Bee in Bonnet

I got a bee in my bonnet this week.  A new church is starting in an adjoining town, and they've put up yard signs in our community...of course, that is their right.  However, within a 3 mile radius, we have at least 9 churches.  I digress.  My bee came to my bonnet with the media coverage...a recent article noted that "There are many churches in and around Smithfield....so why start a new church?"  The answer from the new church's pastor was, "I would actually agree that the last thing Smithfield needs is another place where people simply gather on Sunday morning - if that is all we accomplish, then that is not a worthwhile mission."  He went on to talk about wanting to "make a difference."

I realize that as a pastor of a church that is over 140 years old, I can be overly sensitive about new church starts.  I also realize that the institutional church has earned its reputation of being judgmental and  unwelcoming.  When we are more interested in our building than in serving, we earn a bad reputation.  When we are more interesting in sin management rather than transformation, we earn a bad reputation.  When we are more interested in judging and leave no room for questions, we earn a bad reputation.

And, yet, the church I serve is not this way.  As I scroll through our church facebook page pictures, I find plenty of evidence that we are out and about...all the time!  We are indeed making a difference in our community.

Even the larger institutional church has made and continues to make a difference.  The larger church has made a difference in medical care with many of our hospitals having their financial start from institutional churches.  Disaster relief often comes from funds provided by the institutional church.  The means to have clean drinking water is often provided and funded by the institutional church.  Blankets for refugees and the homeless are given by the institutional church.  Counseling services, medical care, emergency food, emergency shelter, help with power bills...all supported by the institutional church.  Worship services after tragedies like the Charleston tragedy, the Orlando tragedy, 9/11...offered by the institutional church.  Many efforts to change policy to address homelessness,  poverty, sickness, and how we treat strangers are spearheaded by the institutional church.

And, frankly, my faith was born and nurtured in the institutional church - perhaps not a church I would wish to belong to today, but as a child, the institutional church taught me that "Jesus Loves Me, This I Know," and I should help people.  That is a great foundation.

I guess I just felt all lumped in with this misconception that area churches only gather on Sunday  mornings without any intent of making a difference.  That is just not true.  Many of our established churches are very intentional in getting to know their communities, befriending their communities, and being an active, helpful part of  their communities.  

The article also noted that "you won't see a suit and tie wearing preacher here. Pastor...will usually be seen wearing blue jeans and a t-shirt." Newsflash:  you won't see a suit and tie wearing preacher at WMCC either.  You'll see a woman in a robe.

Never Seen a Woman Preacher

We've had lots of painters and tilers and builders in the church over the last few months.  We are working on a kitchen renovation that has been a long time coming.  Yesterday, the painters showed up, and as I had not met this particular crew, I walked to the fellowship hall to introduce myself.

"You're not the pastor, are you?"
"Yes, I am."
"I met your husband earlier. Never seen a woman preacher before."
"Now, you have!  And, you should come hear one on Sunday morning."

At this point, I'm not much offended to still be a novelty in some circles.  I long ago gave up the need to defend my right to be here...mainly because it is not a right, but it is a call.   I digress.

Later in the day, the painter came around the outside of the church building to seek me out in my office.  His church was in serious decline, he said.  Only 14 members, he said.  We need some young people, he said. Then he asked, "How have you gotten people here?"

That question is like pushing a start button for me!  I am passionate about this topic.  I do not believe the church's purpose is as much to "get people here" as it is to take church to the people, to serve in its community,  and to care for the poor, feed the hungry, clothe the naked, do justice, love kindness, and walk humbly with our God...and all that jazz.  So, we talked for a while about the nature of church.  About the angst that comes in watching a church dwindle down.  About our unique hope that God is always doing a new thing and bringing life out of death.

My friend suggested that this encounter was like Nicodemus coming to Jesus at night...this painter sneaking around the building to talk to this "woman preacher" because he could not do it under the scrutiny of his co-painters.  Yet, he recognized that our church is very much alive.  And, he wants that for his church.

I think I made a new friend.  I hope he recognized that we "women preachers" are normal people trying to do our work as faithfully as we can.  I know that I recognized that painters think deeply about things as they put color on walls.  As different as we are, we love our churches.  We love God.  Yesterday, that was enough.

Churches and Ageism

I've been meaning to write this post for some time now. 

I read obituaries.  I am interested in which parts of a life get tagged as “important enough” to consume another line in a ridiculously over-priced obituary.  I also read the classified ads…for churches.  I am interested in goals that congregations set for themselves and the traits that they believe their new minister must have to make those goals a reality.  I see a disturbing trend in these ads.   As a specific example, at the very top of the list of “personal/professional qualifications” desired in the new pastor, one church listed “young/young thinker (age 25-45).”

What an incredibly ageist statement.

We would never dream (at least I hope we would never dream) of listing race or gender or marital status or height or weight or financial worth as a “qualification” for ministry.  Yet, we don’t even flinch when “those over 45 years of age need not apply.”  We do not even blink when churches set goal after goal to reach “young families.”  We don’t think twice about the barrage of articles and workshops that address our obsession with getting millennials into church.

What about single adults…of all ages?  Are they less worth our time and energy?  What about couples who have no children?  Are they less valuable to God in their service?  What about older people?  Are their lives less worthy of hearing the Gospel? 

I’m a pastor.  I get worrying about the church’s future.  I get the desire to have young people, lots of young people, actively participating in congregations.  In 2016, I get the need to have leaders who are technologically savvy and who are unafraid of cultural change. 

However, a minister’s age or family status is never an appropriate credential for ministry.  Ministerial membership in a certain age group cannot guarantee anything about the church’s future.  For crying out loud, look at Bernie Sanders.  The man is 74 years old. Born in 1941.  His hair is white.  He’s a grandpa…and yet, the Washington Post reports that Bernie Sanders has “remarkable dominance among young voters…. Hillary Clinton and Donald Trump are well on their way to becoming their parties' 2016 nominees for president.  Among young voters, though, Bernie Sanders has more votes than both of them — combined.”

My point is not political.  My point is that the age of the leader is not a deciding factor in his or her charisma, nor is it a deciding factor in his or her skills, talents, and God-given abilities.  That reminds me…let us not forget God. Let us not forget that in the church, we are talking about God-given abilities and God-given call.  We insult younger people – all people, for that matter - when we assume that their allegiance can be manipulated with something as fleeting as age.  We insult older people – all people, for that matter – when we assume that their age limits their abilities.  We insult God when we fail to acknowledge the vibrancy and value that can be ours at any age.

I guess this little tirade is my attempt to urge churches to give careful thought to the words they use to describe their ministry's goals and the qualifications they seek in leadership.  If you want someone with a certain theological bent, then by all means, include that in your profile.  If you want someone with a certain amount of experience, then by all means, include that in your profile.  But, do not discriminate.  Do not insult God’s pool of leaders by seeking only those who are “young” or “old” or “middle-aged.”  Age – whatever it may be – is a gift from God, and it should be celebrated as such.

Church

This has been a full week of church!  Kitchen renovation committee on Monday (thankfully, my attendance was not required), Shrove Tuesday Pancake Supper, HOPE meals on Wednesday followed by our Ash Wednesday Service, and tonight, handbell practice.

Some might say that not only has this been a full week of church, but it has been a week full of too MUCH church.  In fact, because I have been at church at not at home in the evenings, I canceled by piano lesson today.  No sense in having a lesson if I have not had time to practice.  That cancellation prompted me to think about how my life is completely centered on the life of the church.   This is not new.  I grew up with a father who served as minister of music and a mother who served as church pianist/organist.  Here is what that is like.  Family dinner times are set by church events (and seldom are family dinners not interrupted by calls from someone needing a key to something). Vacations are planned around church events.  Weekends are defined by church events.  Social life is often limited to church events.  Hobbies are pursued that fit around church events.  Holidays are celebrated within church events.  Holidays are also interrupted by emergencies resulting in additional church events.  

When church events called, we were present and accounted for!

Sound oppressive?  Well, sometimes I do feel resentful about things like canceled piano lessons, but after our service last night, I felt so very fortunate that my church attendance today is mandatory…by nature of my job.  I am fortunate because whether I like it or not, my attendance puts me in a different rhythm - the rhythm of the church year.  For instance, I’ve started Lent now.  My head was marked with an ashen cross and I was told to “repent and return to the Lord.”  Not only that, I had the honor of marking the heads of others – from the tiniest of children to our oldest members – it was a powerful moment of connection and community.  We really are all in this quest to live lives of faith together.  We really are!  If not, why would any of us bother to show up for something as silly as having ashes put on our heads?  We show up because in these ancient practices, we chase Jesus. The church year and all of is events is where our lives and the life of Jesus cross each other. 

We re-live his story as we remember his story.  We find our place in his story.  And, somewhere in that, our spirits get re-formed and reshaped.  Joan Chittister wrote, “In the liturgical year we walk with Jesus through all the details of his life – and he walks with us in ours.”

So, although I am tired today and ready to head home instead of playing bells, I am thankful to be in this sacred rhythm.  Thankful to be moving through Lent, intentionally doing the hard work of spiritual formation (and all of the little deaths that come with that), and waiting for the Resurrection.  I am thankful that I will then wait for the wild and wooly Spirit of Pentecost.  Thankful then to wait through the lessons of Jesus and to grow in ordinary time.  And, thankful then to prepare to meet the newborn presence of God.

The church walks me through all of that.  Some days, it feels like too much.  Some days, it feels like not enough.  But, my hope is that as my calendar builds itself around the community of faith, maybe my heart will do the same.

Where I'm From - Word Made Flesh Edition

Over the summer,  I took our "church ladies" on their annual retreat to Christmount - one of our exercises was a writing exercise based on the poem "Where I'm From."  You can read about the poem here and you can read the retreat efforts here.

I thought about this poem as I pondered John 1:1-18 and the word becoming flesh.  Jesus, no doubt, would have a very colorful "Where I'm From" poem.  So, I took a little creative liberty and wrote "Where I'm From," the Word Made Flesh Edition.

I’m from sawdust piles and dinner tables, from fishing boats and healing mud.  

I am from unknown years lost to history, and imagination set on fire – it feels mysterious and as inviting as the taste of fresh baked bread.  

I am from olive trees and salt water stinging a blistered heel.  

I’m from silly puns and storytelling late at night, 

from Joseph with a bruised thumb that got caught between hammer and nail, and 

Mary with her spontaneous singing that seems to welcome the world.  

I’m from weird cousins, and Peter, James, and John, from Martha and Mary. 

I’m from laughing at inappropriate times and overstaying my welcome.  

I’m from “Child, why have you worried us like this?” 

and “I’m your mother, that’s why.”  

I’m from Yahweh, the God of my ancestors, 

from faith that commands me to love – God, neighbor, and enemy.  

I’m from Bethlehem or Nazareth, depending on which book you read.  

I’m from red wine and broiled fish.   

I’m from God’s heart with choirs of angels singing into the night.  

I’m from a teen-aged girl awkwardly greeting exotic kings bearing incense and oils. 

I’m from an old book with gold-trimmed yellowed pages curling up at the edges.  

I am from flesh.  I am from heaven.  

I am from diapers.  I am from Gloria in excelsis Deo.  

I am from shepherds.  I am from stars. 

I am from the word.  I am the word.  

I am from everywhere.  I am from nowhere.  

I am the word becoming flesh and pitching a tent in a camp full of nobodies, and together, we become somebody, so that I can be born in the heart of everybody.”

Christmas Eve

On Christmas Eve, I sat outside our sanctuary with my mother - she was playing piano for our service that night - and we wondered about how the other half lives on Christmas Eve.  For those who don't go to church, do they eat a leisurely meal?  Read stories?  Drink wine? Wrap presents?  Eat popcorn and watch Christmas movies on TV?

I confess that sometimes I get wistful thinking about spending a quiet Christmas Eve at home around a fire - of course, this year with its 75 degree weather, I suppose a Christmas Eve fire would have been a bonfire outside instead of a fire in a fireplace with "the stockings all hung by the chimney with care."

Anyway, with parents who were professional church musicians, we have always, always, always been in church on Christmas Eve...usually several times.  We would start at the Moravian Church for an early service and a love feast.  Every year, the Moravian choir would sing:

"Morning Star, o cheering sight, Ere thou cam’st, how dark earth’s night! 

Jesus mine, in me shine;

In me shine, Jesus mine;

fill my heart with light divine.

Then, they would serve us sweet rolls and sweet coffee.

Afterwards, we would head to our church - a Baptist church - for communion.

Then, it was off to join the Episcopalians for the 9:00 PM service and the 11:00 PM service because my sister was their guest musician.

Once we moved to Statesville, the church service for our home church was much bigger. Musicians and a full choir singing "Still, Still, Still."  I sang in that choir with  years beside my good friend, Robin.  We were inseparable in our high school youth group, and we made quite a formidable alto section.  We were loud and proud altos!  And, we stayed that way - even after we were both grown up and living in other places, we came home to sing in the choir.

So, this year, it was particularly meaningful to me to have Robin and her mother and sister join us for our Christmas Eve Service.  During "Angels We Have Heard on High," I caught her eye and I knew we were both nailing the alto line of "Gloria in excelsis Deo!"

As I reflect back on all the Christmas Eves I have spent in church, I realize how important faith has been to my personal celebration of Christmas from childhood all the way to my, uh, mid-forties!  I realize that the rituals - the candles, the readings, the carols - shape the way I understand God - I DO believe in the God who came in our flesh!  What a wonderful, beautiful thing!  I realize the power of singing the story of faith with others - family, old friends, and new friends.  

Have you ever really paid attention to the words of the carols?  Sing them, and you come face to face with the power of "Mild he lay his glory by, born that we no more may die" and "Word of the Father now in flesh appearing."  We come face to face with the promise "when peace shall over all the earth its ancient splendors fling, and all the world give back the song which now the angels sing."  That's good stuff!

I may never know how the other half lives on Christmas Eve.  But, as I look out across the congregation holding up their candles, I glimpse  the "radiant beams from thy holy face, with the dawn of redeeming grace, Jesus, Lord, at thy birth."  I feel a glimmer of hope for 2016.  Maybe the power of Christmas Eve extends far beyond that one night. Maybe there's more to this birth than we ever imagined.

Peace on Earth

One of my favorite Christmas carols is "I Heard the Bells on Christmas Day," mainly because I like that last verse about "God is not dead nor doth he sleep."  But, after hanging out on facebook for a little while, I'm stuck in an earlier verse..."Then in despair, I bowed my head. "There is no peace on earth," I said, "for hate is strong and mocks the song of peace on earth, good will to men."

If the terrorist intent is to divide the rest of us, they are doing a fine job. Quite frankly, we ought to be ashamed.

I have seen such ugly things posted and re-posted.  I have seen ugly comments between "friends."  I've seen the media spin stories - with little regard for truth, it seems to me - to appeal to their viewership or their readership or whatever.  It feels like we've lost all decency...not to mention integrity.  It feels like the "sides" are using great tragedy to benefit themselves...and that is shameful. Are we even capable of feeling shame anymore?  Are we even capable of feeling embarrassment?  Are we even capable of recognizing our own participation in "mocking the song of peace on earth, good will to men"?  Or, are we mainly interested in being right and making our point?

I don't know.  I don't mean to post something so negative.  I guess that today, I felt overwhelmed with the heartlessness I believe I am witnessing.  I just cannot believe some of the things that are being written and spoken.  Today, I feel as though we are so far away from the higher good that faith calls us to.  In fact, I feel as though we are not interested in the higher good.  We are content to wallow in the basest parts of human nature.  In essence, we are content to let terrorism define how we feel and how we treat each other, and that just makes me sad.

As soon as we can define someone as a "liberal" or a "conservative" or a Republican or a Democrat - and we are doing this constantly in response to the terrorist attacks, I guess, because it makes us feel like we have some control if we can name who we don't like and who we ought to blame - as soon as we can stick a label on another person, they cease to be a person - they are a category - either a friend or foe.  And, we are getting into trouble with that.  People are getting angrier and angrier and meaner and meaner and we cannot find any common ground.

Somebody needs to do something.

Somebody needs to demonstrate a better way.

Somebody needs to "fear not" and "behold the good tidings of great joy which shall be for ALL people."

That somebody is us.

I don't know how to do it - but I am going to start by being careful about what I post.  I am going to start by praying for people I don't like and with whom I disagree.  I am going to start by reviewing my day every day and assessing where I've participated in "mocking the song of peace on earth."  Then, I am going to ask for forgiveness and I am going to do better.  I am going to put my trust in God and believe that Jesus was serious about loving God and loving neighbor.  I am going to read a gospel - probably Matthew - to see if I can jog my memory as to what Jesus actually said about enemies and strangers and peace and friends and God and all that stuff.  I'm not relying on someone else's editorial to do that for me - I'm relying on the Holy Spirit and my genuine effort.

I can't fix the world, but I can improve my corner of it.  I will not let my faith be defined by fear or anger.