At summer camp last week, I had a conversation with a group of high schoolers that I thought as rich and deep as any I’ve had recently. You’ll appreciate the simplicity and struggle their questions relate, and presumably, find them familiar.
It began with me asking what they thought about Communion and Jesus’ invitation to all at the Table. They wondered, “Just who does deserve to come to the Table? Have I earned a place? Do I deserve that honor?” The conversation then turned more general, and I asked if they’d ever received a gift for no reason. That really got them going. “I was taught you’re supposed to earn what you get,” they said. “So I feel bad when someone just gives me something. I always try to make up for it, to give them something in return. Otherwise, I feel guilty.” And then, they turned that experience on God, guessing that, “If I feel this strongly about my own moral behavior, God must too. God wouldn’t throw fairness out the window when it comes to judging our actions and choices, right?” Is God all about fairness, about making sure we get what we deserve?
Sounds familiar, amen?! Not only did such questioning spark the Protestant Revolution, but they reside still in the hearts of many Christians, committed as we are to being as good as possible. It’s not always easy to be decent to others, to treat people “as we want done unto us”, especially when we’re not getting the same kindness in return. So, we may figure, the reward for it all is that at least God smiles upon us, counts us more worthy, invites us to deeper communion when we do things right.
Then I asked the students, “So does what you’re saying mean that God loves you more than God loves those who don’t act as ‘good’ as you?” Suddenly, their commitment to fairness hesitated. “Uhh, I mean, God loves everybody…God just wants us to be good.” Sure, I countered, but if you are good, do you increase in God’s sight, deserve extra helpings of divine love. “I don’t think so…God loves everybody…I think…” A tough conundrum we faced.
So I asked, “Have you ever given a gift for no reason?” And that fired them up too, although this time they weren’t so concerned about whether it was ‘fair’ or not, or if they received anything in return. In fact, the gifts they described giving felt even cooler because they were received graciously, with no expectation to ‘return the favor,’ simply a recognition this gift came from the heart. The students said, “I gave the gift simply because I loved my (friend/parent/sibling/etc.), whatever their faults. And I wanted them to know that, to feel better just because.” I found that experience also quite familiar.
And I suspect you do too. In which case, I’ll ask you the same question I asked them, “Is it possible, or even likely, that’s how God feels about us?” Put differently, why would we transfer the human experience of guilt and fairness onto God’s feelings toward humanity, rather than our joy and pleasure at giving gifts unfairly to those we love?
In case it isn’t immediately obvious, I believe the second of those options- that God thinks grace, forgiveness and overwhelming love are more important than ‘fairness’- is more likely to be correct. 1 John claims, “God is love,” and so everything else we understand about God derives from what we understand about love. Do those we love always deserve the love we shower upon them? No, but that doesn’t matter. Can we be supremely angry at someone we love without ceasing to love that person? Yes, although surely none of us would prefer that! When those we love already shower love upon us, is our response to that motivated by ‘being fair’ or simply by the love that flows between us? I suspect it’s mostly the latter.
In which case, maybe fairness isn’t so important after all. Maybe Christian life is founded on something more-than-fair, what the reformer’s called Grace, but I prefer, simply, Love. May that infiltrate your lives anew this week.
Grace and Peace,
Shane
Read more!
Thursday, August 18, 2011
Thursday, August 11, 2011
The Table…
This week’s letter comes to you from secluded woods in the midst of rolling hills brimming with waiting-to-be harvested corn. I’m at summer camp, the Christian Conference Center (CCC) in Newton, Iowa to be exact. Or for those who don’t know, it’s the camping facility owned and operated by our church’s Region, and as its entrance sign declares, it is, indeed, holy ground.
The young people whom it’s my privilege this week to watch over, play foolish games with and talk to about Jesus are seven young women and three young men, ranging from seventh grade to entering college- quite a motley crew! Yet somehow, we’re developing an impromptu and hopefully meaningful community where we can share and discover our many gifts, dreams and convictions. It’s always remarkable to me how, at camp, the normal rules for living as modern young people can suspend, however tentatively or fitfully. They’ve been trained for most of their school age years to separate themselves from others; to draw clear boundaries about what’s cool and what’s embarrassing, who’s worthwhile and who’s forgettable, what’s acceptable, hip speech and what ought remain unsaid, even if it’s what’s most true to their young, exuberant souls. They’ve seen their parents or older siblings act in similar manner, but haven’t developed yet the moral elasticity to take seemingly clear-cut behavioral rules with a grain of salt. Instead, in Middle or High School, these things appear very black and white, although trends and standards shift constantly under feet. And navigating such rocky rapids cultivates constant attentiveness and frequent anxiety for many youth.
Then, they arrive at camp. They’re told, “You’ll live with unfamiliar people for six days. They’ll become friends, we hope, however you’d normally interact at school. You’ll talk of God without shame; you’ll act goofy with gusto. And at the end, you’ll want to stay a bit longer.” This crazy set of expectations we leaders foist upon them sound crazy. Still, by the miracle God’s Spirit, it often works.
This camp has two themes. One is Equestrian, i.e. unlike most CCC summer camps they spend mornings riding horses. The second is more standard as it relates to church and God. Specifically, this year we’re exploring a concept of Potluck, imagining our lives as Christians as if we’re saddling up to a table together. It’s a powerful metaphor, stuffed with multiple avenues for reflection. What are the expected table manners? What fare does each person bring to the meal? Can you learn to eat broccoli and bean sprouts, while savoring fully the sumptuous deserts? And what’s the point of eating together in the first place?
I think the reason I love summer camp is that it acts like a living parable for the most cherished idea in my belief system. As a Disciple of Christ, I believe God’s Table is open to everyone. In worship, we say weekly that all are welcome, that Christ hosts this table and he’d never turn diners away. I can’t describe adequately the power that idea holds within my soul. Having seen too many people in too many places disregarded or dismissed, having experienced myself the pains of exclusion and derision, to know our Creator’s incarnate self- the living Lord’s own Son, Jesus- has a different, more open and, well, beautiful value system keeps me proudly following his lead. We serve all because he served all by giving all so all may live life fully. And not simply as better individuals, but live life fully together, gathered around his table. If any metaphor remains timely and needed, Christ’s Table is it.
And my campers are experiencing that, incarnating that blessed truth in this makeshift community. A couple struggle with autism. Some reside in conflicted homes. All face unique challenges so have difficulty understanding others’ differences. Still, they’re bringing what they’ve got to our potluck table, making room for others, sampling what they don’t often at home and washing it down with the overflowing cup of Christ’s love. It gives me hope, witnessing this sacred dynamic unfold, that more is possible than many assume. If they can do it, we can do it. The feast is prepared and waiting.
Grace and peace,
Shane
Read more!
The young people whom it’s my privilege this week to watch over, play foolish games with and talk to about Jesus are seven young women and three young men, ranging from seventh grade to entering college- quite a motley crew! Yet somehow, we’re developing an impromptu and hopefully meaningful community where we can share and discover our many gifts, dreams and convictions. It’s always remarkable to me how, at camp, the normal rules for living as modern young people can suspend, however tentatively or fitfully. They’ve been trained for most of their school age years to separate themselves from others; to draw clear boundaries about what’s cool and what’s embarrassing, who’s worthwhile and who’s forgettable, what’s acceptable, hip speech and what ought remain unsaid, even if it’s what’s most true to their young, exuberant souls. They’ve seen their parents or older siblings act in similar manner, but haven’t developed yet the moral elasticity to take seemingly clear-cut behavioral rules with a grain of salt. Instead, in Middle or High School, these things appear very black and white, although trends and standards shift constantly under feet. And navigating such rocky rapids cultivates constant attentiveness and frequent anxiety for many youth.
Then, they arrive at camp. They’re told, “You’ll live with unfamiliar people for six days. They’ll become friends, we hope, however you’d normally interact at school. You’ll talk of God without shame; you’ll act goofy with gusto. And at the end, you’ll want to stay a bit longer.” This crazy set of expectations we leaders foist upon them sound crazy. Still, by the miracle God’s Spirit, it often works.
This camp has two themes. One is Equestrian, i.e. unlike most CCC summer camps they spend mornings riding horses. The second is more standard as it relates to church and God. Specifically, this year we’re exploring a concept of Potluck, imagining our lives as Christians as if we’re saddling up to a table together. It’s a powerful metaphor, stuffed with multiple avenues for reflection. What are the expected table manners? What fare does each person bring to the meal? Can you learn to eat broccoli and bean sprouts, while savoring fully the sumptuous deserts? And what’s the point of eating together in the first place?
I think the reason I love summer camp is that it acts like a living parable for the most cherished idea in my belief system. As a Disciple of Christ, I believe God’s Table is open to everyone. In worship, we say weekly that all are welcome, that Christ hosts this table and he’d never turn diners away. I can’t describe adequately the power that idea holds within my soul. Having seen too many people in too many places disregarded or dismissed, having experienced myself the pains of exclusion and derision, to know our Creator’s incarnate self- the living Lord’s own Son, Jesus- has a different, more open and, well, beautiful value system keeps me proudly following his lead. We serve all because he served all by giving all so all may live life fully. And not simply as better individuals, but live life fully together, gathered around his table. If any metaphor remains timely and needed, Christ’s Table is it.
And my campers are experiencing that, incarnating that blessed truth in this makeshift community. A couple struggle with autism. Some reside in conflicted homes. All face unique challenges so have difficulty understanding others’ differences. Still, they’re bringing what they’ve got to our potluck table, making room for others, sampling what they don’t often at home and washing it down with the overflowing cup of Christ’s love. It gives me hope, witnessing this sacred dynamic unfold, that more is possible than many assume. If they can do it, we can do it. The feast is prepared and waiting.
Grace and peace,
Shane
Read more!
Thursday, August 4, 2011
Transition time…
I’ve written before about the Celtic concept of “thin spaces”; an idea that particular geographic locations contain more spiritual possibility than others. Ancient Celts thought manifest (everyday) reality was but a thin veil separated from divine reality. And sometimes you’d encounter someplace where that veil was routinely lifted. A dedicated worship site. A hidden glen or valley. The gravesite of a renowned leader or saint. These were ‘thin spaces,’ where gods regularly abided.
As well, the Celts suspected particular times were thinner than others. In the twilight of early evening or the haze of ending dreams, the spirit world invited humanity to commune, to seek guidance, strength or hope in the brief thinning of holy moments. Ancient Jews intuited a related respect for sacred time; commandment four in God’s Top Ten says, “Honor the Sabbath, and keep it holy,” suggesting a dedicated day of rest and worship was thin enough for God to enter in power.
But in normal life, we rarely encounter thin spaces with regularity. That’s partly our fault- our indifference to God’s guidance, our frantic pursuit of comfort, gain or security, our need for personal control and so latent distrust of God’s supervision. Another factor, however, is the elusiveness of thinness itself. I’ve been to Stonehenge in Southern England, and can easily understand how ancient peoples found that massive monument overwhelmingly sacred and set apart. But now, surrounded by highways and gift shops and teems of visitors snapping pictures, the space feels to have thickened. And in the workaday rush of bills and home improvements, even regular church attendance can fall short of the Sabbath ideal, another in a list of to-dos.
Occasionally, though, thinness forces itself upon individuals and communities. The Church Calendar of holidays, at its best, allows Christians annually to redouble our efforts to experience holy thinness. And in the long-term arc of a community’s life, another forced thinness will- or can- present itself every several years: the transition from one leader to the next.
One of the Boards on which I’m privileged to represent Plymouth Creek and MN Disciples has entered a thin space. Gary Reierson, President and CEO of the Greater Minneapolis Council of Churches for the past 22 years, has announced his retirement, effective next July. Yes, that’s a long transition. But considering his length of service and wonderfully effective leadership, it makes sense to transition deliberately. I’ve been asked to serve on the selection committee for our new CEO, along with other Board members with much greater experience in such matters. Thankfully! And in the short time we’ve been working together, I’ve gained appreciation for the opportunity before us. Critically, we’re not trying to replace Gary with Gary 2.0. Rather, we hope to reflect deeply and prayerfully on what the future holds for GMCC, and identify the leadership needs that future will demand. Will we continue to grow, or get better at a few core functions? Are there unmet community needs we’re uniquely positioned to assist with?
It seems to me that thin spaces, being so fragile, can be easily overlooked. If you’re not prepared, they rush on by. Transitions- of leadership for organizations, but also in our personal lives with new births, moves, job changes- carry that same fragility and potential. And oftentimes, what leads us to miss the chance for experiencing God’s thin space guidance is simply anxiety that we’re in transition at all. We liked where we were. Or, at least, understood it. So when something new presents itself, rather than stare boldly into that uncertain future, seeking first God’s Kingdom, we get hung up on the fact of being in transition. Alas, by the time we’re ready to move on, time has thickened.
I’ll appreciate your prayers for GMCC’s search committee. Being the largest Council of Churches in America, it’s critical we get this decision as right as possible. But also in the other transitions we all face, some large, some simple, may we have courage to encounter God in God’s fullness. Being rare moments, they might feel overwhelming, even frightening. God, however, in every situation retains a name that provides hope: Love. Which is as thick as can be!
Grace and Peace,
Shane
Read more!
As well, the Celts suspected particular times were thinner than others. In the twilight of early evening or the haze of ending dreams, the spirit world invited humanity to commune, to seek guidance, strength or hope in the brief thinning of holy moments. Ancient Jews intuited a related respect for sacred time; commandment four in God’s Top Ten says, “Honor the Sabbath, and keep it holy,” suggesting a dedicated day of rest and worship was thin enough for God to enter in power.
But in normal life, we rarely encounter thin spaces with regularity. That’s partly our fault- our indifference to God’s guidance, our frantic pursuit of comfort, gain or security, our need for personal control and so latent distrust of God’s supervision. Another factor, however, is the elusiveness of thinness itself. I’ve been to Stonehenge in Southern England, and can easily understand how ancient peoples found that massive monument overwhelmingly sacred and set apart. But now, surrounded by highways and gift shops and teems of visitors snapping pictures, the space feels to have thickened. And in the workaday rush of bills and home improvements, even regular church attendance can fall short of the Sabbath ideal, another in a list of to-dos.
Occasionally, though, thinness forces itself upon individuals and communities. The Church Calendar of holidays, at its best, allows Christians annually to redouble our efforts to experience holy thinness. And in the long-term arc of a community’s life, another forced thinness will- or can- present itself every several years: the transition from one leader to the next.
One of the Boards on which I’m privileged to represent Plymouth Creek and MN Disciples has entered a thin space. Gary Reierson, President and CEO of the Greater Minneapolis Council of Churches for the past 22 years, has announced his retirement, effective next July. Yes, that’s a long transition. But considering his length of service and wonderfully effective leadership, it makes sense to transition deliberately. I’ve been asked to serve on the selection committee for our new CEO, along with other Board members with much greater experience in such matters. Thankfully! And in the short time we’ve been working together, I’ve gained appreciation for the opportunity before us. Critically, we’re not trying to replace Gary with Gary 2.0. Rather, we hope to reflect deeply and prayerfully on what the future holds for GMCC, and identify the leadership needs that future will demand. Will we continue to grow, or get better at a few core functions? Are there unmet community needs we’re uniquely positioned to assist with?
It seems to me that thin spaces, being so fragile, can be easily overlooked. If you’re not prepared, they rush on by. Transitions- of leadership for organizations, but also in our personal lives with new births, moves, job changes- carry that same fragility and potential. And oftentimes, what leads us to miss the chance for experiencing God’s thin space guidance is simply anxiety that we’re in transition at all. We liked where we were. Or, at least, understood it. So when something new presents itself, rather than stare boldly into that uncertain future, seeking first God’s Kingdom, we get hung up on the fact of being in transition. Alas, by the time we’re ready to move on, time has thickened.
I’ll appreciate your prayers for GMCC’s search committee. Being the largest Council of Churches in America, it’s critical we get this decision as right as possible. But also in the other transitions we all face, some large, some simple, may we have courage to encounter God in God’s fullness. Being rare moments, they might feel overwhelming, even frightening. God, however, in every situation retains a name that provides hope: Love. Which is as thick as can be!
Grace and Peace,
Shane
Read more!
Monday, August 1, 2011
Openings…
One thing I love about my job is the chance to represent you in the community. I believe Plymouth Creek has a wonderful, unique take on living faithfully, and sharing that with our neighbors is for me a privilege and source of pride. I hope you feel the same, often seizing your opportunities to shine as a beacon of openness and service wherever you may be. You do, right?
Anyway, one place I do so is on the Board of our friend and local social-services provider, Interfaith Outreach and Community Partners. Plymouth Creek has long supported IOCP and the good work they do of feeding the hungry, housing the homeless, loving the downtrodden and standing up for outcasts in the northwestern suburbs. Faith in action is real faith, I believe Jesus would suggest, and so when Interfaith helps struggling single moms stay in their homes, provides employment assistance to fathers without work, gives scholarships so children from low-income families can attend high quality childcare (which some claim is the #1 most effective way to sustainably combat poverty…), well, those are everyday examples of faith coming alive. And it’s something our church contributes to consistently, more generously in fact than an outside observer might expect. So on the Board I try to accurately represent your commitment to living, compassionate, generous faith. God knows, there are too many these days who need Christians of that ilk to step up and make a greater difference.
I mention that this month for two reasons. #1- To remind us again to let our faith lives be about more than belief or making ourselves feel good, but also about impacting our neighborhoods with goodness. A message we should keep before our eyes always. But more timely, and #2, I want to celebrate with you something shared at the last Board meeting; the culmination of years of hard work, courage and visionary leadership on the part of IOCP’s Board, staff and its many supporters and donors. Perhaps you’ve heard, but if not, you ought to know that this month, August 2011, IOCP will be moving. Or rather, expanding into a grand new facility on the corner of Hwy 101 and County Road 6 in Plymouth!
Long time residents tell me that the building IOCP has purchased and renovated (all thanks to the generosity of community residents, which included some of you…) was once a local grocery store. Now, it will house IOCP’s administrative offices, caseworkers, volunteers and social services (transportation assistance, housing aid, childcare scholarship program, etc.), along with an expanded food shelf more like that at their sister social service agency PRSIM, and a Resale/thrift shop open to clients and all the community (clients getting better deals). Also, within the building, some “community partners” will have offices, including the Wayzata Public Schools’ Community Ed (great if, say, an IOCP client needs GED help) and a satellite for Hennepin County Government Services. There will be other non-profits setting up shop, a community room for educational programming of interest to our cities’ residents and even a meditation room for spiritual renewal. I’m probably missing some stuff, but you get the gist. Within a few short weeks, IOCP will experience much increased capacity for effecting positive change, all with the goal of changing the odds for the most vulnerable amongst us.
If you want to celebrate this achievement with IOCP, here are dates to keep in mind- August13, staff move in, begin unpacking and organizing; August 18- IOCP will host a ‘Grand Opening’ for clients and their families; August 22- the building officially “Opens for business” (alas, to get everything ready, they’ll halt normal operations from Aug 15-19, which IOCP is prepping clients for); and finally, on September 8, from 4:30-6:30 PM, IOCP will host a ‘Grand Opening’ for the entire community to come and see this monumental success we’ve helped make happen. I’ll be there. I hope you will be too. But if not, please join me in prayer that day, and on all those dates, lifting thanks and praise to God who inspires us not only to believe in love, but to put love in action.
Grace and Peace,
Shane
Read more!
Anyway, one place I do so is on the Board of our friend and local social-services provider, Interfaith Outreach and Community Partners. Plymouth Creek has long supported IOCP and the good work they do of feeding the hungry, housing the homeless, loving the downtrodden and standing up for outcasts in the northwestern suburbs. Faith in action is real faith, I believe Jesus would suggest, and so when Interfaith helps struggling single moms stay in their homes, provides employment assistance to fathers without work, gives scholarships so children from low-income families can attend high quality childcare (which some claim is the #1 most effective way to sustainably combat poverty…), well, those are everyday examples of faith coming alive. And it’s something our church contributes to consistently, more generously in fact than an outside observer might expect. So on the Board I try to accurately represent your commitment to living, compassionate, generous faith. God knows, there are too many these days who need Christians of that ilk to step up and make a greater difference.
I mention that this month for two reasons. #1- To remind us again to let our faith lives be about more than belief or making ourselves feel good, but also about impacting our neighborhoods with goodness. A message we should keep before our eyes always. But more timely, and #2, I want to celebrate with you something shared at the last Board meeting; the culmination of years of hard work, courage and visionary leadership on the part of IOCP’s Board, staff and its many supporters and donors. Perhaps you’ve heard, but if not, you ought to know that this month, August 2011, IOCP will be moving. Or rather, expanding into a grand new facility on the corner of Hwy 101 and County Road 6 in Plymouth!
Long time residents tell me that the building IOCP has purchased and renovated (all thanks to the generosity of community residents, which included some of you…) was once a local grocery store. Now, it will house IOCP’s administrative offices, caseworkers, volunteers and social services (transportation assistance, housing aid, childcare scholarship program, etc.), along with an expanded food shelf more like that at their sister social service agency PRSIM, and a Resale/thrift shop open to clients and all the community (clients getting better deals). Also, within the building, some “community partners” will have offices, including the Wayzata Public Schools’ Community Ed (great if, say, an IOCP client needs GED help) and a satellite for Hennepin County Government Services. There will be other non-profits setting up shop, a community room for educational programming of interest to our cities’ residents and even a meditation room for spiritual renewal. I’m probably missing some stuff, but you get the gist. Within a few short weeks, IOCP will experience much increased capacity for effecting positive change, all with the goal of changing the odds for the most vulnerable amongst us.
If you want to celebrate this achievement with IOCP, here are dates to keep in mind- August13, staff move in, begin unpacking and organizing; August 18- IOCP will host a ‘Grand Opening’ for clients and their families; August 22- the building officially “Opens for business” (alas, to get everything ready, they’ll halt normal operations from Aug 15-19, which IOCP is prepping clients for); and finally, on September 8, from 4:30-6:30 PM, IOCP will host a ‘Grand Opening’ for the entire community to come and see this monumental success we’ve helped make happen. I’ll be there. I hope you will be too. But if not, please join me in prayer that day, and on all those dates, lifting thanks and praise to God who inspires us not only to believe in love, but to put love in action.
Grace and Peace,
Shane
Read more!
Thursday, July 28, 2011
Rise to thee…
Verse one of Hymn #4 in our songbook includes this lyric- “Early in the morning my song shall rise to thee.” It’s a statement of praise, a declaration that not only does God deserve our adoration, but even that such language ought cross our lips upon waking each day. When’s the last morning you sloughed off the covers, stretched out your arms and began belting praise to God?!
The role of music in the life of faith has played through my mind recently, anticipating last Sunday’s Song Sing, preparing for August’s Song Sermon Series, pondering ways our church can better shine as a beacon of openness through the music we employ in worship. And I’m struck anew by the vital place of melodies and lyrics in worshipper’s souls. Why does it seem entirely appropriate that, in a moment of exuberant gratitude for God’s grace, we’d want to do more than pray, but go further and sing? Not everyone, surely, feels that impulse. But throughout history, many Christians have associated the substance of faith with favorite songs as much as with beliefs. The carol “O Come, O Come, Emmanuel” derives from words and tunes created as early as the fourth century, remembered and updated across vast expanses of space and time. Hospice Chaplains share a common experience, that when caring for a person nearing death, having sadly lost the capacity to remember her life story and family and even identity, the patient, nevertheless, will sing along if the chaplain intones, “Amazing grace, how sweet the sound…” And it lifts her soul.
I’m no expert on the science of the brain, but I have learned that the way we make memories is richer than, say, assuming the brain’s an empty tablet upon which we write information for safe storage. Rather, it’s this dense weave of connections passing signals back and forth, running our bodies and retaining what we learn. Certain brain locations perform specialized functions- speech, motor skills, vision- though each interacts with the others and the whole seems greater than its parts. But memories, apparently, reside throughout the system, not just one place. Thus, they abide deep, dispersed across many connections so they operate and influence behavior long before bubbling up to the surface of consciousness. And, when attached to creative or emotional experience, like music, the stability and longevity of memories strengthens, opening more pathways to affect us than without. When my grandpa was away in WWII, my then 3-year-old uncle would occasionally see a man in the grocery store who, from afar, looked like his dad. He’d shout with joy, Grandma said, run up for a hug, only to stop short once the man’s face came into focus. The emotional memory of Dad, to Uncle Walt (and to many), had a special hold on his soul, deeper than he consciously knew.
I can’t say entirely what that means. Nevertheless, it reminds me that humans are so much more than “rational animals.” John 1:1 contends, “In the beginning was the Word,” and I suspect that’s true. Although, I’d wager that the Word back then was sung.
Some Christian theologians, being rationally adept folk themselves, have imagined God as this unmoving, unfeeling Judge of all Creation. An objective observer in a subjective world. There’s something to that, perhaps, though it’s hard to square with the Bible’s stories of God feeling compassion for the vulnerable, anger at injustice, joy for reconciliation. I prefer, instead, an image of God as Jazz Musician, a constant creator with a basic plan for how things will go, but willing moment after moment to improvise; to add a little flare, a subtle correction, an exciting run of glorious notes that would make Louis Armstrong nod with respect. That means God not only watches what happens, but delights in what happens, when we work with God to add ‘notes’ of beauty and goodness to the whole composition. It may even explain why singing our faith, claiming our place in the choir along with all God’s creatures, feels so intuitively right. Even if all we do is clap our hands, or paws, or anything we got. Early in the morning, or whenever!
Grace and Peace,
Shane
Read more!
The role of music in the life of faith has played through my mind recently, anticipating last Sunday’s Song Sing, preparing for August’s Song Sermon Series, pondering ways our church can better shine as a beacon of openness through the music we employ in worship. And I’m struck anew by the vital place of melodies and lyrics in worshipper’s souls. Why does it seem entirely appropriate that, in a moment of exuberant gratitude for God’s grace, we’d want to do more than pray, but go further and sing? Not everyone, surely, feels that impulse. But throughout history, many Christians have associated the substance of faith with favorite songs as much as with beliefs. The carol “O Come, O Come, Emmanuel” derives from words and tunes created as early as the fourth century, remembered and updated across vast expanses of space and time. Hospice Chaplains share a common experience, that when caring for a person nearing death, having sadly lost the capacity to remember her life story and family and even identity, the patient, nevertheless, will sing along if the chaplain intones, “Amazing grace, how sweet the sound…” And it lifts her soul.
I’m no expert on the science of the brain, but I have learned that the way we make memories is richer than, say, assuming the brain’s an empty tablet upon which we write information for safe storage. Rather, it’s this dense weave of connections passing signals back and forth, running our bodies and retaining what we learn. Certain brain locations perform specialized functions- speech, motor skills, vision- though each interacts with the others and the whole seems greater than its parts. But memories, apparently, reside throughout the system, not just one place. Thus, they abide deep, dispersed across many connections so they operate and influence behavior long before bubbling up to the surface of consciousness. And, when attached to creative or emotional experience, like music, the stability and longevity of memories strengthens, opening more pathways to affect us than without. When my grandpa was away in WWII, my then 3-year-old uncle would occasionally see a man in the grocery store who, from afar, looked like his dad. He’d shout with joy, Grandma said, run up for a hug, only to stop short once the man’s face came into focus. The emotional memory of Dad, to Uncle Walt (and to many), had a special hold on his soul, deeper than he consciously knew.
I can’t say entirely what that means. Nevertheless, it reminds me that humans are so much more than “rational animals.” John 1:1 contends, “In the beginning was the Word,” and I suspect that’s true. Although, I’d wager that the Word back then was sung.
Some Christian theologians, being rationally adept folk themselves, have imagined God as this unmoving, unfeeling Judge of all Creation. An objective observer in a subjective world. There’s something to that, perhaps, though it’s hard to square with the Bible’s stories of God feeling compassion for the vulnerable, anger at injustice, joy for reconciliation. I prefer, instead, an image of God as Jazz Musician, a constant creator with a basic plan for how things will go, but willing moment after moment to improvise; to add a little flare, a subtle correction, an exciting run of glorious notes that would make Louis Armstrong nod with respect. That means God not only watches what happens, but delights in what happens, when we work with God to add ‘notes’ of beauty and goodness to the whole composition. It may even explain why singing our faith, claiming our place in the choir along with all God’s creatures, feels so intuitively right. Even if all we do is clap our hands, or paws, or anything we got. Early in the morning, or whenever!
Grace and Peace,
Shane
Read more!
Thursday, July 21, 2011
Heating up…
Have you ever pondered the similarities between spirituality and summer weather?
Me neither. The two are not, let’s say, obviously comparable. But since Minnesota’s done its darndest in recent days to imitate a sauna- and done so quite well, unfortunately- I’ve found myself praying for relief, sweating like a cold beverage and subsequently sublimating those frustrations by turning them into fodder for spiritual discovery. Call it a Church-Nerd survival technique.
For instance, I’m sure you’ve heard before, probably said, something like, “This weather, it’s a dry heat.” Or more recently, “It’s not so much the heat as the humidity that’ll get ya.” Those sound like clichés, but they’re no less true for being well worn. The Weather Chanel app on my iPhone displays both the temperature of a given moment, as well as what the temp ‘feels like.’ So yesterday was 96 degrees technically, but with a humidity reading more natural to rain forests than high plains, it ‘felt like’ 118 degrees, according to said phone (which is ridiculous, I might add, especially when our power went out and the A/C stopped working). In other words, yes, the heat was hot, but the humidity did, in fact, get us. Or rather, and here’s what got my mind racing, not all heat is the same.
Fire, flame and heating images flare up throughout scripture, you’ll recall. God is more than once described as “a consuming fire.” The Holy Spirit, on Pentecost, descended on the Disciples like “tongues of fire.” Jesus implores us in Matthew never to light our spiritual candles and hide them under a bushel, but rather, to be “lights to the world.” Aka Christ imagines his church as a bright, burning bonfire of justice, peace and righteousness. A fiery beacon illuminating the darkness, if you will.
Even in contemporary Christian circles, the notion of being ‘on fire for God’ ignites many a spirit and worship service. I suspect the point is that living faithfully is no exercise in lukewarm, wishy-washy, get-along-to-go-along behavior. No, the ‘on fire’ Christian blazes with hope and expectation, convinced as she is that any given Sunday, Saturday or second, the glory of God hidden all around juuussst might burst forth and deliver ‘a peace that surpasses understanding.’ To God’s People, but more importantly, through God’s People, and for the good of the common good. If we’re willing to allow God’s Spirit to (w)hol(l)y light up our lives, that is.
I find that idea spiritually compelling, you might’ve guessed, since it demands greater submission to God’s purpose and giving up control to God’s love. Both ideas I’ve snuck into a sermon or several. But as this summer reminds me, not all heat is the same. One might burn with holy fire, and so warm the world. Or one might simply scorch oneself and others.
I met a preacher once whose eyes glowed with lightning and voice boomed like thunder. He was, I’m sure he’d claim, deeply spiritual and ‘on fire.’ But his words crackled with hate and exploded with judgment, leveling entire crowds of people into “Us v. Them.” As if God’s favorite activity is deciding whom to incinerate. For many Christians- like me- who believe God’s love wildly inclusive, we look at such ‘spirituality’ and recoil with disgust. Maybe we think, “Whoa! If that’s Christian spirituality, I better turn down the heat.” As if the only choice is between that, and going-along-to-get-along.
But maybe, I’ve thought recently (when I wasn’t chugging bottles of ice water), there’s more than one way to be ‘on fire’ for God. Not every flame’s purpose is to destroy, after all. Not all heat is oppressive. Indeed, I’ve known many Christians who’ve devoted themselves entirely to God’s purpose by giving generously to help the poor or spending countless hours visiting the sick. Ever seen a Christian, in Jesus’ name, stand up to a bully, declare, “God expects better,” and felt your spirit warm with admiration? I have. And I’m inspired, ignited even, by such fired-up spirituality. Notice, it’s not lukewarm, nor always even safe. But it’s the kind of heat that stokes the coals of God’s Kingdom; where, Jesus claimed, the weather’s always great.
Grace and Peace,
Shane
Read more!
Me neither. The two are not, let’s say, obviously comparable. But since Minnesota’s done its darndest in recent days to imitate a sauna- and done so quite well, unfortunately- I’ve found myself praying for relief, sweating like a cold beverage and subsequently sublimating those frustrations by turning them into fodder for spiritual discovery. Call it a Church-Nerd survival technique.
For instance, I’m sure you’ve heard before, probably said, something like, “This weather, it’s a dry heat.” Or more recently, “It’s not so much the heat as the humidity that’ll get ya.” Those sound like clichés, but they’re no less true for being well worn. The Weather Chanel app on my iPhone displays both the temperature of a given moment, as well as what the temp ‘feels like.’ So yesterday was 96 degrees technically, but with a humidity reading more natural to rain forests than high plains, it ‘felt like’ 118 degrees, according to said phone (which is ridiculous, I might add, especially when our power went out and the A/C stopped working). In other words, yes, the heat was hot, but the humidity did, in fact, get us. Or rather, and here’s what got my mind racing, not all heat is the same.
Fire, flame and heating images flare up throughout scripture, you’ll recall. God is more than once described as “a consuming fire.” The Holy Spirit, on Pentecost, descended on the Disciples like “tongues of fire.” Jesus implores us in Matthew never to light our spiritual candles and hide them under a bushel, but rather, to be “lights to the world.” Aka Christ imagines his church as a bright, burning bonfire of justice, peace and righteousness. A fiery beacon illuminating the darkness, if you will.
Even in contemporary Christian circles, the notion of being ‘on fire for God’ ignites many a spirit and worship service. I suspect the point is that living faithfully is no exercise in lukewarm, wishy-washy, get-along-to-go-along behavior. No, the ‘on fire’ Christian blazes with hope and expectation, convinced as she is that any given Sunday, Saturday or second, the glory of God hidden all around juuussst might burst forth and deliver ‘a peace that surpasses understanding.’ To God’s People, but more importantly, through God’s People, and for the good of the common good. If we’re willing to allow God’s Spirit to (w)hol(l)y light up our lives, that is.
I find that idea spiritually compelling, you might’ve guessed, since it demands greater submission to God’s purpose and giving up control to God’s love. Both ideas I’ve snuck into a sermon or several. But as this summer reminds me, not all heat is the same. One might burn with holy fire, and so warm the world. Or one might simply scorch oneself and others.
I met a preacher once whose eyes glowed with lightning and voice boomed like thunder. He was, I’m sure he’d claim, deeply spiritual and ‘on fire.’ But his words crackled with hate and exploded with judgment, leveling entire crowds of people into “Us v. Them.” As if God’s favorite activity is deciding whom to incinerate. For many Christians- like me- who believe God’s love wildly inclusive, we look at such ‘spirituality’ and recoil with disgust. Maybe we think, “Whoa! If that’s Christian spirituality, I better turn down the heat.” As if the only choice is between that, and going-along-to-get-along.
But maybe, I’ve thought recently (when I wasn’t chugging bottles of ice water), there’s more than one way to be ‘on fire’ for God. Not every flame’s purpose is to destroy, after all. Not all heat is oppressive. Indeed, I’ve known many Christians who’ve devoted themselves entirely to God’s purpose by giving generously to help the poor or spending countless hours visiting the sick. Ever seen a Christian, in Jesus’ name, stand up to a bully, declare, “God expects better,” and felt your spirit warm with admiration? I have. And I’m inspired, ignited even, by such fired-up spirituality. Notice, it’s not lukewarm, nor always even safe. But it’s the kind of heat that stokes the coals of God’s Kingdom; where, Jesus claimed, the weather’s always great.
Grace and Peace,
Shane
Read more!
Thursday, July 14, 2011
Changing pace…
I almost did something really stupid the other day. I didn’t mean to, but once it happened I thought, “Whoa! That could’ve gone horribly.” I was merging onto I-494 from Highway 100, had completed the exit’s cloverleaf loop and sped up to join traffic. Of course, there’s a long entry ramp at that point, about a mile of two separate lanes before you enter the interstate proper. Although, just before that happens, the ramp condenses to one lane.
Which meant my path was about to be blocked by a slow moving, huge truck in the right hand lane. Decision time, right? Speed up to pass the truck, or slow waaaaaaay down and get in line (and by slow, I mean it crawled long at like 35 mph, on a highway, seriously!). I quickly calculated the distance between my car and the truck, judged I could get out in front easily, then hit the gas. I judged wrong. The space remaining for me to pass was smaller than I’d guessed. But I didn’t realize that until the truck nearly collided with my passenger side. Heart racing, knowing I had no choice but to see this through, I rammed the pedal to the floor, swerved a bit and prayed.
We didn’t crash; hallelujah; no harm, no foul. But my heart kept pounding loudly, declaring, “Shane, you idiot, too close.” But praise God for quick acceleration! And one big Grrrrrrr to the truck who treated an on-ramp like a school zone.
I’ve been thinking a lot recently about the pace of change in our lives, and especially how that pace changes. A chat with one of you made me ponder change in the church, how fast is too fast, how slow is dangerous. An article on modern robotics lured me into daydreaming of a personal machine that will someday fold my laundry. A book I just finished (Why the West Rules…For Now: The Patterns of History, and What They Reveal about the Future by Ian Morris; stunning, epic, and weighty; don’t agree with everything, but it was well worth my time) analyzes the slow march of civilization through human history. And by slow, I mean that during the 100,000 years or so of our species, our social development, energy use, population and information sharing changed, often increased, but not very quickly. Until this last century, that is, when the pace of change changed. Or rather, exploded, beyond the ancients wildest nightmares. And as we learn more, invent and discover more, acceleration may continue…
More than one of you have expressed to me anxiety at the pace of cultural change; our most aged, wise friends having seen more lifestyle transformations in their lifetimes than any previous generation, ever. Nowadays, it feels like the world around us transforms almost biannually. And some worry we’ve accelerated fast enough to hit ‘the truck’ with devastating power, but not enough to avoid it. Certainly, in the modern world, hitting the brakes seems no longer an option.
Back in the day, religious folk assumed God or the gods controlled everything; that all sovereignty on earth was divine, and no sparrow (let alone person) could fly without Heaven’s tacit assistance. Many in this much-changed world no longer believe that, myself included. God set the rules, I suspect, but always works within them. But the ancients, though they claimed the Hand of God at work where laws of gravity or climate patterns were more appropriate, still discerned something indispensible about divine reality. In the Hebrew Bible, one name for God is “Ancient of Days,” and other religions used the same or similar appellations. The idea seems obvious; divine reality is eternal; more everlasting, in fact, than the process of change human ingenuity drives today, more everlasting even than our ever-changing ideas about God or the gods.
I find that comforting, knowing that even if our judgment fails us, if we drive too fast for our own good, or hit the brakes prematurely, the force that created and sustains this world will abide. That’s comforting, because I believe that Force’s truest name is Love. What was in the beginning, is now, and ever shall be.
Grace and Peace,
Shane
Read more!
Which meant my path was about to be blocked by a slow moving, huge truck in the right hand lane. Decision time, right? Speed up to pass the truck, or slow waaaaaaay down and get in line (and by slow, I mean it crawled long at like 35 mph, on a highway, seriously!). I quickly calculated the distance between my car and the truck, judged I could get out in front easily, then hit the gas. I judged wrong. The space remaining for me to pass was smaller than I’d guessed. But I didn’t realize that until the truck nearly collided with my passenger side. Heart racing, knowing I had no choice but to see this through, I rammed the pedal to the floor, swerved a bit and prayed.
We didn’t crash; hallelujah; no harm, no foul. But my heart kept pounding loudly, declaring, “Shane, you idiot, too close.” But praise God for quick acceleration! And one big Grrrrrrr to the truck who treated an on-ramp like a school zone.
I’ve been thinking a lot recently about the pace of change in our lives, and especially how that pace changes. A chat with one of you made me ponder change in the church, how fast is too fast, how slow is dangerous. An article on modern robotics lured me into daydreaming of a personal machine that will someday fold my laundry. A book I just finished (Why the West Rules…For Now: The Patterns of History, and What They Reveal about the Future by Ian Morris; stunning, epic, and weighty; don’t agree with everything, but it was well worth my time) analyzes the slow march of civilization through human history. And by slow, I mean that during the 100,000 years or so of our species, our social development, energy use, population and information sharing changed, often increased, but not very quickly. Until this last century, that is, when the pace of change changed. Or rather, exploded, beyond the ancients wildest nightmares. And as we learn more, invent and discover more, acceleration may continue…
More than one of you have expressed to me anxiety at the pace of cultural change; our most aged, wise friends having seen more lifestyle transformations in their lifetimes than any previous generation, ever. Nowadays, it feels like the world around us transforms almost biannually. And some worry we’ve accelerated fast enough to hit ‘the truck’ with devastating power, but not enough to avoid it. Certainly, in the modern world, hitting the brakes seems no longer an option.
Back in the day, religious folk assumed God or the gods controlled everything; that all sovereignty on earth was divine, and no sparrow (let alone person) could fly without Heaven’s tacit assistance. Many in this much-changed world no longer believe that, myself included. God set the rules, I suspect, but always works within them. But the ancients, though they claimed the Hand of God at work where laws of gravity or climate patterns were more appropriate, still discerned something indispensible about divine reality. In the Hebrew Bible, one name for God is “Ancient of Days,” and other religions used the same or similar appellations. The idea seems obvious; divine reality is eternal; more everlasting, in fact, than the process of change human ingenuity drives today, more everlasting even than our ever-changing ideas about God or the gods.
I find that comforting, knowing that even if our judgment fails us, if we drive too fast for our own good, or hit the brakes prematurely, the force that created and sustains this world will abide. That’s comforting, because I believe that Force’s truest name is Love. What was in the beginning, is now, and ever shall be.
Grace and Peace,
Shane
Read more!
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