A Prayer on Mother's Day

Years ago, a colleague, the Rev. Georgiana Kugle, shared with our lectionary study group a prayer that she had found, and said that she used it in worship each Mother's Day.  I found it so meaningful that I have used it since.  I will not be leading worship this Sunday, but I thought I'd share it here.  (Inspired by this, I wrote a similar prayer that I have used on Father's Day.  I'll share that when that day approaches.)

A Prayer on Mother’s Day

Most Holy and Eternal God, your love is from everlasting to everlasting.  We put our faith and our hope in you.

This day we approach you mindful of the world in which we live.  In this country and in many others, mothers are being remembered and celebrated, families being honored and recognized.  Our prayer today is for the joys and sorrows this day brings.

For those who have mothers they dearly love, may we take time today to appreciate the gifts and graces that have come to us through her.

For those whose mother is dearly loved but no longer living, may we take time to remember the gifts and graces that have come to us through her.

For those who have recently lost or who are facing the imminent loss of their own dear mothers, may they find comfort in their grief, hope in their despair, courage in the love they have received.

We give thanks, gracious God, for these good mothers who gave us birth.  We give thanks for the families who have and who do sustain and support us in our living, and who love us no matter what!

We pray, compassionate God, for those whose mother has been a source of hurt and pain, for all those for whom one or more members of their family has caused them to suffer.  May they find refuge in your love.  May their wounds be healed.  May they find in you, in us, and in others the nurturing, sustaining love that is needed for their growth and well-being.

We give thanks to you, O God, for all those who, responding to the difficult lives of others, have stepped in to become surrogate mothers; for those who, in the absence of our own mothers, for whatever reason, have stepped into our lives providing the guidance and stability, the nurture and the love needed.

We remember single mothers and fathers who struggle to be both parents to their children – to provide all the emotional, physical and spiritual needs without the constant support of a spouse. May they find the strength, the courage and wisdom for their task.

Look now, loving God, upon all those who are mothers – biologically or by the role they play in the lives of others.  May they remember what precious treasures children are.

We join all mothers everywhere in praying that their children may be a joy and a blessing.

We pray for those mothers who have been hurt, disillusioned, or disappointed in their role as mother.

We pray for those who have been denied a longed-for chance at motherhood, and for those whose years of mothering have been cut short by the loss of a child.  We turn to you, most holy God, knowing and trusting that you offer consolation that seems impossible.  May these receive comfort for their soul, and peace and hope for living, that their gifts may not be denied to others.

Hear our prayers this day, O God, and give to us such assurance of your love that your love may spill forth from us into the lives of others; through Jesus Christ our Lord we pray.  Amen.

(A Mother’s Day Prayer composed by the Rev. M. Gayle MacDonald for use in worship.  Shared with a lectionary group by the Rev. Georgiana Kugle, Omaha, Nebraska.)

Reflections on Fred Phelps... and Lent

You may have heard the news.  It seems that Fred Phelps may be close to death.  In case you can't quite place the significance of the person, Phelps founded the Westboro Baptist Church in Topeka, Kansas.  This small, but extremely vocal and controversial church, is best known for their picketing of things like funerals of military persons.  Their signs condemn, in unspeakable language, gay and lesbian individuals in particular, as well as America itself in general.  They believe that the deaths of our service men and women are a sign of God's judgment on our nation because we "condone" homosexuality.  Their signs are some of the most vitriolic, hate-filled things I have ever seen, and their actions have been hurtful beyond measure - to families, to the general witness of the Church, to Christianity in this nation.  People outside of the Church look at them and think all of us Christians must be crazy, hateful people who serve a vengeful, hateful God... just as people look at groups like the Taliban and assume that all Muslims are violent extremists who want to kill anyone not like them.

To say that I have mixed feelings about the news of Phelps' impending death would be an understatement.  One of his sons, who left the "church" long ago, has said that Phelps was excommunicated from his own congregation last fall.  If that's the case, then Fred must be facing his mortality incredibly alone - isolated from the sect he founded, and alienated from many members of his own family.

I do not want to say that I hate Fred Phelps, everything he has stood for, and all his teachings and actions that have caused such incalculable pain in so many people.  However, it's Lent... and during Lent I remember that I'm called to be honest before God and myself about my sins.  And so I confess to you, my sisters and brothers, that "hate" may not be a completely inaccurate description of what I have felt.

But during Lent I also am called to remember that I not only need to ask for forgiveness for my own sins, but also to extend forgiveness to all who have wronged me and others.  It's easy to say that I forgive somebody in the abstract.  But Jesus did not love us in the abstract.  Jesus did not love his enemies in the abstract.  Jesus did not suffer in the abstract.  Jesus was not betrayed in the abstract.  Jesus did not hang on the cross and die in the abstract.  To love my enemies, and to speak words of forgiveness (whether they ask for it or not), means that I need to pray for Fred Phelps, because, as much as I detest him and everything he stands for, he is my brother in Christ.  He is a beloved child of God.  He is a sinner in need of God's love and grace... just as I am.

When I ask God to "forgive us our sins as we forgive those who sin against us," that doesn't just refer to somebody who took my parking place or who had a cartful of groceries at Wegman's in the line for "12 items or less."  It means Fred Phelps.  It meant Osama bin Laden.  It means ___ (fill in the blank for the person whom you most detest).

So, whatever he is facing at this very moment, may God have mercy on Fred Phelps and surround him with grace.  May he begin to experience even now the love that he found so hard to extend to others.  May God be with him and fill him with the healing light of Jesus.

And may God so be with us all, and with everyone.

Lent is here - again

For years I've had a love-hate relationship with Lent.  There were years I'd actually look forward to those preparatory weeks leading to Holy Week and Easter.  I'd anticipate times set aside for silent prayer and meditation as I would engage - sometimes alone, sometimes with others - in Lenten disciplines of silence and prayer.  However, there were those other years... years when I wouldn't quite dread Lent, but I clearly did not look forward to it.  I remember once even describing Lent as "the ecclesiastically sanctioned liturgical season of depression."  I know.  Harsh, wasn't it?

The challenge of Lent for me, especially during those years when God would seemingly have to drag me into the season, is that it really is a time when we're asked... invited... charged to face ourselves.  We're called to follow Jesus into the desert, where we must candidly look at ourselves without the pretenses in which we sometimes clothe ourselves.

Lent is the season of the Church year during which we are summoned to more intentionally follow Jesus.  That is hard, partly because we know that Jesus' path led to the cross.  That also is hard because, in the desert, Jesus had to face his own fears, his human frailty, his mortality.  So during Lent, as we are called to walk in "The Jesus Way" (to borrow the title of Eugene Peterson's powerful book), we are called to strip away all the superficial veneer in our lives and be brutally honest and vulnerable... with ourselves... before God.

This Wednesday will be the first time in decades that I will not stand before a worshiping congregation and invite people into the Lenten journey.  However, I still am moved - and challenged - by these words from our Book of Common Worship:

Friends in Christ, every year at the time of the Christian Passover we celebrate our redemption through the death and resurrection of our Lord Jesus Christ. Lent is a time to prepare for this celebration and to renew our life in the paschal mystery. We begin this holy season by acknowledging our need for repentance, and for the mercy and forgiveness proclaimed in the gospel of Jesus Christ.

We begin our journey to Easter with the sign of ashes. This ancient sign speaks of the frailty and uncertainty of human life, and marks the penitence of this community.

I invite you, therefore, in the name of Christ, to observe a holy Lent by self-examination and penitence, by prayer and fasting, by works of love, and by reading and meditating on the Word of God.

The invitation is extended... to each of us.  Let the journey begin again.

What would it take?

Years ago I was the pastor of a congregation in northern Illinois.  The staff consisted of myself, a full-time administrative assistant, a part-time Associate Pastor, a part-time Director of Music, a part-time organist, and a part-time custodian.  To say that we were a "diverse" staff is an understatement!  We were male and female, younger and older, from very different socio-economic backgrounds, from different family configurations, and with different theological viewpoints.  It was WORK to be Head of Staff there, but we managed to work well together and have a lot of fun at the same time!

I remember one afternoon when we were beginning a staff meeting.  Someone had led our opening time of devotions and prayer, and we were beginning to go through the coming month's calendar.  Someone had mentioned something about TV ads, and we began reminiscing about old ads we'd all seen when we were younger.  Suddenly, our choir director, who was theologically and politically the most conservative of us by far, said, "I remember all the cigarette ads that used to be on TV, and it seemed that everyone on TV shows smoked.  And now... Well, within less than a generation, our whole society has turned things around and made smoking socially unacceptable in most places.  I wonder why we can't do that about handguns?  What would it take for our society to simply decide that handgun ownership was just unacceptable?"  We were all stunned to silence.

Since I'm writing about this now, you can tell that her question has stayed with me these past twenty-or-so years.  And what has stayed with me is not just her question about handguns.  What would it take for us to make political rancor that paralyzes effective governing absolutely unacceptable in our society?  How about bullying?  Sexually inappropriate comments or jokes?  Racism?  An ever-deepening economic divide?  Religious fundamentalism that is rigidly intolerant?  The turn-around that is needed to care for our environment?  What would it take?

What would it take for us within our Presbytery to be able to move beyond the hurts, mistakes, broken trust and broken relationships that many have experienced in the past?  I don't mean that we should just adopt Bobby McFerrin's carefree philosophy from his 1988 song, "Don't Worry, Be Happy!"  We need to fully recognize our heritage - both the richness and the brokenness.  We acknowledge our commonality as sisters and brothers in Jesus our Lord.  We make the decision to move into a new future together.  What would it take?

This morning's closing collect in the Service of Morning Prayer went like this:

As you cause the sun to rise, O God, bring the light of Christ to dawn in our souls and dispel all darkness. Give us grace to reflect Christ's glory; and let his love show in our deeds, his peace shine in our words, and his healing in our touch, that all may give him praise, now and forever.  Amen.

I pray that as we continue to grow and share and learn to move into new ways of being as a Presbytery, that we all might, indeed, "reflect Christ's glory, (letting) his love show in our deeds, his peace shine in our words, and his healing in our touch."

Can I get an "Amen?"

Dealing with Conflict

More and more we seem to be a society that is divisive.  As you'll read later in this edition of Monday in Ministry, the Synod is seriously addressing the issues of racism in our area.  Our nation continues to grapple with this, as seen in the horrors related to the shooting death in Florida of black teenager, Jordan Davis, by a white adult, Michael Dunn, after Davis allegedly refused to turn down what Dunn referred to as "thug music."

Much of the nation read with stunned disbelief the news that the Kansas House of Representatives recently passed a bill "allowing individuals and businesses with sincerely held religious beliefs to discriminate against same-(gender) couples without fear of lawsuits." (from the Huffington Post, emphasis added)  Some Christians apparently supported this legislation, while other Christians around the country clearly condemn what many see as hate laws such as this.

As I reflect and pray about the upcoming General Assembly of our Church, I'm aware anew that divisiveness is not just endemic in our secular society; it also is a part of the Church.  One would hope that such is not the case within the Body of Christ, but we all know it to be true.  Trust is threadbare.  Motives are suspect. Sincerity of faith is questioned.  Theological positions are ridiculed.

I find both hope and challenge in re-reading a document adopted by the 204th General Assembly (1992) for use in the Church.  It is called, "Seeking to be Faithful Together: Guidelines for Presbyterians During Times of Disagreement."  (The whole document can be found  here: www.pcusa.org/media/uploads/peacemaking/pdf/guidelines.pdf.)  Drawn from Biblical passages such as John 7:51, Proverbs 18:13, Ephesians 4:15, and Ephesians 4:3, the General Assembly asked the Church to observe the following 10 guidelines during times of disagreement and/or conflict:

1.     Treat each other respectfully so as to build trust, believing that we all desire to be faithful to Jesus the Christ.

2.     Learn about various positions on the topic of disagreement.

3.     State what we think we heard and ask for clarification before responding, in an effort to be sure we understand each other.

4.     Share our concerns directly with individuals or groups with whom we have disagreements in a spirit of love and respect in keeping with Jesus' teachings.

5.     Focus on ideas and suggestions instead of questioning people's motives, intelligence or integrity.

6.     Share our personal experiences about the subject of disagreement so that others may more faithfully understand our concerns.

7.     Indicate where we agree with those of other viewpoints as well as where we disagree.

8.     Seek to stay in community with each other though the discussion may be vigorous and full of tension.

9.     Follow these additional guidelines when we meet in decision-making bodies:

a.     promise to listen seriously to other viewpoints

b.     seek conclusions informed by our points of agreement

c.     be sensitive to the feelings of those who do not agree with the majority

d.     abide by the decision of the majority

10.  Include our disagreement in our prayers, not praying for the triumph of our viewpoints, but seeking God's grace to listen attentively, to speak clearly, and to remain open to the vision God holds for us all.

Reading through these, they seem pretty straightforward, pretty logical, pretty sound, pretty easy, don't they?  And that's true... until we find ourselves in the midst of serious disagreements.  Then it's easy for hurts and anger to reign, and divisiveness once again becomes the not-desired outcome.

Jesus still holds out for us a different way, a different model, a different path in which to walk.  And, who knows?  If we can learn more faithfully to live that way in the Church, it might even begin to spill over and impact our whole society.

Learnings - still! - from the parable of the Prodigal Son

It doesn't appear in the Sunday lectionary readings but once every three years:  4th Sunday in Lent, Year C.  However, the parable of the Lost or Prodigal Son in Luke 15 always has been powerful for me.

Years ago, when I was serving a church in northern Illinois, the church treasurer – a 4^th generation member – stole a little over $120,000 from the church.  (Reading the situation last fall at the United Methodist Church in Marcellus brought back lots of memories for me!)  In the process of working through all of the implications of what happened, one of our church's Mariners groups asked my wife, Caroline, and me to come and talk with them.  They all were of the same generation as the Treasurer. They all had stood up in each others' weddings.  And they were in deep pain.  We talked with them about this parable in Luke 15.  I reminded them that if the Treasurer, like the Prodigal Son, came back to us in repentance, we had to receive him with open arms of welcome and forgiveness.  However, I also talked with them about the fact that we, while not like the Prodigal Son in the parable, were like the elder brother.  Would we be resentful if the "prodigal" returned home, or would we be able to share the joy of God that he had "come to himself" and returned?  It was a tough time for that congregation.

This parable has a depth to it that is profound.  I was reminded of that again this afternoon as I was reading a quote from Henri Nouwen's book, The Return of the Prodigal Son.  Here is what Fr. Nouwen wrote:

"For most of my life, I have struggled to find God, to know God, to love God.  I have tried hard to follow the guidelines of the spiritual life - pray always, work for others, read the Scriptures - and to avoid the many temptations to dissipate myself.  I have failed many times but always have tried again, even when I was close to despair.... It might sound strange, but God wants to find me as much as, if not more than, I want to find God."

I don't know about you, but it always surprises me to think that God longs for me, seeks me out, waits for me to return when I have wandered, and runs to welcome me home, throwing a lavish party that I neither need nor deserve.  I constantly strive to remember that.  This parable helps.

I guess that's why this thing is called "grace."

Fire Stations and Churches

You perhaps read the tragic article last week about the man who died 15 minutes after firefighters in a D.C. station refused to cross the street to help him after they were summoned by his daughter and passersby.  (The CNN article is here).  For five years I was the lead chaplain of a fire department, and this news report both saddened and infuriated me.  I'm sure it's possible that there are firefighters out there who simply are too tired, too jaded, too burned out, or too lazy that would have allowed this to happen... but that would surprise me.  Firefighters by and large are incredibly compassionate, competent, dedicated servants of the community.  I only can imagine that there was some sort of tragic miscommunication or absurd misunderstanding of rules and regulations that led to this incident happening.  My prayers are with the family and friends of the man who died, and also with the fire department there that will have to live with what happened.

The story did make me think, however.  What would have been the scenario if the building had been a church instead of a fire station?  Do people view the church as somewhere they can run to when they or a loved one are in trouble?  Oh, to be sure, they come to us for funerals and for weddings at times.  But what about other times of crisis... or transition... or doubt... or pain... or danger?  Do people see us as a place of help, or refuge, or, as our worship spaces declare, "sanctuary?"  Do people see us Christians as people who are safe enough, or who care enough, or who are responsive enough that they would think to come to us in times of need?  If so, how would we respond?  If not, then how can we continue to carry the name of Christ in our identity as communities and individuals?

And, to take this one step further, is our Presbytery a place where teaching and ruling elders, and church members, feel that they can come?  If so, then thanks be to God!  If not, then what needs to change in our system... and what needs to change in each one of us?

As you can tell, this made me think.  What do you think?