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!
Wednesday, April 10, 2013
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!
Thursday, March 21, 2013
Defining people…
After visiting the execution chamber in Angola prison earlier this month, our prison chaplain guide sat us down for a talk. I wrote last week about one haunting and hard story he told us. But there’s another he shared that seemed just as morally complicated, but perhaps more hopeful.
This story involves the teenage step-daughter of a death row inmate. Apparently, one night, not long after the man and his new wife wed, the daughter was dropped off at home by a family friend after a school event. Only the man was around, and he used that fact to kidnap the young woman. Drove her into Louisiana, raped and killed her, then hid the body. Thankfully, he was caught. Turns out he’d sexually abused women before. So he was sentenced to death, which occurred not long ago. His was Angola’s most recent execution.
The unique fact of his execution, though, was that he didn’t fight the sentence. The chaplain said he’d never met another death row prisoner who actively worked against efforts to save his life. But this man told the chaplain, “I deserve what I’ll receive. If they let me out, I’ll do it again. I’m sorry for it. But that’s who I am.” Further, the day of the execution, he called the former family friend, said, “I’m told you feel guilty, think the young woman would still be living if you hadn’t dropped her off that night. I’m sad to say that if it wasn’t that night, it would’ve been another. So please don’t feel guilty. It’s not your fault. It’s entirely mine.” Chaplain Toney told us that he believed this man felt real remorse, hence the phone call and no appeals. Whatever you think about capital punishment, that’s an extraordinary tale.
But what the chaplain said next has stuck with me since. In response, he claimed, “We are more than the worst thing we’ve ever done.”
A Plymouth Creeker told me last week about her former church. Small town, not too large, yet had multiple ties to incarcerated persons. One had been the woman’s former Sunday School student, now in jail for drugs and theft. Another had twins whom she taught in school, now serving time for corruption. To other people, she told me, these were bad, bad men. She, however, remembers kind words and times one did work on her house. “Society” deemed them inescapably unworthy, defined them by their worst ever deeds. Her church, though, would visit and write, look after family, care. And as we talked about those tough circumstances, it was clear that personal connections matter. Other high profile crime cases, I’ll admit, lead me to cringe, rage or judge. But when someone, however justly incarcerated, grew up singing “Jesus Loves Me” at your prompting, something shifts in how you respond. At least, that’s this church’s experience.
And it seems right to me. We are more than the worst thing we’ve ever done. I’ve met former convicts before at church and was impressed by their renewed faithfulness. I’ve known addicts who’d hurt others during their lowest of lows, yet have cheered their recovery and honored their attempts to make amends. I’ve interacted with people I knew abused children and struggled to not lash out. Yet I also knew they’d done other things, positive things for family or their community. It is right that we punish and jail criminals or denounce unhealthy behaviors. But how do we define the people who do the deeds? How do we define ourselves?
Psalm 139 defines us as “fearfully and wonderfully made.” When looking in the mirror, it’s good to focus on the “wonderfully.” When confronted with others’ terrible acts, the “fearfully” is hard to ignore. Yet I suspect God’s goal is keeping all parts of our complex selves in sight. Not ignoring our sin, but neither allowing that to define us fully. The question, then, is how does God reconcile our worst deeds with the others? Hold all sides of our lives in balance without one overwhelming the other?
My best answer- Grace. Amazing, radical, threatening grace. Is grace the defining idea of God’s relationship with God’s broken, beloved children?
Grace and Peace,
Shane Read more!
This story involves the teenage step-daughter of a death row inmate. Apparently, one night, not long after the man and his new wife wed, the daughter was dropped off at home by a family friend after a school event. Only the man was around, and he used that fact to kidnap the young woman. Drove her into Louisiana, raped and killed her, then hid the body. Thankfully, he was caught. Turns out he’d sexually abused women before. So he was sentenced to death, which occurred not long ago. His was Angola’s most recent execution.
The unique fact of his execution, though, was that he didn’t fight the sentence. The chaplain said he’d never met another death row prisoner who actively worked against efforts to save his life. But this man told the chaplain, “I deserve what I’ll receive. If they let me out, I’ll do it again. I’m sorry for it. But that’s who I am.” Further, the day of the execution, he called the former family friend, said, “I’m told you feel guilty, think the young woman would still be living if you hadn’t dropped her off that night. I’m sad to say that if it wasn’t that night, it would’ve been another. So please don’t feel guilty. It’s not your fault. It’s entirely mine.” Chaplain Toney told us that he believed this man felt real remorse, hence the phone call and no appeals. Whatever you think about capital punishment, that’s an extraordinary tale.
But what the chaplain said next has stuck with me since. In response, he claimed, “We are more than the worst thing we’ve ever done.”
A Plymouth Creeker told me last week about her former church. Small town, not too large, yet had multiple ties to incarcerated persons. One had been the woman’s former Sunday School student, now in jail for drugs and theft. Another had twins whom she taught in school, now serving time for corruption. To other people, she told me, these were bad, bad men. She, however, remembers kind words and times one did work on her house. “Society” deemed them inescapably unworthy, defined them by their worst ever deeds. Her church, though, would visit and write, look after family, care. And as we talked about those tough circumstances, it was clear that personal connections matter. Other high profile crime cases, I’ll admit, lead me to cringe, rage or judge. But when someone, however justly incarcerated, grew up singing “Jesus Loves Me” at your prompting, something shifts in how you respond. At least, that’s this church’s experience.
And it seems right to me. We are more than the worst thing we’ve ever done. I’ve met former convicts before at church and was impressed by their renewed faithfulness. I’ve known addicts who’d hurt others during their lowest of lows, yet have cheered their recovery and honored their attempts to make amends. I’ve interacted with people I knew abused children and struggled to not lash out. Yet I also knew they’d done other things, positive things for family or their community. It is right that we punish and jail criminals or denounce unhealthy behaviors. But how do we define the people who do the deeds? How do we define ourselves?
Psalm 139 defines us as “fearfully and wonderfully made.” When looking in the mirror, it’s good to focus on the “wonderfully.” When confronted with others’ terrible acts, the “fearfully” is hard to ignore. Yet I suspect God’s goal is keeping all parts of our complex selves in sight. Not ignoring our sin, but neither allowing that to define us fully. The question, then, is how does God reconcile our worst deeds with the others? Hold all sides of our lives in balance without one overwhelming the other?
My best answer- Grace. Amazing, radical, threatening grace. Is grace the defining idea of God’s relationship with God’s broken, beloved children?
Grace and Peace,
Shane Read more!
Sunday, March 10, 2013
Angola,
So. I’ve now seen a death chamber. Saw an electric chair too but’s that in a museum just outside the prison where I’ve lived this week. Instead, the death chamber currently used at the Louisiana State Penitentiary holds simply a microphone and PA system, so the condemned can share last words with a gathered crowd. And there’s a table with two extended arms- not unlike a flattened, padded cross- on which are straps for wrists, shackle cuffs for feet. That’s it. The death chamber.
Oh, and there are curtains, for covering two large windows looking in on the chamber. Process goes that the prisoner is brought in and then the audience gathers (victims’ family, press, his lawyer, sentencing judge perhaps, but not his own family) and then he says his last words and then he’s strapped to the table. The curtains close while a doctor punctures the man’s flesh with IV lines; both arms just in case. At Angola Prison, the warden stands next to the about-to-die man, holding his hand until the deed is done. I’m told wardens don’t do that elsewhere. Finally, once all’s in place, and after this warden has whispered to the man, “The next face you’ll see is Jesus,” a guard opens the curtain so the onlookers can watch as lethally injected fluids work their way into his system. He dies. They say it takes around seven minutes or so. The man might go peacefully. He might cry. He might “pee and shit himself”. The warden stays and holds the hand all the while. People watch.
Justice is done?
We don’t wrestle with this issue much in Minnesota since, as I recall, we’re one of eighteen states without the death penalty. Louisiana, however, has 84 men on death row, for now. That number was supposed to have shrunk by one a couple weeks ago, but legal maneuvering stayed the case last minute. Apparently, twenty(ish) years back, a man got angry at his child for messing his drawers before church. So he drew a scalding hot bath, stripped the eight year-old boy naked and dumped him in, holding his head below the steaming surface, whapping him several times with a screwdriver to reduce the panicked struggles. One might say he tortured his boy to death in hot water; the skin blistered red when all was done. But the convicted father is not dead because, even after all legal appeals were dismissed, the country where Louisiana buys the killing drugs (Holland) passed a law banning their sale for use in legal executions. Once brought to the judge’s attention, just days away from justice(?), His Honor halted the proceedings until all could be set straight.
I met a man on death row this week who’d been there over twenty years, about the right amount time. I didn’t ask his name. Didn’t know yet this story. But I wonder. And if he wasn’t that particular man, he’d still probably done something else terrible. Some death row felons are innocent, of course, some the victims of racist sentencing policies and bigoted juries. But most are pedophile predators or repeat killers, folk whom many think have squandered their right to live. I’m sympathetic to that notion, to be honest; evil is hard to digest. Though when pressed to consider it fully, I’m glad we’ve abolished the death penalty in Minnesota. I don’t think it’s worth killing a couple innocent men to satisfy our longings for revenge. It costs too much. It’s infected with too many biases. And, ultimately, I don’t want us to play God.
But I get the feeling. This man committed an act that cries out desperately for restitution. Next time you pray the Lord’s Prayer, think of this sin and search your heart. Yet when he and I talked, several things came up- where we’re from, what books we like. And God. “I’m right with God,” he said. “I’ll be welcomed Home.” The radical Good News of the Gospel is that, well, he’s right. God will say, “You’re forgiven. I love you.” No death chamber can change that.
And I wonder if our faith- my faith- is big enough to say the same? Should it?
Grace and Peace,
Shane Read more!
Oh, and there are curtains, for covering two large windows looking in on the chamber. Process goes that the prisoner is brought in and then the audience gathers (victims’ family, press, his lawyer, sentencing judge perhaps, but not his own family) and then he says his last words and then he’s strapped to the table. The curtains close while a doctor punctures the man’s flesh with IV lines; both arms just in case. At Angola Prison, the warden stands next to the about-to-die man, holding his hand until the deed is done. I’m told wardens don’t do that elsewhere. Finally, once all’s in place, and after this warden has whispered to the man, “The next face you’ll see is Jesus,” a guard opens the curtain so the onlookers can watch as lethally injected fluids work their way into his system. He dies. They say it takes around seven minutes or so. The man might go peacefully. He might cry. He might “pee and shit himself”. The warden stays and holds the hand all the while. People watch.
Justice is done?
We don’t wrestle with this issue much in Minnesota since, as I recall, we’re one of eighteen states without the death penalty. Louisiana, however, has 84 men on death row, for now. That number was supposed to have shrunk by one a couple weeks ago, but legal maneuvering stayed the case last minute. Apparently, twenty(ish) years back, a man got angry at his child for messing his drawers before church. So he drew a scalding hot bath, stripped the eight year-old boy naked and dumped him in, holding his head below the steaming surface, whapping him several times with a screwdriver to reduce the panicked struggles. One might say he tortured his boy to death in hot water; the skin blistered red when all was done. But the convicted father is not dead because, even after all legal appeals were dismissed, the country where Louisiana buys the killing drugs (Holland) passed a law banning their sale for use in legal executions. Once brought to the judge’s attention, just days away from justice(?), His Honor halted the proceedings until all could be set straight.
I met a man on death row this week who’d been there over twenty years, about the right amount time. I didn’t ask his name. Didn’t know yet this story. But I wonder. And if he wasn’t that particular man, he’d still probably done something else terrible. Some death row felons are innocent, of course, some the victims of racist sentencing policies and bigoted juries. But most are pedophile predators or repeat killers, folk whom many think have squandered their right to live. I’m sympathetic to that notion, to be honest; evil is hard to digest. Though when pressed to consider it fully, I’m glad we’ve abolished the death penalty in Minnesota. I don’t think it’s worth killing a couple innocent men to satisfy our longings for revenge. It costs too much. It’s infected with too many biases. And, ultimately, I don’t want us to play God.
But I get the feeling. This man committed an act that cries out desperately for restitution. Next time you pray the Lord’s Prayer, think of this sin and search your heart. Yet when he and I talked, several things came up- where we’re from, what books we like. And God. “I’m right with God,” he said. “I’ll be welcomed Home.” The radical Good News of the Gospel is that, well, he’s right. God will say, “You’re forgiven. I love you.” No death chamber can change that.
And I wonder if our faith- my faith- is big enough to say the same? Should it?
Grace and Peace,
Shane Read more!
Thursday, February 28, 2013
Visited me…
Some of you know this already. If not, you’ll be intrigued. On February 15, as I was working on a sermon and drinking coffee, a colleague who leads a large, dynamic church called and said, “Shane, I’d like to send you to prison.”
I didn’t do anything wrong. Truly. He wasn’t angry with me or warning me. Rather, he’d called to explain a program he helped develop and to offer me a spot. Simply put, he’s leading a group of youngish ministers into Angola State Penitentiary in Louisiana. We’ll live there from Monday until Friday, March 4-8, immersing ourselves in the prison’s life. Well…at least to an extent. We won’t sleep in cells, but in prison guest houses. We can’t have cell phones or computers inside, but also can’t walk around alone, outside the group. We know when we’ll leave, must wear business casual rather than issued garb. Our food will be the prisoners’ food; our schedule set by the prison staff.
Unfortunately, since this experience came up so last minute, I won’t be in worship Sunday the 3rd. But as I discussed the possibility with our Board leadership and Servant Leaders, they said, “Shane, this sounds like a powerful opportunity. Once in a lifetime…we hope! Go learn something, bring it back, and don’t do anything to make them keep you there.”
So I’m going. As I anticipate the trip, my heart and soul rumbles with many voices. I’m excited; I never imagined I’d have the chance to experience such a rich, unique learning environment. I’m nervous; for as learning environments go, prisons have slightly lower reputations than the typical library. I’m insecure; I imagine I’ll meet folk who’ve dealt with harder life events than I’ve ever had to. I’m grateful; for a supportive church, creative colleagues, the privileges and comforts of my every day.
I could go on. But I keep returning to one scripture that sums up why I wanted to go. You know it well. Jesus tells the Parable of the Sheep and Goats, imagining what that “great getting’ up morning” will be like as all humanity meets God face-to-face. To those whom God is pleased with, Jesus names the reason as- “When I was hungry, you fed me. When I was thirsty, you gave me drink. When I was naked, you gave me clothes. When in prison, you visited me…whatsoever you’ve done unto these, my children- even the ‘least’- you’ve done so unto me.” I usually focus on the food and water and clothing part. Visiting the prisoner? Not really.
Of course, in Jesus’ day, internment was different than it is now. He maybe was imagining simple farmers locked up in debtor’s prison; poor people forced, but unable, to pay larger rents and taxes than their small fields could sustain. These days, more people are incarcerated for drug related crimes than debt, or theft or violence. Not exactly the same, although for many, I’m told, drug use and sales are one of too few opportunities for money making in impoverished urban neighborhoods. And sentencing terms for these poor men and women are typically much harsher than for crimes common to wealthier folk (like embezzlement or powder cocaine usage, as contrasted with property theft and crack). In other words, Jesus’ urging his followers to have compassion on downtrodden peasants confined by an unjust system, it’s not a carbon copy way to our current situation. But neither is it irrelevant. Indeed, it probably matters more these days than we’d prefer admitting.
So I’ve decided to take Jesus’ advice, visit the prison and learn what I can. Not to mention take the advice of a PCCC member who likes saying, “If something feels uncomfortable, it’s probably the right thing to do!” I expect to feel naïve most of the week, confront biases in my soul that I wish weren’t there. But I’ll try to share that with you, either through emails during the week or when I get home. Perhaps then we’ll hear together Christ’s ever-present call- “Whatsoever you’ve done…”- and so recommit to seeking more actively more folk to visit, to serve, to love.
Grace and Peace,
Shane Read more!
I didn’t do anything wrong. Truly. He wasn’t angry with me or warning me. Rather, he’d called to explain a program he helped develop and to offer me a spot. Simply put, he’s leading a group of youngish ministers into Angola State Penitentiary in Louisiana. We’ll live there from Monday until Friday, March 4-8, immersing ourselves in the prison’s life. Well…at least to an extent. We won’t sleep in cells, but in prison guest houses. We can’t have cell phones or computers inside, but also can’t walk around alone, outside the group. We know when we’ll leave, must wear business casual rather than issued garb. Our food will be the prisoners’ food; our schedule set by the prison staff.
Unfortunately, since this experience came up so last minute, I won’t be in worship Sunday the 3rd. But as I discussed the possibility with our Board leadership and Servant Leaders, they said, “Shane, this sounds like a powerful opportunity. Once in a lifetime…we hope! Go learn something, bring it back, and don’t do anything to make them keep you there.”
So I’m going. As I anticipate the trip, my heart and soul rumbles with many voices. I’m excited; I never imagined I’d have the chance to experience such a rich, unique learning environment. I’m nervous; for as learning environments go, prisons have slightly lower reputations than the typical library. I’m insecure; I imagine I’ll meet folk who’ve dealt with harder life events than I’ve ever had to. I’m grateful; for a supportive church, creative colleagues, the privileges and comforts of my every day.
I could go on. But I keep returning to one scripture that sums up why I wanted to go. You know it well. Jesus tells the Parable of the Sheep and Goats, imagining what that “great getting’ up morning” will be like as all humanity meets God face-to-face. To those whom God is pleased with, Jesus names the reason as- “When I was hungry, you fed me. When I was thirsty, you gave me drink. When I was naked, you gave me clothes. When in prison, you visited me…whatsoever you’ve done unto these, my children- even the ‘least’- you’ve done so unto me.” I usually focus on the food and water and clothing part. Visiting the prisoner? Not really.
Of course, in Jesus’ day, internment was different than it is now. He maybe was imagining simple farmers locked up in debtor’s prison; poor people forced, but unable, to pay larger rents and taxes than their small fields could sustain. These days, more people are incarcerated for drug related crimes than debt, or theft or violence. Not exactly the same, although for many, I’m told, drug use and sales are one of too few opportunities for money making in impoverished urban neighborhoods. And sentencing terms for these poor men and women are typically much harsher than for crimes common to wealthier folk (like embezzlement or powder cocaine usage, as contrasted with property theft and crack). In other words, Jesus’ urging his followers to have compassion on downtrodden peasants confined by an unjust system, it’s not a carbon copy way to our current situation. But neither is it irrelevant. Indeed, it probably matters more these days than we’d prefer admitting.
So I’ve decided to take Jesus’ advice, visit the prison and learn what I can. Not to mention take the advice of a PCCC member who likes saying, “If something feels uncomfortable, it’s probably the right thing to do!” I expect to feel naïve most of the week, confront biases in my soul that I wish weren’t there. But I’ll try to share that with you, either through emails during the week or when I get home. Perhaps then we’ll hear together Christ’s ever-present call- “Whatsoever you’ve done…”- and so recommit to seeking more actively more folk to visit, to serve, to love.
Grace and Peace,
Shane Read more!
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