Preaching to the Choir: The Evaluation

Well, after all that worry and fuss, preaching for the preachers at the preaching conference wasn't so bad. In fact, I actually had fun. It helped that about halfway during the sermon, the presenter/preaching professor Craig Satterlee gave me a "thumbs up" from the back of the room. He told me later that the line that won him over was: "When the people came out to see what had happened, they may have noticed the healing of the former demoniac, but what they really saw was the dead pigs."

The preaching evaluation was just four questions:
1.) Did you hear the gospel?
2.) What was it?
3.) Any commendations?
4.) Any recommendations?

Our presenter Craig said this is a great way to evaluate sermons in groups of clergy (synod clergy gathering theme, anyone) and is also good to do with members of the congregation (anyone want to do this when I get back?)

The feedback was helpful. People told me they heard gospel and were able to articulate it in a way that generally matched my intent. People gave me kind praise on my delivery, craft of the sermon, good use of story-telling, sense of humor and tying the ending/beginning together.

People gave me good feedback, primarily to SLOW DOWN (ah, the bane of my existence. One of my college friends always said I should be an auctioneer). Another piece of feedback was avoid using "scholarly" language when it's a word you wouldn't use in normal conversation and to watch how much I moderated the pitch of my voice (too much for some and they couldn't catch all the words).

It was an incredibly helpful, affirming and humbling experience. I'm grateful.

I'm also getting some great insights into preaching and things to do in the congregation for when I come back. Today, for the first time since I went on sabbatical four weeks ago, I heard an idea about something to do with lay people in a congregation and thought, "Wow, how great! I'm excited to get back to Central and try it!" I think this means I'm getting some rest.

Preaching to the Choir

I'm in Issaquah, Washington, attending the Byberg Preaching Conference, as I've done most years of my ordained ministry. It's often on the Oregon Coast, so this Seattle-area switch was nice because it cut down my travel time. Instead of a red-eye, I got to sleep in our own bed last night and leave early this morning.

Our guest speaker this year is Craig Satterlee, who teaches preaching at LSTC (Lutheran School of Theology at Chicago). Part of the gig is that attendees are preaching to each other in small groups and then evaluating others. I was asked to go first. I'm preaching at morning worship tomorrow, 9 am. Craig will evaluate my sermon as template for how we are to evaluate others. It's an understatement to say this is intimidating.

My assigned text is Mark 5:1-20, the story of Jesus healing the Geresene demoniac. It appears in Matthew and Luke, but only Luke's version makes it into the lectionary. It's been fun to wrestle with this text the past week. I keep thinking about the ways God meets us, interrupts us, heals us and how we are invited to respond.

I practiced this sermon for Erik last night. I told him I'm preaching it for pastors, so I've written it with my audience in mind. He said I was preaching to the choir, which I guess I am. But, as with so many sermons, it's also the one I need to hear.

I had one version when I came here this morning, and just now I've tweaked it and now it's a different version. Craig told us during plenary today that sometimes you just have to surrender on Saturday night (or Monday night in my case). The sermon is what it is and God can use it and me.

So, here it is. I'll let you know what the preachers say.


Sermon 1.31.12
Byberg Preaching Conference
Mark 5:1-20

Mercy, grace and peace to you from our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ. Amen.


The Inupiat Eskimo people make their homes on the windy coastline of the Bering Sea in Northwest Alaska as they have done for more than 10,000 years. About 100 years ago, Lutheran pastors came to the area and now several of the tiny, mostly Alaska Native villages have ELCA churches and members proud to be Lutheran. If you visit the modest homes of one of these Alaska Native Lutheran families, well, you won't be alone. The doors of homes in the village are revolving, almost literally, with a constant flow in and out of elders, moms, dads, teens, kids and dogs. People generally do not call, knock or text when they are coming over. They just come over. Life, from the eyes of an outsider, seems like constant, messy disruption. When a visitor drops by and inadvertently disrupts dinner, an elder makes room at the already crowded table, tells you to pull up a creaky folding chair and offers you a bowl of reindeer stew. No matter that three children in precariously heavy diapers are crawling under the table, someone is talking too loudly on the phone in the other room and more visitors flow in and out during the meal. No matter the disruption, everyone is welcome and everyone is family here.


Many of us may not take well to interruptions and disruptions in our lives. For example, I don't know about you, but when I'm away from the parish, I try not to tell people what I do for a living. I try to slide by anonymously at social events or on the airplane, rather than answer probing questions or hear church horror stories. Sometimes, I just don't want to be disturbed. I was trying to be anonymous earlier this month at a week-long yoga retreat out of state. I lasted about two days, until someone asked the dreaded question: What do you do for a living? Sigh. During the course of the week, people offered me all manner of stories about growing up in church, leaving church, being ambivalent about church and/or God, or being wronged by the church (I.e: the person whose mom had a six-year affair with the priest).


Jesus can be so disruptive, in general, and in today's gospel account from Mark, in specific; and sometimes we just don't want to be disturbed. Even when we are living out our vocational calls as ministers, spouses, parents, friends, employees, volunteers and colleagues, we each have our routines, patterns, favorite prejudices and ideas about how the world works and our role in it. It's maddening when Jesus comes and throws our schemes off balance.


This story from Mark's gospel is found also in Matthew and Luke, though only Luke's appears in our lectionary. Mark's version is surprisingly longer than the other two evangelists' stories. Mark, who usually rushes through his narrative a driving urgency, slows down and gives 20 verses with lavish descriptions of the Geresene demoniac and the events that unfold.


The story of the Geresene demoniac takes place across the sea in a Gentile territory. Mark describes the demoniac as a wild man who cannot be contained by chains. He lives in a cemetery and howls all night, bruising himself with stones. When the demoniac approaches Jesus, the demons beg Jesus to leave them alone and not to torment them. The demons know who Jesus is and recognize his power. The demons realize they are in the presence of Jesus, the Son of the Most High God. This kind of power and goodness and light is just too much for them. Perhaps we react the same way. The goodness and mercy of God calls attention to our own misery and bondage. The light that we celebrate in this season of Epiphany also reveals the truth about our own brokenness. The light of Christ reveals our tendency to turn away from goodness and to cling to whatever we've always done or whatever we think will give solace. The light illuminates both the goodness of God and our insistence upon separating ourselves from it and from the person God created us to be.


The light that is Christ Jesus will not leave the demoniac to the demons. Jesus casts the demons into a herd of swine, who rush down a hill and drown in the sea. The swineherds, who have just lost their livelihoods, rush into city and nearby country to tell the people.


When the people come out to see what happened, the former demoniac is sitting there, clothed and in his right mind. The people may notice the healed man, but what they really see is the dead pigs. They see that Jesus has robbed the swineherds of their income. They see that Jesus has brought to the center what they had purposefully cast to the margins. They see that Jesus has totally disturbed their social and economic values. They see that Jesus has disrupted everything. They are afraid. They ask him to leave and so he does.


If I were those people, I'd be afraid, too. And sometimes I am. Maybe you are, too. I'm afraid God wants to disturb me. I'm afraid God wants people to know who I am so that Jesus can use me. I'm afraid that I might have to pay more attention to those on the margins or change my social and economic values. I'm afraid God will disturb and change my life. I'm afraid God will ask for everything I have.


Here's the thing, though. Jesus didn't hate the people in the land of the Geresenes. He didn't come to torture them, to disturb them for the sake of disruption. He came to liberate them as he did the man with the demon. Jesus' disturbing presence is a loving hand that longs to move us to freedom. Jesus transformed the former demoniac into the person that God intended. That man becomes a witness, telling people in the Decapolis what Jesus did, and how Jesus changed his life. Those who heard the story were amazed. Perhaps so was the former demoniac. For the people in the land of the Geresenes, though, the fear was too great and the cost of allowing Jesus to disrupt their lives was too high.


But no cost was too high for God, who allowed the ultimate disruption by giving his own Son for the sake of the world. The message of Jesus crucified and risen shows us that God will not stop loving us and will not stop disrupting us for the sake of liberation, wholeness and life as God intended. This God cannot be controlled; God can only be followed and trusted beyond all else.


Toward the end of the yoga retreat, a young woman approached me. She was a Christian, an adult convert, and said she was worried about being a Christian and practicing yoga. Further, she wanted to go back to school and get a degree in biology but was concerned about evolution and creation. What should she do? I admit, I didn't want to be disturbed. But we talked for a while and it was holy ground. I went back to my room, overwhelmed with a deep sense of God's presence, love and sense of humor.


There's a song from the Iona worshiping community in Scotland that starts with this line: “God bless us and disturb us.” Such is ministry and such is life: a tangle of blessings and disruptions. God bless us and disturb us. We can trust that both are true and good and bring us life in its fullest sense, a life that includes people who don't knock, revolving doors, creaky chairs and reindeer stews. A life where everyone fits at the table, where everyone is welcome and where everyone is family.
Amen.

Hawaii: A few photos and thoughts

From 75F and sunny to 4F and not-so-sunny, I'm back in Anchorage. It's good to be home and sleep in my comfy bed. I miss the warmth, though, and the daily yoga and fresh meals so amply laid before me.

I returned Monday the 23rd and enjoyed a couple of quiet days by myself, as Erik went to the slope for a short assignment while I was away. He returns tonight.

Reunited with my laptop, I thought I'd post a few pictures.

To the left is Pr. Dave Kieffer, of Christ Lutheran, Mililani (Oahu). He took the time to tell me the story of his call to Mililani, explaining how the doors just opened and things just worked out (the sign of a call!) I also appreciated his enthusiasm for the projector they use in worship. I'm excited to try this at Central.

On the Big Island of Hawaii, I met Pr. Larry Hand, Lutheran Church of the Holy Trinity, Kona. Larry was welcoming and helpful. I honored that he asked me to preach on Sunday, Jan. 15, since he's only been at this call for about six months. I had a long conversation with Larry about how a pastor gets to know a congregation and how to figure out personal and professional boundaries as a pastor. The people at LCHT were so very kind and welcoming; I was blessed to be among them.

Then, of course, the yoga retreat at Kalani Oceanside retreat center, outside of Pahoa on the Hilo side of the island. Folks told me that this is how all of Hawaii looked before the high-rises and over-developed beaches. The Pahoa area is full of windy roads, locally-owned restaurants, and of course, the beautiful grounds of Kalani retreat center. I did a lot of yoga, of course, but I also attended a hula dancing class at Kalani. I learned how to dance the "seaweed" dance, a beautiful hula that reminded me of the Eskimo dancing I've seen in Brevig Mission. The other hulas I saw told stories of nature, of the land and sea, similar to the Alaska Native dances.

I traveled some around the area, too, visiting Volcanoes National Park, a local state park with a lava rock shoreline and a local fruit farm, owned by a fellow yoga student. I saw and tasted fruits I've never tried before: jackfruit, starfruit, rambutans and passionfruit.

When the retreat was over, I felt like I slowed down, slept well, and took time to be with people without rushing. I lost about two pounds, which I'd previously gained during the stressful and junk-food rich season of Christmas.

At the yoga retreat, I was, perhaps, overly anxious about navigating the waters of getting to know people while having to deal with their issues of religion and the church. In the end, I remembered that whatever I do and wherever I go, my primary identity is a baptized child of God.

Back home, I'm resting and (surprisingly) working on another sermon. I'm traveling Jan. 30-Feb. 1 to Everett, WA, for the annual Byberg Preaching Conference. The theme this year is a sort of "preaching lab," where several of us preach and the others critique. More on the assigned text and this sermon in another post!

Light on the yoga sutras

Here at the yoga retreat, we spend a fair amount of time standing on our heads and twisting into pretzels, but we also learn about yoga philosophy. This isn't new to me. I took a class that included a survey of Hinduism in seminary. I studied the Bhagavad Gita and the Yoga Sutras of Patanjali when I trained to become a yoga teacher in 2007. The principles are very interesting and, while originally rooted in the Hindu faith, contain some greater truths.

I remember that it was a bit threatening to me, at first. I wondered if it was okay to dive so deeply into the pantheon of Hindu gods and participate in chanting that included names of their deities. As I've moved through my yoga "career," though, I've found more similarities (and understood the differences) in the two faiths and I'm at peace with being a yoga practitioner and a Lutheran Christian.

Many of my colleagues here at this yoga retreat have no such qualms; as mentioned in the last blog post, many are agnostic or atheist. It hadn't occurred to me that there might be some Christians.

I was sitting at lunch today when a woman about my age sat down next to me. We'd exchanged pleasant conversations earlier in the week but I didn't know her well.

After saying hi, she asked if she could ask a personal question. I said yes. She asked me: "As a Christian, do you ever have a problem with the yoga philosophy and chanting?" I was curious and said, "Why do you ask?" Turns out she's an adult convert to Christianity and has been attending a Four Square church, which I'm guessing is more "conservative" than the average Lutheran church. She had some qualms about yoga philosophy and Christianity.

So I told her my story and told her that over the years I've learned to use the lens of Jesus Christ (hermeneutic!) when I try to apply yoga philosophy to my own life. For example, yoga philosophy speaks of the Ishvara within, which means that something of the divine is inside us. I believe that is true but I call it the Holy Spirit. Other parts of the yoga philosophy don't directly relate to God but how to live. The first yoga sutra speaks about calming the fluctuations of the mind (can't argue with that) as a way to get in touch with the divine within (again, can't argue with that).

I told her that when I hear stories of Shiva and Vishnu and the other deities, I treat them as good stories, like myths, that I might glean a lesson from but don't have to treat literally.

She confessed that she was thinking about going back to school to study biology but was concerned about creation and evolution. Thankfully we just did a study on this at Central last year, so I was prepared!

I told her that I believe in God and evolution. I believe God gave us minds to study science but that all scientists bump up against mystery, which many identify as God.

I talked about the worldview of the people who wrote the Bible (they thought earth was flat on sitting on four posts above a primordial sea) and explained that Lutherans don't believe in a literal interpretation of Scripture.

Here is where we diverged, for she believes in 6 day creation. I didn't talk her out of it; I just listened, though I did offer to get the name of the book we used in Central's study on the topic.

In the end, the conversation turned back to the fact that, as far as we knew, there weren't many Christians here. I told her it was okay, because we can be a witness that Christians are "normal people" and that we can live our faith just by being who we are. Then she thanked me and said, "Your light shines bright." It's a lovely compliment, Christian or not.

Faith stories

It's day four of this yoga retreat in paradise here on the Big Island. There's lots of yoga, ocean views, fresh fruit and time at the pool. I'm doing some reading, too; I'm working on "The Pastor," a memoir by Eugene Peterson (who wrote The Message Bible paraphrase) where he talks about his life and sense of call. It fits in perfectly with my sabbatical theme and I'm enjoying it.

I got to thinking about what to write on this blog this week. I haven't had any more huge Holy Spirit insights, nor am I ready to write a review of Peterson's book (since I'm not finished).

I thought to myself last night: If only I had something new to say about faith stories. Then while I was walking on a garden path alone with sky full of stars overhead, I realized I do have something to say.

Ever since people found out I'm a pastor I've heard a bunch of faith stories. I didn't think to call them that at the time, but that's what people have been telling me all week. It just hadn't occurred to me that they were sacred. But they are, even the tough ones.

I won't give names to my stories and the people who told me them are from all over the nation. None of these stories was solicited by me. I just sat down at breakfast, lunch or dinner and when someone asked me what I did and I told them, this is what they said. They told me their faith stories.

One woman told me she was raised baptist. She even worked for awhile as a youth leader at her church. She gradually begin to question her faith and there was no room in her tradition for those questions. She left the church and no longer believes in God. In fact, she said, every time our yoga teacher mentions "God," she cringes.

A woman told me she was raised Jewish. Almost all of the people on her father's side died at the hands of Hitler. She's a secular Jew now, she says, though she celebrates all the holidays. "They tried to kill us, we survived, let's eat," she said, a phrase that apparently applies to any holiday. She holds an annual Hanukkah party and one year it got so big that she had to hold it in a nearby Lutheran church. The pastor welcomed her in. She said it meant so much to her and that it honored her family members who died, because it was a symbol of unity and respect.

Two other women also were raised Jewish but are secular now. One said her religion was yoga. Another said she liked going out for Chinese on Christmas Day because it was the only restaurant open.

A woman who grew up in a small non-denominational church asked me a number of questions about ministry. She said she thought it was interesting because as she was growing up she had always wanted to be a missionary, but life took a different turn.

There are a few others, but those are the ones that stick with me. Those are their faith stories, told to me with honesty and openness. It reminds me to stay open to the stories yet to come.

Fitting in

After only a two-week hiatus from Lutheran worship, I was truly comforted by getting back to "my people" at the Lutheran Church of the Holy Trinity in Kona. I preached there and lead an adult education forum this past Sunday.

After bopping around Oahu and the Big Island for 3 days by myself, it was like coming home. And it was church the way it speaks to me: liturgy, confession, lectionary, hymns I know, and, best of all, holy communion. My soul said "ahh."

The people of LCHT were gracious and supportive. I received a beautiful lei of orchids to wear and people hugged me like family and thanked me for coming. What's more, there were some Alaskans there! For you Central folks, I ran into Herbert and Kathryn Eckmann, Milf and Eleanor Knutson (well, former Alaskans) and Jonathan Ward. It was good fun to see my people.

So, awash in a Lutheran glow, I headed across the island into not-quite-as-familiar territory. I drove to the Hilo side of the island, dropped off the rental car and met up with fellow yogis taking the shuttle to the Kalani retreat center, about 45 minutes drive away.

The Hilo side is the rainy side and it down-poured along the way. When I arrived, I was surprised at the accomodations. I had expected a resort (based on the price charged and the glowing reviews from acquaintances). What I found instead (still nice, just not what I expected) was a more rustic camp which reminds me of a cross between the Bible camp I worked at in college (EWALU, Strawberry Point, Iowa) and what I imagine Holden Village to be.

The retreat center is a campus in a jungle. The accommodations are very simple, the buildings are older and the trails are muddy and rooted. The focus here is on organic food, sustainability, recycling and community (which I love). It's a spiritual community, which I love too, but I was missing my Lutheran connections already. There really is something special about gathering with fellow Christians. Still, I reminded myself about the spiritual practice of letting go and being open to the experience. One of my sabbatical goals is to allow myself to be surprised.

We are one of several retreat groups meeting here, doing yoga twice a day with plenty of free time in the afternoon to explore and relax. It is beautiful here and I feel myself slowing down.

I'm still a pastor, though, and most people don't know it. When I'm in situations like that, I have some anxiety about how I'll be outed.

So, I was sitting at dinner tonight with a fellow Alaskan who I'd just met. We were on our way to a yoga philosophy class that evening. He mentioned some "philosophy" that he discussed recently while he was "stoned," (his vocabulary). I smiled politely. There was a pause in the conversation and then he said, "So what do you do for a living?"

I smiled just as politely and said I was a Lutheran pastor. I always wonder if this will be a conversation stopper but it was a starter with this one. He was a former Catholic and asked me all kinds of questions about Lutherans, the Reformation and the like. I noticed more than one person at the table leaning in to listen.

It felt good, you know, to just be me.

The Aloha Spirit

I've just returned from lunch and a drive with Larry Hand (pastor at Lutheran Church of the Holy Trinity, Kona) and his lovely wife Janine. This is the second day I've spent the afternoon among fellow preachers and it's good to be back with my people.

I'm in paradise here, of course, but I'm terribly homesick for my husband and I'm not keeping as much of a sabbath pace as I'd envisioned for myself.

I flew into Honolulu Thursday night, got a car, drove to a small motel on Waikiki and settled in for the night. The next day I hiked the Diamond Head Crater, strolled along Waikiki, had lunch near Pearl Harbor, drove to Mililani for an afternoon with Pastor Dave Keiffer at Christ Lutheran Mililani. Then I drove back to the airport, dropped off the car, flew to Kona, drove to the hotel and then had dinner at 10 pm at a lovely seaside restaurant. No wonder I'm tired.

So Pastor Dave was the first of my sabbatical pastor visits. He welcomed me warmly and told me the story of his congregation's partnership with a local pre-school and how he saw God's hand in his call there in Mililani.

We talked a bit about faith stories (Pastor Dave did them as part of stewardship once) and then talked at length about the projector they have mounted on their ceiling and the computer "command station" that runs it. Central people take note: this is slick, easy and professional-looking. I think I'm in love (with the projector). Can we get this done this year? Please?

We also talked some about the culture of Hawaii v. Alaska. There are the similarities I expected (feeling cut-off from the rest of the states, friends becoming family) but also differences. Pastor Dave told me (this was later echoed by Larry) that Hawaii has a fairly religious climate. People go to church and there's a culture of acceptance about it. I'm interested in these differences, especially since I read once that if you're a church-goer who moves to the Pacific Northwest you are likely to go to church less; if you're a non-church-goer who moves to Georgia, you're likely to attend worship more. Place matters.

I think of this a lot in our secular and spiritual-non-religious context of Alaska. Apparently, Hawaii is a different situation. I'm not quite sure how this impacts ministry here but I'm curious.

So, today after a more relaxing morning (slept in, run along a paved trail overlooking the beach, farmers market shopping), I met Pastor Larry and Janine for lunch. They, too, were warm and inviting. I felt particularly grateful that they took so much time to talk with me, drive me around the area a bit and show me around the church. On our drive we saw several ancient Hawaiian religious sites as well as beautiful ocean vistas. We also saw the best places to surf, Larry's past time.

When I asked Larry about my sabbatical themes, faith in daily life, vocation, role of church in modern world, I appreciated how he took the conversation in the direction of discipleship. We talked about Kierkegaard's comment that many admire Christ but not so many wish to follow What does it mean to follow Christ? Leaders in churches must model this for others. This would be a good thing to discuss as a congregation.

Larry had spent 12 years doing interim ministry in one of the Pennsylvania synods. He said that when he went into a new parish, he spent time with them reviewing their history, their stories. They made time lines together that showed the significant events in the life of the congregation and then people added their own experiences with the church and other notable events in the community. By taking the long look, people were able to see how their story fit into the congregation's story, he said, and gave folks a way forward. I also appreciated his comments about how during Bible study we can see how our story fits into God's story. This takes practice!

I'm trying to wind down now, and will look for a place for dinner shortly. I was, in part, so grateful for Larry and Janine's presence today at lunch because I'm weary of eating alone. I've never liked it and I've done it much more on this sabbatical than since I was married.

Tomorrow I preach and lead adult education at the church here in Kona, then it's off to Hilo and the yoga retreat, where I expect the real relaxation to begin.

Lessons learned (so far)

I'm leaving for Hawaii in a few hours, the first of three big travels on sabbatical. The snow falling outside reminds me how starved for sunshine and warmth we all are this time of year (though the skiing has been great).

As I get ready to go, I've been reflecting on what I've learned or thought about so far, in a sabbatical only 11 days old.

1.) I'm nicer. You might think a pastor is always nice. Hardly. In my normal life, I rush around a lot and often don't make time to listen or talk to people, especially when I'm not at church. I noticed in the gym this week that I'm moving slower, holding doors open, asking people how they are doing and actually listening. Last week I spent about 5 minutes answering a woman who asked how to pick out the right running shoe. I'm nicer when I'm moving slower.

2.) I was tired. I don't mean physically, though I have been getting a lot more sleep. I mean I'm emotionally-mentally-spiritually-professionally tired. This is how I know: I was surfing Trinity Presbyterian's website last week before I worshipped there Sunday. It's a great website and I was really excited about some of their wording, ideas and themes. I thought: "Hey, we could incorporate some of their ideas and programming at Central, it would be awesome!" Then I thought about all the work it would take and I promptly wanted to go back to bed and sleep.

3). Don't work. Really. While working on the sermon for the folks at Kona this weekend was energizing, I made another choice this week that wasn't. I attended the AFACT action (public meeting) on Denali KidCare on Monday. I had worked very, very hard on the prep for this meeting but I didn't get to see the Promised Land of actually carrying out it. I wanted to watch the other leaders succeed, though. They did a great job. However, I left feeling frustrated, angry and hopeless. Not at the AFACT folks but at many who testified on the issue and at a state government that (in my opinion) ignores the needs of the working poor and justifies it with a "thin veneer of moral argument," to quote a friend who shall remain nameless. I'm mad and I got hooked and it feels like I had to start over again with the sabbatical rest.

4). I'm a better wife. I've had more time with my husband and I love it. I've been able to take on a few more domestic duties and I've made dinner for him several times. It's nice to be able to give more of myself to our relationship. I'm also nicer, see point one.

It's a good start. I look forward to what I'll learn in Hawaii. I'm not taking a laptop, so I'll only post here when I have access to a public computer. Time to slow down.

A pastor walks into a church...

After spending most Sundays of the past six years standing in front of the church (which doesn't terrify me), I finally had a chance to walk in from the back (which apparently does terrify me).

I chose to attend Trinity Presbyterian in Anchorage on my first Sunday off on sabbatical. I chose Trinity because I'd heard great things about their creativity in worship and music. Also, a friend recommended it (he wasn't there on Sunday, though!) I checked out their website, which was terrific, and got excited to worship with these folks.

But then I had to walk in the door. I went alone and I didn't know anyone and I was intimidated. Though I was welcomed warmly at the door, I sprinted to the bathroom. Why was this so hard?

I didn't see anyone I knew and felt dumb just standing there by myself, so I got a bulletin (another friendly usher) and sat down about halfway on the left. I was early. As people slowly flocked it, I became more terrified that I was going to be in the front, because everyone sat behind me. I felt a palpable relief when a family of three finally sat down a few pews in front.

Now feeling better, I turned my attention away from my self-consciousness and to the place. I haven't been in many Presbyterian churches so I can't say what's normal. But I noticed that there was a cross at the back of the chancel area with a few small stained-glass windows. I also noticed a very small altar along front/right side with purple banners. Purple? The star of the stage was the band, front and center, with keyboard, guitar, drums and two vocalists. There were also three screens up front, which showed song lyrics and images throughout the service.

As I looked around me, the people were mostly white, apparently middle-class. There were elders, middle-aged folks, young families and quite a few children. Many people were in jeans; I might have been overdressed in my business casual clothes.

The band was good, but I didn't know most of the songs. Apparently I wasn't alone because many people didn't sing the first two songs. I didn't either, because though the words were up front, I struggled with the tune. Now I see why many folks at Central insist that the opening hymn be familiar. I felt dumb just standing there!

After the opening songs, we sat down for a children's sermon. The theme for the day was "Freedom," and the woman giving the children's sermon (not the pastor) talked to the kids about self-control. Then the kids went off to "Kid's Church."

Then Pastor Tom Letts appeared, dressed in a purple shirt and tan pants, no vestments or stole. (By the way, most of the leaders were in purple. What lectionary calendar is this? Lutherans are in the green season).

Pastor Tom led us in silent prayer and we sang another song. Then he preached on "Freedom," which is the first in a sermon series called "The Magnificent Seven." He used Galatians 5:1-14 as a primary text. Images and words appeared on the screen as he preached and the deliver was extemporaneous. He made a great deal of eye contact and moved around.

The main theme was, of course, freedom. He talked about finding freedom from guilt, self and fear. We saw a clip of "Braveheart," where William Wallace takes a stand against the British. He finished the sermon with two "absolute truths," which were: make a stand (don' t run away from fear, pain and guilt) and never make a stand alone. To emphasize this point, he asked everyone to stand and move into a tight group in the center where we stayed for the rest of the service. Again, I felt a bit uncomfortable but I think I wasn't the only one. We stayed there for another song (I'll Fly Away-- well done), offering, announcements and a closing blessing.

After worship, I went to the banner in the narthex that said: "7 minute party," where I learned from the bulletin that new people were supposed to go to meet a member and get a goody-bag. I received a small bag with chocolates and brochures about Trinity. See photo to the left.

Then I ran into the mother of a good friend and visited with her. Finally, I met Pastor Tom and "outed" myself as a fellow clergy (and a fellow Lilly Endowment recipient - Tom leaves for sabbatical in April). I felt much more comfortable after the service, though I think it was because I was able to find people to talk with.

As for the service itself, I found the theology very consistent with a Lutheran understanding of God's grace that comes undeserved. A seminary professor once said, "Did Jesus have to die for you to preach this sermon?" Jesus did have to die for Tom's sermon and it had a good take-home message.

As a good Lutheran, though, I missed the liturgy. I also missed having a more complete reading of scripture. There was only one scripture reading instead of the slate of lectionary texts I've come to appreciate. There was also no mention of the Baptism of Jesus (the festival for Jan. 8) or the liturgical season of Epiphany. And while the praise band did a good job, it isn't my favorite music. I had the sense that this style of worship is a bit "performance-based" rather than participatory.

I also really missed the Eucharist. I asked someone after the service about it and learned communion is distributed the first Sunday of every month. I felt incomplete as I left worship.

I'm not sure if the differences I noted are Presbyterian or Trinity specific. Even though some parts of the service came up short (for me), I appreciate what Trinity is doing. The people were friendly and welcoming (not scary as I'd feared) and the theology is mainline and gospel-centered. We need more of this kind of Christian voice in Anchorage!

We come bearing gifts

Today is Epiphany, the end of the Christmas season and a date that commemorates the Magi's visit to the Christ child. In honor of the day, I took down our small Christmas tree, put away the Christmas cards and then cleaned the house for good measure.

I really like this season in the church year, since the texts are ones that celebrate the light of Christ and the way Christ is revealed (made manifest!) in our world. Of course I won't actually be in church all of the time, but part of my sabbatical is on how we see Christ in our world.

I also like this season because in Alaska, a little more light each week makes a big difference. I've already noticed that it's not pitch dark anymore at 5 pm and the light creeps in a little earlier each morning.

I saw my spiritual director yesterday. She's a lovely woman who listens well and offers well-timed insights. She asked me what I took away from yesterday's session. I told her it was all about gifts.

I've spent so much time thinking about and being amazed by what a gift this sabbatical is to me. I feel so thankful, so blessed, so fortunate, so gifted. She reminded me that as I travel, I will be a gift to others. In fact, that's really the entire point of being gifted in the first place. It may sound funny, but that had not occurred to me in connection with the sabbatical.

On this Epiphany day, that's my meditation. I have received so many gifts. I will (somehow, God-willing) be a gift to others.

It's your call

After a long lunch with a dear friend, I'm spending Day 4 of my sabbatical working on a sermon.

This sounds wrong, of course. And I thought at first it would be but things have a way of working out.

I'm preaching Sunday, Jan. 15 at Trinity Lutheran in Kona, Hawaii. My intention was merely to worship with this congregation, since I'll be on the Big Island for a week for a yoga retreat and they are the only ELCA congregation on the whole island.

When I emailed the pastor to invite him to lunch and give him a heads up on my visit, he immediately invited me to preach. I hesitated. This is supposed to be my sabbatical, people! But I said yes because it's my default value.

Then this week I started working on the sermon. And wouldn't you know it? The text invites me deeper into some of the very questions I took this sabbatical to ponder.

The text is from John 1:43-51, where Jesus calls Phillip and Nathanael to be disciples. Phillip, apparently, was an easy sell, but Nathanael not so much. Nathanael asks a skeptics question, "Can anything good come out of Nazareth?" Instead of chiding him for his doubts, Phillip simply response, "Come and see."

Then, Nathanael meets Jesus and is impressed that Jesus recognized him from before. Nathanael responds by praising Jesus and following him. Later in John's gospel, this same disciple will witness the resurrected Jesus on the beach.

This story is part of Nathanael's faith journey (we can only guess at the rest) and is his call story. That's exactly what I'm reflecting on during sabbatical: faith stories and call stories. Phillip became a way that God's grace was revealed to Nathanael on his faith journey.

My premise is that getting in touch with our faith story can equip us to share our faith others and to invite them to "come and see," whether we use words or not. For believers, we are such because someone told us. How else could we know?

What do you think? Who shared their faith with you? How did they do it?

PS: Thanks to http://freechristimages.org/biblestories/jesus_calls_his_first_disciples.htm for the beautiful painting above.

Today is the first day...

Today is the first day of the rest of my sabbatical.

It was supposed to be yesterday but I went into the office (no one else was there!) to clean out my email and clean up my desk. It's a tedious task but it sure felt better. My husband made me promise that if I did go in yesterday that I would not go back until April. He's right, of course, but it feel strange to be sitting here at home typing instead of in my office. Perhaps I'll get used to it.

For those who missed it, the sabbatical sending and blessing happened at the end of worship Sunday, Jan. 1. The service was led by the college students and young adults at Central, but I presided at the communion table.

The college youth shared a skit about Simeon and Anna visiting the infant Jesus in the temple (from Luke 2) and Youth and Family Minister Luis Ochoa shared a faith story. Luis talked about how he felt God's presence this past summer when his sister-in-law died suddenly and his wife struggled with a difficult pregnancy.

During the sabbatical blessing, members of my mutual ministry committee and the incoming/outgoing church council presidents led the liturgy. There was also a call and response reading with the congregation. We promised to pray for one another. I gave Central a candle to light during services when I am gone and I took an identical (smaller) one and it's sitting in our house.

After worship and many hugs as people left the sanctuary, we gathered in the narthex for brunch.

It's hard to describe my feelings. I'm so overwhelmed with gratitude for the support Central has shown me. I miss people already! Yet this feels like the right thing to do at the right time, a sort of "kairos" moment, to borrow a theological phrase.

One of the books I read to prepare for sabbatical said that pastors should expect to be surprised by what happens on sabbatical. The point is that you can't prepare for the experiences and insights you might gain. So, on this first day of the rest of my sabbatical, I'm starting to slow down and wonder how and where God might surprise me.

Sabbatical!

It's almost time. I've been given an incredible gift: a three-month sabbatical from my work at Central Lutheran. My last Sunday is this one, January 1. I return in time for Passion/Palm Sunday, April 1 (no fooling).

Though I know Sabbath is biblical (a commandment, even!) it goes against my Midwest farm work ethic. My great-grandfather had a saying, "Boys, while you're resting, why don't you chop some wood?" This sentiment prevailed in my growing up years.

Yet I feel a deep desire to change gears, to reflect and study, to slow down and to reconnect with my other vocations of wife, daughter, sister and friend. And so it is time.

Over the coming months I'll be posting about my adventures, thoughts and experiences on the sabbatical. My theme for the sabbatical is faith stories, faith in daily life and vocation. I want to learn more about the stories of the faithful men and women in my own family. I will talk with other pastors about how congregations can be places that encourage members in their vocations and seeing God in daily life.

I'll also do things that "make my heart sing," which was the theme of the Lilly Endowment Clergy Renewal Grant, which Central was awarded (thanks be to God!) I'll travel to Hawaii for a yoga retreat with a beloved teacher, spend time hiking and playing in New Zealand with my husband and travel to Iowa to visit family and friends. I will also spend weekends cross-country skiing here in Alaska, reading, writing, praying, running and catching up on projects at home.

I'm thankful to the people of Central Lutheran who have supported me along the way and thankful to YOU who read this blog.

To your good (mental) health

This happens to me all too frequently. I hear something interesting on the radio while driving (usually on public radio) and I can't remember who said it on what program on which day.

Still, a snapshot heard this weekend has stuck with me.

The reporter was interviewing an expert on mental health after traumatic events. The context was the trauma suffered by those in Haiti. The grief, of course, is overwhelming. The people of Haiti have lost loved ones, friends, limbs, property, homes and so much more. One is left to wonder, asked the reporter, how these people can survive with thier mental health intact.

The person being interviewed, suggested three ways. First, spirituality and/or a connection to something beyond and greater than the self. Second, doing productive work. Third, helping others. He went on to say the biggest mistake rescue teams make is to do all the work and not allow those in country to serve as they can. The human need to help others is basic, deep and necessary to our own ability to survive and thrive.

As I listened to this, I thought about these three things as a foundation for the mental health of everyone, not just those suffering an acute trauma. After all, grief and loss touch us all. We may not be actively grieving but to deny our grief and loss is to deny our humanity. We all need a spiritual connection, productive work and the opportunity to help others. In this way, we too not only survive but thrive.

On Christmas Eve Day

The good thing about having two pastors on staff is that I only preach every other Sunday...and every other Christmas Eve. It's Glenn's turn this year.

Still, I find myself pondering (like Mary, but not really) all these things in my heart.

The other day, while driving about on Christmas shopping and grocery errands, I caught a segment of a public radio story about rebuilding schools in New Orleans. The reporter reminded us that many schools still are not rebuilt after Hurricane Katrina, more than 4 years ago. The story featured (and celebrated) one newly built.

I was thinking how I hear things differently once I've been to a place. I spent a week in New Orleans with high school youth this summer. We did Bible study and church and all that, but we also took a tour of the Lower 9th Ward and other ravaged places. We spent more than four hours pulling weeds and re-setting fallen gravestones in the mostly African-American Holt cemetary.

So, I've been there. And now I hear about that place differently.

Have you noticed this? It's not like, as people of faith, we don't care when we hear news stories, good or bad, about places like Honduras, Gaza, Bagram or Detroit. But if you've been there, everything is different. There's a level of knowing not attained by reading or hearing stories alone.

There's something, then, to Christ coming to Earth in human flesh. It's not so much that God needed to know what it was like to be human. Since God's knowing surpassed our own, I think God could have understood the human experience just fine from a distance. But perhaps God knew that we needed to know that God knows. Because he's been here.

And now, we can hear differently.

The Visitor

Well, I sure hate to pat ourselves on the back too much. I am a Mid-west raised Lutheran, after all. But the review of Central by church visitor Chris Thompson in an Anchorage Daily news blog is too good not to share. Bottom line: Lutherans can be warm and fuzzy. Who knew?

Read here:
http://community.adn.com/adn/node/145236

Suffering, if one dares to speak of it

I'm slightly shocked to find myself writing, blogging and musing on the texts for this coming Sunday...especially since it's only Tuesday. Truly, I'm more of a write-the-sermon-during-Garrison-Keillor kind of girl, but somehow this week I'm early.

And, as is the case lately, another tough, challenging passage from Mark (10:35-45) that reminds me that, like those early disciples, sometimes I just don't get it.

Or maybe I DO get it and that's the hard part. The last few weeks have included heart-warming texts like "poke out your eye if it causes you to sin" and "sell all you have, give the money to the poor" and don't forget "those who would be great must be servant of all." Let me tell you, this stuff does not sell.

This week's text from Mark is the one where James and John argue, with no little irony, about who would sit at Jesus' right and left hand in his glory. I guess they missed the point that Jesus glory was his cross and those spots ended up in the hands of thieves. It reminds me of a joke I heard where a sick priest in DC asked to see two prominent politicians on his death bed (insert politicians of your choice here). When they arrive and held his hands, one asked why those two were summoned. The priest responded he wanted to emulate his Lord Jesus Christ in every way, even dying between two lying theives.

Anyway, turns out what I'm really thinking about isn't theives or the cross or even the Mark text. I'm actually thinking about the Hebrews reading for this week, Hebrews 5:1-10.

This is the one about Jesus being a super-great high priest, even better than Melchizdek (whoever he was) and that Jesus, as high priest, suffered and became our eternal salvation.

Verse 8 has caught my attenion: "Although he was a Son, he learned obedience through what he suffered."

A Bible commentator I read somewhere said there's a Greek word play here that's lost in translation. Learned is "emathen" and suffered is "epathen" and in the Greek they're closer together in the sentence.

It made me wonder what is learned through suffering. For Jesus, obedience, but what of us? We may learn submission to God, but I'd suggest we also learn. A lot. And then our suffering becomes available for empathy (from epathen), literally, "suffer with." I've noticed I'm often better suited to accompany a hurting person if I've actually been through a similar situation.

What do we learn from suffering?

Is all suffering redemptive?

If not, is it just pointless, empty, meaningless pain? (And why would God permit that anyway?)

And, to carry it further, do those who live as middle class residents of this country even understand what it means to suffer? Suffering is not a plunge in your 401 (k) or noticing that your cable TV line has gone out.

Well, this might be beyond the scope of this post. Others have written volumes on these sorts of theodicy questions.

And I'm still working on my sermon.

So for now, I'll note that at least Jesus' suffering was redemptive. He did learn something. Maybe it was obedience (another loaded word in our time) or maybe it was about the freedom that comes when there's no where else to turn and we are welcomed into the arms of mystery.

Diplomacy

I heard a public radio story about Madeleine Albright, former SU Secretary of State, the other day. NPR fans may have heard it, too. The inteview highlighted her new book, Read My Pins and discussed how Albright used pins to suggest her mood or make small talk with foreign diplomats.

Though the stories of pins were interesting, there were two other comments that struck me most.

Albright said that a US president, in foreign relations, must be confident, not certain. Now, to be fair, she was comparing the past US president to the current officeholder. Regardless of your poliitical persuasion, the contrast between confidence and certainty is interesting.

I'd like to use her contrast to think about faith or even the role of a disciple of Christ. I think it does take a certain amount of confidence to be a follower of Jesus in a world (and state like Alaska) that is pretty foreign -- and skeptical -- of religion. Confidence works, certainty tanks. It's too arrogant, doesn't make way for doubt and leaves others behind.

So I'm considering how to live as a confident follower of Jesus, not a certain one.

Albright's second point perhaps needs no explanation. She was discussin relgion and said it's like a knife. You can use it to stab someone in the back or use it to cut bread.

The choice, of course, is yours.

Humility and greatness

I was thinking about humility all last week.

The word didn't directly appear in the lectionary, but came twice near the passage from James. Now I'm not really the kind of girl who quotes James, but I am interested in this idea of humility. Here's what James says in 4:6 “God opposes the proud but gives grace to the humble," verse 10 continues: "humble yourselves before the Lord and he will exalt you.”

The rest of the James passage in the lectionary asks the question of true wisdom verses the wisdom of the world. I keep thinking about what it means to really be humble. Am I humble? Do I know someone who is? Do you?

I don't think God asks us to be a doormat. But I also don't think we ought to work so hard on our humility that we're proud of it.

I read someone else's blog last week that said humility means you have enough self-worth that you don't have to put others down. I like that.

It seems we're lacking this virture in the public realm lately: Joe Wilson's outburst at a joint session of congress, Serena Williams cussing out a line judge and Kanye West grabbing the mic way from another award winner at an MTV awards show. I used these examples in my sermon last Sunday and then added: I can't believe I just said "Kanye West" from the pulpit.

Anyway, I feel like we're losing something as a culture, whether it be humility or just simple human decency. Why is it so hard to be kind?

I tied this talk of humility into Jesus message in last week's gospel (Mark 9:30-37) about the question of who is the greatest. The disicples argue about it, then get emabarrased when Jesus asks about thier conversation.

Jesus doesn't reprimand them, just grabs a little child (a person of no status in Jesus' time) places it on his lap and says, "welcome this one and you welcome me." And of course the reverse is true. Jesus words are about radical hospitality, not some pastoral image of Jesus loving the little children.

I was thinking of all the people Jesus would put on his lap today to make us see what it means to welcome people of low status. Anyone we think beneath us sits securely in Jesus' arms.

The good news, of course, is that we rest there too.

ELCA Assembly, better late than never

I'm referring to my comments on the subject, not on the assembly itself. Anyone who reads this blog likely already knows that the ELCA in August voted to allow congregations who choose to bless and publicly acknowledge same-gender, monogamous, publicly-accountable relationships and to call similar clergy if they so choose.

There have been many wonderful, creative, inspiring things written on the subject, as well as comments motivated by fear, malice and just some pure stupidity. I'll hope to err closer to the former. Here's my sermon at Central, preached the Sunday after the assembly vote. The sermon, from August 23, 2009, is based on the lectionary from that week, John 6:56-69, where Jesus says some hard words about eating his flesh and drinking his blood. Some turn away from following him; the road is just too hard. Jesus asks if others want to leave. Peter responds, in words we know from liturgy: "Lord to whom shall we go? You have the words of eternal life."

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In our text today, those who hear Jesus speak of eating his flesh and drinking his blood have difficulty with his teaching. This is a continuation of last week’s text. Remember? These phrases of flesh eating and blood drinking were particularly offensive to the Jews and, since they lived before the days of Holy Communion, they were not just offended but downright confused. Our text today tell us, a la Paul Harvey, The Rest of the Story.

After Jesus finishes his disturbing sermon, those assembled grumble and say: “This teaching is difficult; who can accept it?” The Greek here is skleros logos, a hard word, who can akouo, hear, it? A hard word. Jesus speaks a hard word. Or, perhaps, using the beginning of John’s Gospel (the Word was God and the Word was with God), maybe Jesus is the hard word. Either way, we disciples are left to deal with a hard word.

We are not strangers to hard words. Jesus has quite a few. Sell all you have and give it to the poor, pray for those who persecute you, love your enemies, forgive, follow me and, perhaps the hardest: love one another.

We are not strangers to hard words in our lives as well. Some represent life’s challenges (I’m going to issue a citation, you didn’t make the team, I think you’re an alcoholic) and some are very bad news (the cancer has returned, we’re getting a divorce, he died.) For some this week, the bad news was: It’s time for school!

I also want to address a couple of news items that were, for some, a hard word. Sometimes, a hard word for one might be good word for another. For example, Mayor Dan Sullivan vetoed an anti-discrimination act for the municipality of Anchorage. In the same week, our ELCA Churchwide Assembly met in Minneapolis and took the first steps toward recognizing same-gender, committed, life-long, publicly accountable relationships. Hard words? I want to note that no matter what side of the debate you find yourself, these words are still hard because as Christians we are mandated to love our brothers and sisters in Christ, no matter how wrong we think they are. More on that later.

Back to Jesus and our gospel story. Note what happens after Jesus speaks these hard words to those gathered at the synagogue in Capernaum. Some grumble. Jesus acknowledges that not all believe and that one will betray him. And then it happens: many disciples turned back and did not follow him any longer.

Why did they turn back? They had seen many signs, miracles like the feeding of the 5000, Jesus walking on water and the healing of the sick. Did Jesus words get too tough for them? Was he asking for too much of a commitment? Were those disciples just bored? Was it too inconvenient for them? Why did they turn back?

Notice Jesus’ reaction to their departure. He does not condemn them for leaving. He does not beg those remaining to stay steadfast. He does not back down from a hard word. He simply asks if anyone else would like to go away. Peter speaks up first. I can almost hear him singing the words: “Lord to whom shall we go? You have the words of eternal life.” Peter adds: “We have come to believe and know that you are the Holy One of God.”

It’s another example of the upside-down, topsy-turvy nature of the Gospel, like the last becoming first and a king who gets crucified. The hard word is the word of eternal life.

But for some it’s too much. The word is too hard, the cost is too high. And for us? Do we shy from the hard words of Jesus? Would we prefer a Jesus of lambs and rainbows instead of one that asks us to risk loving the stranger or give of our time, talents and possessions? Do we sometimes turn away from the tough parts of Christianity, rather than remaining by Jesus’ side?

Yes. But, of course, our shortcomings are never the end of the story. It’s not our story anyway. It’s God’s, of course.

And God’s story, when we can muster it, looks something like this (point to the altar). God’s story has something to do about coming to the table (at Holy Communion) and then staying at the table with each other, even while hard words are spoken and even when we don’t agree. God’s story also has something to do with wrapping us in boundless love and mercy as we struggle love each other.

Earlier I mentioned the words spoken and decisions made at the ELCA Churchwide Assembly regarding same-sex monogamous relationships. I want to be clear. You are all welcome to agree or disagree with anything the Churchwide office says. It is not the core of what we believe. The message of Jesus Christ, born, crucified and dead will always be the most important Word. So, you can still stay at the table, even if the word is hard. You need not turn away.

I want to be clear on this point, too. There is life in hard words. There is life in staying in relationship and conversation with each other. There is life in loving your neighbor even if you don’t agree with him. There is always life in choosing love over hatred or judgment or fear of something that is different from you.

I want to end not with Churchwide business but with you. Where is the hard word for you? What is the hard word for Central? Who is God inviting us to love? How is Jesus asking us to follow? May we hear the words, remain close to Jesus and stay at the table with our brothers and sisters in Christ. Amen.