Why now?

I'm really close to the one year anniversary from the last time I posted on this blog. What does that say about me?

Well, it could say that I have the attention span of many others of my generation. I can't seem to find the focus and discipline to post consistently. Oh look, a squirrel...

Or it could say I am too busy to pay enough attention to this. But that's not really true.

What I think it says is that I am struggling to know what is important and what is not important. I find myself not writing enough - period. I faithfully prepare sermons that our outline driven. I write the periodic newsletter article. I write emails to communicate big and little things. I want to be passionate about writing, but I find too many passions vie for too little time.

It's an interesting life I lead - trying to be a dad, husband, pastor, Navy chaplain, soccer referee, and the list goes on and on. So much to do and so little time.

Do I need one more commitment? I'm not sure, but maybe I have to try...

Loss and Salvation

Last Friday morning we made an unexpected trip to the vet. The night before I noticed that our always petite cat, Snitch, was looking more emaciated than petite and wasn't acting like herself - aloof as that may have been. There was a 2 hour delay that morning, so the kids and I went together to the vet. In the back of my mind was the reality of the situation. I knew, I think, what this morning would bring, but I still wasn't prepared for it.

When Dr. Megan came back with the lab results and gave us a grim prognosis, the reality hit us all. My daughter - the smartest almost ten year old I know - understood all too easily what we were going to have to do. All three of us cried together as we sat together in the exam room saying goodbye to our 5.5 year old prissy little furball.

Several times now I've wondered at the absurdity of saying goodbye to someone(thing) for the absolute last time. I've done it with ill people I have encountered in ministry. Words failed me as I handed Snitch over to Dr. Brooks. It was an entirely surreal moment to know she would soon be gone. She wasn't going to sit on the back of our couch anymore. She wasn't going to walk above our heads in bed while she looked for Sydney again. She wasn't going to carry the little, stuffed, pink guinea pig around in her mouth while she whined for the girl who wasn't home.

The reality of the situation only started to sink in as we drove home; Sydney crying, Cole quiet, me on the edge of tears, Laurel on her way to meet us at home.
As I went on to Facebook for the ever popular request-by-status for prayers and announcement of our loss, I encountered a friend's timely status about the loss of beloved pets.

in Christ God was reconciling the world to himself,1 not counting their trespasses against them, and entrusting the message of reconciliation to us. (2 Corinthians 5:19 NRSV)

The next day I saw a link to the church sign argument over whether there are pets in heaven - including the claim that pets have no soul.

In this time of pain - watching my daughter struggle - I was reminded of a God who acts not as we understand, but as God chooses to act.

I could join the argument to try to define what God will do, or I could accept that God is going to do what we are unable to fully comprehend in this life. God claimed and reconciled the whole world - not just what we want God to claim and reconcile.

I choose not to worry about what will happen in the afterlife in regards to Snitch (or Jinx and Dribble who preceded her). I choose to trust that God is caring for all of us - the whole world. I choose to watch for that love in the face of my daughter as she learns to live with only one cat in the house. I choose to remember that nothing will separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus. That's all I need to know about what comes later.

Road Trip

I'm writing a day later than my plan because I didn't have a good chance to think and post last night. I was busy enjoying a weekend at Ocean City with 500 youth and adults of the Delaware-Maryland Synod. It was a really energizing (and tiring - how do you like that paradox?) weekend of leading a small group, spending time with Zion kids (always a good thing), and experiencing way more hip hop than my comfort can handle.

I'm reminded of my recent experience with Tiger McLuen in which I was told that many adults are no longer "hip, cool, and relevant." If I had doubted Tiger (which I hadn't), this weekend proved his point. Do I like hip hop? Nope, never have. Yes, I have listened happily to the occasional catchy song (Gangsta's Paradise comes to mind) but I don't make a habit of listening to it. In fact I retreated to classical music and Les Mis when hip hop began to dominate pop music in the late 80's and early 90's.

I did learn a few important things this weekend (other than my rapid aging - reinforced this morning when Kurt Cobain was referenced during a message and a high schooler leaned over to me and said, "Who's Kurt Cobain?).

1. No matter if you like the music or not, worship with 500 people - especially when they're mostly under the age of 18 - is fun and meaningful.

2. Despite evidence to the contrary, young people crave relationships with each other and adults who care about them. They can learn to seek "radical friendships" that mean more than how many friends you can amass on Facebook.

3. Nothing can separate us from the love of Christ. NOTHING. And with that power comes great responsibility.

I really didn't mind listening to Agape all weekend as I was able to enjoy some very deep songs and a creative way to spread the gospel. I even enjoyed looking completely ridiculous attempting to dance. The best part of it all was knowing that for at least one weekend, each of those 500 people knew that God would hear them rejoice (and again I say rejoice). And maybe, just maybe we'll be able to find that joy in the regular world, Aight?

Biblical illiteracy

In order to avoid the chance of preaching my colleague into a corner, I chose to preach only on the first half of tomorrow's Gospel reading. It is the introduction of Jesus by John in which he declares,

Here is the Lamb of God who takes away the sin of the world! (John 1:29)

I'm not preaching on the second half of the assigned reading in which John records the account of Jesus calling his first disciples.

Since I'm not preaching on that half of the reading, and because next week we'll hear Matthew's version of the "same" event, we chose to only read through verse 37. It's an interesting quandary. It seems counter-intuitive, but perhaps it is more effective to read less of the Bible in worship (while trying to include the variety of the lectionary offerings) than to continue to include as many as 4 readings each week. In a world that has become dependent on Facebook and Twitter, the volume of readings in a worship service seems to make engagement a challenge.

The lectionary was created to introduce breadth to our experience with the Bible. It's a good idea, but maybe it isn't going to make a difference in a culture that depends on sound bytes. I fear we lose the intended audience after 3 or 4 sentences. This is not to suggest that people are incapable of engaging, but we are conditioned to move way to fast for our own good. Perhaps biblical breadth is more effectively created by daily engagement in the Word rather than depending on Sunday morning worship. Of course that's easier said than done as well...

I'm a delinquent rambler...

Going almost a year without writing here is perhaps far beyond delinquent. It occurred to me today that I no longer write anything of any depth. I've recently moved to crafting sermons in outline form rather than manuscript form which means I'm making progress on more casual, conversational sermons. But I'm writing much less. It's not necessarily a "problem" at this point, but I've always had a love affair with the concept of writing - not necessarily the actuality of writing. I fear that if I don't begin writing somewhere, I'll never develop any skill in it.

So, I'm going to try to develop a discipline of writing. For now, this will be the outlet. Who knows where my efforts will lead me...

I'll start simply tonight and offer a brief commentary on the events of the day. Diana Butler Bass has called out preachers across the country to figure out how the tragic events in Arizona (the shooting of Rep. Giffords and others) intersect with the celebration of Jesus' baptism. I'm not one to completely rewrite a sermon on Saturday night. It will make me extremely uncomfortable - and not in a good way.

Perhaps I will try to craft an introduction to the sermon that draws the congregation's attention to the events of the nation in light of what I'm about to say about baptism...I don't know.

What I'm thinking about the connection between inexcusable and inexplicable violence and baptismal theology is that I fear we may never understand the true nature of God's grace. I attended a training this morning in anticipation of a youth event that focuses on our response to the foundation of our lives: that we are loved completely and unconditionally by a God who chose to save us despite of ourselves. I wish we could somehow convince the world that we are dependent on God and each other, not ourselves.

God claimed us as children. That should be our identity; not our political party affiliation. Our outlook on the world should be filled with the grace that God shows to us.

What We Do Matters

I don't intend to do this often, but I am particularly proud of the sermon I preached today in chapel, so I'm posting it as my blog. This week is the "Days of Remembrance" in memory of the Holocaust. I'll warn you, it's not a pleasant or remotely happy sermon, but it is what needed to be said (in my humble opinion).

First of all, I’m sorry. The theme of our worship today perhaps isn’t what you were looking for when you came to chapel. There is a mantra I’m sure some of you have heard that our job as spiritual leaders is to comfort the afflicted and afflict the comfortable. At this point in the semester, with almost exactly one month to go – for some of us it’s one month until the end of our studies on the ridge – we are feeling afflicted. We are beginning to push toward the end of the semester as final projects loom on the horizon. I certainly feel some level of affliction when I think of the work in front of me. Unfortunately I don’t intend to bring words of comfort to our affliction today.

I can’t bring words of comfort when we are confronted with the reality of the Holocaust. We are confronted with stories and images of horrific acts of violence. The affliction I felt over a few papers to write starts to seem really meaningless. The struggles of balancing work and school and family feel less like a burden and more like a blessing. My family and I live in safety and comfort compared to what confronts us today. I’m free to work as I choose and study in freedom, unlike those who suffered unimaginable oppression.

I want to explore what this task of remembrance means for us. What is it we are supposed to do with the stories we encounter about the worst acts of horror in the modern era, and arguably of all of history? You can see the theme we have been given for today. “What You Do Matters”. I know, all of us who are immersed in Lutheran theology just cringed a little bit. The phrase, “what we do matters” puts us on edge when we hear echoes of the Book of Concord in our minds. “Likewise, they teach that human beings cannot be justified before God by their own powers, merits, or works.” (BoC, 39) “I believe that by my own understanding or strength I cannot believe in Jesus Christ my Lord or come to him…” (BoC, 355) We are conditioned to remember that it isn’t what we do, but it is what God does. What we do doesn’t matter when it comes to salvation – but what about our response to the world.

With that in mind, we are confronted with the reality of the Holocaust and we are left wondering what it means for us. Yes, we can trust in Article 4 of the Augsburg Confession when it comes to what God has done for us in regard to salvation, but we also can’t forget Article 6, “they teach that this faith is bound to yield good fruits and that it ought to do good works commanded by God…” (BoC, 41) Like our theme tells us, “What we Do Matters.” We are not left to lounge around in the comfort of justification while the world around us is dying. We have to deal with reality. We have to deal with the world as it is.

I have an image for you to consider. Some of you have probably seen this picture before – I know I saw it in a class, but I can’t recall which one – it was at least two years ago. It has haunted me ever since. This part of the picture isn’t so hard to see. We can look at this picture and make it be what we want it to be. We can think perhaps it is a picture of a mother comforting her child. Perhaps it is a picture of a long awaited reunion. Perhaps there is much joy in the embrace. We can try to think of it this way, but then we have to deal with reality.

This is the reality of what we are confronting today. This is the reality of the Holocaust. We aren’t permitted to run from this and hide in a motherly embrace. We are confronted with reality – with horror. And we are confronted with the need to do something.

This image tells us part of the story of the Holocaust. What I found about this picture is that it tells a story of the Einsatzgruppe – the mobile killing squads that carried out the murder of innocents. This reportedly comes from the Ukraine in 1942. That’s the literal story of this particular picture, but it tells us much more. It is the story of what the cross means for us in a world mired in guilt and sin. This is the story of the world in which we live. It is the story of the world that God went to the cross to save, and it is the story of the continued existence of the cross and the crucified Christ. In this image we have a glimpse of where Jesus continues to be crucified.

Our reading from John tells us of the conversation between Jesus and Peter. Jesus asks a simple question, “Do you love me?” and follows it up with a command. Peter’s reply that he does love Jesus isn’t enough. Jesus follows it up with 3 variations on a theme. “Feed my sheep.” Do something about it. Loving Jesus isn’t enough. We are commanded to respond to that love and care for those who are afflicted. It would be far easier to not act. It’s not that hard to profess our love for God. It would be easier to lament this as an act of evil and not see the whole story. But this is where Christ is. This is where Christ remains and we are called to be there with him. The cross of Christ brings us to this place. This is where we see God at work in the world. Not simply in the motherly embrace, but the motherly embrace at the brink of ultimate sacrifice, the motherly embrace in the midst of tragic death. But seeing Christ in this is not enough. We are told to tend the sheep and that means more than simple recognition – more than simply naming evil for what it is.

Let me offer a quick disclaimer that I haven’t had the opportunity to read any of Stanley Hauerwas’ writings. I wasn’t even able to see his lecture when he was on campus a few years ago. But I did encounter something he said in an interview that I want to share. He says,

“[W]hat is the deep problem? The deep problem of Christian non-violence is: you must be willing to watch innocent people suffer for your convictions…In the hard cases, it means it’s not just your death, it’s watching other people die, whom you might have been able to defend. Now of course, you want to try to do everything you can that would prevent that alternative. But you may have to envision that. (http://cruciality.wordpress.com/2009/04/18/stanley-hauerwas-on-patriotism-pacifism-and-just-warriors/)

I just can’t get on board with his take on what our calling is. I can’t look at what is happening in this picture and think it is my place to simply claim it is wrong and respond only with non-violence. I’ll admit it, I’m biased. I’ve made the decision to minister to and with those who have made the decision to fight for what they believe to be right. I’ve made the decision that my response to this kind of violence is not to watch it happen and simply name it for what it is. For me, the fight is to overcome the oppression as we are able – to work for those who are oppressed. Naming is important. We can do much for the world’s violence by naming it for what it is. But Jesus commands us to do more. He commands us to feed his sheep and follow him.

Following Jesus brings us to the realities of crucifixion. That reality isn’t easy. Elie Wiesel, a survivor of the Holocaust Tells another story of the Holocaust,

One day, when we came back from work, we saw three gallows rearing up in the assembly place, three black crows. Roll call. SS all around us, machine guns trained: the traditional ceremony. Three victims in chains – and one of them, the little servant, the sad-eyed angel.

The SS seemed more preoccupied, more disturbed than usual. To hang a young boy in front of thousands of spectators was no light matter. The head of the camp read the verdict. All eyes were on the child. He was lividly pale, almost calm, biting his lips. The gallows threw it’s shadow over him.

This time the Lagerkapo refused to act as executioner. Three SS replaced him.

Three victims mounted together onto the chairs.

The three necks were placed at the same moment within the nooses.

“Long live liberty!” cried the two adults.

But the child was silent.

“Where is God? Where is He?” someone behind me asked.

At a sign from the head of the camp, the three chairs tipped over.

Total silence throughout the camp. On the horizon, the sun was setting.

“Bare your heads!” yelled the head of the camp. His voice was raucous. We were weeping.

“Cover your heads!”

Then the march past began. The two adults were no longer alive. Their tongues hung swollen, blue-tinged. But the third rope was still moving: being so light, the child was alive…

For more than half an hour he stayed there, struggling between life and death, dying in slow agony under our eyes. And we had to look him full in the face. He was still alive when I passed in front of him. His tongue was still red, his eyes were not glazed.

Behind me, I heard the same man asking: “Where is God now?”

And I heard a voice within me answer him: “Where is He? Here He is – He is hanging here on this gallows…”

That night the soup tasted of corpses. (Liturgies on the Holocaust, 57)

We are witness to the crucifixion – every day. In stories such as this we are confronted with the reality of suffering and God’s response. God is suffering there in each of the 6 million deaths of innocents. We see the presence of God revealed in the midst of all of the suffering and violence of our world.

I hope and pray that in our lives in ministry we don’t face anything like that, although genocide is still happening in various forms around the world today. What we face may not be as grand a scale, but it is a reality for any setting. In the last calendar year of my service to a small town parish I have encountered much more than I expected. Of course there were the unexpected, sudden deaths of those who had long lives, but still seemed to die too soon. But the community has also experienced the suicide of an elderly man who was more depressed than anyone imagined – found by his son. Just a few weeks ago, a four year-old boy was killed in an ATV accident – and was found by his father. And almost exactly one year ago, 3 young children and their mother were murdered by their father/husband, who then killed himself. All this in less than one year.

I can name this suffering for what it is. It is the reality of sin and brokenness. It is the continued reality of crucifixion. It is the continued suffering of a broken world. Yes we are now after Easter. We can say our Alleluias and celebrate the reality of the Resurrection, but we are celebrating the reality of a Christ who was resurrected as our crucified Lord. He is still dying in acts of violence. He is there in the midst of the worst acts of humanity we can imagine or remember. We are called to be there. We are called to follow him. We are called to name this violence for what it is and care for those who are suffering. We can’t stand on the sideline and watch. Love demands more. Love reminds us that what we do matters. Amen.

The cross talk continues...

Appropriate for Holy Week, I find myself more deeply engaged in theology of the cross than I have been recently. I took a little vacation from my deep theological questioning to attend a Navy conference on "Advisement". It was really interesting stuff and the week was a wonderful experience - full of salutes and my efforts at military bearing - but it lacked theological depth. It was about being a Professional Navy Chaplain and was a nice change of pace. I think I might regret that change of pace now that I'm back to my classwork and the last minute preparations for the Three Days.

Now that I'm back into my readings, I encountered this in C.S. Song's work, "Jesus, Crucified People":

But the problem is that some Christians, particularly some evangelists and theologians, speak as if they have read God's autobiography, know God's will inside out, and can speak on God's behalf with absolute certainty. This often results in religious authoritarianism, dictating the life and faith of believers with creeds, doctrines, and laws. But God is neither the sum total of Christian teachings nor the magnum opus of erudite theologians. [emphasis his](p.102)

Once again I am in debt to someone for providing the words (although I looked up erudite to be sure I understood what he was saying - ironically it means "book smart") for what I have running through my head but often fail to adequately communicate. Song's claims about how we see God are foundational and, in an odd way, life-giving to me. I feel I am always in a war against religious arrogance, the belief that we can work hard enough and long enough to come to the final answer - to reduce the revelation God gives us in scripture to clearly defined bullet points to answer all of life's seemingly unanswerable questions. In fact, many of those questions will quite possibly remain unanswered. I don't think I want to know, right now, the answer to why a four year old dies in a tragic accident. I don't want to know clearly and finally how God is at work in the stories I've heard of combat. If I had all the clear answers from God, I fear I would end up too far down the road of absolute certainty to function. I think I'd rather live in the ambiguity. I'd rather continue to "see in a mirror, dimly." (1 Cor 13.12) because it leaves the opportunity for God to continue speaking.

Song writes of what God is. He claims God is a God who speaks -past, present, and future. That is a God I'd like to worship and serve. God is the one who speaks and I'll continue to search the "biography" we have to try to understand what God is saying. But, I will always remember it is a biography - seen through the lens of those who lived on earth and it's not always a clear lens.

Thank you Mr. Song for your words.