My dog Fawkes has a nemesis. An honest-to-goodness nemesis. I feel bad about it, don’t encourage it. We’re trying to stop it. I just don’t know how to keep Fawkes from barking and clawing, lunging and freaking out whenever the post office delivery person comes to our door. Indeed, when she’s still across the street, Fawkes’ ears perk up. She runs to the front foyer and her psycho puppy personality emerges like an angry Hulk. I’ve apologized to this person many times. I’ll probably do it again. Because this cuddly, crazy canine of mine just doesn’t realize the postal worker’s only a messenger, not a nemesis, bearing tidings of Christmas cards, utility bills and unsolicited credit card applications.
It reminds me of the angel encounters in the Bible’s Christmas stories. Elizabeth, Joseph, Mary, shepherds, all meet heavenly beings in the beginning of Luke and Matthew. Perhaps you knew this already, but if not, here’s some Biblical trivia- The Greek word for angel also means “messenger”. Helpfully distinguishing those characters from other not-quite-human spiritual creatures the ancients imagined surrounding us. Considering some of those other beings were thought devious demons, causes for psychosis or disease, it’s a useful distinction to call spirits like Gabriel, “messengers” or “angels”. Helps Luke’s ancient readers breathe easy. “They’re on our side. Phew!”
Of course, for human characters in Jesus’ Birth stories, the angels’ good intentions weren’t immediately apparent. All they knew initially was that, suddenly, something supernatural was talking…to them! Thus, the typical reaction is shock, dread, panic, fear; poor humans worrying, “Is this phantom friendly? Or might it be a nemesis?!”
Fortunately, the stories hint that neither Mary nor Joseph growled at the angels like Fawkes at the mail carrier. Still, the message the heavenly messengers often begin with is, “Do not fear!” After all, these humans had good reason to be skeptical of their presence. And not just because of their supposed spiritual competition from less than holy sources. It’s that most of us don’t encounter God’s messengers very often.
Which pulls me back to modern times, and contemporary skepticism of such stories. Polls reveal that most Americans believe in the reality of angels. They’re less certain about demons- thankfully!- but winged messengers are welcome. By contrast, surveys of main-line Biblical scholars, I’d bet, would yield starkly different results. Many read these stories as ancient legends, teaching deep truths that transcend fact. Personally, I like what Hamlet, after “seeing” his father’s ghost, says to a skeptical buddy- “There are more things in heaven and earth than are dreamt of in your philosophies, Horatio!” That’s to say, I’m open to honoring the possibility of angelic-like experiences. Maybe. What I don’t do, though, is build the foundation of my faith on their alleged factuality.
So let me tell you what I do build the foundation of my faith upon. Jesus. The messenger. Not Jesus-the-Angel, but Jesus, God’s revelation, God’s message to Christians. Now, that may sound like a Sunday School cop-out (always answer Jesus!), but the point runs deep. I mean, Christians have forever argued over what Jesus means. What’s his role in our lives? What’s his function in God’s plan? Around Christmas, I feel it’s important to ponder those questions again. After all, we’re celebrating his birth. But why does that matter?
My answer: I believe Jesus reveals- to Christians- the fullest picture of God we know. Jews, Muslims, Buddhists had other messengers; God reveals Godself in many ways! But for Christians, that little Bethlehem babe shows what’s most important to us about God. That God’s strength includes the vulnerability of childbirth. That God’s salvation includes outcast shepherds, voiceless carpenters, ‘foreign’ Zoroastrian wise men. That God’s love can’t be stopped by violent Herod’s paranoia, nor even by Christ’s eventual, unjust execution by Herod’s successor. Therefore, I have faith that God’s love includes me. And you. And all this world’s continued injustice and beauty, sin and possibility.
So join me this Christmas in celebrating God’s messengers. Not just angels or postal carriers, patient with my dog as they are. But the ultimate revelation of God’s unyielding love. The unconquered Son- Jesus.
Grace and Peace,
Shane
Read more!
Thursday, December 20, 2012
Thursday, December 13, 2012
Tis seasonal…
Until the sky ripped open recently, and a foot-deep white blanket descended, I hadn’t really felt the Christmas spirit yet this year. Sure, I saw the commercials. We bought a tree and decorated it. I’ve preached two advent sermons, reread Jesus’ origin stories in both Matthew and Luke. Still, to my psyche, life hasn’t felt like anything other than normal routine. Just days before The Day, even Christmas carols sound strange to my ears, premature.
I sound about two keystrokes away from typing, “Ba-hum-bug,” right?! It’s not that. I’m not anti-Christmas or bitterly un-festive. I’m simply emotionally unprepared to celebrate the season, for whatever reason.
During school years, this Christmas spirit delay never happened. For starters, we anticipated time off from the ‘normal’ homework routine months in advance! Plus, I also made a bigger deal of receiving gifts and toys and such. This year, my family’s present will be new tires and a board game. Both welcome additions, mind you, but not as desperately desired. Maybe, now that I pay for gifts, the joy of receiving diminishes. Or perhaps I’m learning there’s something decent and spiritually mature about living simply, being content with what you have. I’ll admit that I haven’t always cultivated such a personal perspective. Or maybe something deeper is happening, something more profound than no snow, busy work life, frugality.
Which leads me to ask: What, after all, is the so-called Christmas Spirit? Is it real? Manufactured? And why would it come and go with the seasons?
One enduring Christmas memory involves the no-commercials music station that provided atmosphere to my teenage workplace. Muzak, it was called, playing endless Adult Contemporary Top 40. Until just after Thanksgiving, when Muzak began choosing Holiday songs around the clock. We would go batty by December 15, having heard Jingle Bell Rock for the 12,314th time. And we were convinced, absolutely certain!, that our customers felt the same. They, after all, perhaps worked in stores with similar holiday sounds as well. Surely, they also had consumed way too many Santa Songs and Reindeer Rambles. But oh no, every day until after Muzak shifted back, one of every five customers would sing along, dance and smile. We’d say, “Happy Holidays.” They’d respond, “Back at ya!” And mean it. We’d smile in response, watch them leave and silently admit…we meant it too.
That’s the Christmas Spirit I think, in some small way. People interacting joyously, with a bit more bounce and delight, welcome and grace. It’s corny. It’s overdone. It can be WAY too forced sometimes. And how I wish I’d been caught up in that spirit earlier this year than I have.
Perhaps this says more about me than life in general, but I doubt I’m alone. It’s just I think most ‘normal’ days aren’t as bouncy and bright as Christmas Spirit-inspired days. Some are flat out dull and dour. I don’t like those days! Most are better, some are wonderful, the majority fluctuating from “whatever” to “quite fine”. Holiday days, by contrast, though they’re usually not objectively different, feel different to me, feel consistently on better side of the spectrum. I might cook, write sermons, call on folk, act ‘normal’. Someone may experience something terribly tragic, another family may welcome a baby. Underneath it all, however, from the awful to the majestic, a feint glow bolsters me during those times, when I’m attuned to the holiday spirit. As if to make me admit that, though most ‘normal’ days don’t include anticipating feasts or presents, nevertheless my faith teaches that Jesus, Emmanuel, God-with-us, is with us, always. That holiday spirit, then, may be a divine Spirit, toward which the coming commemoration focuses my mind and heart.
So, ideally, this Christmas spirit shouldn’t change with the seasons. Again, Christ’s birth, life and resurrection reveal to Christians God’s ever-present, abiding grace (Jews and Muslims likely describe their holiday spirits differently!). But being human, it’s hard to always remember those ideas, feel that spirit, remain that buoyant. And that’s exactly why I’m glad Christmas comes yearly, and that I’m feeling its spirit again, finally. It’s good to remember what’s most important. Someone turn up the Muzak!
Grace and Peace,
Shane Read more!
I sound about two keystrokes away from typing, “Ba-hum-bug,” right?! It’s not that. I’m not anti-Christmas or bitterly un-festive. I’m simply emotionally unprepared to celebrate the season, for whatever reason.
During school years, this Christmas spirit delay never happened. For starters, we anticipated time off from the ‘normal’ homework routine months in advance! Plus, I also made a bigger deal of receiving gifts and toys and such. This year, my family’s present will be new tires and a board game. Both welcome additions, mind you, but not as desperately desired. Maybe, now that I pay for gifts, the joy of receiving diminishes. Or perhaps I’m learning there’s something decent and spiritually mature about living simply, being content with what you have. I’ll admit that I haven’t always cultivated such a personal perspective. Or maybe something deeper is happening, something more profound than no snow, busy work life, frugality.
Which leads me to ask: What, after all, is the so-called Christmas Spirit? Is it real? Manufactured? And why would it come and go with the seasons?
One enduring Christmas memory involves the no-commercials music station that provided atmosphere to my teenage workplace. Muzak, it was called, playing endless Adult Contemporary Top 40. Until just after Thanksgiving, when Muzak began choosing Holiday songs around the clock. We would go batty by December 15, having heard Jingle Bell Rock for the 12,314th time. And we were convinced, absolutely certain!, that our customers felt the same. They, after all, perhaps worked in stores with similar holiday sounds as well. Surely, they also had consumed way too many Santa Songs and Reindeer Rambles. But oh no, every day until after Muzak shifted back, one of every five customers would sing along, dance and smile. We’d say, “Happy Holidays.” They’d respond, “Back at ya!” And mean it. We’d smile in response, watch them leave and silently admit…we meant it too.
That’s the Christmas Spirit I think, in some small way. People interacting joyously, with a bit more bounce and delight, welcome and grace. It’s corny. It’s overdone. It can be WAY too forced sometimes. And how I wish I’d been caught up in that spirit earlier this year than I have.
Perhaps this says more about me than life in general, but I doubt I’m alone. It’s just I think most ‘normal’ days aren’t as bouncy and bright as Christmas Spirit-inspired days. Some are flat out dull and dour. I don’t like those days! Most are better, some are wonderful, the majority fluctuating from “whatever” to “quite fine”. Holiday days, by contrast, though they’re usually not objectively different, feel different to me, feel consistently on better side of the spectrum. I might cook, write sermons, call on folk, act ‘normal’. Someone may experience something terribly tragic, another family may welcome a baby. Underneath it all, however, from the awful to the majestic, a feint glow bolsters me during those times, when I’m attuned to the holiday spirit. As if to make me admit that, though most ‘normal’ days don’t include anticipating feasts or presents, nevertheless my faith teaches that Jesus, Emmanuel, God-with-us, is with us, always. That holiday spirit, then, may be a divine Spirit, toward which the coming commemoration focuses my mind and heart.
So, ideally, this Christmas spirit shouldn’t change with the seasons. Again, Christ’s birth, life and resurrection reveal to Christians God’s ever-present, abiding grace (Jews and Muslims likely describe their holiday spirits differently!). But being human, it’s hard to always remember those ideas, feel that spirit, remain that buoyant. And that’s exactly why I’m glad Christmas comes yearly, and that I’m feeling its spirit again, finally. It’s good to remember what’s most important. Someone turn up the Muzak!
Grace and Peace,
Shane Read more!
Tuesday, December 4, 2012
All together now…
Pretty much every church I enter, I’m greeted by a greeting. By which I mean that something- a bulletin board, a sign, a person- addresses me as a visitor, invariably claiming, “Welcome to our church. So glad you’re here. This (insert programs, values, beliefs here) is who we are. ” That’s what Christians do. We offer hospitality. It’s partly recruiting effort, obviously. But mostly, it’s showing love.
I love the stories from earlier days in our ministry, when Plymouth Creek (what was then New Ventures) worshipped in a local motel. Because the room used was near the building’s rear, I’m told, we stationed greeters in the lobby to greet first time attendees and usher them back to worship. Think of the personal attention such a mechanism allowed. “Thanks for coming. I’ll walk you back. Tell me, what brought you to our church?” Brilliant move, amen?! Unless the person simply wanted a room…
With a dedicated building, though, things have changed. Yet we’ve always had signs and processes for saying, “Welcome.” Indeed, for a long time, there was a welcome desk containing a folder for collecting contact info, staffed by church volunteers giving friendly smiles. A few years back, we eliminated that folder, since people these days are much more sensitive to privacy. Then, a few months back, we stopped scheduling greeters. In fact, we’ve moved that desk so far from the door there’s now no immediate sign addressing guests. It’s almost like we’ve eliminated the hospitality ministry.
So have we lost our minds?! Have we stopped caring?! I’ll be honest, several church folk have asked me questions along those lines. Very correctly, they’ve expressed concern about what message that sends. If no one’s up front to greet folk, will they ever get greeted? Shouldn’t the church go out of its way to make sure visitors feel welcome? Why would we change without something new in its place? Good points, all. Here’s my response.
The thing is, I don’t believe “Hospitality” is one church ministry among many. Rather, I’m convinced it’s the basic thing we do. Which is to say that none of us should ever feel like it’s someone else’s job to provide welcome. And if we’re not careful, we can fall into that pattern. I’ve often witnessed someone walk through the door who no one recognizes, then have PCCC folk beeline to…not to her, but me. “Shane, we’ve got visitors,” they’ll say. “Go say hi.” Obviously, this acknowledges an important idea- the minister should make time to welcome guests. But it also seems to suggest that’s purely my job, not ours. Ditto if we rely on designated greeters each Sunday morning. That can tempt us to think, “Someone else has it; I’m off the hook.
Now, I’m realistic. I don’t think everyone should huddle by the door, waiting for new people. That would be awkward. Plus, many of us have other important Sunday tasks. Moreover, an important thing we get from Sundays is time with friends, catching up with those we love, which really matters. Not to the exclusion of welcoming new folk, but it’s certainly critical. Nevertheless, I still think it’d be great if we all contributed to the church’s hospitality. Maybe you’re good at initiating conversation. If so, be on the lookout. Maybe you’re more comfortable saying, “Nice to meet you. Can I get you a bulletin?” Do it! Perhaps you’d rather arrange the introduction to the minister, giving that visitor a greeting two-for-one. It’s lovely if you’re simply best at opening doors and smiling.
The point is, we stopped scheduling “greeters” to see how it feels if hospitality was a necessarily shared endeavor. I’m not wedded to that scheme enduring until eternity, but I’d like to push you to help shoulder your part. If you usually avoid new people, take a risk, make a friend. If you often forget to look around, try to remember. If, instead, you repeatedly come on real strong, step back and trust others (I’m trying…). And please send me your feedback, concerns and suggestions. I mean, we are all in this together, aren’t we?
Besides, Jesus said something like, “love your neighbor…”. To everyone.
Grace and Peace,
Shane
Read more!
I love the stories from earlier days in our ministry, when Plymouth Creek (what was then New Ventures) worshipped in a local motel. Because the room used was near the building’s rear, I’m told, we stationed greeters in the lobby to greet first time attendees and usher them back to worship. Think of the personal attention such a mechanism allowed. “Thanks for coming. I’ll walk you back. Tell me, what brought you to our church?” Brilliant move, amen?! Unless the person simply wanted a room…
With a dedicated building, though, things have changed. Yet we’ve always had signs and processes for saying, “Welcome.” Indeed, for a long time, there was a welcome desk containing a folder for collecting contact info, staffed by church volunteers giving friendly smiles. A few years back, we eliminated that folder, since people these days are much more sensitive to privacy. Then, a few months back, we stopped scheduling greeters. In fact, we’ve moved that desk so far from the door there’s now no immediate sign addressing guests. It’s almost like we’ve eliminated the hospitality ministry.
So have we lost our minds?! Have we stopped caring?! I’ll be honest, several church folk have asked me questions along those lines. Very correctly, they’ve expressed concern about what message that sends. If no one’s up front to greet folk, will they ever get greeted? Shouldn’t the church go out of its way to make sure visitors feel welcome? Why would we change without something new in its place? Good points, all. Here’s my response.
The thing is, I don’t believe “Hospitality” is one church ministry among many. Rather, I’m convinced it’s the basic thing we do. Which is to say that none of us should ever feel like it’s someone else’s job to provide welcome. And if we’re not careful, we can fall into that pattern. I’ve often witnessed someone walk through the door who no one recognizes, then have PCCC folk beeline to…not to her, but me. “Shane, we’ve got visitors,” they’ll say. “Go say hi.” Obviously, this acknowledges an important idea- the minister should make time to welcome guests. But it also seems to suggest that’s purely my job, not ours. Ditto if we rely on designated greeters each Sunday morning. That can tempt us to think, “Someone else has it; I’m off the hook.
Now, I’m realistic. I don’t think everyone should huddle by the door, waiting for new people. That would be awkward. Plus, many of us have other important Sunday tasks. Moreover, an important thing we get from Sundays is time with friends, catching up with those we love, which really matters. Not to the exclusion of welcoming new folk, but it’s certainly critical. Nevertheless, I still think it’d be great if we all contributed to the church’s hospitality. Maybe you’re good at initiating conversation. If so, be on the lookout. Maybe you’re more comfortable saying, “Nice to meet you. Can I get you a bulletin?” Do it! Perhaps you’d rather arrange the introduction to the minister, giving that visitor a greeting two-for-one. It’s lovely if you’re simply best at opening doors and smiling.
The point is, we stopped scheduling “greeters” to see how it feels if hospitality was a necessarily shared endeavor. I’m not wedded to that scheme enduring until eternity, but I’d like to push you to help shoulder your part. If you usually avoid new people, take a risk, make a friend. If you often forget to look around, try to remember. If, instead, you repeatedly come on real strong, step back and trust others (I’m trying…). And please send me your feedback, concerns and suggestions. I mean, we are all in this together, aren’t we?
Besides, Jesus said something like, “love your neighbor…”. To everyone.
Grace and Peace,
Shane
Read more!
Tuesday, November 27, 2012
Holiday sharing…
We had turkey leftovers, of course, the day after Thanksgiving. And they were tasty; my sister had done wonderful work with the bird. Still, my family dined at Burger King the following lunch, which I hesitate to admit, since some would call that fast-food indulgence a terrible moral failing. Perhaps they’re right, particularly since we weren’t there as a Black Friday pit stop. Rather, we made this trip to the BK lounge intentionally, on purpose. Had we sacrificed our culinary integrity on the altar of laziness and french fry dependence? One might think, until learning that my niece was there at work.
Yes, my family forewent day-old turkey sandwiches, an American tradition, in order to order carnivorous delights from seventeen year-old Kayla. Oh, the memories that experience brought to mind! Seeing her sport those BK blue khakis, an over-sized polo shirt, hair pulled back by a floppy visor, surrounding a wispy white hairnet, I recalled the years I spent employed by KFC. An Assistant Manager, I’ll have you know, after only nine months employment. Indeed, by the time I was entering college, I’d had enough such experience that, for a summer, the local Burger King also hired me to manage their morning rush. After which, I’d rest several hours, then work at KFC during dinner. Thus, I made some decent coin that summer, despite my barely over minimum wages. Though it took several weeks, by the end, to clear the grease smell from my car.
And those weren’t the toughest jobs I ever attempted. For several years, every Sunday and on most major holidays, I drove to a local warehouse around 3 AM to help Denver Post delivery personnel. You see, the newspaper would be delivered to that building around then, at which point the carriers would stuff sections together, wrap them with rubber bands and load into vehicles. On weekends, though, the final products were large and heavy, nearly impossible to prepare on tome without help for some more physically challenged employees. Thus, the warehouse boss paid me to assist the folding, bagging, moving, loading, until all had left, when I’d sweep the floors, empty the garbage cans and head home to shower for church. I’ve also cleaned pools in pre-dawn hours, worked as a tire shop errand boy, even tried my hand at home construction for several miserably unsuccessful weeks. All those memories flooded my inner self this recent holiday weekend, watching my family’s next generation begin her own employment journey.
Honestly, I’m glad that my work these days is more often cerebral than physical. I enjoy the writing and creating, building relationships and generating ideas. But as I recently pondered my early experiences, I remembered an oft-overlooked fact: though those jobs could be hard, the hours long, the tasks unwelcome, in every instance, I found joy and purpose. I often loved what I did.
Truly. I had lots of fun; not all the time, but often. Whatever the stereotypes of such work some peddle and mock, I’m glad I had the opportunity in those days to do those jobs. I made friends. I learned resilience. I gained deeper appreciation for others. And the thing that most strikes me now, in this unexpected moment of retrospect, is the powerful ability of so many to laugh and make good out of tough times. I mean, as much as I respect paper carriers, I’ll admit, their job ain’t easy. Still, most mornings in the warehouse, we found time to share jokes, to lighten the mood. That says something, I imagine, about joy residing in the human spirit. Whatever the place, it’s possible to make meaningful connections and share happiness.
So as we ponder this month the Christmas hardships of Mary and Joseph in the manger, the hillside shepherds, the long-traveling magi, to say nothing of all those millions who work hard holiday hours- shipping overnight packages, serving early morning Starbucks, allowing last-minute, late-night gifts- let us give thanks for all who make up our community. And remember that wherever we are, whatever we’re enduring, we can discover joy, as well as share joy with whomever we encounter. Chances are, they’re looking to smile too.
Grace and Peace,
Shane
Read more!
Yes, my family forewent day-old turkey sandwiches, an American tradition, in order to order carnivorous delights from seventeen year-old Kayla. Oh, the memories that experience brought to mind! Seeing her sport those BK blue khakis, an over-sized polo shirt, hair pulled back by a floppy visor, surrounding a wispy white hairnet, I recalled the years I spent employed by KFC. An Assistant Manager, I’ll have you know, after only nine months employment. Indeed, by the time I was entering college, I’d had enough such experience that, for a summer, the local Burger King also hired me to manage their morning rush. After which, I’d rest several hours, then work at KFC during dinner. Thus, I made some decent coin that summer, despite my barely over minimum wages. Though it took several weeks, by the end, to clear the grease smell from my car.
And those weren’t the toughest jobs I ever attempted. For several years, every Sunday and on most major holidays, I drove to a local warehouse around 3 AM to help Denver Post delivery personnel. You see, the newspaper would be delivered to that building around then, at which point the carriers would stuff sections together, wrap them with rubber bands and load into vehicles. On weekends, though, the final products were large and heavy, nearly impossible to prepare on tome without help for some more physically challenged employees. Thus, the warehouse boss paid me to assist the folding, bagging, moving, loading, until all had left, when I’d sweep the floors, empty the garbage cans and head home to shower for church. I’ve also cleaned pools in pre-dawn hours, worked as a tire shop errand boy, even tried my hand at home construction for several miserably unsuccessful weeks. All those memories flooded my inner self this recent holiday weekend, watching my family’s next generation begin her own employment journey.
Honestly, I’m glad that my work these days is more often cerebral than physical. I enjoy the writing and creating, building relationships and generating ideas. But as I recently pondered my early experiences, I remembered an oft-overlooked fact: though those jobs could be hard, the hours long, the tasks unwelcome, in every instance, I found joy and purpose. I often loved what I did.
Truly. I had lots of fun; not all the time, but often. Whatever the stereotypes of such work some peddle and mock, I’m glad I had the opportunity in those days to do those jobs. I made friends. I learned resilience. I gained deeper appreciation for others. And the thing that most strikes me now, in this unexpected moment of retrospect, is the powerful ability of so many to laugh and make good out of tough times. I mean, as much as I respect paper carriers, I’ll admit, their job ain’t easy. Still, most mornings in the warehouse, we found time to share jokes, to lighten the mood. That says something, I imagine, about joy residing in the human spirit. Whatever the place, it’s possible to make meaningful connections and share happiness.
So as we ponder this month the Christmas hardships of Mary and Joseph in the manger, the hillside shepherds, the long-traveling magi, to say nothing of all those millions who work hard holiday hours- shipping overnight packages, serving early morning Starbucks, allowing last-minute, late-night gifts- let us give thanks for all who make up our community. And remember that wherever we are, whatever we’re enduring, we can discover joy, as well as share joy with whomever we encounter. Chances are, they’re looking to smile too.
Grace and Peace,
Shane
Read more!
Monday, November 19, 2012
Visiting friends…
Not infrequently does worship begin at Plymouth Creek with people still filing in the seats or pulling in the parking lot. It used to concern me, until I remembered that occurs at basically every Christian church! Now, I simply smile and wave when someone arrives after the opening song. Many, of course, prefer coming early, taking time to pause and reflect and prepare for worship. Or maybe they enjoy several minutes before service to say hi to friends or greet visitors (shouldn’t we all be excited to greet visitors!). But others would rather squeeze every extra minute of sleep possible, a stance I wholly understand. Or perhaps they’ve other things to do Sunday morning, like finish some work or chores or get kids dressed. The point is, I don’t believe there’s “one way” of coming to worship. Come early, come late, just come and be joyful!
Still, for those who grow concerned when another enters after service begins, they ought do what I did last Friday. I was invited with several others to attend noontime Friday prayers at the Northwestern Islamic Community Center, which in Islamic tradition is much like Sunday mornings for Christians. Muslims, of course, (are supposed to…) pray five times daily at specific times, which is often done alone or with few others. But the Friday noon prayer is when the broader community tries to gather, pray together, hear a sermon, make plans, fellowship. It’s that way throughout the world, I’m told. And in Muslim majority countries, civic society has organized to accommodate the faithful. Many businesses close after Friday morning, or all day, allowing workers and bosses opportunity to attend local Mosques. It’s a different “weekend” than our country, with our historically different religious influences. And because of that, American Muslims find ways to adapt. When your “holy day” isn’t Sunday or Saturday- typical American days off- it’s extra challenging to attend worship while being productive in society.
Which, I suspect, significantly contributed to a distinct feature of last Friday’s prayer service. When it began with a young man singing the traditional Arabic “call to prayer”, the worship space felt barely half-full. A scripture was chanted. The acting imam preached. He stopped to pray, then continued his message, which he told me was typical practice. And all the while, a steady flow of new worshipers entered the room. One by one, they’d remove their shoes then line up beside others. Often, they’d perform two prayer cycles (Muslim prayer involves cycling through several postures, including standing, kneeling and prostrating), before settling in to listen to the speaker. And the service culminated in two communal cycles of prayer, by which point enough had arrived to nearly fill the space.
To this observer, what felt remarkable was how normal that all felt. No one seemed agitated when someone arrived five, ten, twenty minutes after worship began. That person simply slipped into the room, addressed God briefly and personally, then seamlessly joined the community’s activity. What appeared to matter more was that s/he made time during a busy Friday to attend prayers and show support to this faith community.
I don’t know if it’s getting more difficult for all people of faith to carve out time to gather for worship, but sometimes it feels so. Many American Christians (though certainly not all!) are privileged with fewer pressures on Sunday than Muslims on Fridays. But often things arise- sports, work, family- that remind us that taking time for God isn’t always easy. As a pastor, I think it matters. Obviously! But I understand that it can feel like adding to that ever-expanding To-Do List.
So, as a pastor who watched this dynamic play out differently than my normal before my eyes last week, just a few days before Thanksgiving, let me take today simply to say, “Thank You”. To you who weekly, monthly or in your own way regularly pause to acknowledge God and God’s people. I pray you find as much power and refreshment in that experience as I hope. But however you do it, for whatever reason, you have my thanks. And I dare presume God thinks rather fondly on it too.
Grace and Peace,
Shane
Read more!
Still, for those who grow concerned when another enters after service begins, they ought do what I did last Friday. I was invited with several others to attend noontime Friday prayers at the Northwestern Islamic Community Center, which in Islamic tradition is much like Sunday mornings for Christians. Muslims, of course, (are supposed to…) pray five times daily at specific times, which is often done alone or with few others. But the Friday noon prayer is when the broader community tries to gather, pray together, hear a sermon, make plans, fellowship. It’s that way throughout the world, I’m told. And in Muslim majority countries, civic society has organized to accommodate the faithful. Many businesses close after Friday morning, or all day, allowing workers and bosses opportunity to attend local Mosques. It’s a different “weekend” than our country, with our historically different religious influences. And because of that, American Muslims find ways to adapt. When your “holy day” isn’t Sunday or Saturday- typical American days off- it’s extra challenging to attend worship while being productive in society.
Which, I suspect, significantly contributed to a distinct feature of last Friday’s prayer service. When it began with a young man singing the traditional Arabic “call to prayer”, the worship space felt barely half-full. A scripture was chanted. The acting imam preached. He stopped to pray, then continued his message, which he told me was typical practice. And all the while, a steady flow of new worshipers entered the room. One by one, they’d remove their shoes then line up beside others. Often, they’d perform two prayer cycles (Muslim prayer involves cycling through several postures, including standing, kneeling and prostrating), before settling in to listen to the speaker. And the service culminated in two communal cycles of prayer, by which point enough had arrived to nearly fill the space.
To this observer, what felt remarkable was how normal that all felt. No one seemed agitated when someone arrived five, ten, twenty minutes after worship began. That person simply slipped into the room, addressed God briefly and personally, then seamlessly joined the community’s activity. What appeared to matter more was that s/he made time during a busy Friday to attend prayers and show support to this faith community.
I don’t know if it’s getting more difficult for all people of faith to carve out time to gather for worship, but sometimes it feels so. Many American Christians (though certainly not all!) are privileged with fewer pressures on Sunday than Muslims on Fridays. But often things arise- sports, work, family- that remind us that taking time for God isn’t always easy. As a pastor, I think it matters. Obviously! But I understand that it can feel like adding to that ever-expanding To-Do List.
So, as a pastor who watched this dynamic play out differently than my normal before my eyes last week, just a few days before Thanksgiving, let me take today simply to say, “Thank You”. To you who weekly, monthly or in your own way regularly pause to acknowledge God and God’s people. I pray you find as much power and refreshment in that experience as I hope. But however you do it, for whatever reason, you have my thanks. And I dare presume God thinks rather fondly on it too.
Grace and Peace,
Shane
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Thursday, November 15, 2012
Occasional flare…
Again, Thanksgiving’s upon us! And this time, I plan to be ready. I’m traveling with Tabitha and Fawkes to my sister’s house in Kansas. I’ll bring some cooking tools also, probably more than I’ll need. But I intend to force my family to let me make some of the holiday meal. The mashed potatoes, certainly. Perhaps some carrots, a chunky gravy.
Of course, it’s only been a few years since I’ve become a non-embarrassment in the kitchen. My family’s accustomed still to the culinary bumbler they long knew. Thus, I suspect that, were we to get together next week for a weekend barbeque, I wouldn’t need to argue for whether I could take control of a recipe or two. They’d say, “Go for it. Let’s see what you’ve learned.” After all, if I messed up, there’s Papa John’s or India House. Except this isn’t a normal dinner. It’s Thanksgiving! And you just don’t take the risk of your suddenly wannabe Chef Son messing up a holiday feast. Give him some years to watch and learn and prepare.
It’s how holiday cooking has worked for centuries, even. Younger generations learning tricks and traditions from their parents, who learned from their parents, all making slight adjustments when their turn came. So on, down the ages, ideas evolved. As new ingredients were imported, things like cinnamon were added to pumpkin pie. As new technologies arose, things like blenders made making smooth gravy much quicker. Yet because these meals mattered more than most- holidays that brought occasional flare to all-too-often bare and simple tables- the evolution was slow, changes took time, traditions held strongly.
It you’re now asking, “Shane, why does that matter?” I want you to reread those sentences, but imagine we’re talking about religion. Go ahead. I’ll wait. You done? Great. Sounds like a related process, doesn’t it? At least, that’s my theory: cooking and religion are often the same. Especially when it comes to big moments, holiday feasts! I’ve attended Christmas services at Evangelical churches who pride themselves on using only up-to-date, hipster music. Yet on those oh-so-holy nights, the churches sang Joy to the World and such. Sure, the instrumentation was more current than organ and bells. Nevertheless, some things, I guess, you just don’t mess with.
Or rather, you only mess with over long periods of time. I mean, it’s also true that Jesus’ followers didn’t sing Silent Night, right? Instead, they celebrated festivals that evolved over centuries of Jewish observance; Passover, Booths, Pentecost, Yom Kippur, which in turn were adapted from earlier cultures and traditions. Over intervening centuries, many things happened that changed the meanings of these Jewish festivals- the Exodus from Egypt, the Exile in Babylon, the takeover of Jewish homelands by Rome. Then, for Christians, Passover became something quite transformed when thought of in light of Jesus. Yet just like Jesus, for awhile, they honored ancient tradition and performed familiar rituals.
You know the saying: the only thing that never changes is that everything changes? That’s true enough, I imagine, however slowly most important changes take. In an age like ours, such measured speeds can feel glacial even, particularly when compared with how quickly some new things change. Flashier, faster iPhones come out yearly now. E-readers and laptops get both smaller and more powerful. Why haven’t we figured out world peace, then?! Or, at least, a perfect way to make turkey gravy every time, with little fuss and less cleaning?! The Holidays are good reminders that, however true it is that all things will pass, you don’t mess with some important things without due deliberation.
So it is I’ll head to Thanksgiving with my new potato ricer and flashy wand blender, demanding to mash potatoes but not daring to roast the turkey. I may say, “Hey Mom, perhaps we ought try brining it this year?” But if we don’t, whatever. She’s Mom; she’s got it covered. And when it’s my turn to take over, eventually, I’ll be glad she passed on what she knew.
Grace and Peace,
Shane
Read more!
Of course, it’s only been a few years since I’ve become a non-embarrassment in the kitchen. My family’s accustomed still to the culinary bumbler they long knew. Thus, I suspect that, were we to get together next week for a weekend barbeque, I wouldn’t need to argue for whether I could take control of a recipe or two. They’d say, “Go for it. Let’s see what you’ve learned.” After all, if I messed up, there’s Papa John’s or India House. Except this isn’t a normal dinner. It’s Thanksgiving! And you just don’t take the risk of your suddenly wannabe Chef Son messing up a holiday feast. Give him some years to watch and learn and prepare.
It’s how holiday cooking has worked for centuries, even. Younger generations learning tricks and traditions from their parents, who learned from their parents, all making slight adjustments when their turn came. So on, down the ages, ideas evolved. As new ingredients were imported, things like cinnamon were added to pumpkin pie. As new technologies arose, things like blenders made making smooth gravy much quicker. Yet because these meals mattered more than most- holidays that brought occasional flare to all-too-often bare and simple tables- the evolution was slow, changes took time, traditions held strongly.
It you’re now asking, “Shane, why does that matter?” I want you to reread those sentences, but imagine we’re talking about religion. Go ahead. I’ll wait. You done? Great. Sounds like a related process, doesn’t it? At least, that’s my theory: cooking and religion are often the same. Especially when it comes to big moments, holiday feasts! I’ve attended Christmas services at Evangelical churches who pride themselves on using only up-to-date, hipster music. Yet on those oh-so-holy nights, the churches sang Joy to the World and such. Sure, the instrumentation was more current than organ and bells. Nevertheless, some things, I guess, you just don’t mess with.
Or rather, you only mess with over long periods of time. I mean, it’s also true that Jesus’ followers didn’t sing Silent Night, right? Instead, they celebrated festivals that evolved over centuries of Jewish observance; Passover, Booths, Pentecost, Yom Kippur, which in turn were adapted from earlier cultures and traditions. Over intervening centuries, many things happened that changed the meanings of these Jewish festivals- the Exodus from Egypt, the Exile in Babylon, the takeover of Jewish homelands by Rome. Then, for Christians, Passover became something quite transformed when thought of in light of Jesus. Yet just like Jesus, for awhile, they honored ancient tradition and performed familiar rituals.
You know the saying: the only thing that never changes is that everything changes? That’s true enough, I imagine, however slowly most important changes take. In an age like ours, such measured speeds can feel glacial even, particularly when compared with how quickly some new things change. Flashier, faster iPhones come out yearly now. E-readers and laptops get both smaller and more powerful. Why haven’t we figured out world peace, then?! Or, at least, a perfect way to make turkey gravy every time, with little fuss and less cleaning?! The Holidays are good reminders that, however true it is that all things will pass, you don’t mess with some important things without due deliberation.
So it is I’ll head to Thanksgiving with my new potato ricer and flashy wand blender, demanding to mash potatoes but not daring to roast the turkey. I may say, “Hey Mom, perhaps we ought try brining it this year?” But if we don’t, whatever. She’s Mom; she’s got it covered. And when it’s my turn to take over, eventually, I’ll be glad she passed on what she knew.
Grace and Peace,
Shane
Read more!
Thursday, November 8, 2012
As one…
This Sunday marks the first of several experiments over the next few months. Specifically, we’re welcoming Rev. Dr. Ewen Holmes- Senior Pastor of nearby Plymouth Presbyterian Church- into our pulpit, while I’ll be at his church laying down the good Word. Pastor Ewen and I arrived in Plymouth within a month of each other. We’ve connected through IOCP, along with other similar minded pastors. Enjoying those relationships, we grab lunch or breakfast regularly. And a few months back, someone said, “Let’s do a pulpit exchange.”
Thus it is a (gasp!) Presbyterian will brave a Disciples church!
Honestly, I love the symbolism of this preaching swap the Sunday after national elections. For, if you recall, Disciples began as rebel Presbyterians. Many of our founders trained for ministry in the Presbyterian fold. Two heavyweights- Thomas and Alexander Campbell- were even from Scotland. In the early 1800s, in fact, Alexander attended seminary at the University of Edinburgh, while his father Thomas looked for work in the US. Soon, though, Thomas was fighting with local ministers and church authorities, and around 1809, declared himself a “free agent”. You ask Disciples, it’s because he’d awoken to the need for churches to forget denominational allegiance, and work for unity among the ever-more fragmenting faithful. You ask Presbyterians of that time, Thomas Campbell was an arrogant, stubborn glory-hound!
Honestly, Disciples partisan though I may be, neither story’s fully accurate. What’s most revealing, rather, is that this splinter occurred on the so-called frontier around twenty years after America’s War of Independence. In other words, freedom, autonomy and individual initiative were in the air. Especially in rural farms and small towns up and down Ohio and Kentucky- i.e. exactly where the break occurred. At the time, tempers were high: “You’re heretics!” “You’re demonic!” For all his talk of unity, Thomas Campbell likely wouldn’t have invited Presbyterian ministers into his pulpit, nor ascended one of theirs.
Two centuries later, though, it’s not only a non-issue, I even think our denominations should just merge. Probably won’t happen for a while, but we’ve really got lots in common. They could be probably teach us about organization and thoughtful planning. We could offer insights into freedom of expression and doctrinal creativity. Whatever the case, we aren’t the same church, but it’s easy enough to act as one. To swap pulpit, merge youth groups, perhaps work together in mission and service…?!
As I said, it’s a potent symbol days after the country votes. Our denomination began as an off-shot of the Presbyterian Church. Our founders railed and harangued, gave and got much abuse. Yet their heirs in faith, now, are working together and enjoying it. Not only in Plymouth, but around the country and world. I know a Disciples minister on staff of a Presbyterian church in Lexington, KY. We’ve partnered for disaster relief and missionary efforts across the globe. In other words, unity- not division nor animosity- have become our long-term trajectory. Our country, I suspect, could learn from that.
I suspect on Sunday the 11th, all sides of the political spectrum will still be elated or downtrodden. Exuberant at their sides’ prospects or anxious over their preferred partisans’ losses. We might even feel something of both within our spirits, if, say, we pick with the majority on one question but ‘lose’ on another. It could be easy, therefore, to devolve into a game of boasting and blaming, of vilifying your victorious opponents or gloating over the ‘losers.’ But the ultimate hope is that in country- as much, I pray, as in church- the long-term trajectory ought be unity, not division.
Even if that seems tough, given the current cultural atmosphere, oneness is neither naïve nor undesirable. Thomas and Alexander Campbell, and other Disciples of Christ founders, may’ve wanted unity, but didn’t achieve it in their lifetimes. Yet here we are- 2012- in Plymouth, Minnesota, receiving blessings from a blessed neighbor, a wise preacher, a...Presbyterian!
I pray you find Pastor Ewen as profound and engaging as I’ve come to regard him. After all, when we put unity before division, togetherness before denigration, it turns out we’ve all got many great gifts to receive and share.
Grace and Peace,
Shane Read more!
Thus it is a (gasp!) Presbyterian will brave a Disciples church!
Honestly, I love the symbolism of this preaching swap the Sunday after national elections. For, if you recall, Disciples began as rebel Presbyterians. Many of our founders trained for ministry in the Presbyterian fold. Two heavyweights- Thomas and Alexander Campbell- were even from Scotland. In the early 1800s, in fact, Alexander attended seminary at the University of Edinburgh, while his father Thomas looked for work in the US. Soon, though, Thomas was fighting with local ministers and church authorities, and around 1809, declared himself a “free agent”. You ask Disciples, it’s because he’d awoken to the need for churches to forget denominational allegiance, and work for unity among the ever-more fragmenting faithful. You ask Presbyterians of that time, Thomas Campbell was an arrogant, stubborn glory-hound!
Honestly, Disciples partisan though I may be, neither story’s fully accurate. What’s most revealing, rather, is that this splinter occurred on the so-called frontier around twenty years after America’s War of Independence. In other words, freedom, autonomy and individual initiative were in the air. Especially in rural farms and small towns up and down Ohio and Kentucky- i.e. exactly where the break occurred. At the time, tempers were high: “You’re heretics!” “You’re demonic!” For all his talk of unity, Thomas Campbell likely wouldn’t have invited Presbyterian ministers into his pulpit, nor ascended one of theirs.
Two centuries later, though, it’s not only a non-issue, I even think our denominations should just merge. Probably won’t happen for a while, but we’ve really got lots in common. They could be probably teach us about organization and thoughtful planning. We could offer insights into freedom of expression and doctrinal creativity. Whatever the case, we aren’t the same church, but it’s easy enough to act as one. To swap pulpit, merge youth groups, perhaps work together in mission and service…?!
As I said, it’s a potent symbol days after the country votes. Our denomination began as an off-shot of the Presbyterian Church. Our founders railed and harangued, gave and got much abuse. Yet their heirs in faith, now, are working together and enjoying it. Not only in Plymouth, but around the country and world. I know a Disciples minister on staff of a Presbyterian church in Lexington, KY. We’ve partnered for disaster relief and missionary efforts across the globe. In other words, unity- not division nor animosity- have become our long-term trajectory. Our country, I suspect, could learn from that.
I suspect on Sunday the 11th, all sides of the political spectrum will still be elated or downtrodden. Exuberant at their sides’ prospects or anxious over their preferred partisans’ losses. We might even feel something of both within our spirits, if, say, we pick with the majority on one question but ‘lose’ on another. It could be easy, therefore, to devolve into a game of boasting and blaming, of vilifying your victorious opponents or gloating over the ‘losers.’ But the ultimate hope is that in country- as much, I pray, as in church- the long-term trajectory ought be unity, not division.
Even if that seems tough, given the current cultural atmosphere, oneness is neither naïve nor undesirable. Thomas and Alexander Campbell, and other Disciples of Christ founders, may’ve wanted unity, but didn’t achieve it in their lifetimes. Yet here we are- 2012- in Plymouth, Minnesota, receiving blessings from a blessed neighbor, a wise preacher, a...Presbyterian!
I pray you find Pastor Ewen as profound and engaging as I’ve come to regard him. After all, when we put unity before division, togetherness before denigration, it turns out we’ve all got many great gifts to receive and share.
Grace and Peace,
Shane Read more!
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