This past weekend I took my annual pilgrimage to Conception Abbey, a Benedictine monastery, with several young adults. My friend Gabe and I have been taking kids to the Abbey for several years, concentrating on older high schoolers and college-aged folk. This year we had 5 attendees who were all college-aged, and it was a new experience for 4 of them.
Catholic spirituality and worship tradition is very different from what most of those attending are comfortable with. We had 4 Disciples of Christ and 1 Seventh Day Adventist in our group. But they dutifully attended the praying of the hours, the 5 times that the monks get together and pray and chant, mostly from the Psalms, with one celebration of the Eucharist. We happened to be there on the weekend when they were celebrating the Feast of St. Benedict, and this was even more "out there" than anything they had ever experienced. The Eucharist celebration was a high mass, with incense and sung responses to everything. We were forewarned by our monk host, Brother Cyprian, that this was the "big show", and it was.
I was raised in the Roman Catholic church, so for me incense and candles and signs of the cross from forehead to chest to shoulders is a soothing thing. It takes me back to the piety of my 8 year-old self who was very proud to kneel straight and to know all of the proper responses (which, I believe, were still in Latin at the time.) I can still pretty much recite all of the English responses to this day, and can recite the Creed. I find it all rather "Zen" since I kick into auto pilot. It's only when I think of what I'm saying that I can become uncomfortable. Do I really believe that Mary was a virgin? I think it's possible; I'm rather agnostic to the idea actually. Do I believe that Jesus "descended into hell"? Who's to know? There are lots of reasons why I'm not a Catholic anymore. But I still find attending the Mass and chanting with the monks a time for experiencing a richness of feeling that I ascribe to a greater awareness of God's presence.
But my daughter is exactly the opposite. Since she has always been DOC, and her encounters with the Catholic church have largely been at funerals and weddings, she has no use for the "smells and bells", the repeated chants, the automatic responses. Instead of feeling any closeness to God, she feels repulsed by what she assumes is the judgmental attitude of those who refuse to serve her the Lord's Supper. I can't say that I blame her. But there are other DOC's (Gabe is one for sure) who enjoy this little trek back to the middle ages, with robed monks and chant and ancient rituals. He's never been Catholic. Perhaps its his age. Yet one of our attendees was a returnee for her 3rd time, so obviously there are others who appreciate these things.
I think its the way that we're wired. I suppose it might be possible to acquire a taste for differences -- I developed an appreciation for Protestant worship when I let go my preconceived notions of what worship should be based upon my childhood. But I also think it might be a lot like broccoli. Some of us hate it all our lives, some learn to tolerate it, others actually love it. But it's all about how your taste buds are set upon your tongue, about textures that you find appealing, about the pleasure you get in chewing certain things. The same thing is true in worship.
Most everyone I know says they find God in nature. I agree as well. But there is also something very good about people coming together to worship. It exponentially charges the atmosphere I think, as long as we feel like we're on the same grid with others. But if we're not, perhaps we just feel like a lonely triple A battery out there alone, with no recharger.
It's just about how we're built.
Wednesday, March 25, 2009
Tuesday, March 10, 2009
Transformation
This weekend I attended a DOC sponsored workshop about Transforming Churches. You may remember that in 2000 the DOC's set a goal to start 1000 new churches and transform 1000 existing churches by the year 2020. We're doing pretty well on the new church starts, somewhere in the 600+ range I think, but how many transformations have begun is another question.
When I got home from the event my husband says "What does church transformation mean, anyway?" Good question. I told him I thought it was like pornography -- you know it when you see it. How can we define and measure transformation anyway? Whether it's personal or whether it's the church, painting a picture of a transformed entity is difficult. It's difficult because, unlike a caterpillar who turns into a butterfly, there are likely to be many things that appear to be the same on the outside even though the inside might be entirely different. That's the way it SHOULD be, in my opinion.
A transformed church could include a renovation of the outside of course. A new building could be built or a remodeling of physical spaces could be undertaken; but unless something happens to change our insides, we can make all of the changes to the outsides that we want with little to no true effect. (This is true for people too; I can lose weight and build up my muscles, but unless I change my attitude about nutrition and exercise, the outside changes won't last long.)
In the church, our transformation starts with new attitudes. It starts with the idea that God is #1. That should seem pretty obvious, but because churches are human institutions, we can be very focused on ourselves first and God second. We worry about things like the timing of our services and the comfort of our pews and the accessibility to our buildings before we think about why those things matter. I know a church that built a wonderful new building and expected to fill it with people because of how great the building was compared to the old facility. But they didn't change their attitudes toward God nor towards one another. The same old feuds and rivalries existed. The same old reliability on people-power instead of God-power. The only thing that changed was the outside appearance. What was it Jesus said? Something like "It isn't the outside that makes you unclean but what comes from the inside??"
One of the great things that I heard this weekend was this: "You have everything you need to transform your congregation." So many of us get caught up in the fact that we don't have audio/visual technology or people to make up a praise team, or the parking lot is too small or the walls are dingy and need repainting. These are all things I have obsessed over myself. And, while I still hope that we can make some of the needed physical changes, I see now that they are a result of internal changes in perception, not the other way around. We will acquire things that are necessary to support our inner needs, not the other way around. Things don't change our hearts. This has been an obvious conclusion to me in other areas of my life; I don't know why it has just now been hammered into me when it comes to thinking about the church. But things seem different to me now than it did last week. (Is that transformation?)
So this time next year will I be able to point to our church and say "we are being transformed?" I hope so. What will I be able to point to? I don't know --- but I'm sure I'll know it when I see it!
When I got home from the event my husband says "What does church transformation mean, anyway?" Good question. I told him I thought it was like pornography -- you know it when you see it. How can we define and measure transformation anyway? Whether it's personal or whether it's the church, painting a picture of a transformed entity is difficult. It's difficult because, unlike a caterpillar who turns into a butterfly, there are likely to be many things that appear to be the same on the outside even though the inside might be entirely different. That's the way it SHOULD be, in my opinion.
A transformed church could include a renovation of the outside of course. A new building could be built or a remodeling of physical spaces could be undertaken; but unless something happens to change our insides, we can make all of the changes to the outsides that we want with little to no true effect. (This is true for people too; I can lose weight and build up my muscles, but unless I change my attitude about nutrition and exercise, the outside changes won't last long.)
In the church, our transformation starts with new attitudes. It starts with the idea that God is #1. That should seem pretty obvious, but because churches are human institutions, we can be very focused on ourselves first and God second. We worry about things like the timing of our services and the comfort of our pews and the accessibility to our buildings before we think about why those things matter. I know a church that built a wonderful new building and expected to fill it with people because of how great the building was compared to the old facility. But they didn't change their attitudes toward God nor towards one another. The same old feuds and rivalries existed. The same old reliability on people-power instead of God-power. The only thing that changed was the outside appearance. What was it Jesus said? Something like "It isn't the outside that makes you unclean but what comes from the inside??"
One of the great things that I heard this weekend was this: "You have everything you need to transform your congregation." So many of us get caught up in the fact that we don't have audio/visual technology or people to make up a praise team, or the parking lot is too small or the walls are dingy and need repainting. These are all things I have obsessed over myself. And, while I still hope that we can make some of the needed physical changes, I see now that they are a result of internal changes in perception, not the other way around. We will acquire things that are necessary to support our inner needs, not the other way around. Things don't change our hearts. This has been an obvious conclusion to me in other areas of my life; I don't know why it has just now been hammered into me when it comes to thinking about the church. But things seem different to me now than it did last week. (Is that transformation?)
So this time next year will I be able to point to our church and say "we are being transformed?" I hope so. What will I be able to point to? I don't know --- but I'm sure I'll know it when I see it!
Wednesday, March 4, 2009
Regularity
I have this bookmark set to open up with Firefox (don't you just love this browser!) automatically, so I have to consciously choose NOT to write an entry everyday. Some days I just click it shut without giving it a thought. Other times I think that I SHOULD do it -- I started this thing, so I should follow through. It occurs to me that this is a lot like my attitude toward prayer.
Some of us at Countryside Christian Church are on a special journey during Lent, with the goal being that we will learn to be more comfortable sharing our faith with others. We mainliners are pretty darn private about our faith, and we're not too good at putting words to why we continue to be disciples of Jesus Christ. A big part of this journey is to pray daily for 30 minutes. Of course we're not dictatorial about it, but it is an expectation. So every day I am faced with the decision: whether or not to pray, when to pray, where to pray. The "bookmark" opens every morning when I wake up and remains open until I lay down at night. I can decide to close it or open it, but I can't ignore it.
I'm more successful when I know where and when I'm going to pray, rather than having to decide those things. So when I'm here in my office, it's first thing in the morning on my couch. That's the easy do; the only thing that stands in my way is if I do ANYTHING else first and get distracted. So I try to open the door, light the candle and get started, with no distractions. The harder part is when I'm not coming to my office. There is no quiet place in my house, except my closet. So last Sunday evening I went into my messy closet, the one with the big blue trash bag full of clothes that I don't wear and my husbands dusty suits that he hasn't worn in 20 years but refuses to give away, and I set up my little altar of candle on the little fireproof file box, sat down on the floor and began praying. Amazingly -- it actually works. That's one more bookmark that opens automatically that compels me to do what I know I should do.
The other wonderful thing about regularity in anything is that the more I do it, the more I want to do it. Shoulds, oughts and musts turn into iwannas. Iwannas are good; they are even fun sometimes. The trick is to do something regularly long enough to turn them into iwannas. Yet even very regular iwannas sometimes slip back to idonwannas, and then I have to decide all over again whether or not to open the bookmark.
Regularity -- it has its upside. But its not foolproof.
Some of us at Countryside Christian Church are on a special journey during Lent, with the goal being that we will learn to be more comfortable sharing our faith with others. We mainliners are pretty darn private about our faith, and we're not too good at putting words to why we continue to be disciples of Jesus Christ. A big part of this journey is to pray daily for 30 minutes. Of course we're not dictatorial about it, but it is an expectation. So every day I am faced with the decision: whether or not to pray, when to pray, where to pray. The "bookmark" opens every morning when I wake up and remains open until I lay down at night. I can decide to close it or open it, but I can't ignore it.
I'm more successful when I know where and when I'm going to pray, rather than having to decide those things. So when I'm here in my office, it's first thing in the morning on my couch. That's the easy do; the only thing that stands in my way is if I do ANYTHING else first and get distracted. So I try to open the door, light the candle and get started, with no distractions. The harder part is when I'm not coming to my office. There is no quiet place in my house, except my closet. So last Sunday evening I went into my messy closet, the one with the big blue trash bag full of clothes that I don't wear and my husbands dusty suits that he hasn't worn in 20 years but refuses to give away, and I set up my little altar of candle on the little fireproof file box, sat down on the floor and began praying. Amazingly -- it actually works. That's one more bookmark that opens automatically that compels me to do what I know I should do.
The other wonderful thing about regularity in anything is that the more I do it, the more I want to do it. Shoulds, oughts and musts turn into iwannas. Iwannas are good; they are even fun sometimes. The trick is to do something regularly long enough to turn them into iwannas. Yet even very regular iwannas sometimes slip back to idonwannas, and then I have to decide all over again whether or not to open the bookmark.
Regularity -- it has its upside. But its not foolproof.
Friday, February 27, 2009
Lenten reflections
I loved the way the Ash Wednesday service transpired. We started out upbeat and worked our way toward the solemnity of placing ashes. Back in the day, when I was a little Catholic girl, I do not remember ever having the choice of where the ashes were placed. They went on your forehead, for everyone to see as you left the service. This night (and the 2 others prior) I gave our people the choice of forehead or hand. The majority leaned in with their head, a tiny nervous smile on their faces, waiting for the ashy inscription of a cross and the words "Remember you are dust and unto dust you will return."
Placing ashes upon someone has been one of the most sacred activities of my ministry. Last year a woman who had dwindled to become almost a specter of herself because of the cancer ravaging her body came forward. As I place the ashes upon her forehead, I was as certain as I could be that this would be the last time she ever experienced this ceremonial reminder of her earthly finitude. And indeed, a few weeks later, sometime following the celebration of Resurrection, she left us, becoming one with the earth. I wonder whose face will no longer be here this time next year.
This act is not a sad one. In my entire faith journey my belief in life after earthly death has not been shaken, except for tiny tremors from time to time. I have been granted the comforting belief, which is actually stronger than faith as it approaches the level of certainty, that death in this world is only the opening to a great eternal life. To be marked by ashes is a promise to me, a promise that the uncertainties of this life will one day be behind me. It is a promise that my best days here will not come close to being as wonderful as my worst days there.
I'm looking forward to the remaining days before we celebrate Resurrection as a time to ponder my life now and how it can best be lived. I'm so glad that I will one day no longer have to concern myself with such questions.
Placing ashes upon someone has been one of the most sacred activities of my ministry. Last year a woman who had dwindled to become almost a specter of herself because of the cancer ravaging her body came forward. As I place the ashes upon her forehead, I was as certain as I could be that this would be the last time she ever experienced this ceremonial reminder of her earthly finitude. And indeed, a few weeks later, sometime following the celebration of Resurrection, she left us, becoming one with the earth. I wonder whose face will no longer be here this time next year.
This act is not a sad one. In my entire faith journey my belief in life after earthly death has not been shaken, except for tiny tremors from time to time. I have been granted the comforting belief, which is actually stronger than faith as it approaches the level of certainty, that death in this world is only the opening to a great eternal life. To be marked by ashes is a promise to me, a promise that the uncertainties of this life will one day be behind me. It is a promise that my best days here will not come close to being as wonderful as my worst days there.
I'm looking forward to the remaining days before we celebrate Resurrection as a time to ponder my life now and how it can best be lived. I'm so glad that I will one day no longer have to concern myself with such questions.
Friday, February 13, 2009
Why Are We Here?
This is the concluding title in the message series A Movement for Wholeness in a Fragmented World all about the Christian Church (Disciples of Christ). Last year I did one message about the DOC and folks said "We need to do this every year." This year I expanded it to "Who Are We?", "What Do We Believe?" and this Sunday "Why Are We Here?" The first two were fairly easy to explain; well, as easy as anything Disciple is to explain. We're Stone/Campbell Restoration folk who are not easily lead but yet want to be open to to Christian unity. But this week's question is tougher. What I'm seeking an answer for is what unique thing do we offer the world? I asked the question on Facebook and one of my fellow pastors said "Why do we have to be unique?"
Certainly, we don't. In fact, the thing that is somewhat unique about us, that drive toward Christian unity, would ultimately make us NOT unique but part of an amorphous thing known as the Christian church universal. However, I don't see that happening any time soon. There are two main reasons I can think of:
There is perhaps nothing that we are doing that others aren't. But we are a driving force for openness, for accepting the different races and cultures into our midst (although, they are forming their own congregations, not joining existing ones. See #2 above). We appreciate and foster an atmosphere of self-exploration of faith issues. We're pretty passionate about justice, and many in our midst are devoted to peace. Since we don't have any creed but Christ, our tent is pretty big and open.
I have long thought that the beauty of the CC (DOC) is just that -- no creed but Christ. And I for one can see a very broad interpretation of our affirmation that "Jesus is the Christ, the son of the living God" and "acceptance as personal savior." Which means that lots of folks can come in, kick the tires on this thing called church, search for meaning and belief, and still be accepted without pressure. No one is asked to hurry up and make a decision. No one is threatening hell and damnation. We try mightily to practice love and acceptance. We also fail at that -- but not for lack of desire.
I believe in the More (see Marcus Borg "The Heart of Christianity") and think that life is better when we understand that More in the way that Jesus did. The Disciples have let me come to this place, to search, to seek, to learn, to laugh, to grow. Maybe they exist only for me -- but I doubt it!
Certainly, we don't. In fact, the thing that is somewhat unique about us, that drive toward Christian unity, would ultimately make us NOT unique but part of an amorphous thing known as the Christian church universal. However, I don't see that happening any time soon. There are two main reasons I can think of:
- Those who like black and white answers are very ill at ease with those of us who see shades of gray. Biblical literalists are rarely capable of granting space to those of us who see the Bible in shades of metaphor.
- People are tribal. We like to know how to identify those who we know will agree with us and defend us.
There is perhaps nothing that we are doing that others aren't. But we are a driving force for openness, for accepting the different races and cultures into our midst (although, they are forming their own congregations, not joining existing ones. See #2 above). We appreciate and foster an atmosphere of self-exploration of faith issues. We're pretty passionate about justice, and many in our midst are devoted to peace. Since we don't have any creed but Christ, our tent is pretty big and open.
I have long thought that the beauty of the CC (DOC) is just that -- no creed but Christ. And I for one can see a very broad interpretation of our affirmation that "Jesus is the Christ, the son of the living God" and "acceptance as personal savior." Which means that lots of folks can come in, kick the tires on this thing called church, search for meaning and belief, and still be accepted without pressure. No one is asked to hurry up and make a decision. No one is threatening hell and damnation. We try mightily to practice love and acceptance. We also fail at that -- but not for lack of desire.
I believe in the More (see Marcus Borg "The Heart of Christianity") and think that life is better when we understand that More in the way that Jesus did. The Disciples have let me come to this place, to search, to seek, to learn, to laugh, to grow. Maybe they exist only for me -- but I doubt it!
Friday, February 6, 2009
Funerals and people on the edge
This week I met a woman who has cancer, the kind that has spread and makes her eligible for an experimental study.... 3 kinds of chemo drugs instead of 2. She had surgery and is miserable. Her family keeps encouraging her to fight, to try to beat this monster that is ravaging her insides. It's a tough call. As Christians, I believe that we should try to live life to its fullest. I believe that we need to give it our best shot. But I'm not so sure that we are obliged to partake of every single thing that the medical profession can throw at us. And how do you tell your loved ones "I'm tired. I'm through. I don't want to go through the pain."
Of course when someone is discouraged and hurting, perhaps they are not the at peak of their decision making capacity. But it is their life -- or the life that God gave them. Should they not be able to make that decision on their own? Does age and stage of life enter into the decision?
As I was with a loved one of this woman, I wondered aloud whether I would have the courage to fight -- or the courage to slip away. My faith tells me that there is something better to look forward to after this life, so why shouldn't I, if it's my time, go? But I could be wrong, and that little bit of doubt could change my mind so that I would hold on here as long as possible. Who knows?
Another woman did pass to new life this week, a lovely woman in her 90's. I didn't know her until these past few years when the ravages of life had already taken its toll. But I am told by others that she was a wonderful person, warm and full of life in her younger years. Her husband faced some difficult medical decisions toward the end, ones that she was incapable of making for herself. 100 years ago there would have been no decisions to make, only a vigil to keep. But God has given us the intelligence to prolong the inevitable, and we, being creatures prone to fear, are often reluctant to say no to them.
I've often said that I would rather preside at a funeral than a wedding. People probably think of me as jaded or twisted when I say that. Both are celebrations of new life. But my reasoning is this: the new life that is begun at a wedding is often completely overlooked by the enormity of planning for the ceremony itself. If couples spent 1/2 the time they spend on planning a ceremony in planning a life together, the divorce rate would probably be much lower. A funeral on the other hand is less about the ceremony and more about the remembrance of a life well lived and the send off to a better place. While it is sorrowful, it is also filled with hope. I imagine that balloons are being released and bubbles are being blown for the one who has just arrived on the far shore, even as we are gathering the flowers and committing the ashes to the dirt. So, if on any given day I had my choice between the two ceremonies, I'd take the last one.
That's not to say that I'm not REALLY looking forward to celebrating the weddings of some of the youth who I have gotten to know through the past few years. I'll be crushed if at least SOME of them don't ask me to officiate. (I've got one coming up in a couple of years -- hope they don't change their minds.) It is my hope that I might help them through to a life together that is full of joy and capable of withstanding sorrow.
Life is good, marriage can be great -- but death doesn't have to be bad either.
Of course when someone is discouraged and hurting, perhaps they are not the at peak of their decision making capacity. But it is their life -- or the life that God gave them. Should they not be able to make that decision on their own? Does age and stage of life enter into the decision?
As I was with a loved one of this woman, I wondered aloud whether I would have the courage to fight -- or the courage to slip away. My faith tells me that there is something better to look forward to after this life, so why shouldn't I, if it's my time, go? But I could be wrong, and that little bit of doubt could change my mind so that I would hold on here as long as possible. Who knows?
Another woman did pass to new life this week, a lovely woman in her 90's. I didn't know her until these past few years when the ravages of life had already taken its toll. But I am told by others that she was a wonderful person, warm and full of life in her younger years. Her husband faced some difficult medical decisions toward the end, ones that she was incapable of making for herself. 100 years ago there would have been no decisions to make, only a vigil to keep. But God has given us the intelligence to prolong the inevitable, and we, being creatures prone to fear, are often reluctant to say no to them.
I've often said that I would rather preside at a funeral than a wedding. People probably think of me as jaded or twisted when I say that. Both are celebrations of new life. But my reasoning is this: the new life that is begun at a wedding is often completely overlooked by the enormity of planning for the ceremony itself. If couples spent 1/2 the time they spend on planning a ceremony in planning a life together, the divorce rate would probably be much lower. A funeral on the other hand is less about the ceremony and more about the remembrance of a life well lived and the send off to a better place. While it is sorrowful, it is also filled with hope. I imagine that balloons are being released and bubbles are being blown for the one who has just arrived on the far shore, even as we are gathering the flowers and committing the ashes to the dirt. So, if on any given day I had my choice between the two ceremonies, I'd take the last one.
That's not to say that I'm not REALLY looking forward to celebrating the weddings of some of the youth who I have gotten to know through the past few years. I'll be crushed if at least SOME of them don't ask me to officiate. (I've got one coming up in a couple of years -- hope they don't change their minds.) It is my hope that I might help them through to a life together that is full of joy and capable of withstanding sorrow.
Life is good, marriage can be great -- but death doesn't have to be bad either.
Tuesday, February 3, 2009
We call ourselves Disciples
This past Sunday, and for the next 2 weeks, my messages are about the Christian Church (Disciples of Christ). I know that people don't pick churches because of denomination much any more. That's fine by me--- it just means that a few more people stumble into this wonderful group of folks. I've identified with the CC(DOC) for 20 years now. I have served as a deacon and an elder and the superintendent of the Sunday School, the Chair/Moderator of the Board -- and now I'm a pastor, in spite of all of that. I've taken part in too many "parking lot" meetings and know that most of us feel qualified to run our churches, thank you very much. We're stubborn and opinionated, and sometimes we're even downright mean to one another. If we were a family I'm sure we'd be labeled as dysfunctional.
But I think that can be a good thing -- if we truly are a family, that is.
My family of origin is much the same way as what I've described above. Now that we're the adults, we aren't as mean to each other as we used to be, and we can still have our moments of insensitivity. But we love each other with a passion. We'd do anything we could to help each other out if any one of us was hurting. Now we won't go overboard -- we're not all that sentimental. But we care about each other.... not only because we are related by blood, but because we've grown to like each other too.
That describes the Disciples to me. We are as varied as my family of origin -- in opinion and attitudes toward life, and yes, even in sexual orientation. But our strength is our ability to give space to everyone to be. Space for everyone to explore their faith without limits. At least this is the church that I belong to.
Of course there are also folk within this clan who don't want to let bygones be bygones. They want to make rules and regs as to who can serve and how often and when and where. But I think those folks are the minority, and we do our best to try to accommodate them without letting them run the entire show. It's a delicate balancing act... but I think it's what Jesus wants from us.
The biblical witness to the life of Jesus doesn't portray someone who was into making rules and setting up fences. He didn't seem like the kind who only hung out with the like minded. Jesus spent lots of time healing and urging people to "sin no more," but I don't think he ever turned away someone who wasn't able to live up to that expectation.
We call ourselves Disciples. We're certainly not perfect -- which is good, because I couldn't be here if we were. We don't ask you to check your brain or your opinions at the door. We would like for everyone to play nice, but in our better moments we're able to forgive you when you don't, in the hopes that you'll return the favor.
We call ourselves Disciples. A movement for wholeness in a fragmented world. We spend a lot of time collecting food and clothes and funds for those who don't have; we spend lots of energy waiting tables and building houses for those who need food and shelter. We aren't all that good at putting our faith into words (although we're working to get better), but we never hesitate to put our faith into action.
We call ourselves Disciples -- of Jesus of Nazareth. He's a pretty tough act to follow some days, but we're giving it our best shot.
I call myself a Disciple. Thanks for taking me in.
But I think that can be a good thing -- if we truly are a family, that is.
My family of origin is much the same way as what I've described above. Now that we're the adults, we aren't as mean to each other as we used to be, and we can still have our moments of insensitivity. But we love each other with a passion. We'd do anything we could to help each other out if any one of us was hurting. Now we won't go overboard -- we're not all that sentimental. But we care about each other.... not only because we are related by blood, but because we've grown to like each other too.
That describes the Disciples to me. We are as varied as my family of origin -- in opinion and attitudes toward life, and yes, even in sexual orientation. But our strength is our ability to give space to everyone to be. Space for everyone to explore their faith without limits. At least this is the church that I belong to.
Of course there are also folk within this clan who don't want to let bygones be bygones. They want to make rules and regs as to who can serve and how often and when and where. But I think those folks are the minority, and we do our best to try to accommodate them without letting them run the entire show. It's a delicate balancing act... but I think it's what Jesus wants from us.
The biblical witness to the life of Jesus doesn't portray someone who was into making rules and setting up fences. He didn't seem like the kind who only hung out with the like minded. Jesus spent lots of time healing and urging people to "sin no more," but I don't think he ever turned away someone who wasn't able to live up to that expectation.
We call ourselves Disciples. We're certainly not perfect -- which is good, because I couldn't be here if we were. We don't ask you to check your brain or your opinions at the door. We would like for everyone to play nice, but in our better moments we're able to forgive you when you don't, in the hopes that you'll return the favor.
We call ourselves Disciples. A movement for wholeness in a fragmented world. We spend a lot of time collecting food and clothes and funds for those who don't have; we spend lots of energy waiting tables and building houses for those who need food and shelter. We aren't all that good at putting our faith into words (although we're working to get better), but we never hesitate to put our faith into action.
We call ourselves Disciples -- of Jesus of Nazareth. He's a pretty tough act to follow some days, but we're giving it our best shot.
I call myself a Disciple. Thanks for taking me in.
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