I have tried to call the space in which I work a study, but the word “office” is so entrenched that I haven’t gotten very far. It feels awkward and maybe not productive enough. Deacons and pastors tend to have “office hours” not “study hours”.

While it may seem a small thing to name a space, the name teaches people the purpose. The worship space in a church is for worship, the fellowship space is for fellowship. And the deacon or pastor’s office is for all the books to live where the deacon or pastor studies.

Because really, it is a study disguised as an office.

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What Will I Learn Today?

What will I learn today from a book I read, or an article I skim? What will I learn from the ancient Scriptures or from more recent words reflecting on the ancient ones?

What will I learn from my friends, my kids, my colleagues? What will I learn from a stranger I meet?

What will I learn from sitting in quiet or moving through a boisterous sanctuary tonight?

What will I learn in my prayers for help, for forgiveness, for a road map? What will I learn in my prayers for others?

Have you ever noticed, some of what you learn from day to day is actually re-learning? Sometimes, you already knew what you learn again: The book does not teach you a new thing, but reminds you of some old wisdom you found helpful long ago. The Scriptures tell a familiar story of God’s mercy. Your friends remind you what you once knew and often forget: you belong and are loved. Your prayers place you where you have spent so much of your life: in the loving arms of Christ.

What will you learn today? The merciful promise of a God who never tires of teaching you.

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“Getting Old is Not For Wimps”

“Getting old is not for wimps,” said a number of older, non-wimpy members I visited last week.

For a pastor, it is a great gift to constantly be in contact with people in every generation. In a single day, I might teach Holy Communion to an exuberant 3-year-old, ask an aloof teenager at Confirmation about his day, mourn with a recent empty-nester, and learn that getting old is not for wimps.

Maybe this nugget of wisdom stands out to me because I am, indeed, getting older. In fact, my upcoming birthday is the year of the inaugural colonoscopy. Anytime this makes me nervous, I consider all that the non-wimpy older members endure: constant poking and prodding and a schedule mostly shaped by appointments with medical providers. I also heard from some of these non-wimps gratitude for easy access to emergency care. Compared to previous centuries, perhaps this is not such a bad one in which to age.

Still, the work of aging is not for wimps. Overall, I am not such a fan of pain. Not the chronic nor acute kind. I prefer no pain, no aches, no pokes and no prods. I like bone joints to move where and when I’d like, which is also how I prefer to drive: without restrictions or making my children worry. I enjoy the freedom of walking down the stairs without anyone wondering how they will attempt to catch me if I fall.

Getting old is not for wimps, but for people who learn how to mourn. By the time someone reaches “old age”, they have mourned the loss of cooperative joints, original hair color, and the ability to walk through a room without anyone noticing their limp. There is mourning for lost identities (I was a banker, a runner, a respectable non-limper). There is mourning, of course, for the beloved ones who have peeled off along the way, en route to a better place.

No, getting old is not for wimps. This refrain spoken among the people I visited last week was followed by a laugh, a lighthearted framing of our lives. Living requires aging, with all its perks and problems, all its pokes and prods. Living leads to mourning until finally mourning leads to dancing. Even our bone joints are made new on the other side. And all driving privileges are renewed.

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The Word They Didn’t Really Mean

Sunday begins the holiest week of the year for Christians. It begins with Jesus’ arrival into Jerusalem and ends with his departure on the cross. What unfolds in the middle is our response to a God who offers to change our lives for good.

Because really, we would rather not be changed. To be changed requires so much of us, maybe even sitting in a different row in church! No thank you, ma’am!

But first, Palm Sunday. Jesus paraded into Jerusalem, parting the crowds of jubilant people crowded together for the Jewish Passover. Jesus’ reputation as one who had challenged the authorities, healed the sick and even raised the dead had preceded him. This was “the guy” they had been waiting for to finally stick it to the Emperor. Jesus’ parade into Jerusalem blatantly mocked the power of the Roman army. He was getting himself into trouble here.

And the crowds were eating it up.

“Hosanna!” the crowds shouted, literally begging Jesus to “save us.”(Remember, salvation not only pertains to the afterlife but to the way we live our lives on earth.) “Save us!” But they didn’t really mean it. They were caught up in the shouts of the crowd. When they realized that for Jesus to save them, they would all need to change, they changed their minds instead, which is why the week ends with Good Friday.

“Save us!” they shouted to Jesus. But what they meant was, “Save us…only if we can continue to live the way we want to live. Save us as long as we can fit in with the crowd. Save us as long as we can protect our own money and resources. Save us as long as we don’t have to entrust our whole lives to you. Save us as long as we don’t need to change.”

This is not the salvation Jesus offers. Salvation according to Jesus is a drastic change. Your life is not your own, if Jesus has anything to say about it. Your life never follows a crowd. Your life is not a continuous climb up a corporate ladder, nor is it busy streak. Your life is meant to be so tangled up with your neighbor’s that you sometimes forget what belongs to whom. That is the salvation Jesus offers.

And this is the salvation the crowd declined. “Yeah…no.” They said, turning around when they realized to be saved is also to be changed. How often do I do the same, turning away from Jesus’ daily offering of salvation, abundant life and mercy because I am so set in my routine and rhythm? So set in saving my money, curating my time, taking care of my own family, sticking to my own goals. Do I really want Jesus to change me? Is my “Hosanna” genuine?

“Hosanna!” Yes, please. “Hosanna.”

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When Does Worship Actually Start?

There is an abundance of confusion in the Christian church concerning worship. The root of the confusion has to do with how we live the rest of our lives. We live much of our lives as consumers. Passively, we consume media, products, services, and entertainment. When we passively receive something, little is expected of us. We simply receive what is offered.

Particular Christian churches thrive by selling entertainment in the form of worship music. It is not uncommon for Christians to gravitate toward congregations with entertaining musicians and impressive lighting. It allows worshippers to sit back and be entertained, just as we have come to expect in most areas of our lives. This kind of worship teaches people to passively receive, or consume what the church has to offer. Little is expected of the consumer.

Eugene Peterson spent many paragraphs pointing out the dangers of creating consumers in worship. There is a danger in passively depending on the product a worship leader can offer for spiritual renewal. The worship music might be excellent, but choosing a church based on what it offers, on what you might consume, will inevitably disappoint.

Instead, worship is a co-creative act. Passive worship is not worship.

At St. John where I serve, by the time worship begins, worship in many ways began months before. Could we wonder whether worship actually begins when the planning and discerning begins? In that case, by the time the worship service starts, the Worship and Music Director has studied at least a couple of resources, carefully chosen music to encourage people into a deeper focus on the Scriptures, and coordinated with a number of members helping lead the service. The preacher has spent hours pouring over the text. For me, sermon prep averages between 8-12 hours.

If we say worship begins when discerning the service begins, then I wonder if the worship service is still being created when people gather and the bell rings, marking the start of the service. It is at this point when those who are gathering shape the service: engaging in music and prayers, welcoming newcomers, noticing who is missing, and expressing some connection to the sermon with your face. (People, preaching to stoic faces is incredibly hard! Please smile or nod to indicate that you are indeed alive.)

This kind of participation in worship demands something of those who gather. Worship, then, is not a one-person or one-band “experience”. Worship is a communal expression of our faith in Jesus Christ and our yearning for deeper faith. It is not something we rate, like an Amazon purchase, nor is worship something we complain about when it doesn’t “meet our needs.”

Worship is not meant to meet your needs. That is Christ’s job. In worship, the Holy Spirit invites you not to sit back, but to dig in. To open your heart and let the Spirit do its work in you. There is too much at stake to sit back even for a single worship service.

If you become a worship consumer, what does that mean for your neighbor who is hungry, addicted, tired, imprisoned, or depressed? Your neighbor needs the Spirit to deepen your faith as you worship in order to share the deep love of Christ with your life.

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Our Kids

Imagine you are a spectator at a baseball or softball game in which you really want to watch the third baseman who is your niece/nephew/neighbor/grandkid/kid. Do you mostly cheer for the entire team or your favorite player?

Let’s say you attend a dance competition because you happen to be the chauffer of one of the dancers. In the three short minutes of the dance, do you watch the entire team or your favorite dancer?

Yes, I was my daughter’s chauffer over the weekend. If you have watched a group performance like dance, then you know it is slightly overwhelming to decide where to land your eyes. The whole performance goes by so quickly. Each movement has been thoughtfully choreographed by coaches and repeatedly practiced by each dancer. There is so much hard work to appreciate in any competition, including dance.

I want to watch my own hard-working kiddo kick, but if I focus only on her, I miss the movement of the entire team. I miss what a wonder it is when a team moves together. Watching a dance requires a spectator to appreciate the favorite dancer while at the same time zooming out to appreciate the team she is part of.

Watching my son play baseball over the years, the fans who cheer only for their own kid or grandkid slightly annoy me. Sure, each individual kid deserves a good shout out and encouragement. But that one kid is part of something larger. It is the something larger that is the point of the gathering. Not the individual, but the team.

My mom is a great cheerleader for the entire team. Each summer, she tries to memorize the names of all the baseball players and cheers for each one. She loves encouraging not only one kid but all the kids, including but not limited to her favorite, the right-fielder. Perhaps I’ve learned from her. In her cheering, my mom reminds kids they are part of something larger.

It’s been many years since I’ve been a kid, that’s for sure. My hunch is that is hard enough to be a kid competitor without a well-intentioned family fan cheering exclusively for her or him. This may be a stretch, but cheering for a team asks the adults to see all the kids as our kids. Spectating is a moment set apart when all our kids are encouraged, congratulated and forgiven, as needed.

And then maybe, maybe we might continue to practice encouragement, congratulations and forgiveness for all kids, even when no one is keeping score.

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The Anti-Chore List

I spent the better part of a couple of days this week in bed not feeling so great. Feeling unwell, although annoying and inconvenient, is simply a reminder of our humanness. Our mortality speaks up when our bodies do not do what we want them to do because of illness or aging.

Feeling crumby offers a gentle or abrupt invitation to be cared for, to admit we have needs, and to write an anti-chore list. This morning, I wrote an anti-chore list I’ll share with my family this week. In my many hours of rest, it slowly dawned on me that I’ve done what I sometimes (often) do at home: other people’s chores.

Writing an anti-chore list was very fun, and I suspect it will be helpful for the people with whom I live. Is it helpful or annoying that I sometimes (often) do their chores? Perhaps both.

It might be great when I do other people’s chores because, obviously, then they don’t have to do them! More leisure time for them! But it is also annoying. How does a person know what to expect when an overly helpful mom steps in? It would be like your co-worker sometimes (often) doing a task that belongs to you and not knowing whether it is even your responsibility anymore.

No longer will I feed the dogs, empty the dishwasher, and a few other tasks that belong to my kids. No longer will I step in when I can instead step aside. No longer will I ignore my own limits, no longer will a clean kitchen be more important than rest. No longer…until the next time! This lesson is not one-and-done with me, but rinse and repeat. And repeat.

Our days are a steady reminder that we are created both to love and be loved, to give and to receive.

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Prepared Enough

There are ten bridesmaids in the parable in Matthew 25:1-13. Five are called wise and the other five foolish. Late into the night of the wedding, all ten are waiting to meet the bridegroom. Where is the bride? We have no idea, which is a hint that the parable is not a true story. In a true story, the bride is somewhere.

In this parable, the five bridesmaids are wise because they planned ahead, anticipating that the bridegroom would be late. They prepared by bringing extra oil for their oil lamps. The five foolish bridesmaids only brought what they expected they would need. They brought enough oil for a bridegroom who knew that 15 minutes early is on time and on time is late.

This dude was extremely late. Late. Late. Late.

All the bridesmaids took a nap while they waited. When someone shouted that the bridegroom was on his way, the five foolish bridesmaids woke to realize the oil in their lamps were running out. They asked their wise friends for more oil, but they declined, sending the foolish out to find an lamp oil shop in the middle of the night.

Did you know there are podcasts for people who enjoy planning and planners? Entire podcasts giving tips on daily, monthly, quarterly, yearly planning, as well as highlighters, markers and pens. On Monday, I listened eagerly to a podcaster’s pen recommendations. Eagerly!

Planning, however, can pose a problem. If we are too eager to plan our days and lives, we cling to the oil in our own lamps. We cling to the routine, cling to the comfort, cling to our own plans and favorite pens.

The parable wakes me up to recognize life is not an adventure to be planned. When people arrive asking for oil, they are not a disruption but an unexpected part of the adventure. I like to think I would have been a wise bridesmaid in the story. But unlike the wise in the story, I would have shared my oil and not sent the others out into the night to pointlessly look for a 24-hour lamp oil shop.

Blessed are those who plan without growing too attached to their plans. And blessed are those whose plans include a radiant response to the unexpected.

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