Tabitha uploaded a stunning picture to her Facebook profile recently. Our backyard blanketed in inches of fresh show, weighed-down tree branches drooping, wintery bliss lit by the emerging illumination of morning’s almost dawn. Maybe it’s my Colorado roots (sorry Florida), but I’ve long been convinced that new snowfall best expresses the earth’s created purity. Yet this recent photo posting was more a protest than a celebration of beauty. I mean, marvelous whiteouts are great for President’s Day, but obnoxious for Tax Day, right?! Apparently, this winter forgot to read Ecclesiastes- “For everything there is a season.”
Of course, when you dig into that famous Ecclesiastes passage, you discover the writer (stylishly named Qoheleth) arguing against a different instinct- the oh-so-understandable desire to want only good things in life, to experience just the comfortable “seasons”. By contrast, Qoheleth observes that just as there’s a time to be born, so there’s naturally a time to die, a time to be happy and to be sad, so on and so forth. And what’s more, the book presses us to go beyond simply acknowledging these facts. It hopes we accept them gracefully, learn to honor them, even celebrate life’s seasons, understanding that human life fully lived must be balanced, entirely experienced.
Thus, the reason this work is among the Bible’s “Wisdom Literature”. That’s what scholars designate books like Ecclesiastes and Proverbs, Job and Psalms. In contrast to prophetic books like Jeremiah or theological histories like the Kings, Ecclesiastes means to impart deep knowledge, upend easy assumptions, usher us into the blessed, ancient company of the divine Lady Wisdom.
For instance, it is wise, Qoheleth surmises, that we welcome the balancing of utter happiness with the seasoning of hardship. Not that pain is good, or we should seek out struggle for its own sake. That isn’t wise! But as true as it is that our challenges- medical, financial, emotional, spiritual- are individually different, so it’s also true that no one escapes the rhythms of life, the vacillations of fortune. Put differently, we’re never in full control, desperately though many strive for it. The better part of wisdom, therefore, is nurturing the humility to live seasonally, to not rebel against whatever “season” you’re in, but accept it for what it is.
Abstractly, that’s easy to say. When someone kicks in your backdoor, however, as happened to mine last August, it’s not so simple as, “Well, there’s a time to be robbed, I guess.” You- at least I- want to rage, to fight, to rebel, and in the case of our home break-in, those feelings seemed entirely justified, thank you very much! Bad things happen to everyone, sure- whatever- just why did this happen to me? Tabitha had an easier time accepting it. We all know, of course, she’s wiser than I!
Here’s the thing about what happened next, however, that I maybe I told you, maybe I didn’t. Our neighbors were kinder to us than they’d ever been before. It’s not like previously they were mean. It’s just that we’d all gone about life ignoring each other, waving occasionally, smiling a bit. After becoming a victim of theft, though, that changed. We talked over the fence, commiserated, their kids played with our dog. And for the first time since I’d lived there, a full year after moving in, I felt truly a part of the neighborhood, welcomed, known, legit. I wish it hadn’t taken a home invasion for that to occur, but so it was. I’m not in control. It taught me that, in every moment, opportunities for grace abide.
Perhaps that’s why Qoheleth wrote, “For everything there is a season,” like a blessing, not a curse. Because the only thing that doesn’t fade, that can’t be jettisoned by the winds of fate, is God’s ever-renewing grace, present everywhere, always. When we celebrate, God laughs along. When we mourn, God whispers resurrection. When eight inches of snow cover the ground mid-April, we could cringe and close our eyes. But we’d miss winter’s last glimpse of unparalleled, stunning beauty.
May it be that whatever season you’re in, you accept it for what it is. Then look for God. Grace is there.
Grace and Peace,
Shane
Read more!
Monday, April 29, 2013
Tuesday, April 23, 2013
Farm land…
Last Thursday, I met a soldier who told me his dreams for life after the Army. He talked of the farming community where he grew up, herds of livestock, acres of orchards. Hills surround the land where his family established roots, where he and his newlywed wife bought a plot for building their own house…one day. Apparently, she’s moved further south to be with her family as he lives deployed at various bases. So the soldier doesn’t return to this home much, yet speaks of it with obvious passion and endearing joy. “You should visit,” he told me, enthusiasm sparkling. It sounded so beautiful I was greatly tempted! The thing is, his home is very far away. And it may not be there if ever I go.
Let me back up. This interaction occurred in Uptown at Temple Israel, an historic local synagogue with marvelous interior design. The senior rabbi hosted an interfaith clergy conversation with visiting soldiers from the Israeli Defense Force (IDF). These five young men and one woman, all officers, none above the age of 26, are traveling around Minneapolis for two weeks giving presentations about the IDF’s mission and goals. I’d attended a similar conversation last year at Beth Shalom in Minnetonka, found the experience intriguing for myriad reasons. It was great to make connections with local Jewish Community leaders; fascinating to learn more about this small, remarkable country; challenging, occasionally unnerving, to ponder the IDF’s responsibilities and actions. They’ve fought anti-Semitic terrorists. They’ve had to defend violent, anti-Arab settlers. The IDF includes young people from often antagonistic ethnic groups (Israeli Arabs, Israeli Jews, Druze, Bedouin) and teaches them to help one another, to build trust, to serve a greater good. The IDF launched a war in the Gaza Strip several years ago, in response to frequent rocket attacks, that devastated its economy, demolished communities and killed scores of non-combatants.
And the home that this soldier I met talks of so lovingly sits in his country’s north. Or rather, it’s in “The Golan” as he put it (the Golan Heights), occupied by his country since 1967. He was born there, so it feels like home, his parents and grandparents having settled years ago with their government’s permission and protection. There are other families, though, Syrian or Druze or Palestinian, who may remember when that land was theirs, who also long to return, whose children don’t recall any farms or houses from childhood, just refugee camps.
One letter is much too small to address the fullness of this fraught situation, and I’m no qualified commentator, by far! Needless to say, we’d all do well to better inform ourselves and never accept easy answers. Soil that over half the world’s population- Muslims, Jews, Christians- feel entitled to calling “personally significant” on religious grounds, is soil that’s bound to cultivate fierce opinions, competing narratives, frequent misunderstanding.
But for a select group of those people, this soil isn’t an idea, a topic of debate. It’s home, at least potentially. I’ve read of the Six Days War and Israel’s takeover of the Golan Heights, along with subsequent offers to return that territory to Syria in exchange for lasting peace. However, I’d never met a person who’d lived there, saw his eye’s nostalgic gleam, heard his hopeful dreams. Friends of mine who’ve talked with Palestinian refugees in Jordanian camps describe hearing something similar of them too. Which reinforces to me an important reason why peace in that land is so hard: home matters.
Uniquely so. Perhaps I’d defend mine to the death. Unlike him, I’ve never had to offer. I mean, America’s neighbors are friendly Canadians, fish, friendly Mexicans, fish. It wasn’t always this way, but it’s been so for over a century. Existentially, we’re quite safe. This soldier, by contrast, lives within ten miles of communities who believe his home should be theirs. I can’t imagine feeling safe, planning the future, easily loving my neighbors. So the next time you hear of trouble over there, remember how complex their lives and challenges are. And pray that the God of all who loves all- repeat All- will lead them all to peace one day, soon.
Grace and Peace,
Shane Read more!
Let me back up. This interaction occurred in Uptown at Temple Israel, an historic local synagogue with marvelous interior design. The senior rabbi hosted an interfaith clergy conversation with visiting soldiers from the Israeli Defense Force (IDF). These five young men and one woman, all officers, none above the age of 26, are traveling around Minneapolis for two weeks giving presentations about the IDF’s mission and goals. I’d attended a similar conversation last year at Beth Shalom in Minnetonka, found the experience intriguing for myriad reasons. It was great to make connections with local Jewish Community leaders; fascinating to learn more about this small, remarkable country; challenging, occasionally unnerving, to ponder the IDF’s responsibilities and actions. They’ve fought anti-Semitic terrorists. They’ve had to defend violent, anti-Arab settlers. The IDF includes young people from often antagonistic ethnic groups (Israeli Arabs, Israeli Jews, Druze, Bedouin) and teaches them to help one another, to build trust, to serve a greater good. The IDF launched a war in the Gaza Strip several years ago, in response to frequent rocket attacks, that devastated its economy, demolished communities and killed scores of non-combatants.
And the home that this soldier I met talks of so lovingly sits in his country’s north. Or rather, it’s in “The Golan” as he put it (the Golan Heights), occupied by his country since 1967. He was born there, so it feels like home, his parents and grandparents having settled years ago with their government’s permission and protection. There are other families, though, Syrian or Druze or Palestinian, who may remember when that land was theirs, who also long to return, whose children don’t recall any farms or houses from childhood, just refugee camps.
One letter is much too small to address the fullness of this fraught situation, and I’m no qualified commentator, by far! Needless to say, we’d all do well to better inform ourselves and never accept easy answers. Soil that over half the world’s population- Muslims, Jews, Christians- feel entitled to calling “personally significant” on religious grounds, is soil that’s bound to cultivate fierce opinions, competing narratives, frequent misunderstanding.
But for a select group of those people, this soil isn’t an idea, a topic of debate. It’s home, at least potentially. I’ve read of the Six Days War and Israel’s takeover of the Golan Heights, along with subsequent offers to return that territory to Syria in exchange for lasting peace. However, I’d never met a person who’d lived there, saw his eye’s nostalgic gleam, heard his hopeful dreams. Friends of mine who’ve talked with Palestinian refugees in Jordanian camps describe hearing something similar of them too. Which reinforces to me an important reason why peace in that land is so hard: home matters.
Uniquely so. Perhaps I’d defend mine to the death. Unlike him, I’ve never had to offer. I mean, America’s neighbors are friendly Canadians, fish, friendly Mexicans, fish. It wasn’t always this way, but it’s been so for over a century. Existentially, we’re quite safe. This soldier, by contrast, lives within ten miles of communities who believe his home should be theirs. I can’t imagine feeling safe, planning the future, easily loving my neighbors. So the next time you hear of trouble over there, remember how complex their lives and challenges are. And pray that the God of all who loves all- repeat All- will lead them all to peace one day, soon.
Grace and Peace,
Shane Read more!
Tuesday, April 16, 2013
Long run…
I went running this afternoon. Not a long run; just a couple miles indoors at the local gym. When I got home, I fired up the computer to write this letter, checking the news first, like normal. And I learned that someone or ones or group or whatever exploded bombs at the Boston Marathon. Whatever else I might’ve written seems less pressing now.
One of my favorite websites is Foreign Policy Magazine. They cover developments in countries that most American news outlets rarely notice, and so provide a broader perspective on “what’s really happening around the world” than I’d get otherwise. Tragically, I’m becoming immune to reports of makeshift bombs exploding in public spaces and citizen-on-citizen violence ravaging communities. This weekend in Iraq, 27 people were killed, over 100 injured. Last week, a Serbian war veteran rampaged his village, murdering 13. Mogadishu, Somalia, having seen noteworthy gains in peace lately, witnessed an attack over the weekend, 35 people dying, at their supreme court. The Syrian government renewed massacres on its citizens. The Democratic Republic of the Congo remains brutalized in certain regions. Life isn’t terrible in most communities in most countries, but it’s fragile everywhere. Sin persists.
Still, the detachment I’ve cultivated for reading those stories isn’t maintaining itself today. Perhaps because these suffering souls are fellow citizens, the streets cratered are ones I’ve walked, it’s not enough to say, “Well, humans are broken.” These shattered lives demand my fuller attention.
I have friends who once lived along the Boston Marathon route. Every “Patriot’s Day,” when the race is held, they’d set up lawn chairs out front. Not being marathoners, but still amicable fellows, these buddies would cheer the passing runners, invite others friends for a party, and otherwise use the day as an excuse to celebrate life. I mean, it’s quite an achievement, to run any marathon, let alone Boston. Those runners have to qualify with sufficiently low times in other races, meaning they’ve done something I swear the human body wasn’t meant to do- run 26 miles straight- and they did it extremely well. That reflects an incredible characteristic of our species: we frequently urge ourselves to transcend limitations. Running marathons faster and faster. Sending vehicles farther and farther into space. Mapping our basic genetic codes. Eliminating previously devastating diseases.
It’s so easy, in the wake of tragic violence, to forget how true that transcendence is of humans. I’m not sure we’ve made as much progress morally as scientifically, but we’ve still traveled a long way there too. When Jesus said, “Love your neighbor as yourself,” and even, “Love your enemy,” it was hard for his first followers to apply that to even just their closest non-Jewish or non-Roman neighbors. The New Testament treats slavery like it’s normal. Medieval Christians slaughtered newly contacted native Americans, thinking these so-called “heathens” were less than human. We have problems still; sin persists. But in the long run, the love Christ preached has proved transcendent.
So I denounce this afternoon’s bomb attacks as both evil and utterly stupid. Callous disregard for human life has no justification, whatever “motivation” we may eventually learn was used. But even more, the attackers chose as their ‘symbolic event’ a self-defeating situation. They went after marathon runners, people who strive day after day to improve their lives, to stretch themselves beyond normal limits, very few of whom might expect monetary reward. They simply believe in themselves, and by extension humanity, to be better than is rationally expected. Proving that to themselves, and whomever is watching, is generally reward enough for the effort. I commend them, and would’ve done so even before today’s event. But now I celebrate any future marathon runner who takes to the streets in defiance of this nihilistic violence, declaring step after agonizing step, by their willingness to not be cowed into staying home, that we were created for more than terror or violence, that together, we can overcome. For love was, is and always will be our common destination, our finish line. And in light of what’s just happened, may we recommit to it being how we run life’s race too.
Grace and Peace,
Shane
Read more!
One of my favorite websites is Foreign Policy Magazine. They cover developments in countries that most American news outlets rarely notice, and so provide a broader perspective on “what’s really happening around the world” than I’d get otherwise. Tragically, I’m becoming immune to reports of makeshift bombs exploding in public spaces and citizen-on-citizen violence ravaging communities. This weekend in Iraq, 27 people were killed, over 100 injured. Last week, a Serbian war veteran rampaged his village, murdering 13. Mogadishu, Somalia, having seen noteworthy gains in peace lately, witnessed an attack over the weekend, 35 people dying, at their supreme court. The Syrian government renewed massacres on its citizens. The Democratic Republic of the Congo remains brutalized in certain regions. Life isn’t terrible in most communities in most countries, but it’s fragile everywhere. Sin persists.
Still, the detachment I’ve cultivated for reading those stories isn’t maintaining itself today. Perhaps because these suffering souls are fellow citizens, the streets cratered are ones I’ve walked, it’s not enough to say, “Well, humans are broken.” These shattered lives demand my fuller attention.
I have friends who once lived along the Boston Marathon route. Every “Patriot’s Day,” when the race is held, they’d set up lawn chairs out front. Not being marathoners, but still amicable fellows, these buddies would cheer the passing runners, invite others friends for a party, and otherwise use the day as an excuse to celebrate life. I mean, it’s quite an achievement, to run any marathon, let alone Boston. Those runners have to qualify with sufficiently low times in other races, meaning they’ve done something I swear the human body wasn’t meant to do- run 26 miles straight- and they did it extremely well. That reflects an incredible characteristic of our species: we frequently urge ourselves to transcend limitations. Running marathons faster and faster. Sending vehicles farther and farther into space. Mapping our basic genetic codes. Eliminating previously devastating diseases.
It’s so easy, in the wake of tragic violence, to forget how true that transcendence is of humans. I’m not sure we’ve made as much progress morally as scientifically, but we’ve still traveled a long way there too. When Jesus said, “Love your neighbor as yourself,” and even, “Love your enemy,” it was hard for his first followers to apply that to even just their closest non-Jewish or non-Roman neighbors. The New Testament treats slavery like it’s normal. Medieval Christians slaughtered newly contacted native Americans, thinking these so-called “heathens” were less than human. We have problems still; sin persists. But in the long run, the love Christ preached has proved transcendent.
So I denounce this afternoon’s bomb attacks as both evil and utterly stupid. Callous disregard for human life has no justification, whatever “motivation” we may eventually learn was used. But even more, the attackers chose as their ‘symbolic event’ a self-defeating situation. They went after marathon runners, people who strive day after day to improve their lives, to stretch themselves beyond normal limits, very few of whom might expect monetary reward. They simply believe in themselves, and by extension humanity, to be better than is rationally expected. Proving that to themselves, and whomever is watching, is generally reward enough for the effort. I commend them, and would’ve done so even before today’s event. But now I celebrate any future marathon runner who takes to the streets in defiance of this nihilistic violence, declaring step after agonizing step, by their willingness to not be cowed into staying home, that we were created for more than terror or violence, that together, we can overcome. For love was, is and always will be our common destination, our finish line. And in light of what’s just happened, may we recommit to it being how we run life’s race too.
Grace and Peace,
Shane
Read more!
Wednesday, April 10, 2013
A Message from Our Spring Intern
In the midst of all of the hoopla recently regarding the conclusions of the Men’s and Women’s March Madness basketball tournaments, my favorite sports moment in the past two weeks actually came on April 1, opening day of the Major League Baseball season. The Boston Red Sox faced (and defeated) the New York Yankees in the first of many games these classic rivals will play against each other this season, but the moment that stuck out most to me came in the ninth inning at a time when the Red Sox were already winning 5-2, a sizable last inning margin by most people’s standards: one of the Red Sox players scored from second base on an infield hit, something almost unimaginable in the majors.
So what does any of this have to do with you, God, or me being the new intern at Plymouth Creek Christian Church? Well, for starters I have always loved baseball, and in high school base running was not only my specialty but also my favorite aspect of the game. Unlike the obvious contributions of hitting and fielding, base running has the ability to more subtly but still drastically change the dynamics of a game. It is a part of the game that most people, baseball players included, take little notice of, and a part of the game that receives little attention on Sports Center. Perhaps most importantly, though the best base-running plays require teamwork and sacrifice. For some such plays, like the “sacrifice fly” or “sacrifice bunt”, this is obvious; but for others it is not, as when a groundball to the right side allows a player to go from second base to third base (or, in the case of the Red Sox game, all the way home), an otherwise awful hit usually only bringing an out now also advancing a base-runner, creating another opportunity to score and eventually win.
This (perhaps convoluted) example from sports sheds light on a much simpler reality that transcends the baseball diamond: good teamwork always requires sacrifice. Last night, for instance, my 13-year-old sister Bailey was told she has to play her worst favorite position in soccer for at least the next few weeks, something she’s very upset about but is coming to terms with because she loves her team. Or consider this often-read passage from Philippians showing God joining our team in Christ, obtaining victory for us all through sacrifice:
If then there is any encouragement in Christ, any consolation from love, any sharing in the Spirit, any compassion and sympathy, make my joy complete: be of the same mind, having the same love, being in full accord and of one mind. Do nothing from selfish ambition or conceit, but in humility regard others as better than yourselves. Let each of you look not to your own interests, but to the interests of others. Let the same mind be in you that was in Christ Jesus,
who, though he was in the form of God,
did not regard equality with God
as something to be exploited,
but emptied himself,
taking the form of a slave,
being born in human likeness.
And being found in human form,
he humbled himself
and became obedient to the point of death—
even death on a cross.
Therefore God also highly exalted him
and gave him the name
that is above every name,
so that at the name of Jesus
every knee should bend,
in heaven and on earth and under the earth,
and every tongue should confess
that Jesus Christ is Lord,
to the glory of God the Father.
It is in this light that I want to thank you for letting me join the team here at Plymouth Creek, even if only for a short while, for I know it will require sacrifice on your part and on mine, but hopefully growth in love and in joy and in Christ for all of us. Teamwork is not always glamorous or fun, and hardly glorifying in itself, but nevertheless glorious and beautiful in due time.
Grace and Peace,
Hayden
Read more!
So what does any of this have to do with you, God, or me being the new intern at Plymouth Creek Christian Church? Well, for starters I have always loved baseball, and in high school base running was not only my specialty but also my favorite aspect of the game. Unlike the obvious contributions of hitting and fielding, base running has the ability to more subtly but still drastically change the dynamics of a game. It is a part of the game that most people, baseball players included, take little notice of, and a part of the game that receives little attention on Sports Center. Perhaps most importantly, though the best base-running plays require teamwork and sacrifice. For some such plays, like the “sacrifice fly” or “sacrifice bunt”, this is obvious; but for others it is not, as when a groundball to the right side allows a player to go from second base to third base (or, in the case of the Red Sox game, all the way home), an otherwise awful hit usually only bringing an out now also advancing a base-runner, creating another opportunity to score and eventually win.
This (perhaps convoluted) example from sports sheds light on a much simpler reality that transcends the baseball diamond: good teamwork always requires sacrifice. Last night, for instance, my 13-year-old sister Bailey was told she has to play her worst favorite position in soccer for at least the next few weeks, something she’s very upset about but is coming to terms with because she loves her team. Or consider this often-read passage from Philippians showing God joining our team in Christ, obtaining victory for us all through sacrifice:
If then there is any encouragement in Christ, any consolation from love, any sharing in the Spirit, any compassion and sympathy, make my joy complete: be of the same mind, having the same love, being in full accord and of one mind. Do nothing from selfish ambition or conceit, but in humility regard others as better than yourselves. Let each of you look not to your own interests, but to the interests of others. Let the same mind be in you that was in Christ Jesus,
who, though he was in the form of God,
did not regard equality with God
as something to be exploited,
but emptied himself,
taking the form of a slave,
being born in human likeness.
And being found in human form,
he humbled himself
and became obedient to the point of death—
even death on a cross.
Therefore God also highly exalted him
and gave him the name
that is above every name,
so that at the name of Jesus
every knee should bend,
in heaven and on earth and under the earth,
and every tongue should confess
that Jesus Christ is Lord,
to the glory of God the Father.
It is in this light that I want to thank you for letting me join the team here at Plymouth Creek, even if only for a short while, for I know it will require sacrifice on your part and on mine, but hopefully growth in love and in joy and in Christ for all of us. Teamwork is not always glamorous or fun, and hardly glorifying in itself, but nevertheless glorious and beautiful in due time.
Grace and Peace,
Hayden
Read more!
Thursday, April 4, 2013
Simple feet…
“Preach the gospel always; when necessary, use words.” St. Francis of Assisi purportedly uttered these words in the early 13th century. It’s possible he never actually said them, but I suspect he’d agree! His first papal namesake, though, the recently elected Pope Francis, from all accounts appears to take the notion quite seriously.
First, some Francis background. He- the saint- grew up the son of a wealthy merchant, living the typical medieval high-life of banquets, carousing and battle. One day, however, on his way to war, Francis had a vision that shook the young man deep. He returned to his hometown, ceased his former behavior, went on pilgrimage and began to beg on the streets. His pops didn’t take fondly to this change of heart. They had a falling out. Francis endured, then founded several religious orders that remain in existence. Within several years, he became world famous for his strong preaching and advocacy for the poor. He loved the environment, eschewed “worldly” renown, yet was made saint within two years of his death. Since then, he’s been seen as a champion of moral spirituality, among our faith tradition’s great examples. Though he spoke much of Jesus, more importantly, he lived the gospel, the “good news”.
“Lord, make me an instrument of your peace,” is his oft-attributed prayer. In that phrase, you discover a person for whom spirituality isn’t just about praying. Rather, it was about giving of his full self to those in need, identifying completely with the world’s brokenness. He wasn’t scared of embracing disease victims or washing a homeless man’s dirty feet. He once tried to end the cycle of Crusades by ministering to an Egyptian sultan! Perhaps he should’ve focused on the Pope of his day; it didn’t work, war continued. Nonetheless, a point was made. Be the peace you want to see in this world.
Strangely to my mind, though, no ensuing Pope sought to honor him by taking his name. There have been several Popes Pius, numerous Benedicts, cadres of Johns. But only now is there a Francis, the former Argentinian cardinal Bergolgio. Perhaps his predecessors as Bishop of Rome were intimidated by Francis’ stark example. For better or worse (usually for worse, in my opinion), the medieval and modern papacy hasn’t been known for toning down the pomp and circumstance. That’s not all about St. Peter’s successors, as the Catholic Church styles them, enjoying prestige or being greedy. There’s something good about embodying God’s majesty from time to time. But as St. Francis taught, the full glory of God as we meet in Jesus wasn’t seen in trappings of high office, but in caring for “the least of these.”
So it was with pleasure that I read of Pope Francis’ escapades this Maundy Thursday. He performed a ritual well-known in Catholic, Protestant and Orthodox circles: washing people’s feet on that day in honor of Jesus’ similar act the night before his death. Breaking with Catholic tradition, however, this time Pope Francis did the act not in a cathedral, but in a youth prison. And not for priests’ feet, but for convicted criminals- men and (gasp!) women. Something I find frequently obnoxious about some ways people understand Christian faith is when they claim that we must always be speaking about Jesus, trying to “win” people by audibly preaching the gospel. Not only does that project neglect Jesus’ profound focus on acts of charity and social justice, it also misunderstands the ways humans actually change. If someone doesn’t want to be Christian or even a good person, just telling them they should be, over and over, isn’t likely to help. Caring for their needs, however, convicting their selfishness or fear through your own courageous compassion and self-giving, that’s as effective as any seventeen sermons you or I could preach.
I think that’s the insight communicated by the alleged Francis dictum- Preach the gospel always; when necessary, use words. May it be that the most famous Christian now living, the new Pope Francis, continues such activities. And regardless of him, may we be and share “good news” in all we do.
Grace and Peace,
Shane
Read more!
First, some Francis background. He- the saint- grew up the son of a wealthy merchant, living the typical medieval high-life of banquets, carousing and battle. One day, however, on his way to war, Francis had a vision that shook the young man deep. He returned to his hometown, ceased his former behavior, went on pilgrimage and began to beg on the streets. His pops didn’t take fondly to this change of heart. They had a falling out. Francis endured, then founded several religious orders that remain in existence. Within several years, he became world famous for his strong preaching and advocacy for the poor. He loved the environment, eschewed “worldly” renown, yet was made saint within two years of his death. Since then, he’s been seen as a champion of moral spirituality, among our faith tradition’s great examples. Though he spoke much of Jesus, more importantly, he lived the gospel, the “good news”.
“Lord, make me an instrument of your peace,” is his oft-attributed prayer. In that phrase, you discover a person for whom spirituality isn’t just about praying. Rather, it was about giving of his full self to those in need, identifying completely with the world’s brokenness. He wasn’t scared of embracing disease victims or washing a homeless man’s dirty feet. He once tried to end the cycle of Crusades by ministering to an Egyptian sultan! Perhaps he should’ve focused on the Pope of his day; it didn’t work, war continued. Nonetheless, a point was made. Be the peace you want to see in this world.
Strangely to my mind, though, no ensuing Pope sought to honor him by taking his name. There have been several Popes Pius, numerous Benedicts, cadres of Johns. But only now is there a Francis, the former Argentinian cardinal Bergolgio. Perhaps his predecessors as Bishop of Rome were intimidated by Francis’ stark example. For better or worse (usually for worse, in my opinion), the medieval and modern papacy hasn’t been known for toning down the pomp and circumstance. That’s not all about St. Peter’s successors, as the Catholic Church styles them, enjoying prestige or being greedy. There’s something good about embodying God’s majesty from time to time. But as St. Francis taught, the full glory of God as we meet in Jesus wasn’t seen in trappings of high office, but in caring for “the least of these.”
So it was with pleasure that I read of Pope Francis’ escapades this Maundy Thursday. He performed a ritual well-known in Catholic, Protestant and Orthodox circles: washing people’s feet on that day in honor of Jesus’ similar act the night before his death. Breaking with Catholic tradition, however, this time Pope Francis did the act not in a cathedral, but in a youth prison. And not for priests’ feet, but for convicted criminals- men and (gasp!) women. Something I find frequently obnoxious about some ways people understand Christian faith is when they claim that we must always be speaking about Jesus, trying to “win” people by audibly preaching the gospel. Not only does that project neglect Jesus’ profound focus on acts of charity and social justice, it also misunderstands the ways humans actually change. If someone doesn’t want to be Christian or even a good person, just telling them they should be, over and over, isn’t likely to help. Caring for their needs, however, convicting their selfishness or fear through your own courageous compassion and self-giving, that’s as effective as any seventeen sermons you or I could preach.
I think that’s the insight communicated by the alleged Francis dictum- Preach the gospel always; when necessary, use words. May it be that the most famous Christian now living, the new Pope Francis, continues such activities. And regardless of him, may we be and share “good news” in all we do.
Grace and Peace,
Shane
Read more!
Friday, March 29, 2013
Openness…
Plymouth Creek’s vision remains- To become a beacon of Christian openness and service. It’s about shining our joy about God’s grace through acts of compassion and inclusive faith.
And one way we’ve put that in practice recently involves conversation with local Muslims. A little background: Nearly two years ago, the Northwest Islamic Community Center purchased a building nearby church. They wanted a dedicated space in which to pray, fellowship, serve and teach their children. We stood with them at the City Council as less open neighbors tried to block the acquisition. It seemed to us that God’s love as we meet in Jesus urges us toward hospitality, not judgment.
Ever since, I’ve had multiple occasions to spend time with some of their leaders. Most recently, NWICC began hosting whomever would come for interfaith conversation. Islam 101, they dubbed it, acknowledging that many don’t much about their faith tradition, so many untruths have been spread. A couple of us went to the first of these “classes” to learn and show support.
Last week, a second conversation was moderated by NWICC board member Tamim, a dear man. The topic was “Jesus in Islam”, in honor of our approaching Easter holiday. Perhaps you didn’t know this, but the Muslim holy book- the Qur’an- mentions Jesus over twenty times. It speaks of Christ’s birth, echoing the gospels claims that it was miraculous, a virgin birth. It tells some of Christ’s teachings on compassion and love, citing stories of his healing prowess. There’s even mention of the crucifixion, though in this respect, our faiths diverge strongly. The Qur’an contends that Jesus didn’t die; he only seemed to by people of the day. Instead, he was taken into heaven and lives still, awaiting a second coming. The Christian Bible, by contrast, makes Jesus’ death a central element, claiming that our path to salvation and trust in eternal grace require that resurrection happened, however mysteriously.
Tamim knows that, of course, but as a faithful Muslim, it’s important that he privilege the claims of his holy book above ours. As a (hopefully!) faithful Christian, I must do the opposite too, of course. So I was glad to talk about our differences, learning and sharing with respect. For I believe that cultivating such openness to people of different faith traditions honors Plymouth Creek’s vision. We can celebrate and trust the truth of God we discover through faith in Jesus, while accepting that God’s outreach to humanity is broad enough to encompass other faiths. Or as my Muslim friends might say, “Allahu Akbar” (God is greater!).
And I learned something about the history of Muslim understandings about Jesus that mirrors ours. You’ll recall that even the Bible doesn’t speak with one voice on the meaning of Christ’s death and resurrection. All four gospels have a unique spin. Paul’s writings present another. For centuries after, then, Christians struggled to clarify why that singular event mattered so. Was Jesus God? Did he just seem human? God and human? What would that mean?! I find this variety of opinion- admitting that, though people believe differently, God graciously accepts us, unites us still- one of Christianity’s most attractive convictions. We haven’t always put it into practice, but when it’s done well, it’s beautiful!
Perhaps similarly, Muslim scholars- Tamim tells me- have long debated Jesus’ role as revealed by the Qur’an. Was he a prophet on par with Muhammad? Subordinate? Greater, even?! Different folk claim different ideas, but they all still pray toward Mecca. And maybe that says as much about humanity as it does about God. We were created to think deeply, talk openly, question continually, seek God endlessly. In the meantime, though, God hopes we’ll work together, live and serve in peace.
If you can make an upcoming interfaith conversation, I hope you’ll join me. You needn’t be a Christian expert, just a faithful soul willing to learn. In fact, I find these conversations help me clarify my own beliefs as much as understand another’s. For a major one of those beliefs is that God is honored by openness to neighbors. People unlike us in important ways, but beloved children of God too.
Grace and Peace,
Shane Read more!
And one way we’ve put that in practice recently involves conversation with local Muslims. A little background: Nearly two years ago, the Northwest Islamic Community Center purchased a building nearby church. They wanted a dedicated space in which to pray, fellowship, serve and teach their children. We stood with them at the City Council as less open neighbors tried to block the acquisition. It seemed to us that God’s love as we meet in Jesus urges us toward hospitality, not judgment.
Ever since, I’ve had multiple occasions to spend time with some of their leaders. Most recently, NWICC began hosting whomever would come for interfaith conversation. Islam 101, they dubbed it, acknowledging that many don’t much about their faith tradition, so many untruths have been spread. A couple of us went to the first of these “classes” to learn and show support.
Last week, a second conversation was moderated by NWICC board member Tamim, a dear man. The topic was “Jesus in Islam”, in honor of our approaching Easter holiday. Perhaps you didn’t know this, but the Muslim holy book- the Qur’an- mentions Jesus over twenty times. It speaks of Christ’s birth, echoing the gospels claims that it was miraculous, a virgin birth. It tells some of Christ’s teachings on compassion and love, citing stories of his healing prowess. There’s even mention of the crucifixion, though in this respect, our faiths diverge strongly. The Qur’an contends that Jesus didn’t die; he only seemed to by people of the day. Instead, he was taken into heaven and lives still, awaiting a second coming. The Christian Bible, by contrast, makes Jesus’ death a central element, claiming that our path to salvation and trust in eternal grace require that resurrection happened, however mysteriously.
Tamim knows that, of course, but as a faithful Muslim, it’s important that he privilege the claims of his holy book above ours. As a (hopefully!) faithful Christian, I must do the opposite too, of course. So I was glad to talk about our differences, learning and sharing with respect. For I believe that cultivating such openness to people of different faith traditions honors Plymouth Creek’s vision. We can celebrate and trust the truth of God we discover through faith in Jesus, while accepting that God’s outreach to humanity is broad enough to encompass other faiths. Or as my Muslim friends might say, “Allahu Akbar” (God is greater!).
And I learned something about the history of Muslim understandings about Jesus that mirrors ours. You’ll recall that even the Bible doesn’t speak with one voice on the meaning of Christ’s death and resurrection. All four gospels have a unique spin. Paul’s writings present another. For centuries after, then, Christians struggled to clarify why that singular event mattered so. Was Jesus God? Did he just seem human? God and human? What would that mean?! I find this variety of opinion- admitting that, though people believe differently, God graciously accepts us, unites us still- one of Christianity’s most attractive convictions. We haven’t always put it into practice, but when it’s done well, it’s beautiful!
Perhaps similarly, Muslim scholars- Tamim tells me- have long debated Jesus’ role as revealed by the Qur’an. Was he a prophet on par with Muhammad? Subordinate? Greater, even?! Different folk claim different ideas, but they all still pray toward Mecca. And maybe that says as much about humanity as it does about God. We were created to think deeply, talk openly, question continually, seek God endlessly. In the meantime, though, God hopes we’ll work together, live and serve in peace.
If you can make an upcoming interfaith conversation, I hope you’ll join me. You needn’t be a Christian expert, just a faithful soul willing to learn. In fact, I find these conversations help me clarify my own beliefs as much as understand another’s. For a major one of those beliefs is that God is honored by openness to neighbors. People unlike us in important ways, but beloved children of God too.
Grace and Peace,
Shane Read more!
Monday, March 25, 2013
Holy Ground…
We have no fire pit in my backyard, around which to roast marshmallows and tell tales. I have friends whose abode brags of this feature. I’m jealous. For there’s something magical about a campfire, an open stack of crackling wood, flames reaching into darkness, shedding light and warmth and comfort. Some nights, when I’m near one, I wish the blissful minutes would last longer. But all things fade, even firewood. It’s too much to wish we’d abide forever in a fleeting moment.
Perhaps that certainty of change is critical. Maybe we’d cherish it less if the wood blazed, but we knew it wouldn’t disappear. Or maybe we’d grow terrified! How can fire burn, but not destroy?! It would seem out-of-place, menacing, impossible, diabolical. But Exodus 3 tells a tale of exactly that kind, you’ll recall. During Moses’ shepherding days, he confronts a bush that burns, but doesn’t diminish. Fear grips his spirit. It would paralyze most people! A voice says, “Do not be afraid.” As if that helps! Now, there are strange sounds to go with otherworldly sights. Yet it continues, “Remove your sandals. You are standing on Holy Ground.”
A fire that burns, but doesn’t destroy. Passion that consumes, yet won’t ruin. An apt metaphor, I believe, for experiencing of The Holy. Fear does seem appropriate; can’t blame Moses there. We don’t encounter such unadorned holiness most moments of our days. We’re accustomed to profound feelings that fade, intense desires that overwhelm, even harm people. It’s a rare wonder to discover power working alongside longevity and protection. Fright, many say, arrives when we perceive something unexpected. Unknown events scare us. Unfamiliarity seeds suspicion. This story, however, suggests that not all things unusual are made the same. Sometimes terror is appropriate. Other times- holy times- call for awe.
I’ve pondered this issue recently for two related reasons. The first is Easter. In Christian tradition, no other experience unveils God’s Holiness- God’s power and love tied together- as blatantly or blessedly. Death broken by Christ’s broken body rising again to new life. We proclaim that event as the ultimate revelation of sin defeated, fear chastened. As Paul declared, “Nothing can separate us from the love of God we find in Jesus,” our risen Lord. The unjust powers of his day attempted to burn him, extinguish his life. Didn’t work. They failed to see that he hung upon Holy Ground.
As well, our church’s regional camp in Newton, Iowa- the Christian Conference Center- has appealed in recent months for support to make improvements. I haven’t said much because, frankly, we’ve had our own capital campaign ongoing. Still, I’m aware how critical camp was to many Christians’ spiritual development. As a youth, I first learned the gentle force of holiness around campfires at church camp, singing songs, telling tales of Jesus, asking God’s presence to come closer. Since daily life is rarely so…concentrated as a week of summer camp, the passion would fade once I returned home, but it never smoldered out completely. That’s another characteristic of encountering The Holy- it makes an impression, stamps an imprint that lasts beyond the holy fire’s flames.
Plymouth Creek members have long sent youth and others to Conference Center camps. I can’t guarantee their experiences matched mine, though I wouldn’t be surprised. Because of that history, then, I wanted you to know this fundraising was happening. Will you pray about whether you can contribute to help ensure new generations can gather there? Call me or go to uppermidwestcc.org to learn about plans and donate. It’s quite the vision they’ve prepared- responsible, sustainable, bold.
And if you’ve never been, you should know that as you drive onto the grounds, a sign reads, “You are entering Holy Ground.” It’s true. For there, a powerful love encircles youth and families that’s safe, gentle and strong. But the ultimate truth is- my apologies to Moses and the Region- in light of Christ’s resurrection, we can all experience Holy Ground. Wherever we are. It takes eyes to see and hope to believe, but always and everywhere God is there. Burning with love for you that will not destroy. Offering, instead, abundant life eternal.
Grace and Peace,
Shane
Read more!
Perhaps that certainty of change is critical. Maybe we’d cherish it less if the wood blazed, but we knew it wouldn’t disappear. Or maybe we’d grow terrified! How can fire burn, but not destroy?! It would seem out-of-place, menacing, impossible, diabolical. But Exodus 3 tells a tale of exactly that kind, you’ll recall. During Moses’ shepherding days, he confronts a bush that burns, but doesn’t diminish. Fear grips his spirit. It would paralyze most people! A voice says, “Do not be afraid.” As if that helps! Now, there are strange sounds to go with otherworldly sights. Yet it continues, “Remove your sandals. You are standing on Holy Ground.”
A fire that burns, but doesn’t destroy. Passion that consumes, yet won’t ruin. An apt metaphor, I believe, for experiencing of The Holy. Fear does seem appropriate; can’t blame Moses there. We don’t encounter such unadorned holiness most moments of our days. We’re accustomed to profound feelings that fade, intense desires that overwhelm, even harm people. It’s a rare wonder to discover power working alongside longevity and protection. Fright, many say, arrives when we perceive something unexpected. Unknown events scare us. Unfamiliarity seeds suspicion. This story, however, suggests that not all things unusual are made the same. Sometimes terror is appropriate. Other times- holy times- call for awe.
I’ve pondered this issue recently for two related reasons. The first is Easter. In Christian tradition, no other experience unveils God’s Holiness- God’s power and love tied together- as blatantly or blessedly. Death broken by Christ’s broken body rising again to new life. We proclaim that event as the ultimate revelation of sin defeated, fear chastened. As Paul declared, “Nothing can separate us from the love of God we find in Jesus,” our risen Lord. The unjust powers of his day attempted to burn him, extinguish his life. Didn’t work. They failed to see that he hung upon Holy Ground.
As well, our church’s regional camp in Newton, Iowa- the Christian Conference Center- has appealed in recent months for support to make improvements. I haven’t said much because, frankly, we’ve had our own capital campaign ongoing. Still, I’m aware how critical camp was to many Christians’ spiritual development. As a youth, I first learned the gentle force of holiness around campfires at church camp, singing songs, telling tales of Jesus, asking God’s presence to come closer. Since daily life is rarely so…concentrated as a week of summer camp, the passion would fade once I returned home, but it never smoldered out completely. That’s another characteristic of encountering The Holy- it makes an impression, stamps an imprint that lasts beyond the holy fire’s flames.
Plymouth Creek members have long sent youth and others to Conference Center camps. I can’t guarantee their experiences matched mine, though I wouldn’t be surprised. Because of that history, then, I wanted you to know this fundraising was happening. Will you pray about whether you can contribute to help ensure new generations can gather there? Call me or go to uppermidwestcc.org to learn about plans and donate. It’s quite the vision they’ve prepared- responsible, sustainable, bold.
And if you’ve never been, you should know that as you drive onto the grounds, a sign reads, “You are entering Holy Ground.” It’s true. For there, a powerful love encircles youth and families that’s safe, gentle and strong. But the ultimate truth is- my apologies to Moses and the Region- in light of Christ’s resurrection, we can all experience Holy Ground. Wherever we are. It takes eyes to see and hope to believe, but always and everywhere God is there. Burning with love for you that will not destroy. Offering, instead, abundant life eternal.
Grace and Peace,
Shane
Read more!
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