Lots of pastor types think the phrase, “The devil’s in the details,” applies to budgeting and church finances. Present them with a balance sheet and they’ll react like it’s Satan’s spawn. I don’t, honestly, blame them! For starters, when ministers discuss money, we’re dealing with something that’s sensitive. Most folk don’t have as much as we’d prefer, or need to have. So there’s an understandable hesitation about pouring salt on wounds that church members may have, but aren’t readily visible.
Then, there’s the fact that the church budget includes the pastor’s salary. It’s awkward to discuss a document that says how much you’ll get paid if people just keep freely giving their money. I know… Of course, the pastor’s salary is about more than an individual. It’s how the church values the work that any pastor does. Same goes for musicians, janitors, anyone an organization compensates. That conversation, though, rarely seems so theoretical. Typically, it’s held when you know who’s receiving these funds, whether you like her vision, his preaching. At that point, money talk can get personal, and uncomfortable. So many tacitly agree to avoid the issue.
But here’s something I’ve learned about church finances: there can be glory in the details too! After all, besides the Bible, we have few better resources than our budget to tell us what our community care about. In other words, those dollars and cents and line items transcend greed v. compassion, failure v. success, scarcity v. abundance. They’re about identity. Who we are as God’s people can be interpreted from them. And maybe we don’t like sometimes what they say! But at least our budget tells us something we should know, and therefore, the foundation on which we can grow.
That matters these days, because among the hardest thing every church faces- and many Christians face too- is figuring out who they really want to be. And not in the shallow sense of contemporary or traditional music, young families or intergenerational. I mean that we need to understand the direction we’re willing to walk to follow Jesus. That requires choices. Too frequently, church folk won’t make choices. How many church signs read “Everyone’s welcome!”, as if they’re the first to consider that idea interesting? Too many. And it’s not interesting. Unless you REALLY mean it, and welcome gay people, poor people, conservatives, liberals, the handicapped, bigots, Spanish-speakers, repentant child-molesters… Well, then, that would make a unique church.
But most churches don’t actually mean “everyone is welcome”. They just want to sound nice. Which means they don’t want to accept the choices they’ve already made about who they’ll be, who they intend to serve, or include in their relationships. And the problem with that is, when we don’t intentionally claim our identity in Christ, we give power to other, less-holy forces in our society to choose our identity for us. We let the privilege of wealth or class, ethnicity or gender, whether our team “won” the last election or not, dictate who we’ll be, who we’ll invite to dinner, who we’ll extend an invitation to fellowship. None of that is Christian.
What’s Christian, instead, is a community of people pooling their money to help struggling neighbors get a step ahead in life, donating their time to delight others with joyful music made unto the Lord, paying someone to lead them in that most counter-cultural of experiences these days – shutting up and listening for a word of challenge, insight and inspiration (not mediated by a smartphone) – in the hope they’ll be made better for it, and through them, God’s world.
That’s why I like budgets and church finance conversations. They tell us who we want to be. Besides, I had good mentors teach me how to read those documents and not be afraid!
As you know, we recently finished our pledge campaign for next year’s budget. Therefore, our leadership is making those choices at present. You should know that we’re very grateful for your ongoing support, trust and generosity!
You should also know that we haven’t received as much pledged support as we anticipated. We’re still several thousand dollars short in meeting our hoped-for budget. If you can give more, we’d be grateful. Also, for those faithful givers who haven’t pledged: thank you and please keep giving! But if you can tell us what you anticipate giving, it will help our plans be as accurate and responsible as we’d like them to be. Thus, to everyone, please all pray about your pledging and respond to me, Mike or John quickly. We’ll meet to consider our budget- that is to say, who we are, who God’s calling us to be- after church June 14. Thank you for helping make that possible.
Grace and Peace,
Shane
Read more!
Thursday, June 4, 2015
Thursday, May 28, 2015
What’s coming…
Every Sunday, we take Communion. You know this. But do you listen closely to the words our Servant Leaders say? Technically, they’re “The Words of Institution.” Different churches use different versions, but they’re mostly either a quotation of 1 Corinthians 11:23-26, or based upon it. Fun fact: those verses are taped to the cross on our communion table, in case someone needs help!
They begin, “On the night he was betrayed, our Lord Jesus took bread…” The passage continues with a retelling of that last supper; Christ breaking the bread, sharing the cup. But the final words aren’t a quotation from Jesus. They’re what Paul (the author) wrote to the Corinthians as a summation of this story. He said, “(A)s often as you eat this bread and drink this cup, you proclaim the Lord’s death until he comes again.”
To many, that’s the most confusing part of Communion. Assuming, that is, they’re still paying attention! I’ll be honest, I used to hate that last part when it was my turn to preside. I’ve even- Paul, forgive me- left it out before. Now, instead, I change it slightly. I add something to that final verse that communicates my understanding of Paul’s meaning- “…you proclaim the Lord’s victory over death…” See what I did there?! You decide if it’s clever or blasphemous. But more interesting, I think, is that last phrase, “until he comes again.”
In Sunday School recently, we discussed Paul’s understanding of the Second Coming. Specifically, we listened to an NPR interview with John Dominic Crossan, a scholar of early Christian history (whose Irish accent is awesome). In it, he said something about that spooky doctrine I found rather profound. First, recall the way many folk understand Jesus’ return. They predict that someday soon or otherwise, he’ll come to earth and the world will end in violent tribulation and mass death. To which, Crossan responded, “Such people seemingly refuse to accept the First Coming. As if Christ’s non-violent acceptance of crucifixion was a mistake. They want Jesus to come back and do it right this time, by killing all the evildoers.”
Interesting perspective. To be fair to those who pine for Jesus’ violent return, there’s fodder for that in the New Testament. Paul himself obviously thought that, in his lifetime, Jesus’ reappearance would create a sudden, permanent transformation of society. He was wrong, obviously. But Crossan’s point wasn’t to laugh at Paul’s poor prediction. That’s secondary to Paul’s wiser instinct that the “End of Days” wasn’t to be a bloody cosmic battle fought outside Jerusalem. Rather, the “End of Days” (in Jesus’ words, “The Kingdom of God,” a social order ruled by compassion and love, not violence and greed) was already at hand, had begun with Christ’s first coming. And whatever fight it required would occur in the hearts of God’s children.
I love that! Why assume a Second Coming if you’re convinced the first one worked great?! That Jesus already conquered death, already overcame sin, already ushered his followers into life eternal, which began the moment they accepted God’s Love. Did Jesus fail by not leaving the cross, killing the Romans and setting himself up as King? No! Instead, he revealed the ultimate, radical truth that God’s peace is stronger than war, that compassion will defeat fear, that love won’t ever be beaten, no matter how terrifying the present looks, how long the bending arc of justice.
In other words, from the eternal perspective, troubles look different. And while that doesn’t mean our hurts are trivial- God knows our trials real and hard- because Jesus came, we can live with confidence that we’ll make it, that we’re never alone if we let ourselves be known. So here’s how I now understand that final, elusive Communion phrase. Next time someone says, “…you proclaim the Lord’s (victory over) death, until he comes again,” remember that Jesus is ever-poised to “come again” into your heart, your life, if you ask his power to guide you, his hope to uplift you, his joy to strengthen you, his truth to set you free. That’s a second coming I look forward to. And third, and fourth, and forever!
Grace and Peace,
Shane Read more!
They begin, “On the night he was betrayed, our Lord Jesus took bread…” The passage continues with a retelling of that last supper; Christ breaking the bread, sharing the cup. But the final words aren’t a quotation from Jesus. They’re what Paul (the author) wrote to the Corinthians as a summation of this story. He said, “(A)s often as you eat this bread and drink this cup, you proclaim the Lord’s death until he comes again.”
To many, that’s the most confusing part of Communion. Assuming, that is, they’re still paying attention! I’ll be honest, I used to hate that last part when it was my turn to preside. I’ve even- Paul, forgive me- left it out before. Now, instead, I change it slightly. I add something to that final verse that communicates my understanding of Paul’s meaning- “…you proclaim the Lord’s victory over death…” See what I did there?! You decide if it’s clever or blasphemous. But more interesting, I think, is that last phrase, “until he comes again.”
In Sunday School recently, we discussed Paul’s understanding of the Second Coming. Specifically, we listened to an NPR interview with John Dominic Crossan, a scholar of early Christian history (whose Irish accent is awesome). In it, he said something about that spooky doctrine I found rather profound. First, recall the way many folk understand Jesus’ return. They predict that someday soon or otherwise, he’ll come to earth and the world will end in violent tribulation and mass death. To which, Crossan responded, “Such people seemingly refuse to accept the First Coming. As if Christ’s non-violent acceptance of crucifixion was a mistake. They want Jesus to come back and do it right this time, by killing all the evildoers.”
Interesting perspective. To be fair to those who pine for Jesus’ violent return, there’s fodder for that in the New Testament. Paul himself obviously thought that, in his lifetime, Jesus’ reappearance would create a sudden, permanent transformation of society. He was wrong, obviously. But Crossan’s point wasn’t to laugh at Paul’s poor prediction. That’s secondary to Paul’s wiser instinct that the “End of Days” wasn’t to be a bloody cosmic battle fought outside Jerusalem. Rather, the “End of Days” (in Jesus’ words, “The Kingdom of God,” a social order ruled by compassion and love, not violence and greed) was already at hand, had begun with Christ’s first coming. And whatever fight it required would occur in the hearts of God’s children.
I love that! Why assume a Second Coming if you’re convinced the first one worked great?! That Jesus already conquered death, already overcame sin, already ushered his followers into life eternal, which began the moment they accepted God’s Love. Did Jesus fail by not leaving the cross, killing the Romans and setting himself up as King? No! Instead, he revealed the ultimate, radical truth that God’s peace is stronger than war, that compassion will defeat fear, that love won’t ever be beaten, no matter how terrifying the present looks, how long the bending arc of justice.
In other words, from the eternal perspective, troubles look different. And while that doesn’t mean our hurts are trivial- God knows our trials real and hard- because Jesus came, we can live with confidence that we’ll make it, that we’re never alone if we let ourselves be known. So here’s how I now understand that final, elusive Communion phrase. Next time someone says, “…you proclaim the Lord’s (victory over) death, until he comes again,” remember that Jesus is ever-poised to “come again” into your heart, your life, if you ask his power to guide you, his hope to uplift you, his joy to strengthen you, his truth to set you free. That’s a second coming I look forward to. And third, and fourth, and forever!
Grace and Peace,
Shane Read more!
Wednesday, May 20, 2015
Regret…
I discovered last week that a high school friend died abruptly. He was 31, I think. Honestly, I hadn’t spoken with Jim in over a decade; just before or after college graduation. Yet I followed his life’s progress on Facebook. He’d moved to upstate New York, became a chef, and bragged about the clever risotto dishes he concocted. More than once, I’ve daydreamed about showing up in his café without prior announcement.
But that won’t happen now, and I’ve cried more about his passing than I would’ve anticipated. The thing is, I had some good reasons for growing apart from Jim. For starters, he was younger, so I was in college before he’d graduated. That created distance, though we did see each other on school breaks when I came home. He attempted college initially. But it didn’t seem to stick. Anger, rebellion and drugs were more his style. I shared some of that during high school, but as college progressed, my priorities changed, my outlook improved.
Nevertheless, I still cherished memories of his gifted guitar playing and soulful voice, of us singing together. We grew close in our school’s select choir. Neither of us felt we “fit” the school’s dominate expectations. But outcast instincts weren’t all we shared. We loved music and its transportational possibilities. He was the much better musician! With several other friends, we’d frequent the same coffee shop or billiard hall, and sing or listen to music, or otherwise be together. For some, that’s nothing special. They’ve always had many close friends, felt part of “a group.” I never did. Still don’t. Except those few years with Jim (and Ryan and Kyle and Brian).
I’ll admit that behind my tears last week were regrets not only that Jim died, but that I’d lost that sense of belonging so many years ago. I didn’t plan for us losing touch. I didn’t welcome it. Nor did I work hard to stop it. And I think it was, in general, an okay development. Phone calls grew more infrequent as Jim and others got jobs while I changed majors. Ryan started traveling. People found girlfriends or new friends and I worked toward seminary. A wedding occurred that I missed and then it felt like I couldn’t go back. Like I couldn’t restart a past that was past. And that’s right. None of us can, not really. Still, I’m sad I couldn’t find some new way to include these now-men in my life who, for a time, mattered as much to me as any.
Thus, I cried for Jim and- forgive me!- for me too. And that I’ll never tell him I’m so glad his risotto blend is creative and healthy, and that his life is too. He seemed to overcome the drugs, and his Facebook photos at least showed a smile that looked earned and true. People sometimes say, “Live life without regrets.” I think that’s wrong. Some regrets, of course, are fools’ prisons, us being shackled by events we can’t change, and need to get over. But other regrets connect us to what matters, what would be a shame to forget. For instance, I’ve never been very good at being a friend, at remaining close to people, and much of my regret revolves around that. Moments like these, however, remind me that I needn’t accept that fact as fully defining. i.e., I’ve done it before.
Besides, long ago I accepted that my ultimate belonging is in God’s forever family. These regrets, therefore, serve as occasional prodding to build on that firm foundation and share my vulnerabilities, my mundane joys more readily. That’s quite hard for me, but one who’s greater than me holds me forever. And that’s sufficient. Besides, Jim helped teach me my foibles were beautiful too.
Ryan- who I think remained close to Jim- sent me his phone number last Sunday. I hope by the time y’all read this I’ve found the nerve to call him. And in honor of a dear, sometimes disturbed, always beloved of God young man- too soon gone- I’m making risotto for my family soon. My blend isn’t super creative, nor perfect. But I’m proud to share it.
Grace and Peace,
Shane Read more!
But that won’t happen now, and I’ve cried more about his passing than I would’ve anticipated. The thing is, I had some good reasons for growing apart from Jim. For starters, he was younger, so I was in college before he’d graduated. That created distance, though we did see each other on school breaks when I came home. He attempted college initially. But it didn’t seem to stick. Anger, rebellion and drugs were more his style. I shared some of that during high school, but as college progressed, my priorities changed, my outlook improved.
Nevertheless, I still cherished memories of his gifted guitar playing and soulful voice, of us singing together. We grew close in our school’s select choir. Neither of us felt we “fit” the school’s dominate expectations. But outcast instincts weren’t all we shared. We loved music and its transportational possibilities. He was the much better musician! With several other friends, we’d frequent the same coffee shop or billiard hall, and sing or listen to music, or otherwise be together. For some, that’s nothing special. They’ve always had many close friends, felt part of “a group.” I never did. Still don’t. Except those few years with Jim (and Ryan and Kyle and Brian).
I’ll admit that behind my tears last week were regrets not only that Jim died, but that I’d lost that sense of belonging so many years ago. I didn’t plan for us losing touch. I didn’t welcome it. Nor did I work hard to stop it. And I think it was, in general, an okay development. Phone calls grew more infrequent as Jim and others got jobs while I changed majors. Ryan started traveling. People found girlfriends or new friends and I worked toward seminary. A wedding occurred that I missed and then it felt like I couldn’t go back. Like I couldn’t restart a past that was past. And that’s right. None of us can, not really. Still, I’m sad I couldn’t find some new way to include these now-men in my life who, for a time, mattered as much to me as any.
Thus, I cried for Jim and- forgive me!- for me too. And that I’ll never tell him I’m so glad his risotto blend is creative and healthy, and that his life is too. He seemed to overcome the drugs, and his Facebook photos at least showed a smile that looked earned and true. People sometimes say, “Live life without regrets.” I think that’s wrong. Some regrets, of course, are fools’ prisons, us being shackled by events we can’t change, and need to get over. But other regrets connect us to what matters, what would be a shame to forget. For instance, I’ve never been very good at being a friend, at remaining close to people, and much of my regret revolves around that. Moments like these, however, remind me that I needn’t accept that fact as fully defining. i.e., I’ve done it before.
Besides, long ago I accepted that my ultimate belonging is in God’s forever family. These regrets, therefore, serve as occasional prodding to build on that firm foundation and share my vulnerabilities, my mundane joys more readily. That’s quite hard for me, but one who’s greater than me holds me forever. And that’s sufficient. Besides, Jim helped teach me my foibles were beautiful too.
Ryan- who I think remained close to Jim- sent me his phone number last Sunday. I hope by the time y’all read this I’ve found the nerve to call him. And in honor of a dear, sometimes disturbed, always beloved of God young man- too soon gone- I’m making risotto for my family soon. My blend isn’t super creative, nor perfect. But I’m proud to share it.
Grace and Peace,
Shane Read more!
Thursday, May 14, 2015
Cultural competency…
Last Monday, I had the privilege of helping leaders throughout our community address an important issue: Cross-cultural competency and skill building.
Here’s the full story. For the past several years, I’ve joined several local leaders in exploring ways to help close or eliminate the achievement gap in our schools. Surely, you’ve heard that while MN schools typically rank among the nation’s finest, we also have the highest average gap in student achievement between white students and students of color. That’s true for our local district, the Wayzata Public Schools. Their students, generally, score amongst the best in state! Students of color, though, especially Latinos and African-Americans, consistently perform below their peers. That gap also exists for students from low-income families, regardless of ethnic background. Kids in these groups tend to struggle more than others, and more than they should.
So how do you solve that distressing phenomenon? I mean, success shouldn’t derive from the lottery of skin color or parental income, right? But that’s what we’re seeing, and that portends tough long-term consequences for the whole community.
Well, one response that’s worked elsewhere is called “Collective Impact.” The plan is to get leaders from all the sectors in a local community who impact or are affected by this issue (e.g. school districts, businesses, social services, YMCAs, churches, governments…) to craft a common agenda for solutions. That agenda should include measurable goals that research says leads to student success (e.g. all kids enter Kindergarten ready to learn, all achieve math proficiency by eighth grade), which is constantly monitored. Then, we create common initiatives that move kids toward those goals, avoiding isolation, duplicating of efforts and avoidance of sharing best practices.
That’s a thick, tricky, big idea. But if it works, we’re imaging no less than our entire community working collectively for all kids to achieve their greatest expectations. Thus, the initiative is called…Great Expectations! I’m the steering team’s “faith community” voice. And because the achievement gap is our focus, we figured that helping community leaders build more diversity/cross-cultural skills would be worth the effort.
I even helped pay for it. Remember that fellowship I got from Collegeville two years back? It included $1,000 to use toward a project that impacted our community, as long as the project aligned with the work of my church. Well, consider Great Expectations theologically. We’re gathering different people around one table, not to conform, but to unify in common hope for a better future. How perfectly Disciples is that?! To get this workshop going, then, I put my fellowship money into the pot (technically, Plymouth Creek paid $1,000 and Collegeville will reimburse us, which the Board approved, though I just told attendees it was Plymouth Creek sponsoring the training!). And after seeing the wonderful engagement of our community, I’m glad I did it.
After all, I’ve become much more sensitive to diversity issues since November, when an African-American boy from difficult circumstances came to live in my home. In school, at church and elsewhere, he’s been both supported and rejected because of who he is. Some are super quick to love him up, cheer for him, help him achieve. Thank you! Others lack the cultural bridge building skill to understand where he’s coming from, and so have yelled at him inappropriately, judged him as less capable or bad, even told me he won’t amount to much.
We Disciples know those latter responses are neither right nor holy treatments of a neighbor, whether they look or sound like you, or not. We believe in the freedom of all God’s children to become the unique, blessed soul God created her/him to be. Which means we must first learn about others’ differences or commonalities before presuming to judge, to shame, to dismiss. Essentially, that’s what we discussed on Monday- nurturing the skills to hear and appreciate diverse neighbors’ backgrounds.
So, again, given our faith tradition, it was worth the time and money! And the prayers I hope you’ll join me in lifting, that all kids and families struggling today will get needed support to reach their great expectations. And that we’ll all recommit to being better neighbors, those who listen, care and respond.
Grace and Peace,
Shane
Read more!
Here’s the full story. For the past several years, I’ve joined several local leaders in exploring ways to help close or eliminate the achievement gap in our schools. Surely, you’ve heard that while MN schools typically rank among the nation’s finest, we also have the highest average gap in student achievement between white students and students of color. That’s true for our local district, the Wayzata Public Schools. Their students, generally, score amongst the best in state! Students of color, though, especially Latinos and African-Americans, consistently perform below their peers. That gap also exists for students from low-income families, regardless of ethnic background. Kids in these groups tend to struggle more than others, and more than they should.
So how do you solve that distressing phenomenon? I mean, success shouldn’t derive from the lottery of skin color or parental income, right? But that’s what we’re seeing, and that portends tough long-term consequences for the whole community.
Well, one response that’s worked elsewhere is called “Collective Impact.” The plan is to get leaders from all the sectors in a local community who impact or are affected by this issue (e.g. school districts, businesses, social services, YMCAs, churches, governments…) to craft a common agenda for solutions. That agenda should include measurable goals that research says leads to student success (e.g. all kids enter Kindergarten ready to learn, all achieve math proficiency by eighth grade), which is constantly monitored. Then, we create common initiatives that move kids toward those goals, avoiding isolation, duplicating of efforts and avoidance of sharing best practices.
That’s a thick, tricky, big idea. But if it works, we’re imaging no less than our entire community working collectively for all kids to achieve their greatest expectations. Thus, the initiative is called…Great Expectations! I’m the steering team’s “faith community” voice. And because the achievement gap is our focus, we figured that helping community leaders build more diversity/cross-cultural skills would be worth the effort.
I even helped pay for it. Remember that fellowship I got from Collegeville two years back? It included $1,000 to use toward a project that impacted our community, as long as the project aligned with the work of my church. Well, consider Great Expectations theologically. We’re gathering different people around one table, not to conform, but to unify in common hope for a better future. How perfectly Disciples is that?! To get this workshop going, then, I put my fellowship money into the pot (technically, Plymouth Creek paid $1,000 and Collegeville will reimburse us, which the Board approved, though I just told attendees it was Plymouth Creek sponsoring the training!). And after seeing the wonderful engagement of our community, I’m glad I did it.
After all, I’ve become much more sensitive to diversity issues since November, when an African-American boy from difficult circumstances came to live in my home. In school, at church and elsewhere, he’s been both supported and rejected because of who he is. Some are super quick to love him up, cheer for him, help him achieve. Thank you! Others lack the cultural bridge building skill to understand where he’s coming from, and so have yelled at him inappropriately, judged him as less capable or bad, even told me he won’t amount to much.
We Disciples know those latter responses are neither right nor holy treatments of a neighbor, whether they look or sound like you, or not. We believe in the freedom of all God’s children to become the unique, blessed soul God created her/him to be. Which means we must first learn about others’ differences or commonalities before presuming to judge, to shame, to dismiss. Essentially, that’s what we discussed on Monday- nurturing the skills to hear and appreciate diverse neighbors’ backgrounds.
So, again, given our faith tradition, it was worth the time and money! And the prayers I hope you’ll join me in lifting, that all kids and families struggling today will get needed support to reach their great expectations. And that we’ll all recommit to being better neighbors, those who listen, care and respond.
Grace and Peace,
Shane
Read more!
Friday, May 8, 2015
Location,
I spent several days this week with clergy colleagues at the Collegeville Institute on the St. John’s campus. This was part of a two-year fellowship I received in 2013, designed to teach a select group of early career ministers greater skills for doing “public theology.”
You may not be familiar with that term, public theology. If it sounds like professional clergy jargon, well, you’re not wrong. Nevertheless, it’s a valuable idea. The point is that churches don’t exist for themselves alone. We operate in a location, a public context whose needs and failures, triumphs and hopes we bear some responsibility for. Sometimes, broader social issues obviously impact many of our people; the high costs of health care in an aging nation, the possibilities of school success for our children and grandchildren. Other times, our immediate self-interest in, say, prison or criminal justice reform isn’t entirely clear. Still, we have neighbors who that fraught topic effects significantly. We’re riveted by news about conflict in Baltimore and the Black Lives Matter movement. Besides, we serve a God who splendidly called us all Beloved Children, and for that reason alone, whatever improves, diminishes or threatens the social fabric ought make a difference to our spiritual well-being.
What’s more, Christians have profound, millennia-tested insights for making that “public” space better; good ideas for the doing of justice and loving of kindness that Micah 6:8 recommends to those attempting to walk humbly with God. Hence the “theology” in “public theology.” That’s when Christians speak spiritually-derived wisdom about situations that impact world and church together.
Notice that’s different than attempting to convert people. It’s also distinct from the unabashedly partisan harangues that characterize too much current public religious speech. Rather, over the past two years, my colleagues and I explored how to think and speak about issues important to the common good (education, health care, criminal justice, business, poverty) with patience for complexity and comfort with nuance. And respect for disagreement.
Maybe that last lesson’s one we all need to honor better. Too many comments about public issues quickly turn political, then devolve into sarcasm, meanness and cynicism. By contrast, good public theology- whether done by a preacher in the pulpit, a co-worker around the watercooler, a neighbor at coffee with friends- values those the speaker disagrees with. It doesn’t mean s/he keeps silent about the truth our faith in Jesus helps reveal. But s/he should acknowledge the image of God in any potential adversary, and respond accordingly.
After all, the reason we speak anything about this stuff, again, is location. We are located- created!- in a particular place, with specific characteristics and people, and it’s that fullness to which we’re responsible. Not to some ideology or party, nor to a small group we feel most comfortable with or like best. It’s the entirety of our neighborhoods and society that Christians must care about, think about, pray about, act together to improve. For the God of us is the God of all, and nobody’s lacks an invitation to God’s heavenly banquet.
In other words, we’re called to engage the world as it is, not simply as we wish it could be. That includes perspectives we might not like, nor understand initially. Therefore, the counterintuitive first step of Christians attempting public theology is…listening. First, we listen for God’s wisdom in prayer and worship, scripture and Christian tradition. Then, we listen for holy insights in the dreams and convictions of neighbors. Ever “chatted” with someone so eager to speak you could tell they weren’t hearing at all? It’s absolutely obnoxious, amen?! Christians shouldn’t be like that, though we’ve done so before, myself most definitely included.
But now, I’m going to try to act different. The issues are too important, the wisdom we have too precious. And more importantly, the potential of anyone we encounter to shine God’s light to us and with us is always present. Perhaps if we modeled such ways of being and speaking more regularly- rather than blustering or staying silent- than the epidemic of snide, divisive speech that’s rending our social fabric would start healing. And with it, some of our world’s pain. A worthy dream, I’d say.
Grace and Peace,
Shane Read more!
You may not be familiar with that term, public theology. If it sounds like professional clergy jargon, well, you’re not wrong. Nevertheless, it’s a valuable idea. The point is that churches don’t exist for themselves alone. We operate in a location, a public context whose needs and failures, triumphs and hopes we bear some responsibility for. Sometimes, broader social issues obviously impact many of our people; the high costs of health care in an aging nation, the possibilities of school success for our children and grandchildren. Other times, our immediate self-interest in, say, prison or criminal justice reform isn’t entirely clear. Still, we have neighbors who that fraught topic effects significantly. We’re riveted by news about conflict in Baltimore and the Black Lives Matter movement. Besides, we serve a God who splendidly called us all Beloved Children, and for that reason alone, whatever improves, diminishes or threatens the social fabric ought make a difference to our spiritual well-being.
What’s more, Christians have profound, millennia-tested insights for making that “public” space better; good ideas for the doing of justice and loving of kindness that Micah 6:8 recommends to those attempting to walk humbly with God. Hence the “theology” in “public theology.” That’s when Christians speak spiritually-derived wisdom about situations that impact world and church together.
Notice that’s different than attempting to convert people. It’s also distinct from the unabashedly partisan harangues that characterize too much current public religious speech. Rather, over the past two years, my colleagues and I explored how to think and speak about issues important to the common good (education, health care, criminal justice, business, poverty) with patience for complexity and comfort with nuance. And respect for disagreement.
Maybe that last lesson’s one we all need to honor better. Too many comments about public issues quickly turn political, then devolve into sarcasm, meanness and cynicism. By contrast, good public theology- whether done by a preacher in the pulpit, a co-worker around the watercooler, a neighbor at coffee with friends- values those the speaker disagrees with. It doesn’t mean s/he keeps silent about the truth our faith in Jesus helps reveal. But s/he should acknowledge the image of God in any potential adversary, and respond accordingly.
After all, the reason we speak anything about this stuff, again, is location. We are located- created!- in a particular place, with specific characteristics and people, and it’s that fullness to which we’re responsible. Not to some ideology or party, nor to a small group we feel most comfortable with or like best. It’s the entirety of our neighborhoods and society that Christians must care about, think about, pray about, act together to improve. For the God of us is the God of all, and nobody’s lacks an invitation to God’s heavenly banquet.
In other words, we’re called to engage the world as it is, not simply as we wish it could be. That includes perspectives we might not like, nor understand initially. Therefore, the counterintuitive first step of Christians attempting public theology is…listening. First, we listen for God’s wisdom in prayer and worship, scripture and Christian tradition. Then, we listen for holy insights in the dreams and convictions of neighbors. Ever “chatted” with someone so eager to speak you could tell they weren’t hearing at all? It’s absolutely obnoxious, amen?! Christians shouldn’t be like that, though we’ve done so before, myself most definitely included.
But now, I’m going to try to act different. The issues are too important, the wisdom we have too precious. And more importantly, the potential of anyone we encounter to shine God’s light to us and with us is always present. Perhaps if we modeled such ways of being and speaking more regularly- rather than blustering or staying silent- than the epidemic of snide, divisive speech that’s rending our social fabric would start healing. And with it, some of our world’s pain. A worthy dream, I’d say.
Grace and Peace,
Shane Read more!
Friday, May 1, 2015
Bowed down…
I think my least favorite emotion is despair, although arrogance could compete. It’s just that despair, of all the negative emotions at least, seems the least productive. Sadness has a purging effect. Anger holds potential power for good. Even fear can have clarifying impacts. Despair, by contrast, feels like a stubborn, unhelpful partner. It doesn’t offer much healing, inspiration or insight. It’s like crawling in a cold hole, closing your eyes and refusing to don a nearby sweater. At its worst, despair lashes out in ways that fuel a fire needing of water. Unfortunately, and this is despair’s worst quality, it’s often entirely understandable.
I’m pondering despair for several reasons this week. One is news of violent conflicts in Baltimore streets. The precipitating event was the death of a young black man in police custody. I don’t know the full details, but it sounds too depressingly familiar. As in other cases, this week, local citizens publicly protested while police stood guard. Someone lashed out violently. Violence escalated, and the word “riot” replaced “protest” in news reports.
Please pray for nonviolent protesters and police doing the dangerous work of ensuring a safer, better community.
Anyway, it made me recall a small moment I had on the first nice Saturday of Spring. I’d walked Fawkes to the local park, where many teenagers were gathered, mostly African-American. The crowd was larger than normal, but given my neighborhood, its racial makeup made sense. Also, eight police cars were driving around and into the park, which I’d never witnessed there before. The tension was palpable, bit I continued the walk, eventually turning home.
On my block, some neighbors were milling about. I chatted with one young black man, and mentioned the police at the park, saying how it surprised me. He said, “There’s always lots of police there,” and scoffed. We silently each turned toward home. Since then, I’ve wondered what he typically saw that I didn’t, what he expects that I don’t.
I won’t put words in my neighbor’s mouth, but our racial difference obviously influenced that conversation, especially our attitudes about police. Many cops patrol my neighborhood. I smile and thank them when I get the chance. I also see many of my male black neighbors draw back in caution, suspicion or fear. Researchers say that’s a rational act, given the much higher likelihood that, while simply strolling down my block, a black man my age will be detained, questioned and arrested than I will. That’s not because most police officers are intentionally biased or mean, but something’s not fully holy yet in our society, amen?
Which returns me to despair and “rioting.” Here’s something Dr. King said, “It’s not enough for me to…condemn riots…(I)ntolerable conditions that exist in our society…cause individuals to feel that they have no other alternative than to engage in violent rebellions to get attention…(A) riot is the language of the unheard.” Conditions have changed for many since King spoke, but many still struggle to eat, work, avoid prison, breathe, and to justify hope. And hope made King’s call for nonviolent change rational. Sadly, hope seems a dangerous deceit, a source of weakness for some of my neighbors, many not so different from Baltimore residents. That doesn’t make violent outbursts morally defensible, just more comprehensible.
Despair is the absence of hope, in social and personal problems. Despair sucks all light from our rooms, our spirits, our communities, inspiring self-defeating lethargy, lashing out or giving up. Fortunately, people of faith have tools to battle despair; not by ignoring it, nor submitting to it. Instead, we’re bold enough to name it, before God, as the powerful, tempting force it is. Lamentations 3:20- “My soul continually thinks of (my affliction and homelessness) and is bowed down within me.” That’s a clear declaration of despair. But never forget the following verses- “(T)his I call to mind, and I have hope. The steadfast love of the LORD never ceases. God’s mercies never come to an end.”
In other words, if we rely on our own capacities, ideas, strengths and resources, we’ll fall short, or fail each other. History teaches that lesson too tragically. Fortunately, hope needn’t rely on us to be real and effective. God’s mercy renews every morning. Great is God’s faithfulness.
Of course, that’s easy for me to say, not currently enduring the despair temptation. So I pray I’ll react to others’ pain and despair with compassion rather than judgment. May we all desire understanding. And I pray hope enters those who need it today. May they bow down in supplication, not resignation.
Amen,
Shane
Read more!
I’m pondering despair for several reasons this week. One is news of violent conflicts in Baltimore streets. The precipitating event was the death of a young black man in police custody. I don’t know the full details, but it sounds too depressingly familiar. As in other cases, this week, local citizens publicly protested while police stood guard. Someone lashed out violently. Violence escalated, and the word “riot” replaced “protest” in news reports.
Please pray for nonviolent protesters and police doing the dangerous work of ensuring a safer, better community.
Anyway, it made me recall a small moment I had on the first nice Saturday of Spring. I’d walked Fawkes to the local park, where many teenagers were gathered, mostly African-American. The crowd was larger than normal, but given my neighborhood, its racial makeup made sense. Also, eight police cars were driving around and into the park, which I’d never witnessed there before. The tension was palpable, bit I continued the walk, eventually turning home.
On my block, some neighbors were milling about. I chatted with one young black man, and mentioned the police at the park, saying how it surprised me. He said, “There’s always lots of police there,” and scoffed. We silently each turned toward home. Since then, I’ve wondered what he typically saw that I didn’t, what he expects that I don’t.
I won’t put words in my neighbor’s mouth, but our racial difference obviously influenced that conversation, especially our attitudes about police. Many cops patrol my neighborhood. I smile and thank them when I get the chance. I also see many of my male black neighbors draw back in caution, suspicion or fear. Researchers say that’s a rational act, given the much higher likelihood that, while simply strolling down my block, a black man my age will be detained, questioned and arrested than I will. That’s not because most police officers are intentionally biased or mean, but something’s not fully holy yet in our society, amen?
Which returns me to despair and “rioting.” Here’s something Dr. King said, “It’s not enough for me to…condemn riots…(I)ntolerable conditions that exist in our society…cause individuals to feel that they have no other alternative than to engage in violent rebellions to get attention…(A) riot is the language of the unheard.” Conditions have changed for many since King spoke, but many still struggle to eat, work, avoid prison, breathe, and to justify hope. And hope made King’s call for nonviolent change rational. Sadly, hope seems a dangerous deceit, a source of weakness for some of my neighbors, many not so different from Baltimore residents. That doesn’t make violent outbursts morally defensible, just more comprehensible.
Despair is the absence of hope, in social and personal problems. Despair sucks all light from our rooms, our spirits, our communities, inspiring self-defeating lethargy, lashing out or giving up. Fortunately, people of faith have tools to battle despair; not by ignoring it, nor submitting to it. Instead, we’re bold enough to name it, before God, as the powerful, tempting force it is. Lamentations 3:20- “My soul continually thinks of (my affliction and homelessness) and is bowed down within me.” That’s a clear declaration of despair. But never forget the following verses- “(T)his I call to mind, and I have hope. The steadfast love of the LORD never ceases. God’s mercies never come to an end.”
In other words, if we rely on our own capacities, ideas, strengths and resources, we’ll fall short, or fail each other. History teaches that lesson too tragically. Fortunately, hope needn’t rely on us to be real and effective. God’s mercy renews every morning. Great is God’s faithfulness.
Of course, that’s easy for me to say, not currently enduring the despair temptation. So I pray I’ll react to others’ pain and despair with compassion rather than judgment. May we all desire understanding. And I pray hope enters those who need it today. May they bow down in supplication, not resignation.
Amen,
Shane
Read more!
Stewardship Letter
Growing Forward,
What a momentous time in the life of our church!It seems like just a few weeks ago that you received a letter about the building expansion with Yellow Brick Road. In it, we asked the church to donate or pledge funds for a construction loan down payment. It was an audacious moment. We’re a vibrant, but small congregation. Time was short. The ask was substantial. You responded, though, allowing the church reach its $50,000 fundraising goal!
Therefore, we’ve sent in our loan application to Church Extension, confident in our building design, construction plan, and financial situation. We’re simply waiting for their consideration and (God willing!) approval so we can get the building going. Then the real work begins, amen?!
That’s why I’m writing again today. The impact this building project will have on our church and neighborhood will be substantial. Seventeen low-income families annually receiving critical child care assistance to change their kids’- and family’s- future paths and dreams! Open space in our building again- finally!- to design new ministry offerings so neighbors can meet, grow and shine with us. We’ll have opportunity to freshen up our hospitality, boost our community profile, deepen our story of helping build God’s Kingdom in our midst.
But what that takes, you surely know, is the ongoing support and financial commitment of Plymouth Creek members and friends. Together, we did something extra and special to lift the building expansion off the ground. Together, we’ll need to continue to maintain or increase our regular tithes and offerings for the church’s operating budget.
We all know that, at first glance, giving to ensure bills and salaries are paid, office materials purchased, mailing costs covered, isn’t as exciting as securing needed services for poor children. Except we also know that nothing else we take pride in here- quality music and choir, a weekly bus ministry for members and guests, a full and poised-for-expansion community garden- can transpire if the annual budget isn’t met. We do that year after year through your generous, courageous giving. And we’re on the cusp of a new chapter where growth in ministry, membership and spiritual depth is before us, if we’re prepared to seize the opportunity.
So throughout May, we’ll think together about that fundamental Christian task of stewardship. Then, we’ll ask that you turn in pledge cards on or before May 24th. The church fiscal year ends May 31. We’ll need a new budget, therefore, to vote on at the annual congregational meeting in mid-June. Building that works best if we know the amount of donations we’ll receive next year. Hence, this letter.
Will you pray about the ongoing support you can provide Plymouth Creek next year? It would be great if you can increase what you did last year. Whatever your situation, though, please fill out the form at the bottom of this letter, detach it and either put it in the offering plate soon or mail it to the church office.
And thank you for your generous commitment to this church, to what God continues to accomplish through our efforts! With your time, treasures, talents and dreams, we are growing forward in pursuit of Christ’s call for us to love and serve and shine.
Grace and Peace,
Shane Read more!
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