"How long, O Lord?"

The Psalms of our Hebrew Scriptures always have constituted the Prayer Book of the
people of God. In the Christian tradition, psalms have been read and prayed during
services of Morning Prayer and Evening Prayer for centuries. Monks and nuns read and
pray the psalms several times each day, working through all 150 Psalms every two weeks.
Billy Graham once suggested that everyone read through the Psalms every month,
reading five each day.

As I have read and prayed the psalms for years, sometimes I find that it almost seems to
be a non-thinking routine. Other times, each psalm seems to be alive and filled with power
and wonder and meaning. Other times, a psalm seems to be just utterly detestable... take,
for example, the last verse of Psalm 137!

Author, pastor, and theologian, Eugene Peterson, reminds us that the psalms are there to
help us pray in ways we otherwise might not, to give voice to negative emotions we might
be tempted to deny, to give us words to pray when we have no words of our own.
Ever since the events in Orlando of last Sunday morning, when so many innocent people
were systematically gunned down, I have tried to find words to pray. When the horror of
such a blatant attack on members and allies of the LGBTQ community - especially during
Pride Month - began to force its way past my initial disbelief that something like this could
happen, I have tried to find words to pray. As I have reached out to friends far and wide
who are a part of the LGBTQ community, and as I have heard their pain, their grief, their
fear, I have tried to find words to pray.

At times, my prayers seemed to just tumble out of my mouth and heart in a torrent of
compassion and love and pain and heartache and anger. At times, I simply sat in silence,
trying to hold those in pain within the embrace of God's love and light. At times, words
completely failed me.

Consistently, though, these words from Psalm 13, have echoed within me:

"How long, O LORD? Will you forget me forever? How long will you hide your face from me? How long must I bear pain in my soul, and have sorrow in my heart all day long?"

Usually, these words have been abbreviated to this two-word, piercing question and
prayer: "How long?"

I want God to DO something! I want God to take away pain and fear from those who are
suffering! I want God to beat some sense into our lawmakers! I want God to stop people
from perpetrating this mind-boggling violence! I just want God to STOP IT ALL!

"How long, O Lord," I cry! How long until justice is realized? How long until love reigns
supreme? How long until "the kingdoms of this world become the kingdom of our Lord, who
shall reign forever and ever?" "How long, O Lord?"

And then I realize that God has not abandoned us. God has not left us solely to our own
devices. God has not ceased to love and care and stand with us. God carries our pain,
and shares in it. God holds our tears, and sheds divine tears right with us. God wraps us
in grace and compassion, even when/if we're not aware of that.

And then I realize something else. "How long" is not just a question that I am asking of God.
"How long" also is a question that I must ask of myself...that we all must ask of ourselves.
"How long" will WE put up with conditions that lead to this kind of horror and tragedy?

I don't know the answers to much of this. But I do know that I have to continue to ask this
question to the Lord: "How long?" And I know that we have to ask ourselves that very same
question.

Praying for you to experience anew love, grace, comfort... and even hope.

Thoughts on disagreement...as Christians, as Presbyterians

I am angered, and hurt, and sad...but mostly sad, I suppose.

A colleague Stated Clerk, whom I have known for decades, and who I respect and value as
a colleague and friend, shared some comments about a committee of the General
Assembly, of which I am a member, not only questioning our written statements about
some of the issues coming to this year's Assembly, but using terms that were dismissive at
best, derisive at worst, of the careful, deliberative work of the committee. I have responded
to this individual in writing, and asked that we make some time soon to talk together
directly, either in person (perhaps even at the Assembly in Portland) or at least by phone.
Our relationship is such that I trust such a conversation will be able to take place.

All of this got me wondering, however. If a close and valued colleague in the Church of
Jesus Christ can write things that sting like that...well, I suppose this is indicative of the kinds
of things we see more and more frequently in our broader society.

Disagreeing with someone's opinion about an issue rarely can seem to take place without
viewing that other person as "stupid," "uninformed," "ignorant." One can scarcely express
a different viewpoint from someone without being attacked, shamed, or ridiculed. We see it
in national political discourse. We see it in our communities. Sadly - and shamefully, I
believe - we sometimes see it within the Body of Christ, the Church.

In the powerful and helpful document of our Church from the 204th General Assembly
(1992) of the Presbyterian Church, "Seeking to be Faithful Together: Guidelines for
Presbyterians During Times of Disagreement," the Church calls us to:

• "Treat each other respectfully so as to build trust, believing that we all desire to be faithful to Jesus the Christ;" and
• "Focus on ideas and suggestions instead of questioning people's motives, intelligence or integrity."

The entire document is well worth your read. I've posted it on our Presbytery's website, and you can read it here.

How might our congregations, our Presbytery, the Church, even our society, be different if
we adopted simply the above two bullet points? I sometimes confess to being naive about
human nature - even though I am a confirmed Calvinist! - yet I don't believe that many
people get out of bed in the morning, thinking, "Who can I vilify today? Who can I make look
really stupid today?" We can do better. We are called to be better. We simply must act
better!

Christ calls us to disagree more compassionately and more faithfully with each other. And
the Church extends that invitation to each of us... to all of us.

What makes for a "viable" congregation?

So I've been down at Stony Point Center this week attending an event known as UNCO. Some of you have heard of this annual event. A few of you have attended in the past. A quick explanation of what UNCO is... UNCO stands for "Un-conference." Basically, it is a group-defined sharing and discussion and study of different topics, the ideas of which are generated by the people who show up. In other words, it is a conference-type event, but it's focus and content is not pre-defined

 One of the things I've appreciated about UNCO is the desire of folks to ask the big questions and explore a bit about what those questions mean, what implications they entail, and what some ways might be to discern possible answers.

A question that really grabbed my attention and energy this time is this... What does it mean to describe a congregation as being "viable?" For decades - for the scope of all of our memories and experiences - a "viable" church meant a congregation that had its own building, offered its programs, and was served by a full-time, installed pastoral leader. A "viable" church meant a specific place with a definite address, where everyone in the community could say, "Oh, 'X' Presbyterian Church...That's the building at the corner of Oak and 2nd." That model of being the Church was workable, and even successful, for a long time.

But then there's today... Membership in most of our churches has shrunk dramatically in the past 20, 30, 40 years. Many of our churches have sanctuaries that were built to hold 400 people, and today maybe 45 people are regularly at worship services. Upkeep and maintenance of our church buildings are draining our resources. Being able to afford to have a full-time, ordained, installed pastor already is not possible, or folks are aware that that day is rapidly drawing to a close. Combine all of this with the reality that the Church - particularly denominations like ours - are no longer the highly-respected focal point of the community, nor are we the influential institution that we once were. Thus, many, many of our congregations don't feel as if they are "viable." What would it mean to rethink what it means to be "viable" as a community of faith?

What would it mean to lift up the ministry and calling of people within our congregation, and encourage and enable them to live out their own ministries and exercise their own gifts instead of expecting "the pastor" to do it all? What would it look like if we intentionally let our stately buildings go, and found ways to take the Church - literally - into the community and world, rather than waiting for people to come to where we are? These are questions that are uncomfortable at best, terrifying at worst. But these are the very questions that I believe God is calling the Church to wrestle with in our day and time. It's hard. In some ways, this is at least as hard for seminary-trained pastors, since what this might well mean is that the days of expecting that you will work full-time as a pastor for your whole "career" no longer will be able to be assumed! In other words, many of us might well be out of a "job" in the Church. As I said, uncomfortable...terrifying to consider.

As someone here at UNCO put it: "The mission of the Church is not to have a good choir and a beautiful building. The mission of the Church is to share the Message." What are we willing to let go of in order to put our energies, our resources, our passion, our commitment to share the Message which we have been entrusted by God to share? And what gets in the way of this mission?

Let's continue to ask the big questions and to dare to dream and discern what the Spirit might be doing in our midst, in our day!

Holy Week questions

The Liturgical Year of the Church is meant to take us on an annual pilgrimage. We begin with Advent, celebrate the Incarnation at Christmas, remember the gifts of the Magi to the Holy Family, reflect upon the implications of Christ's (and our own) baptism, participate in Lenten disciplines in preparation for Holy Week, sing for joy at the news of the Resurrection of Jesus our Lord, renew our lives with the knowledge that the Holy Spirit has been given to us, and strive to live faithfully during the "ordinary times" of our lives, culminating with our acknowledgement that Jesus is the Ruler of all. It is an annual cycle, and I've found that observing this cycle has brought a sense of balance to my spiritual life over the years.

Each year, of course, this journey intensifies during the week of events that we long have called "holy." Holy Week begins this Sunday. We traditionally have called this Palm Sunday, remembering Jesus' entry into Jerusalem for the final time. Some churches call this Passion Sunday, mainly, I think, to remind folks who don't or can't attend special services during Holy Week that you can't just skip from the pomp of Palm Sunday to the joy of Easter; the story of the Passion must be a part of our journey - one way or another - during this week.

Holy Week reminds me of questions I need to ask myself...

• Where have I seen the suffering of Christ in the lives of others?
• How do I respond to instances of suffering? Do I pass people by? Do I stop and offer to help carry their cross? Do I weep with others, sharing their pain? Do I judge? Do I ridicule?
• In what ways do I participate in "crucifying" Christ by things I say and do?
• What do I fear about my own suffering?
• How do I approach my own death?
• What do I believe about hope and resurrection?

I find that attending to spiritual disciplines each day, especially during Holy Week, is vitally important to my approach to Easter morning. In fact, I think that how seriously I reflect upon the Passion of Jesus is directly proportionate to how much joy I experience on Easter.

What are your experiences of Holy Week? I invite you to dive into this intense spiritual pilgrimage with your whole being. I don't believe you'll regret it one bit.

Openness to loving...and to being loved

As I write this, it is Maundy Thursday in the Christian calendar. It is a day pregnant with meaning...with somberness...with mystery and awe and wonder. The scene of the Last Supper is vividly etched in the minds of most of us.

In my devotions this morning, part of what I did was read today's entry from The Daily Feast. Here is what the author, Christine Chakoian wrote:

"So it is for us, in the meal that Jesus offered on the night of Passover, on the night before he was to die. We are invited to remember - especially on Holy Thursday - not as if we were present at the Last Supper with our Lord and his disciples but that we were at Table with them. Every time we are at Table, and especially this night, the act of Communion triggers and forms the memory that we were once bound and now are freed, and that we belong to the God who saves us. 

"As we say 'on the night that he was betrayed Jesus took the Passover bread and gave it to us,' we are invited to remember that Jesus offered his life for us, not when we were particularly worthy, charming, faithful, or successful, but when we betrayed him."

The word "Maundy" comes from the Latin word that means "command," from which our word "mandate" derives. It refers to Jesus' commands to wash the feet of others and to love each other as He loved (and loves) us. Perhaps it also implies that we need to open ourselves up to be loved - by God and others - even at those times when we feel most unlovable. 

You've got 15 seconds to sum up the Christian Faith. Go!

I came across a blog post the other day. It was written by Dr. Gary Hansen, Associate Professor of Church History at the University of Dubuque Theological Seminary. UDTS is one of our Presbyterian-related seminaries. The particular post that Gary wrote was entitled, "What Christians Believe in 15 Seconds." This is how he begins this piece:

You are talking with your co-worker from the next cubicle over coffee. She knows you are active in a church. She is in a season of searching. 

"What is Christianity actually all about?" she asks. "I mean, what do you believe?" 

She really wants to know. You really want to tell her. Three problems:

• You have about fifteen seconds before your break is over - the big stuff always happens at the door, right? 

• She does not want an in depth dissertation - she'll listen for about fifteen seconds. 

• You have been a Christian surrounded by Christians your whole life - if you've never been asked, maybe you don't know what to say.

What would you say? How would you respond in this kind of situation? In other words, what would be your "elevator speech" to this woman? 

Interestingly, Gary takes us to the Heidelberg Catechism, one of the documents in the Presbyterian Church's Book of Confessions, which is Part I of our Church Constitution. (Part II is the Book of Order.) This particular document is one of three catechisms in our confessional tradition. A catechism is simply a statement of faith, like a creed or confession, but that is structured in question and answer form. Gary points to the second Q&A as a way to answer this query:

"Q. 2. How many things must you know that you may live and die in the blessedness of this comfort? 

A. Three. First, the greatness of my sin and wretchedness. Second, how I am freed from all my sins and their wretched consequences. Third, what gratitude I owe to God for such redemption." 

As he sums it up, "guilt, grace, and gratitude."

1. We live in brokenness in our lives, our relationships, and our world.
2. God's grace is freely and generously extended to us in the midst of our human condition.
3. Our response is to live lives that demonstrate our gratitude to God for such love and forgiveness.

Years ago I challenged the members of the Committee on Preparation for Ministry that I chaired in the Presbytery I was in then. "We require each of the seminary students under our care to write a Statement of Faith, expressing their own beliefs, and to do that in one page. If we ask them to do that, I'd invite each of us to do that as well." No one took me up on the challenge. However, I wrote my own page. The challenge of distilling this radically into an "elevator speech," when you literally have only a few seconds to share with someone what you believe... well, what would you say? 

Keeping silent...Speaking up

So I find myself striving to find balance today. That's probably true most of the time, but this is my current dilemma. As I've written before in this space, I place a high value on the spiritual discipline of silence: being silent before God in prayer and meditation, being silent in times of reflection and journaling, being silent at times in a group so that I make time to truly listen to what others are saying and what, perhaps, is behind what they're saying.

Yet I also know the importance of words. There are times when situations call for words to be used, for a voice to be heard, for some Word from God to be proclaimed. In those times, silence can not only be inappropriate, but it also can be complicit. I've been wondering if there wasn't a time in the 1930's in Germany when one voice, or a chorus of voices, could have been raised in a way and a time that might literally have changed history. When fear-mongering and nationalism gone amuck were being touted by Hitler and the National Socialist German Workers' Party, what might have happened if the churches had united and spoken with one voice against what was developing? And might that voice have stopped Hitler before his movement got traction?

I've read of those who equate some of the current political rhetoric in our nation with the kinds of things spouted by Hitler. I don't go that far... at least not yet. However, don't we have a responsibility as people of faith to speak a word to our society in response to those who advocate violence, or hate, or xenophobia, or racial, ethnic, and gender discrimination? For me, the answer is "yes." I believe that we DO have a responsibility to proclaim the values of our faith and our tradition as a necessary alternative to too many things being spoken today. The question for me then becomes "how." How do we raise our voice? What venue might we best use? How can we speak from a place of love and compassion rather than just adding to the angry discourses of a fractured society?

• Psalm 46:10 - "Be still, and know that I am God."
• Luke 12:12 - "...the Holy Spirit will teach you at that very hour what you ought to say."

The ancient Desert Saints perhaps found the balance which I seek at this moment. They strongly advocated for the importance of silence, and they practiced that discipline daily. However, they knew that the strongest, most loving, most wise, most powerful words one might utter in any situation are words that come out of those times of silence, those times of reflection, those times of prayer, those times with God. Perhaps, then, as we learn more and more to practice the disciplines of prayer and silence, we also might, paradoxically, find the strength and wisdom we need to speak out.