Standing Up to the Storm

This is the sermon I offered on June 21 in response to the shootings at Emanuel AME Church in Charleston, SC.

Today’s text is from the gospel according to Mark. Let us attend to the reading of the word:

⁵ Later that day, when evening came, Jesus said to them, “Let’s cross over to the other side of the lake.” ³⁶ They left the crowd and took him in the boat just as he was. Other boats followed along.

³⁷ Gale-force winds arose, and waves crashed against the boat so that the boat was swamped. ³⁸ But Jesus was in the rear of the boat, sleeping on a pillow. They woke him up and said, “Teacher, don’t you care that we’re drowning?”

³⁹ He got up and gave orders to the wind, and he said to the lake, “Silence! Be still!” The wind settled down and there was a great calm. ⁴⁰ Jesus asked them, “Why are you frightened? Don’t you have faith yet?”

⁴¹ Overcome with awe, they said to each other, “Who then is this? Even the wind and the sea obey him!”

Jesus had been teaching folks all day long. He was tired – if you’re so tired you can sleep in an open boat with a gale raging, you’re tired – and he said “Let’s go to the other side.” We don’t know if he knew what was waiting for him on the other side of the lake – it happened to be a demon possessed man, according to Mark – but I think he was hoping to escape the crowds and have some peace and quiet.

Why do we change locations? We do so for a new job, or a better house, or a peaceful vacation. Why did the chicken cross the road? Probably because she thought there were better things on the other side. Isn’t that usually the case? When we move to the other side, we’re hoping that there is something good waiting for us there.

O Lord of mercy, we surely need to get to the other side.

This week something terrible happened in an historic downtown church established a few years before ours. It happened this past Wednesday night, during a bible study. That’s the same night 14 of us were in the Fellowship Hall having a bible study. Ours ended peacefully around 7:30. In Charleston, SC, 9 people were shot to death for no other reason than the color of their skin.

Based upon what we’ve been told, try to imagine that night, A dozen or so folk gathered for bible study and prayer. They all knew one another, probably very well. They laughed as they shared the easy companionship of fellow Christians, ready to delve into the word, ready to rest in prayer. They asked one another how the day had been and what their families were doing that evening. They talked about what they had for dinner and maybe they planned to go out for a piece of pie after the class was done.

It was a Wednesday night like all of the other Wednesday nights. Coffee was poured, bibles were opened. It was sister Myra Thompson’s turn to teach, something she did well. As is typical of these kinds of studies, three or four folk would most likely dominate the discussion, the others listening thoughtfully, adding an insight or asking a question from time to time.

But this Wednesday night was different. A young man came in the room. He was white. If a young black man had walked into our bible study, I would have asked him his name, offered him some of the food we had, and asked if he wanted to join us. That’s probably exactly what the good folk of Emanuel AME Church did. They were a bit wary at first, as we would have been if the tables were reversed. But he took a cup of coffee. He sat down. He was there for an hour, listening to Myra point out the finer points of scripture, listening to the discussion. They eventually relaxed in the presence of the stranger. What a nice young man. So quiet, so polite. They probably weren’t sure why a young white man strayed into their church, but what a blessing when the races come together in harmony.

O Lord of mercy, we need to get to the other side.

It has been a long time out on the stormy lake of bigotry and prejudice.  How can it be that in 2015, 150 years since the end of the US civil war during which we as a country ended legal enslavement of people of any race, but particularly the people of African descent – how can it be that we are still tossing and turning on the lake of racism?

I still know people who single out an entire race or ethnicity – African Americans, Asians, Mexicans, Arabs…..you pick your own enemy…. and have declared them all, each and every one of them to be something less than human, something less than worthy of love and consideration. Sometimes this prejudice was acquired as the child of bigots; sometimes it is due to an unfortunate experience with a person or persons of a particular race or ethnicity. But I daresay that these same people have had bad experiences with people of their own race or ethnicity, and they do not condemn themselves or their families because of those experiences. But somehow when the “other” has skin of a different hue or speaks a different language it’s ok to condemn the entire group.

Yet, in the same way it is wrong to say “All men hog the remote control” or “All women are crabby at that time of the month” it is wrong to ascribe certain traits or actions to an entire body of people. Would you like it if everyone in Olathe assumed that everyone who was a member of this church was exactly like the one or two people they know here? Of course you wouldn’t.

O Lord, how can we get to the other side where we don’t generalize about people?

As heinous as this act and many others like it are, perpetrated by people of all different races and creeds (or lack thereof), many of us are content to stay where we are. We’re being tossed about by the violence and the cruelty, but we’re used to it. It is human nature to want to stay with what we know, even if it isn’t good. As the disciples were being wind burned and half drowned in the boat that day, they knew Jesus was tired, so they probably tried to battle the storm for as long as they could, incredulous that Jesus could just lay there sleeping while they were in fear for their lives. They’d been there forever it seemed; yet what could they do?

Eventually they had to wake him up. They had to say “We can’t deal with this any longer by ourselves. He’s GOT to wake up, if only to commiserate with us.” So they woke him, and demanded to know just why he was sleeping? Didn’t he care what happened?

Jesus shook his head – I can just see it – sleep matted in his eyes, wet hair plastered to his face, a pillow mark from where he had been sleeping so hard that wind and water could not wake him—and he looked at the terrified men and questioned their lack of faith. Yet how could they have faith in the middle of the storm that seemed so bad that it might wash them overboard into the turbulent lake, that it might capsize the boat,  or destroy the boat altogether? In what or whom should they have faith?

But then he commanded the wind and the waves. He told them to stop. AND THEY DID! If the disciples were scared for their lives before, how scared were they now? How could they even process what was happening?

It’s time for us to ask Jesus to stand up in this boat. It’s time for each of us to turn to the Christ and ask for guidance, for wisdom, for courage and most importantly, to be able to acknowledge our brokenness and move toward our sisters and brothers whose skin is darker than ours or whose language is different from ours. Until every person of color can walk and drive wherever they want without fear of harassment or arrest or even death, until that day we’re all being tossed about by the waves of prejudice. Until we can rid ourselves of the need to demonize the “other” we are drowning. It’s time for us to recognize our baptism in Christ, to call upon the Christ within us.

When Jesus stood up in the boat and calmed the wind and the waves, he asked the disciples, “Why are you frightened? Don’t you have faith yet?” I confess that my faith is weak when it comes to the issue of racism. It is as old as time itself, this desire to keep to our own kind, this suspicion of the “other.” But if Jesus could call upon the power of God to calm the elements, cannot we call upon the power of God to uproot the fear of the other? Can’t we call upon God to give us courage to speak up when we see injustice? Surely we can.

I don’t consider myself a racist – you probably do not either. Yet we have not done much to try to eliminate racism. Instead of quietly disdaining people who make racist comments, instead of decrying acts of unspeakable violence by commiserating with one another, it’s time to stand up to the storm and speak a word of calm. Jesus didn’t say “Love your neighbor who looks like you”. He said “Love your neighbor…” whoever that neighbor might be. That means standing up within our tribe and speaking the truth in love to those who carry hatred and disdain in their hearts.

Perhaps, though, we’d rather keep bailing water out of the boat. Perhaps we’d rather just stay in the middle of the lake and hope that the storm passes before it destroys us, because we’ve been in it so long we’ve forgotten where we are going.

O Lord of truth, mercy and grace, we need to get to the other side. And we have faith that you can get us there. Amen.

If

When irrepressible twins Harry and Lorie were born, everyone was thrilled. Twins didn't happen on either side of the equation. We attributed the tiny miracles to the "advancing" age of their mother -- 35 at the time.

Now the twins are approaching their nineteenth birthday. They both excelled in school; Harry took after his father and grandfather, being more mechanical in nature. Lorie was the artistic one. Her singing voice was a beautiful, lilting soprano; she starred in every high school production. They are both now in college, with Harry studying electrical engineering and Lorie pursuing a theater major with a Spanish minor.

Their parents couldn't be more proud of either one of them.

Harry and Lorie don't have siblings -- but they have slightly older cousins, even though it is their oldest aunt who has the youngest children. They always had a great time when their aunts and uncles and cousins gathered for holidays. Their cousin Emily shepherded her younger brother and the twins as they built snowmen and anxiously awaited the time when they could open the white elephant gifts that were somehow better than real gifts.

Harry (short for Harold) was named for his father and grandfather; Lorie (short for Lorene) for her paternal grandmother. The twins mother was their father's second wife. They found one another as they were both recovering from their respective divorces. They helped one another find a reason to live instead of drowning their sorrows.  They built a beautiful life together. They rode motorcycles cross country. He and she devoted time to raising money to find a cure for cancer, as this was what had claimed his dad and her mom. After almost ten years of marriage the twins were born. They took to parenting with relish. He coached little league and she taught them piano. They took vacations to Disney World and all of the National Parks they could reach because they loved to camp together.

This is the story of the sister-in-law who never arrived. It's the story of a brother who thrived instead of merely survived, only to pass on much too early. It is the story of two children (perhaps there might have been 3 or 4 -- who knows) who won't help the world become a better place because they were never born. The story may have had other unknown ripple effects -- another brother who might never have suffered from a severe brain injury because a motorcycle that was not lent to him. A little girl that might never have been born because that second brother did not divorce when he did.

I do not know why I am compelled to write this story, or why it has continued to haunt me. While my brother Mike was alive I said many times that he would have been a wonderful parent. I truly believe that. I have often wondered about the various crossroads in my own life, and where the other path might have led, and how the world might be different because I took a different route. Some say that such speculation is foolish. Perhaps it is.

But something within me wants to contemplate the "what ifs" in life. Perhaps contemplating them helps to keep me more aware of my daily choices, not to cripple me with indecision, but to urge me to care.

I love all of my siblings, and nieces and nephews that do exist in the here and now. I miss all those who have gone on to a different plane of existence.

And I grieve for those who might have been.

I cut him off

Almost every day I come to Olathe from Overland Park. I brave the I-435 construction (which surprisingly rarely slows me down) and take I-35 south, dodging semis and slower cars. I give thanks almost everyday for the dedicated lanes to 119th Street, because they speed up my commute. Eventually I reach Santa Fe and turn right to head downtown to the church.

If you've ever taken that Santa Fe exit, you know that there is a very short entry lane before you have to move to the left to stay on the street. During the day there is always quite a bit of traffic, so I try to be conscientious in checking before I enter the lane. But late last week, I looked but failed to see someone in a white company truck -- I assume he was in my blind spot -- and I cut him off.

This would not be remarkable except for one thing. The driver became very angry. As I was stopped at the light he pulled up in the left turn lane, stopped his truck, rolled down his window yelled at me and saluted me with a bird-like gesture. (I've never known why we call it "flipping the bird" so I went onto the interwebs for enlightenment. You can take your own journey if you'd like.) In any case, this guy was mad. I shrugged, said "I'm sorry, I didn't see you" and he pulled forward and completed his left turn.

I wasn't scared. I was pretty sure that he wasn't really threatening me. It would have been truly remarkable if he'd taken the time to go any further. (Although in this day of carrying hand guns....glad I didn't think of that at the time.) But I couldn't help but ruminate on why he had been so upset.

When someone cuts me off, I do momentarily react with unkind words, although I wish I didn't. But over the years I have determined why that is. It's because for just a few seconds I am afraid. When someone cuts you off you have to change your speed or you'll  hit them, and sometimes we don't have enough space to successfully avoid an accident. The adrenaline spikes and the fight or flight reaction starts and then BAM! our fear becomes anger. And that so-and-so who just caused us to be afraid should, at the least, be caused to grovel at our feet and beg our forgiveness.

Never mind that each and every one of us has, more than likely, cut someone else off in traffic at one time or another. Unless you're playing a game of revenge and purposely pull in front of someone to teach them a lesson (which has also happened to me after accidentally cutting someone off), it was done by accident, not for malicious purposes. So why is it that we jump to anger and a hateful response instead of to forgiveness?

I know that the physiological reason is the excess adrenaline. But I think there is more to it.

We feel entitled to our space. We feel entitled to feel secure and safe. If we let others do such things to us without comment maybe they will think they can just do it anytime they want to anybody they want.

Is that attitude what we learn from Jesus?

I imagine that Jesus had adrenaline pumping through his body a time or two or seven, especially after he started walking around talking about the kingdom of God and angering the powers-that-be. They were after him, and he was dodging and weaving much of the time. Anger was not the emotion that he displayed, although I imagine he had plenty he could be angry about. People were as annoying then as they can be now.

Compassion was Jesus' strong suit. It's one of the things that I admire most about him, one of the things that I aspire to learn from his example. It's not easy to go from fright to anger to compassion -- but I believe it is possible. And desirable. Not just because Jesus did it, but because it's good for me.

The sooner I let anger go and pick up the banner of compassion, the sooner my heart rate drops and my insides unknot, and that's a good thing. Anger is not a luxury that I can afford. It eats up my insides and time is doing that quickly enough as it is.

So yes, I cut the dude off that day, and I was really sorry I had scared and angered him. I wish that during that the 3 second encounter with his anger that my apology could have helped bring down his blood pressure, but I'm pretty sure it didn't. I have no idea what else was going wrong with his day; I might have just been the thing to send him over the tipping point.

I hope that he learns that anger is an expensive luxury, and most of us cannot afford very much of it. Forgiveness and compassion are sometimes difficult to find, but they are there for the taking, and are far better for everyone concerned.

Israel Day 1

Originally written in May of 2014; published on December 31, 2014.

I'm sitting on the balcony of my 6th floor room at the King Solomon Hotel in Netanya. It is a hazy, pleasant morning on the Mediterranean Sea.  I don't think I've ever slept so well (although up and down as usual.) The sounds of the waves pulsing onto the shore are powerfully hypnotic.

We spent about 15 hours yesterday reaching this ancient land. It would seem the height of ingratitude to complain about cramping knees or restless legs, or about the length of time between meals or the sprint through the Philadelphia airport to m make the connection when I was wearing very non-sprinting sandals, so instead I will shout alleluia for traveling mercies and safe and uneventful flights and the miracle of aerodynamics that picks us up on one side of the ocean and deposits us on the other, time confused but intact.

Netanya is about an hour north of Tel Aviv.  Already I am beginning to appreciate that the tiny sliver of country on the map is actually a place about the size of New Jersey.  The city is surrounded by ancient places but is itself very modern, being built in the 1950's. This bit of incongruity is indicative of the country - ancient and timeless, and yet very much a land of the 20th century.

The New Pastor

August, 2014
I am entering into my third week as Senior Minister of First Christian Church in Olathe. I am sure that my mother is smiling down from heaven upon me --- she never did get the knack of the name of the denomination: Christian Church (Disciples of Christ). She proudly told all of her fellow Catholics that I was being ordained into the "First Christian Church" some 11 years ago. She had been raised in the First Christian Church, and so that's what they all were to her. So Mom -- I've finally arrived, after serving other Christian churches that weren't "First".

These first weeks have been a whirlwind of faces that have no names and names that have no faces. I'm slowly but surely matching them up. I have been very welcomed, and folks are kind enough to keep introducing themselves to me. But starting at a new church, leaving behind the certainty of knowing each and every name and face and, more importantly, each connection and quirk, is both exciting and draining. It's not as simple as getting Betty or John's name right. It's more about knowing that she has a sick husband or he is a recent widower or that there's been a feud between the church's version of the Hatfields and McCoys for nigh on to 30 years. Who is a Long Time Member (and how long is long?) and who is relatively new?

In worship I find myself checking the order of worship over and over -- not that it is so radically different than what I'm used to, but making sure that I'm going to be in the right place at the right time. The power went out in the church during the first hymn this Sunday, and my first thought was would I be able to wing my message without any notes. Fortunately, the lights (and ac!) came back within a couple of verses.

December 31, 2014
I find that I started this and did not post it. I'm making that resolution (again!) to try and develop this blog, so I'm going to post it 4 months later. I recognize more people at my church now; slowly but surely I'm learning the connections and the traditions. We've made some changes, and we've got more to make, but we are slowly becoming inextricably connected, the way pastors and congregation do.
I'm still the "New" pastor, but as we learn more and more about one another I will become one among the many faces hanging on the wall in the History room.

As I begin 2015

Tomorrow the calendar will read "2015". This is the year that Marty McFly of "Back to the Future 2" ventured to. It's the year that Doc changed the power for the DeLorean flying time machine from 1.2 gigawatts of electricity into garbage-powered Mr. Fusion. In 1989, when the movie was released, 2015 was merely a number. I calculated how old would I be in 2015, and I couldn't imagine being that old, (THIS old). What would my life be like in 2015? It turns out it is nothing at all like I would have expected.

Among the many unexpected circumstances of my life is my continued involvement with youth ministry. I'll be spending the first weekend of 2015 with a group of teenagers and young adults. I will easily be the oldest person in attendance at this weekend retreat. Many times in the last few years I have contemplated whether or not I'm too old to counsel such events. Surely there is a limit, right?

In contemplating this question, I ask my self: Do I meet the qualifications for a good counselor? I suppose that depends what qualities one feels are needed. Personally my list is pretty simple: 1. Put the kids needs before your own; 2. Provide a physically, emotionally and spiritually safe place for them; 3. Listen with a caring ear and offer helpful insights when asked for. I feel like I'm capable of meeting these three criteria, so I continue to serve.

I enjoy teenagers and young adults. Because ultimately, they are just folks. They have hopes and dreams and fears just like we do. They have not experienced as much of life as we have, but they are sometimes capable of insight and courage that we experienced folk can shy away from. They speak from a place of "unknowing", which allows them to not only think outside of the box, but to question the existence of the box. This can be a refreshing experience.

Someday I assume I will reach the limit. Someday perhaps I will not appreciate youthful exuberance or silliness. Someday I won't be able to relate to their latest "thing." (Snapchat could be my undoing, but I'm not giving up yet.) I am counting on my younger colleagues to tell me when I'm more of a burden than a help. But until then, I guess I'll keep saying 'yes' when I'm asked to be a part of these youth events. I know some amazing adults today that I first met when they were teens, and my life would be so much less rich if I did not know them.

CYF MidWinter....here I come.

If It's Monday (Is it Monday??)

We flew to London on Monday the 7th. I was really looking forward to being in an English-speaking country again. But something I’ve learned about traveling, particularly in foreign countries, and even if they speak English, is that it takes longer to figure things out than you think it will. For instance – where is the bus stop and the subway depot? I could see the subway info on the map, but the bus info seems to be quite a secret. There is a map on line, but it’s so small you can’t read it! We eventually took a very expensive cab ride to the Lancaster Gate Hotel in Westchester.

I scouted outside the hotel and found the bus stops, the tube stop, and eventually an ATM in a market quite close by. We had tickets for the theater (Noises Off) and made it just in the nick of time, about 30 seconds before the curtain rose. The play was hilarious, and even though all of us knew the play well,(Evan had been in it at South) we laughed a lot. The old, ornate Novello Theater was charming.

Tuesday was The Making of Harry Potter at the Warner Bros. studio. What a treat it was! The props, the sets, the information, the videos of the actors and producers...even though you would think it would break the enchantment, it didn’t. That evening we saw Sweeny Todd. We took the Tube like pros to the theater. We had a dinner deal with our tickets, so we dined at Porters before going to the Adelphi Theater and enjoying the magnificent production. The woman who played Mrs. Lovett also played Delores Umbridge in Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows.

On Wednesday we hit the wall. We missed the train to Stratford after taking a long bus ride to the station. Evan was starting to get sick, and we were all pretty cranky. We tried to get to a production of Twelfth Night in an off West End site, but couldn't get hold of them to find out if they had tickets. So....the women went shopping and the guys stayed behind to watch TV and use the computer.

Thursday was an early morning start, as a shuttle bus picked us up from our hotel to go on a tour of Salisbury, Stonehenge and Bath. Salisbury Cathedral was amazing. Built between 1220 and 1258, it houses one of the original copies of the Magna Carta. Ted found a floor stone dedicated to a couple named “Poore” which was his aunt's middle name and a family name at some point. We were rushed a bit though --- the theme throughout the tour. An hour and twenty minutes seems like a lot for a stop in one of these places, but it is just enough to whet your appetite. It was still amazing though.

Stonehenge was the next stop, and it was not quite as thrilling as anticipated. This was due to lots of things: the weather sucked, with a light rain falling the whole time we were there (and my umbrella safely tucked away on the bus until too late); it was smaller than I imagined (although still impressive when you think about when it was made); and you couldn’t get anywhere close to it (which I totally understand, but it’s still disappointing). All in all, it was worth it to say we had seen it, and I trudged all the way around it even in the rain and the mud, but I think I might have been a bit more in awe if I hadn’t been soaked!

Bath, the home of ancient Roman baths that were originally built in the 1st century, were impressive by any standards. A huge pool in the center, with two smaller pools on the side which were built when Emperor Hadrian determined that women and men could no longer bathe together. Ancient artifacts abound. It was the site of worship to the goddess who had the hot springs all to herself. You could get a glass of the potent mineral water that bubbles up from the ground – I passed, but Emily drank some and said it was terrible. (If you know Emily, you know she said something more colorful.) The town itself was quite enjoyable, but of course we had little time to enjoy it. These tours really make you want to come back and spend a couple of days at the sights – with the exception of Stonehenge.

Evan was pretty miserable the whole time, but was a trooper. He had a fever the evening before, but it had broken thankfully. He walked around Stonehenge in its entirety, went through every sight, and even though we didn’t get him extra medication until Bath, he hung in there. Emily got carsick on the bus, and then woke up with a bad cold the next day, but she too stayed up and moving.

We came back from the tour and immediately grabbed a cab to go to the Queen’s Theater to see “Les Miserables”. Once again, a very fine production. The stage was a rotating circle that kept the action moving. It was quite spectacular.

Friday we spent the day doing the hop on/hop off bus tour of London. We spent six or seven hours and still didn't see everything. Traffic is really heavy, and moving from one site to another was not a quick proposition. But we did see most of the major points. London is an amazing city, and I would gladly go back for another week or two in order to peruse the museums and go through all of the sites. We really experienced just enough to know what we'd really like to delve into if we had the chance in the future.

Tomorrow I'll post about our trips to Paris and back to the US.