Habitat of Humanity

Central team: Pr Ron M, me and Dave H.

For members of Central who actually read the church newsletter (God bless you), you already heard about my recent day at a Habitat for Humanity build. As I mentioned in the newsletter, I spent a week one summer working on a Habitat house in East Waterloo. I was a summer camp counselor, leading a group of high school kids on the week of work, play and reflection.

I needed the reflection, too. We were working in a part of Waterloo (population 75,000) that I'd seen only while driving through quickly with my doors locked. I grew up about an hour's drive from Waterloo and spent time there in malls and theaters. But I'd never dared or thought to stop by the neighborhoods where I worked on that Habitat house.

At the end of the week, we shared worship at a local Baptist church. The warm welcome we received was overwhelming for us Scandinavian types. There were hugs and handshakes and hallelujahs. We were put in the front row and the preacher went on for quite some time about how we had served the Lord through Habitat of Humanity. We giggled at his error but in the end, we were touched by the experience of being thanked so much for doing what seemed like so little.

Fast-forward a few years to this past week. I spent a day working on a Habitat build in Mountain View, here in Anchorage, at 4th and Oklahoma. I worked on the Thrivent Build house, sponsored by Lutherans and, coincidentally, promised to a Lutheran family from St. Mark's. I was there last Friday with a couple of folks from Central; Pastor Glenn was there this past Wednesday with others from our parish.

As a pastor, I get a lot of these "do good" opportunities. Sometimes I look forward to them, sometimes I'm just tired and want some time to myself. I might have felt a little weary when I showed up last week at 4th and Oklahoma and put on my belt and hard hat.

But, you know how it is, you pick up a hammer, climb some scaffolding, learn how to put some snow and ice shield on the roof, and everything feels a little better. You see how you are a part of something bigger than yourself. You see how the little bit that you are doing is contributing to a greater whole. You see how one person really can make a difference. You see how we are all connected in this city and this planet and how much we really need each other.

It really is a Habitat of Humanity.

Want to volunteer? People are still needed to get this house done by Thanksgiving (or maybe Christmas!) Indoor work available. Check out the Anchorage Habitat website to volunteer.

Grenades, Crosses and Who you Really Are, Sermon 9.16.12

Sermon preached at Central Lutheran, September 16, 2012, Pentecost 16B

Caesarea Philippi sits at the northern edge of modern Israel in what is now the Golan Heights. Today, it's an archaeological ruin. In Jesus' time, it was an iconic Roman city, built to honor the emperor, and home of a temple to the Roman god Pan. Before that, it was the northernmost limit to the nation of ancient Israel. It was a border land, the end of the known world, and the place where Jesus chooses to reveal his true plan and true fate to his disciples.

Not too far south, near the ancient city of Bethsaida, is a place I spent two weeks in college on an archaeological dig. My religion professor at Wartburg College, who now serves a church in Jerusalem, took students there each year to experience Israel and Palestine, religion and history, conflict and beauty. Archaeology isn't all that glamorous. We spent long, hot days digging in sand and dirt, carefully picking around ruins of house foundations, and sifting bucket after bucket of sand and soil, looking for fragments of pottery and artifacts. One day while I was digging with a small shovel, I heard a “clink.” We had been warned about this. Years of warfare in the area had left land mines and grenades strewn about. I'd hit a grenade. It was spent, but to be sure, the whole area was closed off for the rest of the day and weapons expert was brought in. I thought about it then and I still think about it: so much trouble, distraction, and worry over something that could do no more damage. Of course that grenade probably had done damage; if not that one, certainly many others had. One small piece of metal, so much suffering.

The text from James for today talks about a similarly powerful weapon: the tongue. The writer compares the tongue to a bridle that guides a horse or a rudder that steers a ship. The tongue may be small but it can wound deeply. It's like a fire. It's a restless evil. It's a deadly poison. With it we bless and curse. With it we love and hate. With it we empower and devastate. With it we share our worries and concerns. With it we share our hopes and dreams. With it we share rumors and half-truths.

I'm going to speak very plainly. As you might have noticed, we are trying a new worship schedule this fall, brought to you by your church council and worship committee. Tongues have been used in full force to plan, discuss, debate, dream and criticize this new format. There were a lot of rumors flying around. Many of them weren't accurate and weren't helpful. These words caused confusion. The words were grenades, still live and able to fracture the body of Christ.

I confess we as pastors and church leaders didn't always give you enough information. We didn't find the opportunity to listen to everyone and sometimes we didn't listen well or listened to some people more than others. I am sorry. Change can make us all anxious, even pastors.

Let me be clear. We are trying a new worship schedule primarily because tongues over the last several years have been asking for changes in the number of services and service format. You do not have to like everything that we do here at Central and it's certainly not perfect. But I am asking you to stay open and be careful what you say.

Words are powerful in the gospel lesson from Mark. Jesus chooses the borderland of Caesarea Philippi to have “the talk” with his disciples. This section of Mark, scholars say, is the heart and center of the gospel, the point where everything changes. Before this, Jesus was healing all over the place and demonstrating his power in that way. Now, Jesus makes what is the first of three passion predictions and begins his journey to the cross, the place of ultimate powerlessness.

Jesus speaks the truth about who he is and the disciples cannot accept it. It's understandable. As Jewish men, they had heard about the Messiah, the anointed one who was to come to save Israel. Jesus admits he is the Messiah (Christ in Greek) and but then everything he says he will do (suffering, rejection, death) doesn't sound very Christ-like to Peter.

Jesus has spent the first part of Mark's gospel in ministry to the sick and outcast. Now he reveals who he really is and extends and invitation. An offer you might want to refuse. If any want to be my disciples, let them deny themselves, take up their cross and follow me. But self-denial in the walk of faith isn't about delayed gratification or the latest diet trend. Self-denial isn't about self-annihilation. It's about re-definition.

When early Christians, like Mark's audience, began to follow the Way, they gave up everything. They separated from their families, jobs, culture and way of life. They redefined themselves as part of the family of Christ. They claimed a new identity, a new way of understanding themselves. And so must we.

Jesus tells his disciples that when they re-define themselves as part of the family of Christ, they end up letting go of something. For those who want to save their life will lose it, but those who lose their lives for my sake and for the sake of the gospel, will save it, Jesus says. It's human nature to cling to things. What are you clinging to? Power, position, wealth, possessions, status, reputation, the way we used to do church? What is Jesus asking you to do? What happens when we let go? Studies show one of the few ways money makes people happy is when they give it away. We receive love and friendship when we give it away. We receive happiness by making others happy. What are we afraid to lose? What do we have to gain?

This Sunday is the 16^th Sunday after Pentecost, Proper 19 and Ordinary Time 24. Are you still awake? There's no major church festival today, but it's a significant time in our cultural calendar. It's fall; we feel the chill at nights and watch the snow creep down the Chugach. Fall is when students and teachers of all ages head back to school. Fall is a time to put away our summer play toys and get back to our routines and rituals. Fall is a time when churches launch fall programming (Ahem.) Fall is a time to get things accomplished, to start new projects and get down to business. Fall is a time when our cultural context lifts up anew the values of rewards, advancement, attainment, security and self-interest. Many things make a claim on your identity; none of them defines who you really are. You are a child of God; that is the good news. What if wefocused on receiving our identity as beloved children instead of trying to earn it?

Part of me wants to tell you that you must deny yourself, take up your cross and embrace the new fall worship and education schedule. Perhaps that is so. But even more, I want to tell you that now, today, is an exciting time for us as a congregation to ask ourselves questions about our corporate identity. As a church, who do we say that Jesus is? How do we live our faith in a world that makes claims on our identity? What is our mission at Central? What is our calling as a congregation?

This past year, we claimed our identity as a welcoming church to homeless families through our shelter program. The past month, we claimed our identity as the largest congregation in this synod as we hosted the bishop installation. As several pastors in the synod have told me, smaller congregations look to us as role model. When we are healthy, so is the synod. In the coming months, we'll claim our identity as a place that uses technology in a way that welcomes others, enhances our worship and yet keeps us true to our Lutheran roots. Perhaps we'll claim our identity as the congregation who listened to each other, worked together, used our tongues for good, stuck with it, compromised and found a way to worship together that supported the long-timers and graciously welcomed the new-comers. Perhaps we will do that, and more. We ask God to help and guide us. Amen.

Letter to a Young Pastor

My Dear Friend,

Congratulations on your ordination! I received the invitation in the mail several weeks ago and didn't get a card sent on time. I thought about you on your ordination day -- the parade of red stoles, the exhortations, the weight of the hands on your head and shoulders. You'll be a fine pastor; I knew it ever since the days we worked together in campus ministry at Wartburg College.

I've thought of you many times as you start your work at your new parish on the East Coast. I know what it's like to move halfway across the country to a place with no family and friends. I think about your first days, weeks and months at your new church. I think of my own first days at my first call. There are so many things you already know and so many things that your people will teach you. They will teach you how to be their pastor.

Your congregation will be curious about you, your husband and your children. You may think this will end, but it will not. They will want to know who you are, where you are from, what you like to do and where you have been. They will invite you to their homes. They will bring you small gifts from time to time. You will be grateful. Sometimes they will ask you questions you don't want to answer. You will smile and say, "Why do you ask?" They want to know who you are but they also want to know if you will love them.

You will love your congregation, of this I am sure. You will love them all, though you will love some of them differently than others. You will love them but you will sometimes need a break. You will love them but sometimes they will break your heart. You will love them but some of them will leave and some of them will die. You will preside at their baptisms, confirmations, weddings and funerals. When you stand beside them at the funeral home over the bodies of their loved ones (or over their bodies) you will weep, on the inside or the outside. This will not get easier the longer you are with them; it will get harder.

Some things will get easier. You will get better at preaching, leading worship, making home and hospital visits and leading Bible studies. Some of these things you will be able to do in your sleep. Some of these will still make you nervous, but they will get easier. You will feel like you were born for such a time as this. You will feel like God has called you to be right here, right now, with these people.

Some things will get harder. There will be conflict around money, no matter if you have too much or too little. There will be conflict with staff, other pastors and with church members. Someone will be unhappy with something that you do. This will probably happen more than you know but you will not always hear about. You will have to work very hard at avoiding triangulation. You will remind people again and again that if they have a problem with another person, they should go to that person, not vent to everyone else about that person.

Some of them will not like each other. Some of them will carry grudges against each other that last for decades. Some of them are still wounded from a previous pastor. Some of them are still deeply attached to a previous pastor. Many of them are grieving over the church that used to be. Many of them do not know they are grieving for the church that used to be. Many of them want to know that the church will be okay and you will not be able to make any promises.

You will hear people's stories. You will learn about their lives, upbringings, faith stories, memories, regrets, confessions, joys and sorrows. You will be astounded at their deep faith in times of trial. You will be shocked at some of what you hear. You will say, "Hmm," and "I see" or "Tell me more" but inside you will be quaking. You will walk into hospital rooms where the news is all bad and you will sit with people while chemo pours into their veins. You will be the non-anxious presence. You will watch someone die. You make the sign of the cross on the foreheads of those who have just dead. You will think you cannot bear it but you will, and with grace.

You will make changes in the parish. You will make some changes based on logistics. You will make some changes based on theology. You will make some changes after deep and careful listening to concerns over a period of many months. It doesn't matter why you made the changes or how many people you consulted. Your people (whom you love) will hate the changes immediately and lament the sorry future of this church. Months later they will tell you how much they love the changes or forget how it used to be. You will love your people anyway.

You will make mistakes. You will put off visiting someone and they will die. You will forget to acknowledge a death in someone's family and they will be hurt. You will say something unkind and someone will hear it. You will complain. You will mess up something in worship. You will blow up. You will melt down. You will be human. You will have to ask for forgiveness. You will be forgiven.

You will worry about the future of your church and the future of the Lutheran church. You will wonder if you did the right thing with your life and wonder if you should have been an English teacher like your mother always told you. You will wonder if you are leading your people in the right way. You will wonder if you are doing what God wants. You will wonder if your sermons are proclaiming a word that people can hear. You will wonder if your people will stick around when there are changes in the parish or when times get tough. You will wonder if the message of grace that you proclaim comes with it an equal measure of responsibility. You will wonder if you should ask more of people.

You will wonder, but you will rest on God's promises. Sometimes you will be the last person out of the church building and you will look at the cross and think about Jesus. You will think about His promises to never leave us alone, to never leave us abandoned. You will think about the power of love that is stronger than death. You will think about the Word of God that cannot be silenced. You will think about the power that is hidden in weakness, the weakness of suffering, cross and grave. You will think about that empty tomb.

My dear friend, you will be a wonderful pastor. God will use all of your strengths and all of your weaknesses. God is holding you. I am praying for you. I can't wait to hear all about it.

Your friend in Christ,
Lisa