After my sojourn in Nome, I spent April 7-15 in Hawaii (on Kauai) with a good friend. It was a wonderful, relaxing, rejuvinating experience.
That next Sunday, a female parishioner at the 8:15 service said to me:
When I moved to Alaska from Chicago, I went back every Christmas to see my family. Then one winter, I went to Hawaii. I said to myself, "Now that is a true vacation."
Here, here.
Monday, April 28, 2008
Friday, April 04, 2008
Can I hear a testimony?
The main event of Spring Conference is the singing. I was a bit confused at the progresssion of the evening worship service. There's no bulletin, no order of worship.
"So what do we do?" I asked someone.
"We just sing until we're finished," that person replied.
Oh.
There is some structure, of course. An elder leads the service and announces requested congregational songs and honors requests for small groups and solos. (People can make requests on slips of paper and bring them up to the leader). Each congregation also sings a few songs in a rotation. Toward the middle of the event, there is an offering, passing of the peace, prayer and a message by one of the Seward Peninsula pastors.
There's also time for testimony, which is just what you are thinking. People get up and tell a story about God in their lives or what God has done. It sounds a litte bit come-to-Jesus but it's actually part of their tradition and quite beautiful and moving. I feel blessed to just be sitting there listening.
Last night, one woman sang a song she wrote about her struggles with children and family and keeping on the right path. Another woman told of her grief over losing a good friend/cousin in a nearby village. Though more than a year has passed, she said she hasn't been able to visit the village yet for sadness over her friend.
Others give short testimonies in requests for songs to honor someone who has died. In this way, the elders are ever before them. Think what this does for grieving when church is a safe place to remember those who have died and honor them with song or story. Oh that we could be open to sharing our griefs in this way.
Pastor Rob Wentzein (sorry for the likely misspelling) from Shishmaref gave a message last night that made that point: The church should be a place for safe sharing of griefs, sorrows, pains. Not the I-hate-that-hymn-and-the-new-church-carpet-is-ugly kind of lament but the real stories of our grief and saddness. We don't come to church and pretend that we're perfect. That's called the rest of the world. The church is a place set apart, for a people set apart.
We follow a wounded savior, a slaughtered lamb, a God who came to us as human. Could we be as open with our wounds? Just maybe, our honesty might open another person to sharing. We might be liberated to truly BE the people of God.
So. Can I hear a testimony?
"So what do we do?" I asked someone.
"We just sing until we're finished," that person replied.
Oh.
There is some structure, of course. An elder leads the service and announces requested congregational songs and honors requests for small groups and solos. (People can make requests on slips of paper and bring them up to the leader). Each congregation also sings a few songs in a rotation. Toward the middle of the event, there is an offering, passing of the peace, prayer and a message by one of the Seward Peninsula pastors.
There's also time for testimony, which is just what you are thinking. People get up and tell a story about God in their lives or what God has done. It sounds a litte bit come-to-Jesus but it's actually part of their tradition and quite beautiful and moving. I feel blessed to just be sitting there listening.
Last night, one woman sang a song she wrote about her struggles with children and family and keeping on the right path. Another woman told of her grief over losing a good friend/cousin in a nearby village. Though more than a year has passed, she said she hasn't been able to visit the village yet for sadness over her friend.
Others give short testimonies in requests for songs to honor someone who has died. In this way, the elders are ever before them. Think what this does for grieving when church is a safe place to remember those who have died and honor them with song or story. Oh that we could be open to sharing our griefs in this way.
Pastor Rob Wentzein (sorry for the likely misspelling) from Shishmaref gave a message last night that made that point: The church should be a place for safe sharing of griefs, sorrows, pains. Not the I-hate-that-hymn-and-the-new-church-carpet-is-ugly kind of lament but the real stories of our grief and saddness. We don't come to church and pretend that we're perfect. That's called the rest of the world. The church is a place set apart, for a people set apart.
We follow a wounded savior, a slaughtered lamb, a God who came to us as human. Could we be as open with our wounds? Just maybe, our honesty might open another person to sharing. We might be liberated to truly BE the people of God.
So. Can I hear a testimony?
Thursday, April 03, 2008
Revelation and thanking God ahead of time
My purpose for attending Spring Conference this year is partly just to experience the event. It's partly to reconnect with folks from Brevig and brainstorm ideas for VBS this year (July 12-19- wanna join our team?)
But since folks heard I was coming up anyway, someone asked me to lead a Bible study on the theme verse, Revelation 21:4a. So I'm leading a study of a controversial book to people from a different culture? Yikes. I was a bit intimidated.
I wondered if 1 or 2 people would show up. I had at least 15 and 5 kids who wandered about or napped.
After a general outline of the book and its themes (Revelation gives comfort to those suffering, God wants to save the whole world not destroy it and in the end, God wins) we had some time for sharing and storytelling. I was delighted when people jumped in and started talking.
One of the most striking comments was from a mother of two, member of the Nome congregation who had traveled in Wales. We were discussing how one finds hope in suffering, as the book of Revelation offers. She noted that Wales was an extremely harsh climate: remote, within view of Russia's seas, far from other villages, bombarded with windy blizzards in winter and blowing sands in summers and also no plumbing or running water. How did one stay hopeful in this place?
Flowing out of the mountain near the village is a stream. The water flows constantly, cold, fresh, clean and delicous. No matter how tough the life became, the stream was always there, a flowing water of life, offering dependable relief from thirst and soothing scenery in its flow. This was God's grace to her.
I was moved by the steadfast, courageous ways people come to live and stay in these harsh climates. When it came time for prayer, I allowed people to add their own prayers. They prayed for loved ones and for save travel during this storm.
One prayer stuck out. A woman prayed, "God, we thank you ahead of time" for all the ways God would continue to be faithful and answer prayer. She repeated this phrase like a litany, always thanking God ahead of time, trusting God would be faithful. What beauty! What hope! What optomism, despite living in a harsh, unyielding land. She trusted that God would indeed finish what God had started.
God, today I thank you, ahead of time.
But since folks heard I was coming up anyway, someone asked me to lead a Bible study on the theme verse, Revelation 21:4a. So I'm leading a study of a controversial book to people from a different culture? Yikes. I was a bit intimidated.
I wondered if 1 or 2 people would show up. I had at least 15 and 5 kids who wandered about or napped.
After a general outline of the book and its themes (Revelation gives comfort to those suffering, God wants to save the whole world not destroy it and in the end, God wins) we had some time for sharing and storytelling. I was delighted when people jumped in and started talking.
One of the most striking comments was from a mother of two, member of the Nome congregation who had traveled in Wales. We were discussing how one finds hope in suffering, as the book of Revelation offers. She noted that Wales was an extremely harsh climate: remote, within view of Russia's seas, far from other villages, bombarded with windy blizzards in winter and blowing sands in summers and also no plumbing or running water. How did one stay hopeful in this place?
Flowing out of the mountain near the village is a stream. The water flows constantly, cold, fresh, clean and delicous. No matter how tough the life became, the stream was always there, a flowing water of life, offering dependable relief from thirst and soothing scenery in its flow. This was God's grace to her.
I was moved by the steadfast, courageous ways people come to live and stay in these harsh climates. When it came time for prayer, I allowed people to add their own prayers. They prayed for loved ones and for save travel during this storm.
One prayer stuck out. A woman prayed, "God, we thank you ahead of time" for all the ways God would continue to be faithful and answer prayer. She repeated this phrase like a litany, always thanking God ahead of time, trusting God would be faithful. What beauty! What hope! What optomism, despite living in a harsh, unyielding land. She trusted that God would indeed finish what God had started.
God, today I thank you, ahead of time.
I love Nome in the Springtime
Well, there's no place like Nome in the Spring. I'm here April 2-5 for the semi-annual Spring Conference of the Lutherans on the Seward Peninsula. Basically, it's more of a song-fest than a conference. Every night, the singing and testimonies begin around 7 and go as long as we can take it. Last night, it went until 11 pm. It's supposed to get later and later as the days go by.
April in Nome doesn't look like April in Anchorage. There's quite a bit of snow still here, some drifts more than half-way up the houses. I walked by a church this morning (Covenant?) where I could barely read the sign on the building for the snow.
There was a such a blizzard this morning that no flights could land. The temp is around 25; not cold until the winds start howling. I commented that it was pretty cold and Judy Littau (wife of Pastor Matt of Our Savior's Lutheran here) said that was nothing compared to her last home in Wales (out on the extreme west of Alaska). Winds there would gust to 80 miles per hour. So this is the Seward Peninsula tropics :)
I'm continually overwhelmed by hospitality when I visit the Seward Peninsula. I spent a little time this morning at the Nome Rec center, then planned to walk the 5-6 blocks in the wind and snow. I had gone two blocks when a rusty white pickup stopped to give me a ride. It was the staff person at the rec center; he said he couldn't let me walk in that weather.
At the church, there's a warm feeling of fellowship as people from the villages greet each other, friends from Brevig Mission, Wales, Teller and Anchorage's Alaska Native church. There's plenty of good food, Lutheran coffee and conversation.
Stay tuned for more!
April in Nome doesn't look like April in Anchorage. There's quite a bit of snow still here, some drifts more than half-way up the houses. I walked by a church this morning (Covenant?) where I could barely read the sign on the building for the snow.
There was a such a blizzard this morning that no flights could land. The temp is around 25; not cold until the winds start howling. I commented that it was pretty cold and Judy Littau (wife of Pastor Matt of Our Savior's Lutheran here) said that was nothing compared to her last home in Wales (out on the extreme west of Alaska). Winds there would gust to 80 miles per hour. So this is the Seward Peninsula tropics :)
I'm continually overwhelmed by hospitality when I visit the Seward Peninsula. I spent a little time this morning at the Nome Rec center, then planned to walk the 5-6 blocks in the wind and snow. I had gone two blocks when a rusty white pickup stopped to give me a ride. It was the staff person at the rec center; he said he couldn't let me walk in that weather.
At the church, there's a warm feeling of fellowship as people from the villages greet each other, friends from Brevig Mission, Wales, Teller and Anchorage's Alaska Native church. There's plenty of good food, Lutheran coffee and conversation.
Stay tuned for more!
Tuesday, March 25, 2008
Holy, Holy, Holy
I abandoned my computer Holy Saturday, Easter Sunday and Easter Monday, so I return to you today....Happy Easter! (It's a season of 50 days, you know, so plenty more time to say Alleluia.)
What can one say about the Resurrection of our Lord? Or about the celebration of Easter? We had girls in white dresses (with blue satin sashes), women in white sandals, lilies aplenty and shiny white paraments. We communed with real bread, sang "Christ the Lord is Risen Today," and heard brass and bells. We ate egg bake, muffins and chocolate eggs. People smiled, hugged and laughed in greeting; many hadn't seen each other since the last major church holiday :)
Sometimes I feel sad that I only see many folks twice a year. There's such a diverse group of people who gather at Christmas and Easter and I miss their energy on other Sundays. Still, I'm grateful they come, even if twice a year.
So what can I say about Easter? Well, I finished "A Thousand Splended Suns," a tragic and moving tome about women in Afganistan. And there was redemption, resurrection at the end, only after the main character Laila passed through unspeakable suffering.
Laila muses that while she has found joy in her life, the sacrifices and losses along the way were considerable. Put another way, the resurrection came only through the cross.
So rejoice that your resurrection has come. Maybe you didn't feel it, per se, on Easter Sunday; perhaps your life has challenges and you still feel stuck in Good Friday. That may be and it is okay. But take heart and live in hope that Easter is coming, even when it doesn't seem that way. It may break in just when you least expect it. Alleluia, Amen.
What can one say about the Resurrection of our Lord? Or about the celebration of Easter? We had girls in white dresses (with blue satin sashes), women in white sandals, lilies aplenty and shiny white paraments. We communed with real bread, sang "Christ the Lord is Risen Today," and heard brass and bells. We ate egg bake, muffins and chocolate eggs. People smiled, hugged and laughed in greeting; many hadn't seen each other since the last major church holiday :)
Sometimes I feel sad that I only see many folks twice a year. There's such a diverse group of people who gather at Christmas and Easter and I miss their energy on other Sundays. Still, I'm grateful they come, even if twice a year.
So what can I say about Easter? Well, I finished "A Thousand Splended Suns," a tragic and moving tome about women in Afganistan. And there was redemption, resurrection at the end, only after the main character Laila passed through unspeakable suffering.
Laila muses that while she has found joy in her life, the sacrifices and losses along the way were considerable. Put another way, the resurrection came only through the cross.
So rejoice that your resurrection has come. Maybe you didn't feel it, per se, on Easter Sunday; perhaps your life has challenges and you still feel stuck in Good Friday. That may be and it is okay. But take heart and live in hope that Easter is coming, even when it doesn't seem that way. It may break in just when you least expect it. Alleluia, Amen.
Friday, March 21, 2008
Good Friday
Today we mark Jesus' death on the cross. The redemption of the world groans in balance as we wait for Jesus' rising. And all I can think about is getting back to a novel.
A Thousand Splendid Suns, by Afghan-American Khaled Housseini, the famed and acclaimed author of The Kite Runner (now a movie).
I didn't mean to get so attached but now I can't put it down and paradoxically I can hardly bear to pick it up again. The stories of the women of Afghanistan are that tragic.
I'll save you the minutea of plot details; suffice to say the book follows two womens interwoven lives in Kabul from 1979 onward. The book is fiction, the politics are not. The Sovients in Afghanistan rise and fall, the mujihadeen factions kick them out, then promptly war with each other, then the Taliban comes, offering unity for the small price of libety. No singing, dancing, writing books or painting. Women are only permitted out of the house accompanied by a male relative, and are forbidden to wear jewelry, makeup or nail polish. Men must grow beards and pray five times daily. Non-compliance to various rules result in loss of finger, hand, foot or life.
Our protagonists in this story suffer not only from these rules but from husbands who treat them like property: yelling, insults, beatings and in once scene locking a woman and child in a dark bedroom for 2 days, no water. At one point, main character Laila comments how amazing it is that the human body and tolerate so much beating.
Now why do I go on about a work of fiction? Well, because while these characters are fictional, the treatment of women is real. The bombing of Kabul was real. The decapitations, stonings and hangings were real. People were capable of treating human bodies like so many disposable parts.
When two airplanes crashed into the twin towers in New York City on Sept. 11, 2001, I remember thinking about those pilots. I thought how fortunate was I to have been born in this country of priviledge. Had I been born in other circumstances, withstood other pressures and hardships, I might have done the same. Those who flew planes into towers were just like me: flesh and blood, sorrow and joy, pain and hope. This does not excuse their actions, it just serves to remind that we are all connected in human sin, one big broken family.
And that's why Jesus came, why I'm waiting for His end of the story like I'm waiting for the end of A Thousand Splendid Suns. While I don't know what will happen to Mariam and Laila, I know Christ's ending for this world. Salvation, resurrection, new life, new hope, even now, while we were still sinners.
Blessed Good Friday.
A Thousand Splendid Suns, by Afghan-American Khaled Housseini, the famed and acclaimed author of The Kite Runner (now a movie).
I didn't mean to get so attached but now I can't put it down and paradoxically I can hardly bear to pick it up again. The stories of the women of Afghanistan are that tragic.
I'll save you the minutea of plot details; suffice to say the book follows two womens interwoven lives in Kabul from 1979 onward. The book is fiction, the politics are not. The Sovients in Afghanistan rise and fall, the mujihadeen factions kick them out, then promptly war with each other, then the Taliban comes, offering unity for the small price of libety. No singing, dancing, writing books or painting. Women are only permitted out of the house accompanied by a male relative, and are forbidden to wear jewelry, makeup or nail polish. Men must grow beards and pray five times daily. Non-compliance to various rules result in loss of finger, hand, foot or life.
Our protagonists in this story suffer not only from these rules but from husbands who treat them like property: yelling, insults, beatings and in once scene locking a woman and child in a dark bedroom for 2 days, no water. At one point, main character Laila comments how amazing it is that the human body and tolerate so much beating.
Now why do I go on about a work of fiction? Well, because while these characters are fictional, the treatment of women is real. The bombing of Kabul was real. The decapitations, stonings and hangings were real. People were capable of treating human bodies like so many disposable parts.
When two airplanes crashed into the twin towers in New York City on Sept. 11, 2001, I remember thinking about those pilots. I thought how fortunate was I to have been born in this country of priviledge. Had I been born in other circumstances, withstood other pressures and hardships, I might have done the same. Those who flew planes into towers were just like me: flesh and blood, sorrow and joy, pain and hope. This does not excuse their actions, it just serves to remind that we are all connected in human sin, one big broken family.
And that's why Jesus came, why I'm waiting for His end of the story like I'm waiting for the end of A Thousand Splendid Suns. While I don't know what will happen to Mariam and Laila, I know Christ's ending for this world. Salvation, resurrection, new life, new hope, even now, while we were still sinners.
Blessed Good Friday.
Thursday, March 20, 2008
Holy Thursday
This evening at Central we did foot washing during out Maundy (Holy) Thursday service. I preached a little sermon about the weirdness of footwashing, so I'll share a few thoughts from that.
Jesus washed the disciples' feet in John 13, though at least one (Peter) was intially unwilling. Maybe Peter thought it was yucky, weird and demeaning that one such as Jesus should was his feet.
Maybe we think of feet as pretty yucky too. And private, intimate. We'd generally rather not get our feet wet. Literally or figuratively.
But Jesus says unless he (Jesus) washes Peter's feet, Peter will have no part with him. Put another way, Peter must recieve the grace of Christ to be in the full community, the full relationship. It's hard to be in relationship with someone who won't let you in.
When we get our feet wet (literally, figuratively), we allow the grace of God, the goodness and forgiveness of God to wash over us, restoring us to relationship with God. When we get our feet wet, figuratively, by getting involved in the world and its suffering, we build authentic community, gathered, nourished and sent out by the Spirit.
This is our life's purpose, to be washed and wash others! Why would we miss out on the life, the big wild life with Christ!
Jesus washed the disciples' feet in John 13, though at least one (Peter) was intially unwilling. Maybe Peter thought it was yucky, weird and demeaning that one such as Jesus should was his feet.
Maybe we think of feet as pretty yucky too. And private, intimate. We'd generally rather not get our feet wet. Literally or figuratively.
But Jesus says unless he (Jesus) washes Peter's feet, Peter will have no part with him. Put another way, Peter must recieve the grace of Christ to be in the full community, the full relationship. It's hard to be in relationship with someone who won't let you in.
When we get our feet wet (literally, figuratively), we allow the grace of God, the goodness and forgiveness of God to wash over us, restoring us to relationship with God. When we get our feet wet, figuratively, by getting involved in the world and its suffering, we build authentic community, gathered, nourished and sent out by the Spirit.
This is our life's purpose, to be washed and wash others! Why would we miss out on the life, the big wild life with Christ!
Wednesday, March 19, 2008
Holy Wednesday
Five years ago today, the US sent troops into Iraq. I was living in Berkeley, land of the protesters. Though I had aseembled for non-violent actions before, I did not choose to march in any of the peace protests. I was too upset. I was a lukewarm Bush supporter and felt totally betrayed. The message from media and the government was not to criticize the decision to go to war (apparently critical thinking and caring about democracy was unpatriotic) and I should go shopping. I was too broke, so I just brooded.
Today I brooded too, now that nearly 4,000 US service men and women have lost thier lives in Iraq. By some estimates, Iraqi lives lost may be greater than 500,000. Regardless of the number, it's just too many.
Sometimes I forget we are at war with Iraq. If I think about it too long and hard, I'm tempted to drop into despair. Isn't it easier sometimes to just be oblivious, to just go with the flow?
But as I said yesterday, we are HOLY people, called to be set apart for God's work. And while I deeply believe God loves President Bush, I also believe God values justice, compassion, mercy and kindness. I will leave it to God to judge how our nation's leaders stack up.
Meanwhile, though I get compassion fatigue, I will keep reading about the war in Iraq and keep praying. If I feel compelled to speak, I will speak. We have hope that peace will come to that part of the world that God loves so much. It is our rock to which we cling, we who move toward cross and grave this Holy Week.
Today I brooded too, now that nearly 4,000 US service men and women have lost thier lives in Iraq. By some estimates, Iraqi lives lost may be greater than 500,000. Regardless of the number, it's just too many.
Sometimes I forget we are at war with Iraq. If I think about it too long and hard, I'm tempted to drop into despair. Isn't it easier sometimes to just be oblivious, to just go with the flow?
But as I said yesterday, we are HOLY people, called to be set apart for God's work. And while I deeply believe God loves President Bush, I also believe God values justice, compassion, mercy and kindness. I will leave it to God to judge how our nation's leaders stack up.
Meanwhile, though I get compassion fatigue, I will keep reading about the war in Iraq and keep praying. If I feel compelled to speak, I will speak. We have hope that peace will come to that part of the world that God loves so much. It is our rock to which we cling, we who move toward cross and grave this Holy Week.
Tuesday, March 18, 2008
Holy Tuesday
A few Holy Week meditations, if you dare to set aside some time this week to practice holiness.
To be holy, by the way, doesn't mean to be goody-goody, pure and perfect. To be holy is to be set apart. Against the cultural grain. So taking a few moments for prayer and reflectiont this week is just that. Holy. Set apart. Prophetic in a world where March Madness is more important than holy week and hockey tournaments are held on Easter Sunday.
So welcome to Holy Tuesday. Take a moment to rest. Yes, you, the one who is multi-tasking even as you read this. Just slow down. Breathe. Be in the holy spaces of a holy week. Be open to listening for God this week. Be open to seeing Jesus in others. Be open to the movement of the Holy Spirit within your heart.
God is about to do a new thing in this resurrection. How can you hold this immesurable joy if your hands/heart/head are already full? Clear out what you don't need. Your worries are taking up too much real estate. Be open.
Coming tomorrow: Holy Wednesday, the 5 year anniversary of US troops in Iraq.
To be holy, by the way, doesn't mean to be goody-goody, pure and perfect. To be holy is to be set apart. Against the cultural grain. So taking a few moments for prayer and reflectiont this week is just that. Holy. Set apart. Prophetic in a world where March Madness is more important than holy week and hockey tournaments are held on Easter Sunday.
So welcome to Holy Tuesday. Take a moment to rest. Yes, you, the one who is multi-tasking even as you read this. Just slow down. Breathe. Be in the holy spaces of a holy week. Be open to listening for God this week. Be open to seeing Jesus in others. Be open to the movement of the Holy Spirit within your heart.
God is about to do a new thing in this resurrection. How can you hold this immesurable joy if your hands/heart/head are already full? Clear out what you don't need. Your worries are taking up too much real estate. Be open.
Coming tomorrow: Holy Wednesday, the 5 year anniversary of US troops in Iraq.
Monday, March 10, 2008
Resurrection
I'm early, I know, since Easter is nearly two weeks away. But yesterday's (March 9) Gospel lesson was the resurrection of Lazarus and I'm still thinking about it.
Resurrection. Spoken of at a funeral service or Easter celebration near you. And almost only then.
Such a weird concept and a big long church word: resurrection. Does this really mean anything in daily life? More importantly, "So what?"
Two weeks ago at Central, we hosted the memorial for Christoph Von Alvensleben, 25-year-old snow-machiner who died in an avalanche in Turnagain Pass. It was possibly one of the saddest memorials I've attended, one of the largest and one of the most moving in terms of stories told and a life celebrated. Life lost young is tragic and unfair. A few people remarked, "Well, at least he died doing something he loved." To this, I want to say, "Well, he still died." This doesn't necessarily make it better; it is still an enormous loss. As the pallbearers moved the casket out of the church and into the hearse, the family followed and gathered at the door. They held each other and wept. The sisters of the man who died sobbed and cried, "Nein, nein," (they were Germans).
I'm thankful the memorial service was in a place of worship, so this grief could be connected to the resurrection. Because for a Christian, "he still died," isn't the end. Grief and resurrection go together for a Christian. Grief without the resurrection feels hopeless, helpless. Resurrection without grief would be a shallow celebration.
So the "so what" of the resurrection is this: God promises to love and hold us in life and in death, words of comfort for those experiencing loss. Where is Christoph? Held securely in the arms of the God who loved him in life. And, yes, someday there will be a great and mysterious resurrection and Christoph will live again.
But resurrection so what part deux is important too. Life is full of endings, transitions, deaths. Even the good transitons murmer soft whispers of loss. So what do we do? Practice resurrection, as says poet/farmer Wendell Barry. We look for where life will begin again, out of the depths of loss. We hope and look for moments of joy in God and others even in our grief. This is practicing resurrection.
As Wendell Barry says, "Be joyful, though you have considered all the facts."
Resurrection. Spoken of at a funeral service or Easter celebration near you. And almost only then.
Such a weird concept and a big long church word: resurrection. Does this really mean anything in daily life? More importantly, "So what?"
Two weeks ago at Central, we hosted the memorial for Christoph Von Alvensleben, 25-year-old snow-machiner who died in an avalanche in Turnagain Pass. It was possibly one of the saddest memorials I've attended, one of the largest and one of the most moving in terms of stories told and a life celebrated. Life lost young is tragic and unfair. A few people remarked, "Well, at least he died doing something he loved." To this, I want to say, "Well, he still died." This doesn't necessarily make it better; it is still an enormous loss. As the pallbearers moved the casket out of the church and into the hearse, the family followed and gathered at the door. They held each other and wept. The sisters of the man who died sobbed and cried, "Nein, nein," (they were Germans).
I'm thankful the memorial service was in a place of worship, so this grief could be connected to the resurrection. Because for a Christian, "he still died," isn't the end. Grief and resurrection go together for a Christian. Grief without the resurrection feels hopeless, helpless. Resurrection without grief would be a shallow celebration.
So the "so what" of the resurrection is this: God promises to love and hold us in life and in death, words of comfort for those experiencing loss. Where is Christoph? Held securely in the arms of the God who loved him in life. And, yes, someday there will be a great and mysterious resurrection and Christoph will live again.
But resurrection so what part deux is important too. Life is full of endings, transitions, deaths. Even the good transitons murmer soft whispers of loss. So what do we do? Practice resurrection, as says poet/farmer Wendell Barry. We look for where life will begin again, out of the depths of loss. We hope and look for moments of joy in God and others even in our grief. This is practicing resurrection.
As Wendell Barry says, "Be joyful, though you have considered all the facts."
Wednesday, February 27, 2008
Kant buy me love
Philosophy nerd quiz: Describe Kant's second formulation of the categorical imperative.
Anyone, anyone? Buller?
Okay, I'll tell you: human beings should be treated as ends, not means. Honor all humans as beings with dignity.
Why such a fancy title? And who is Kant anyway?
I learned this and more in a lecture Feb. 26 at the University of Alaska Anchorage, in an ethics class taught by my friend Dr. Ray Anthony (who was part of Central's Brevig Mission trip last year and also sings tenor in the Alaska Native Lutheran Church choir). Small world.
Two Central members joined me for this lecture in Ray's ethics class. For those of us (okay, me) who are used to thinking about morality in theological terms, it was interesting to hear it from another perspective.
The class has been discussing the moral reasoning set out by Immanuel Kant, an 18th century German philosopher (so says Wikipedia). Kant is one of the famed thinkers of the Enlightenment. It's interesting that Kant's ideas are called "imperatives," meaning he thinks that desicions based on sound moral reasoning are "musts" for any thinking person.
Actions, said Kant, should be made in accordance to moral rule, should be rational and should be consistent with what any other rational person would do in the same circumstance.
Of course I agree with Kant that we should treat all humans as persons with dignity (from God, I'd add) and that people are ends to themselves, not means to get what I want. That said, we "use" people all the time to meet our needs. That's okay, said Kant, as long as you honor that they don't exist just to meet your need. Still honor their dignity and personhood even as they help you out. Interesting, I think.
Using Kant's principles, the class discussed an article called "The Ones Who Walk Away from Omelas," by Ursula Le Guin. Synopsis: a fabled city called Omelas is perfect, except for one child who lives in abject misery locked in a basement. All citizens of Omelas believe the child must remain in torture for their happiness to continue. If the child was freed, life in Omelas would cease to be perfect.
But not all are content. Some choose to walk away from this city into the unknown.
Now in a Lutheran understanding, I'd say this child is a scapegoat, a place to cast the sins of the city so they can feel "perfect." It's a way of not recognizing the true nature of the human person as "saint and sinner."
Those who walked away from Omelas recognized it was wrong to treat the child as an object for the sake of their happiness. So they honored the child's status as a human with dignity.
But Ray made another good point: when they walked away, they also honored their own dignity. They embraced their own dignity by refusing to be complicit in a system that would treat a human as an object.
Ray asked the class: where in our city/country/world are humans treated like objects? How can we honor their dignity and our own by refusing to participate in these systems?
Someone in the class suggested sweatshops in other country, where workers put in 20-hour days with inadequate pay and conditions so I can get a shirt for $10 at Wal-Mart.
What do you think?
Anyone, anyone? Buller?
Okay, I'll tell you: human beings should be treated as ends, not means. Honor all humans as beings with dignity.
Why such a fancy title? And who is Kant anyway?
I learned this and more in a lecture Feb. 26 at the University of Alaska Anchorage, in an ethics class taught by my friend Dr. Ray Anthony (who was part of Central's Brevig Mission trip last year and also sings tenor in the Alaska Native Lutheran Church choir). Small world.
Two Central members joined me for this lecture in Ray's ethics class. For those of us (okay, me) who are used to thinking about morality in theological terms, it was interesting to hear it from another perspective.
The class has been discussing the moral reasoning set out by Immanuel Kant, an 18th century German philosopher (so says Wikipedia). Kant is one of the famed thinkers of the Enlightenment. It's interesting that Kant's ideas are called "imperatives," meaning he thinks that desicions based on sound moral reasoning are "musts" for any thinking person.
Actions, said Kant, should be made in accordance to moral rule, should be rational and should be consistent with what any other rational person would do in the same circumstance.
Of course I agree with Kant that we should treat all humans as persons with dignity (from God, I'd add) and that people are ends to themselves, not means to get what I want. That said, we "use" people all the time to meet our needs. That's okay, said Kant, as long as you honor that they don't exist just to meet your need. Still honor their dignity and personhood even as they help you out. Interesting, I think.
Using Kant's principles, the class discussed an article called "The Ones Who Walk Away from Omelas," by Ursula Le Guin. Synopsis: a fabled city called Omelas is perfect, except for one child who lives in abject misery locked in a basement. All citizens of Omelas believe the child must remain in torture for their happiness to continue. If the child was freed, life in Omelas would cease to be perfect.
But not all are content. Some choose to walk away from this city into the unknown.
Now in a Lutheran understanding, I'd say this child is a scapegoat, a place to cast the sins of the city so they can feel "perfect." It's a way of not recognizing the true nature of the human person as "saint and sinner."
Those who walked away from Omelas recognized it was wrong to treat the child as an object for the sake of their happiness. So they honored the child's status as a human with dignity.
But Ray made another good point: when they walked away, they also honored their own dignity. They embraced their own dignity by refusing to be complicit in a system that would treat a human as an object.
Ray asked the class: where in our city/country/world are humans treated like objects? How can we honor their dignity and our own by refusing to participate in these systems?
Someone in the class suggested sweatshops in other country, where workers put in 20-hour days with inadequate pay and conditions so I can get a shirt for $10 at Wal-Mart.
What do you think?
Thursday, February 21, 2008
All kids are our kids
When I was an intern at Amazing Grace Lutheran here in Anchor-town, the congregation was focusinig on the "Assets" program to encourage adults to connect and support kids in the congregation.
Each Sunday, a member would read an "asset" that helps communities build healthy kids. She'd end with this chant, "All kids are our kids." The congregation got so good at this that it became common parlance around AGLC.
Today I attended an all-school assembly at Denali Elementary, just down the street from Central. As an aside, I don't think I've attended an assembly since the days when I sported blond pigtails, huge plastic glasses and light blue stirrup pants.
Anyway, the assembly was to honor students who'd completed Peer Mediator training, which empowers kids to be problem solvers among each other in classrooms and on playgrounds. The 3-day training was held at Central. We were to receive a thank you card just for offering the space in our building.
I came because I was asked, planned to accept my little thank you card and duck out early. I stayed for the whole assembly, mesmerized.
First, I was amazed at the kids' ability to sit on a hard floor and be mostly quiet.
Then, I was totally impressed with the guidance counselor's use of the values of Denali Elementary (respect and kindness are two of four). I was blown away by a presentation from a group of 6th-grade girls called "Girls Hold up the world" and a skit by a number of upper elementary students demonstrating the problems of name-calling. (We all chanted, "No sticks, no stones, no dissing.")
Finally, I was humbled by the gi-normous thankyou card for Central and the guidance counselor's comments thanking Central for its support of Denali and support of the Campfire USA program we house here. I had tears in my eyes as I accepted the card and watched the kids' presentation. These felt like "our kids" though I knew only a few of them from Campfire.
One of my parishioners who works at Denali sat next to me and she was teary-eyed too. We noted that maybe our world is full of hopelessness and kids standing up in front of other kids pledging to be mediators and warning about name-calling gives us hope for the world.
Take home lesson: be respectful of others, try to work out problems peacefully and most importantly, no dissing.
Oh that adults could live this in our world!
Each Sunday, a member would read an "asset" that helps communities build healthy kids. She'd end with this chant, "All kids are our kids." The congregation got so good at this that it became common parlance around AGLC.
Today I attended an all-school assembly at Denali Elementary, just down the street from Central. As an aside, I don't think I've attended an assembly since the days when I sported blond pigtails, huge plastic glasses and light blue stirrup pants.
Anyway, the assembly was to honor students who'd completed Peer Mediator training, which empowers kids to be problem solvers among each other in classrooms and on playgrounds. The 3-day training was held at Central. We were to receive a thank you card just for offering the space in our building.
I came because I was asked, planned to accept my little thank you card and duck out early. I stayed for the whole assembly, mesmerized.
First, I was amazed at the kids' ability to sit on a hard floor and be mostly quiet.
Then, I was totally impressed with the guidance counselor's use of the values of Denali Elementary (respect and kindness are two of four). I was blown away by a presentation from a group of 6th-grade girls called "Girls Hold up the world" and a skit by a number of upper elementary students demonstrating the problems of name-calling. (We all chanted, "No sticks, no stones, no dissing.")
Finally, I was humbled by the gi-normous thankyou card for Central and the guidance counselor's comments thanking Central for its support of Denali and support of the Campfire USA program we house here. I had tears in my eyes as I accepted the card and watched the kids' presentation. These felt like "our kids" though I knew only a few of them from Campfire.
One of my parishioners who works at Denali sat next to me and she was teary-eyed too. We noted that maybe our world is full of hopelessness and kids standing up in front of other kids pledging to be mediators and warning about name-calling gives us hope for the world.
Take home lesson: be respectful of others, try to work out problems peacefully and most importantly, no dissing.
Oh that adults could live this in our world!
Wednesday, February 20, 2008
The devil you know...
The Old Testament lesson for Sunday is about the Israelites and Moses wandering in the wildnerness, having just escaped Egypt (plagues, Passover, Red Sea, chariots drown, the whole nine yards).
Now, in Exodus 17:1-7 they seem to have forgotten that whole God-saved-them-from-everything experience and they are whining. Whining!
"We're thirsty...why did you bring us out of Egypt to kill us with thirst?" In another part of Exodus, when hungry and sick of manna, they say, "Would it not be better to be back in Egypt where we at least had leeks and onions to eat?"
Egypt would have been better? Yeah, if you're into building pyramids for some pharoah who views you as a replacable part. If you don't mind the lack of freedom to practice your religion. Yeah, slavery was great. Whatever!
Maybe I should give them a break. I mean, they did thank and praise God for the act of liberation from Egypt. And if I was wandering in a wilderness with no water and my kids and cows were dying of thirst, I guess I might cry out to God in such a way.
But what interests me most is the question in Exodus 17:7 "Is the Lord among us or not?" Gosh, how many times have we asked this question? Put another way: "Where is God when I'm suffering?"
At Pacific Lutheran Theological Seminary in Berkeley, where I studied, there's a fountain based on this story outside of Sawyer Hall, where community meals are searved. A bronze statue of Moses is striking a bronze "rock" and water gushes forth. It's lovely and always running.
The statue grabbed my imagination because I had a tough first year of seminary. California was too big, too scary and too far from home. I missed my family and Iowa terribly. I spent most of my first year figuring out how I could transfer back to a seminary in the Midwest. I had filled out all the paperwork for Luther Seminary in Minnesota. I just wanted to go home.
I was a grumbling Israelite: Why did you bring me to this God-forsaken place?!?
Somehow, though, that water fountain comforted me. It reminded me that God does call us into weird and wild places. It reminded me that God never promised our journeys would be neat, tidy and full of comforts of home. It reminded me that God was right next to me in my painful experiences.
In the end, I stayed in Berkeley and was forever grateful for that wilderness journey. An older friend once remarked that when she looked back at her life, she had many happy times to recall. But the times that were most formative and that she was now grateful for, were those times of struggle.
Is the Lord among us or not?
He is here. They call him Emmanuel.
Now, in Exodus 17:1-7 they seem to have forgotten that whole God-saved-them-from-everything experience and they are whining. Whining!
"We're thirsty...why did you bring us out of Egypt to kill us with thirst?" In another part of Exodus, when hungry and sick of manna, they say, "Would it not be better to be back in Egypt where we at least had leeks and onions to eat?"
Egypt would have been better? Yeah, if you're into building pyramids for some pharoah who views you as a replacable part. If you don't mind the lack of freedom to practice your religion. Yeah, slavery was great. Whatever!
Maybe I should give them a break. I mean, they did thank and praise God for the act of liberation from Egypt. And if I was wandering in a wilderness with no water and my kids and cows were dying of thirst, I guess I might cry out to God in such a way.
But what interests me most is the question in Exodus 17:7 "Is the Lord among us or not?" Gosh, how many times have we asked this question? Put another way: "Where is God when I'm suffering?"
At Pacific Lutheran Theological Seminary in Berkeley, where I studied, there's a fountain based on this story outside of Sawyer Hall, where community meals are searved. A bronze statue of Moses is striking a bronze "rock" and water gushes forth. It's lovely and always running.
The statue grabbed my imagination because I had a tough first year of seminary. California was too big, too scary and too far from home. I missed my family and Iowa terribly. I spent most of my first year figuring out how I could transfer back to a seminary in the Midwest. I had filled out all the paperwork for Luther Seminary in Minnesota. I just wanted to go home.
I was a grumbling Israelite: Why did you bring me to this God-forsaken place?!?
Somehow, though, that water fountain comforted me. It reminded me that God does call us into weird and wild places. It reminded me that God never promised our journeys would be neat, tidy and full of comforts of home. It reminded me that God was right next to me in my painful experiences.
In the end, I stayed in Berkeley and was forever grateful for that wilderness journey. An older friend once remarked that when she looked back at her life, she had many happy times to recall. But the times that were most formative and that she was now grateful for, were those times of struggle.
Is the Lord among us or not?
He is here. They call him Emmanuel.
Monday, February 11, 2008
Central, listen to your children
At Confirmation class last night (Feb 10), we discussed the history of the Lutheran movement as one that is always reforming, always growing and changing.
The worksheet from the curriculum asked if our congregation was growing, declining or staying the same. So the kids as me. I decided honesty was best. We're actually declining slightly in attendance. We discussed which churches in our city (and nation) are growing fastest (non-denominationals) and where the Lutheran church actually is growing (Africa).
So why isn't Central growing, I asked. Their responses startled me.
"When you walk into church, it's very stiff, it's not very welcoming. It's like a funeral."
"The way people act it's almost like they don't want you to be there."
Now this is just the opinion of some kids, but we must listen. Their voices matter. Yet even with these critiques, when I asked how we could grow Central, they got really into the brainstorming and I was touched by their honesty and passion. Here are some things they suggested.
* More potlucks
* Better advertising of worship and church events
* More activities for young people to bring their friends
* Some activities immediately after worship for youth
* Re-do the outside of the building
* Painting inside (kids volunteered to help)
* A better sign out front, maybe with color to attract people driving by
* A coffeestand selling espresso and treats on Sunday mornings
* Add more contemporary, upbeat music.
These are terrific ideas, probably better than the stuff our church council has come up with (no offense). Like most great ideas, they do take coordination and work to pull them off.
Any takers :)
The worksheet from the curriculum asked if our congregation was growing, declining or staying the same. So the kids as me. I decided honesty was best. We're actually declining slightly in attendance. We discussed which churches in our city (and nation) are growing fastest (non-denominationals) and where the Lutheran church actually is growing (Africa).
So why isn't Central growing, I asked. Their responses startled me.
"When you walk into church, it's very stiff, it's not very welcoming. It's like a funeral."
"The way people act it's almost like they don't want you to be there."
Now this is just the opinion of some kids, but we must listen. Their voices matter. Yet even with these critiques, when I asked how we could grow Central, they got really into the brainstorming and I was touched by their honesty and passion. Here are some things they suggested.
* More potlucks
* Better advertising of worship and church events
* More activities for young people to bring their friends
* Some activities immediately after worship for youth
* Re-do the outside of the building
* Painting inside (kids volunteered to help)
* A better sign out front, maybe with color to attract people driving by
* A coffeestand selling espresso and treats on Sunday mornings
* Add more contemporary, upbeat music.
These are terrific ideas, probably better than the stuff our church council has come up with (no offense). Like most great ideas, they do take coordination and work to pull them off.
Any takers :)
Wednesday, February 06, 2008
On Caucuses and Kazahk Airports
Attending the Alaska Democratic Caucus last night (Feb. 5) was akin to getting through security in an aiport in Kazahkstan. You just keep pushing.
Alaska (like my home state Iowa) has caucuses. Who knew? Apparently thousands of Anchorage-area folks, who slammed into Begich Middle School (Dems) and The Eagan Center (Repubs) to weigh in on Campaign 2008.
Getting there was half the fun (?). I sat in traffic for nearly 2 hours on 15th and Debarr, knowing I was arriving 50 minutes later than the doors-closing time. Luckily, Alaskans care very little for rules and proprieties, so you could register right up until the vote was counted.
Near the middle school, I pulled onto a sidestreet and ran the rest of the way. 12 mintues. Minus four degrees. With a flu bug I've nursed for four days. Hey, I love the policital process.
Cars were parked on sidewalks up and down Debarr Road, and the parking lot was full of cars parked so randonmly it was as if their owners were raptured, Left-Behind style. People were actually leaving cars in the roundabout in front of the school. When someone later had to be removed by ambulance, the person on the loudspeaker had to ask at least three times for cars to move out of the emergency vehicle's way.
Inside, the gym was a Kazahk airport. No lines, no order, just lots of blue signs screaming "Hillary" and "Obama" and glassy-eyed faces below. Many had arrived well before 5 pm. Registration was supposed to close at 6:30; I arrived at 6:50. People were still streaming around precinct maps and registration tables like so many drones in a hive. Voters hastilily filled out cards and pushed their way to registration officials to get counted.
When I finally found my precinct room, my room captain didn't even have a list of registered Democrats, so I had to re-register. I made it over to the floor just in time to get counted as an official voter. Then, more waiting until we could fan out and stand up for the candidate of our choice.
The woman on the loudspeaker in our room played dualing microphones with the overhead loudspeaker. Many precincts had to move rooms because they were too big. Someone in our room (precinct 23) had tried to create hospitality with cheese and crackers and potato chips. I missed the goodies; the empty carcasses littered tables, adding to the disheveled look of the room.
Finally, though, I was able to stand up for my candidate of choice and get counted. And that matters.
Despite my woozy-ness from flu and lack of food, it was a delight to see peoples' passion for the process. And the hope that things can be better in our nation. That we can stand up and ask for change. And that maybe, somehow, one of these candidates will listen to the voices of the people and advocate for the poor.
That's what I felt in the room that night: hope.
I was proud to be a part of the process.
Alaska (like my home state Iowa) has caucuses. Who knew? Apparently thousands of Anchorage-area folks, who slammed into Begich Middle School (Dems) and The Eagan Center (Repubs) to weigh in on Campaign 2008.
Getting there was half the fun (?). I sat in traffic for nearly 2 hours on 15th and Debarr, knowing I was arriving 50 minutes later than the doors-closing time. Luckily, Alaskans care very little for rules and proprieties, so you could register right up until the vote was counted.
Near the middle school, I pulled onto a sidestreet and ran the rest of the way. 12 mintues. Minus four degrees. With a flu bug I've nursed for four days. Hey, I love the policital process.
Cars were parked on sidewalks up and down Debarr Road, and the parking lot was full of cars parked so randonmly it was as if their owners were raptured, Left-Behind style. People were actually leaving cars in the roundabout in front of the school. When someone later had to be removed by ambulance, the person on the loudspeaker had to ask at least three times for cars to move out of the emergency vehicle's way.
Inside, the gym was a Kazahk airport. No lines, no order, just lots of blue signs screaming "Hillary" and "Obama" and glassy-eyed faces below. Many had arrived well before 5 pm. Registration was supposed to close at 6:30; I arrived at 6:50. People were still streaming around precinct maps and registration tables like so many drones in a hive. Voters hastilily filled out cards and pushed their way to registration officials to get counted.
When I finally found my precinct room, my room captain didn't even have a list of registered Democrats, so I had to re-register. I made it over to the floor just in time to get counted as an official voter. Then, more waiting until we could fan out and stand up for the candidate of our choice.
The woman on the loudspeaker in our room played dualing microphones with the overhead loudspeaker. Many precincts had to move rooms because they were too big. Someone in our room (precinct 23) had tried to create hospitality with cheese and crackers and potato chips. I missed the goodies; the empty carcasses littered tables, adding to the disheveled look of the room.
Finally, though, I was able to stand up for my candidate of choice and get counted. And that matters.
Despite my woozy-ness from flu and lack of food, it was a delight to see peoples' passion for the process. And the hope that things can be better in our nation. That we can stand up and ask for change. And that maybe, somehow, one of these candidates will listen to the voices of the people and advocate for the poor.
That's what I felt in the room that night: hope.
I was proud to be a part of the process.
Tuesday, January 29, 2008
The Hmong family baptism, Part I
Several years ago at Central Lutheran Church, there was a growing ministry with Hmong people. A refugee people from Laos, many Hmong have made their homes in Anchorage, with large Hmong communities also in Minneapolis/St Paul.
The ministry at Central has slowed, partly because many Hmong want a Hmong-speaking pastor or prefer to worship where they are not in the minority. This is understandable. However, we still have a couple Hmong families connected with Central.
I went to visit one of them, along with Marilyn Martinson, who has maintained a good relationship with this family for many years. Marilyn helps with English lessons, transportation and just general support. Her husband Ron built a shoe rack and a major addition onto the family's mobile home in Mt. View.
I joined Marilyn last week because there was a new baby in the house and the mother was interested in baptism.
Mai is a 17-year-old new mother, married within the last year to Tommy, who is about 22. Tommy's parents, Bau and Cher Tong, are regular worshippers at Central. When Tommy married Mai, Mai came to live with Tommy's parents as is the custom in that culture. Mai reminded me that at 17, she's old compared to some newly-married Hmong, who wed as early as age 12.
A polite, well-spoken young woman, Mai told me that she was interested in having her 4-week-old son Prince baptized. I asked if she knew what it meant. She thought it had something to do with being Christian but she wasn't sure. Her family, she explained, was Buddhist and not interested in Christianity.
So I spoke of baptism as the entry into God's family (even though God already loves you right now, Mai!) and a public ritual that you believe that God loves you. We talked about the use of water in the font, which reminds us that our old self is washed away and we become God's child. It's a way of hearing and knowing God's "yes" to us with a visible sign (water.) After my (I thought) quite simple but effective explanation, I asked Mai if she had any questions.
"Do you have to pay for it?" she asked. My heart nearly skipped a beat; she was so intense and serious. "Of course not," I replied. "It's a free gift from God."
We chatted more about other things. Bau served us coffee and cookies. Bau's two small grandchildren Vanity and Adam wandred in and out of the living room, cuddling next to Marilyn and showing her various books and catalogs. We all laughed and told stories. Bau showed us some money from Laos, and of her hope to return someday.
As we prepared to leave (after promising we'd return soon and I'd bring Mai a Bible), I remembered how tired I was when I arrived. I had wished I'd picked a different day to visit. Then I thought about how sometimes I'm tired and put off visits to our Sudanese family.
It's interesting: as certain as sun and snow in icy Alaska winters and the spring that stubbornly comes after breakup, is this: even when I'm weary, the kindness, thankfulness and hospitality of those from other cultures leaves me energized and grateful.
The ministry at Central has slowed, partly because many Hmong want a Hmong-speaking pastor or prefer to worship where they are not in the minority. This is understandable. However, we still have a couple Hmong families connected with Central.
I went to visit one of them, along with Marilyn Martinson, who has maintained a good relationship with this family for many years. Marilyn helps with English lessons, transportation and just general support. Her husband Ron built a shoe rack and a major addition onto the family's mobile home in Mt. View.
I joined Marilyn last week because there was a new baby in the house and the mother was interested in baptism.
Mai is a 17-year-old new mother, married within the last year to Tommy, who is about 22. Tommy's parents, Bau and Cher Tong, are regular worshippers at Central. When Tommy married Mai, Mai came to live with Tommy's parents as is the custom in that culture. Mai reminded me that at 17, she's old compared to some newly-married Hmong, who wed as early as age 12.
A polite, well-spoken young woman, Mai told me that she was interested in having her 4-week-old son Prince baptized. I asked if she knew what it meant. She thought it had something to do with being Christian but she wasn't sure. Her family, she explained, was Buddhist and not interested in Christianity.
So I spoke of baptism as the entry into God's family (even though God already loves you right now, Mai!) and a public ritual that you believe that God loves you. We talked about the use of water in the font, which reminds us that our old self is washed away and we become God's child. It's a way of hearing and knowing God's "yes" to us with a visible sign (water.) After my (I thought) quite simple but effective explanation, I asked Mai if she had any questions.
"Do you have to pay for it?" she asked. My heart nearly skipped a beat; she was so intense and serious. "Of course not," I replied. "It's a free gift from God."
We chatted more about other things. Bau served us coffee and cookies. Bau's two small grandchildren Vanity and Adam wandred in and out of the living room, cuddling next to Marilyn and showing her various books and catalogs. We all laughed and told stories. Bau showed us some money from Laos, and of her hope to return someday.
As we prepared to leave (after promising we'd return soon and I'd bring Mai a Bible), I remembered how tired I was when I arrived. I had wished I'd picked a different day to visit. Then I thought about how sometimes I'm tired and put off visits to our Sudanese family.
It's interesting: as certain as sun and snow in icy Alaska winters and the spring that stubbornly comes after breakup, is this: even when I'm weary, the kindness, thankfulness and hospitality of those from other cultures leaves me energized and grateful.
Thursday, January 24, 2008
Christianity is not a religion
Last week I attended the Byberg Preaching Conference in Oregon, where theologian Douglass John Hall presented a series on "What Christianity is Not." One of the take-home nuggets: Christianity is not a religion. This could be shocking to some, welcome to others. Your take?
In a series of lectures, Hall articulated that Christianity is NOT: 1.) culture religion; 2.) a religion of the book; and 3.) A system of morality. Rock on DJ Hall, I say.
Again, his main point is that Christianity is a FAITH not a religion. I like this. I like remembering that the early followers of Christ were a movement, not an institutional system of regulations. Sure we need good order (I'm a Myers-Briggs J myself) but the heart of the good news is God's deep love for us and our call is to share that with a passion.
I have pages of notes from Hall's lectures, but another nugget I liked was when he played with Karl Barth's notion of God hating religion (just ask the prophet Amos). Barth describes religion as unbelief, as grasping, as taking a grasp at God. Hall adds, "If a religion is grasping, it will be competitive, exclusive...desire for certainty and absoluteness...this leads to violence."
On the other hand, authentic faith allows one to be grasped by God. A Lutheran spin might add: we don't have to DO anything, God comes to us, wooes us, loves us just as we are.
As a sidenote, I used DJ Hall's "Why Christian?" for a sermon series last fall and it really captured imagination/interest in my congregation. Seriously recommended for those on the fringes of Christianity or those willing to give it a second, open-minded and at times critical look.
In a series of lectures, Hall articulated that Christianity is NOT: 1.) culture religion; 2.) a religion of the book; and 3.) A system of morality. Rock on DJ Hall, I say.
Again, his main point is that Christianity is a FAITH not a religion. I like this. I like remembering that the early followers of Christ were a movement, not an institutional system of regulations. Sure we need good order (I'm a Myers-Briggs J myself) but the heart of the good news is God's deep love for us and our call is to share that with a passion.
I have pages of notes from Hall's lectures, but another nugget I liked was when he played with Karl Barth's notion of God hating religion (just ask the prophet Amos). Barth describes religion as unbelief, as grasping, as taking a grasp at God. Hall adds, "If a religion is grasping, it will be competitive, exclusive...desire for certainty and absoluteness...this leads to violence."
On the other hand, authentic faith allows one to be grasped by God. A Lutheran spin might add: we don't have to DO anything, God comes to us, wooes us, loves us just as we are.
As a sidenote, I used DJ Hall's "Why Christian?" for a sermon series last fall and it really captured imagination/interest in my congregation. Seriously recommended for those on the fringes of Christianity or those willing to give it a second, open-minded and at times critical look.
Skipping the Apologies (almost)
Dearest friends in blog-land-
Somehow, the craziness that is Christmas for pastors overwhelmed me and I posted not over the holiday season.
Then I went to Iowa from Dec. 31-Jan. 8 to visit family, then was in Cannon Beach, Oregon, for the Byberg preaching conference Jan 13-16.
Then I was so embarrassed that I hadn't blogged in so long that I procrastinated by not blogging. It's a vicious cycle. But the office manager goaded me today, so here I write.
Anyway, I'll not apologize (too much) for those (few) of you who read this on a (somewhat) regular basis. Sorry :)
Moving on.
So happy new year, ephiphany, January, etc. More (hopefully) thoughful remarks coming soon!
Somehow, the craziness that is Christmas for pastors overwhelmed me and I posted not over the holiday season.
Then I went to Iowa from Dec. 31-Jan. 8 to visit family, then was in Cannon Beach, Oregon, for the Byberg preaching conference Jan 13-16.
Then I was so embarrassed that I hadn't blogged in so long that I procrastinated by not blogging. It's a vicious cycle. But the office manager goaded me today, so here I write.
Anyway, I'll not apologize (too much) for those (few) of you who read this on a (somewhat) regular basis. Sorry :)
Moving on.
So happy new year, ephiphany, January, etc. More (hopefully) thoughful remarks coming soon!
Monday, December 10, 2007
Sermon on Peace, Dec. 9
I had a couple of requests for this sermon, preached at Central on Dec. 9. Please bear with it; it's kind of long. Deep peace, Lisa
"Peace"
Write a sermon about peace, our second Advent candle. I opened a Word doc and stared at it. What could I say about peace? This week, I had a conflict with a member of the Central family over a miscommunication. It haunted me Friday as I worked on this sermon. We discussed the conflict and both said, “I’m sorry.” Still, how to preach about peace when I can’t find it in my own congregation.
This week, I also had a conflict with a friend. I was unintentionally quite rude to this friend. I apologized but that doesn’t immediately fix things. This, too, haunted me as I worked on this sermon. How can I preach about peace when I can’t find it in my own friendships?
A few years ago, I had learned to play guitar and brought it to my extended family Christmas. My grandma requested Silent Night. As I played, two members of my extended family began chatting and it suddenly erupted into a yelling match; meanwhile, I sang softly. One of them ran out of the room. I kept singing softly, finishing the song in tears. How can I preach about peace when I can’t find it in my own family? Perhaps you can insert similar stories here. Congregations, families and individuals pray for peace on earth, peace between nations. How can we pray for peace when it’s not in our daily lives?
Sometimes when I’m low, I turn to God’s word for comfort. So how about this Matthew 3:1-12! Will there be comfort in these words? John the Baptizer is proclaiming repentance on the shores of the tiny Jordan River: “Prepare the Way of the Lord! Make his paths straight.” People listened to him and got baptized. The religious leaders of the day came, too, like all good religious leaders, to check out the scene. Maybe they wanted to get baptized just for insurance or may be they were just researching. Before they can utter a word, John lambastes them, calling them snakes, announcing wrath to come and urging them to bear fruit (which I take to mean that they were currently pretty barren). John continues to insult their Jewish ancestry and pride in being children of Abraham. Finally, John issues this threat that Jesus will carry a winnowing fork to separate wheat from chaff. It seems like John is calling the Pharisees “chaff” here.
On first glance, the only seeming way to find comfort here is if you knew FOR SURE you were wheat and not chaff. Maybe then you could find comfort in knowing you were peacefully in God’s hand. Maybe you could speak as certainly as the authors of the Left Behind series, who spoke a little too excitedly when asked in an interview about the fate of those considered “chaff.” They seemed to take a particular delight in the eternal damnation of some. I guess they knew for sure that they were the wheat. I disagree with those authors. Christ would take no delight in damnation of anyone. In fact, Christ seemed to prefer “chaff” over “wheat” in his day.
Let’s move to repentance, because I think it has something to do with peace. Greek experts remind us that this word “metanoia” is really about turning and going in the other direction. It’s about going 180 degrees the other way. It’s not just about changing your mind; it’s about changing your actions. But do we really need to repent? Didn’t Martin Luther get rid of the idea that we have to confess each and every sin to receive God’s mercy? I mean, the man drove himself crazy (and so would we) trying to recount them all. Do we need to repent? Of every sin, no. Of turning around, yes.
The reality of being human is that sometimes we go in the wrong direction. It’s not a judgment or a sign of moral failing. It’s just the way things are. Good people make bad choices; we do it all the time. So repentance offers us a venue to turn around and commit to going in another direction. We can do better, right?
Author Richard Jensen says when we think of repentance, we often think in an “I can” way. I can do better next time. I can think before I speak an unkind word. I can communicate earlier with people to avoid mix-ups. I can put others’ needs first. I can be more loving and compassionate toward the people in my life. I can work toward peace in this world. Do you think that maybe this Advent season, you can do this? Maybe just a little?
This is a great idea, but the reality is, repentance is more of an “I can’t” than an “I can.” True repentance is looking at our lives and saying, “You know what, I actually can’t. I can’t be good all the time, I can’t always treat others as I should, I can’t always put others’ needs first, I can’t always say the kind word or be the ‘bigger’ person. I can try but realistically I can’t.” And this, dear ones, is true repentance. We say, “I can’t,” but God in Jesus Christ can. This reliance on God’s strength is the way to peace.
This is the good news. The call to turn around, to repent, is the call to take an honest look at our lives, see our shortcomings, say, “I can’t” and know God says “I can.” God can and does offer us love and presence, forgiveness and hope and peace. When we say, I can’t, we remember our baptism (and John’s echoes of baptism). We believe that in baptism our old self is washed away and we are born again. We can remember our baptism every day; every day we say “I can’t,” we die to that old self and start anew. I wonder if maybe our best hope for peace in this world and in our lives is by returning to the font, to the baptismal font, acknowledging our shortcomings, knowing God’s forgiveness and trusting God’s love will help us turn and go a different direction. It is said that peace begins at home and this is true. Yet for Christians, this font, the waters of life, is our home. Here we are born and reborn.
A farm story: I never knew that chaff was worthless. Indeed, on my parents’ Iowa farm it is not. A couple weeks ago I talked about the baling and unloading hay as a family and enjoying the rest that followed. Before that promised rest, though, we swept the chaff that remained on the wooden bale rack. For this is another definition of chaff (I checked Webster’s) the bits and pieces of hay that remain after the rest is formed into bales. So my brother Jay and I swept the chaff and pushed it into recycled seed corn sacks that Dad held open. There was very little waste on our farm; Dad fed even the chaff to the cows. I like to think of it as cow appetizers.
Now that’s hay and Jesus spoke of wheat. So I checked this out online. Wheat chaff is the bracts and casings left behind from the grain. And what’s a farmer to do with wheat chaff? It gets tossed not into a fiery furnace but fed to animals. It becomes life-giving.
I believe that in our lifetimes, there is no way that God will every fully separate the wheat from the chaff in all my heart and actions. But I do believe that even my failings, God will somehow use for God’s purposes. Perhaps I might learn valuable lessons on how to better be Christ in this world. Perhaps my failings will lead me straight to God, to repentance and to saying “I can’t,” instead of insisting that I always can. Maybe God will use my chaff and yours too.
Maybe this is how peace is to come into the world. Maybe not with big acts of giving from Bill Gates and Oprah Winfrey. Maybe not through religious leaders like the Pharisees and Sadducees or pastors and bishops. Maybe not by big corporations or empires. Maybe it comes quietly, unassuming. Maybe peace travels a bumpy road and comes through obstacles. Maybe peace comes when the word is very dark. Maybe peace comes into the rough-hewn mangers of our hearts, lying in a bed of straw (or chaff). Peace will come again this year. May we recognize it in Christ’s coming.
"Peace"
Write a sermon about peace, our second Advent candle. I opened a Word doc and stared at it. What could I say about peace? This week, I had a conflict with a member of the Central family over a miscommunication. It haunted me Friday as I worked on this sermon. We discussed the conflict and both said, “I’m sorry.” Still, how to preach about peace when I can’t find it in my own congregation.
This week, I also had a conflict with a friend. I was unintentionally quite rude to this friend. I apologized but that doesn’t immediately fix things. This, too, haunted me as I worked on this sermon. How can I preach about peace when I can’t find it in my own friendships?
A few years ago, I had learned to play guitar and brought it to my extended family Christmas. My grandma requested Silent Night. As I played, two members of my extended family began chatting and it suddenly erupted into a yelling match; meanwhile, I sang softly. One of them ran out of the room. I kept singing softly, finishing the song in tears. How can I preach about peace when I can’t find it in my own family? Perhaps you can insert similar stories here. Congregations, families and individuals pray for peace on earth, peace between nations. How can we pray for peace when it’s not in our daily lives?
Sometimes when I’m low, I turn to God’s word for comfort. So how about this Matthew 3:1-12! Will there be comfort in these words? John the Baptizer is proclaiming repentance on the shores of the tiny Jordan River: “Prepare the Way of the Lord! Make his paths straight.” People listened to him and got baptized. The religious leaders of the day came, too, like all good religious leaders, to check out the scene. Maybe they wanted to get baptized just for insurance or may be they were just researching. Before they can utter a word, John lambastes them, calling them snakes, announcing wrath to come and urging them to bear fruit (which I take to mean that they were currently pretty barren). John continues to insult their Jewish ancestry and pride in being children of Abraham. Finally, John issues this threat that Jesus will carry a winnowing fork to separate wheat from chaff. It seems like John is calling the Pharisees “chaff” here.
On first glance, the only seeming way to find comfort here is if you knew FOR SURE you were wheat and not chaff. Maybe then you could find comfort in knowing you were peacefully in God’s hand. Maybe you could speak as certainly as the authors of the Left Behind series, who spoke a little too excitedly when asked in an interview about the fate of those considered “chaff.” They seemed to take a particular delight in the eternal damnation of some. I guess they knew for sure that they were the wheat. I disagree with those authors. Christ would take no delight in damnation of anyone. In fact, Christ seemed to prefer “chaff” over “wheat” in his day.
Let’s move to repentance, because I think it has something to do with peace. Greek experts remind us that this word “metanoia” is really about turning and going in the other direction. It’s about going 180 degrees the other way. It’s not just about changing your mind; it’s about changing your actions. But do we really need to repent? Didn’t Martin Luther get rid of the idea that we have to confess each and every sin to receive God’s mercy? I mean, the man drove himself crazy (and so would we) trying to recount them all. Do we need to repent? Of every sin, no. Of turning around, yes.
The reality of being human is that sometimes we go in the wrong direction. It’s not a judgment or a sign of moral failing. It’s just the way things are. Good people make bad choices; we do it all the time. So repentance offers us a venue to turn around and commit to going in another direction. We can do better, right?
Author Richard Jensen says when we think of repentance, we often think in an “I can” way. I can do better next time. I can think before I speak an unkind word. I can communicate earlier with people to avoid mix-ups. I can put others’ needs first. I can be more loving and compassionate toward the people in my life. I can work toward peace in this world. Do you think that maybe this Advent season, you can do this? Maybe just a little?
This is a great idea, but the reality is, repentance is more of an “I can’t” than an “I can.” True repentance is looking at our lives and saying, “You know what, I actually can’t. I can’t be good all the time, I can’t always treat others as I should, I can’t always put others’ needs first, I can’t always say the kind word or be the ‘bigger’ person. I can try but realistically I can’t.” And this, dear ones, is true repentance. We say, “I can’t,” but God in Jesus Christ can. This reliance on God’s strength is the way to peace.
This is the good news. The call to turn around, to repent, is the call to take an honest look at our lives, see our shortcomings, say, “I can’t” and know God says “I can.” God can and does offer us love and presence, forgiveness and hope and peace. When we say, I can’t, we remember our baptism (and John’s echoes of baptism). We believe that in baptism our old self is washed away and we are born again. We can remember our baptism every day; every day we say “I can’t,” we die to that old self and start anew. I wonder if maybe our best hope for peace in this world and in our lives is by returning to the font, to the baptismal font, acknowledging our shortcomings, knowing God’s forgiveness and trusting God’s love will help us turn and go a different direction. It is said that peace begins at home and this is true. Yet for Christians, this font, the waters of life, is our home. Here we are born and reborn.
A farm story: I never knew that chaff was worthless. Indeed, on my parents’ Iowa farm it is not. A couple weeks ago I talked about the baling and unloading hay as a family and enjoying the rest that followed. Before that promised rest, though, we swept the chaff that remained on the wooden bale rack. For this is another definition of chaff (I checked Webster’s) the bits and pieces of hay that remain after the rest is formed into bales. So my brother Jay and I swept the chaff and pushed it into recycled seed corn sacks that Dad held open. There was very little waste on our farm; Dad fed even the chaff to the cows. I like to think of it as cow appetizers.
Now that’s hay and Jesus spoke of wheat. So I checked this out online. Wheat chaff is the bracts and casings left behind from the grain. And what’s a farmer to do with wheat chaff? It gets tossed not into a fiery furnace but fed to animals. It becomes life-giving.
I believe that in our lifetimes, there is no way that God will every fully separate the wheat from the chaff in all my heart and actions. But I do believe that even my failings, God will somehow use for God’s purposes. Perhaps I might learn valuable lessons on how to better be Christ in this world. Perhaps my failings will lead me straight to God, to repentance and to saying “I can’t,” instead of insisting that I always can. Maybe God will use my chaff and yours too.
Maybe this is how peace is to come into the world. Maybe not with big acts of giving from Bill Gates and Oprah Winfrey. Maybe not through religious leaders like the Pharisees and Sadducees or pastors and bishops. Maybe not by big corporations or empires. Maybe it comes quietly, unassuming. Maybe peace travels a bumpy road and comes through obstacles. Maybe peace comes when the word is very dark. Maybe peace comes into the rough-hewn mangers of our hearts, lying in a bed of straw (or chaff). Peace will come again this year. May we recognize it in Christ’s coming.
Monday, December 03, 2007
Shish on film!
Shishmaref is on the big screen. Or at least Anchor-town's big screen.
This week, Anhorage hosts its own international film festival. From features, to documentaries to shorts, the fest has dozens of options for movie-lovers.
"Polarized" features Shishmaref, a town of 560, mostly native. There's also a Lutheran presence in Shishmaref Lutheran, though that wasn't featured in the film.
The film discusses how global warming has affected Shishmaref, which is losing coastline fast due to erosion. Permafrost is melting and people's houses are literally falling into the sea. I saw it last Saturday; it was great.
So that's my recommendation: check out this film. It's a "short," only 10 minutes but good. For your ticket price, you also get to see another documentary. It's only playing once more during the fest: Saturday at 2:30 at OutNorth (Debarr/Bragaw intersection). Learn more at www.anchoragefilmfestival.com
This week, Anhorage hosts its own international film festival. From features, to documentaries to shorts, the fest has dozens of options for movie-lovers.
"Polarized" features Shishmaref, a town of 560, mostly native. There's also a Lutheran presence in Shishmaref Lutheran, though that wasn't featured in the film.
The film discusses how global warming has affected Shishmaref, which is losing coastline fast due to erosion. Permafrost is melting and people's houses are literally falling into the sea. I saw it last Saturday; it was great.
So that's my recommendation: check out this film. It's a "short," only 10 minutes but good. For your ticket price, you also get to see another documentary. It's only playing once more during the fest: Saturday at 2:30 at OutNorth (Debarr/Bragaw intersection). Learn more at www.anchoragefilmfestival.com
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