Ugh. I’m looking out of my window and see the worst of all non-disaster related weather events happening. Not snow, not rain, but snow mixed with rain that’s just barely cold enough to not melt. It’s like slush, but more dangerous to drive and walk on. I’ll call it slice. Or snush. Whatever the term, I should just stay inside, amen?!
The past two weeks, I’ve been reading a book about the “peopling of America.” That refers to our nation’s first European settlers. And the slaves they brought too. Native folk will say the land was peopled already, thank you very much. The title of this historical tome sets the stage poignantly, and sadly. It’s called, “The Barbarous Years,” and focuses on 1600-1675, written by Bernard Bailyn, Pulitzer Prize winning Harvard historian and all-around American Founders expert.
The story is brutal. As he puts it, “Death was everywhere” in colonial America. Death is everywhere always, but in certain circumstances, its hands are more frequent and grasping. Bailyn describes settlements from Virginia to New England to what eventually became New York, and time after time these fragile communities suffered beyond my imaginings. I mean, sure, I remember elementary school legends about huddled settlers near Plymouth Rock, gratefully accepting assistance in their need from friendly, local Indians. I had some awareness of what happened next- the Pilgrims soon turned on their native hosts. Blood feuds, war, even genocide complemented efforts to trade and survive.
But the depth of that period’s suffering, among colonists but especially native peoples and slaves, was even more severe than I’d previously realized. Perhaps that says something about my own historical ignorance. And there’s also something in that about our modern sugar-coating of the nation’s founding (a process every nation undertakes, by the way; we all want the past to be nobler than it frequently was). But I also think this story is one about the vast improvements made across the centuries. I can stare out the window at slice/snush/icky ice and say, “I’ll be okay inside. I’ve got what I need.”
The original colonists had no such luxury, of course, especially in the first years, when Atlantic seaboard winters wiped out entire towns, desperate people resorting to terrible measures- stealing Indians’ seed corn, lunches of leather, occasional cannibalism. Many came to these shores fleeing what they considered religious persecution. So a blazing fire of faith drove them to persevere through these hardships, and then inflict more hardship on “heathen” natives, barbarians they thought. But the settlers whose stories most intrigue me aren’t the pious, well-documented Puritan Pilgrims. It’s the high percentage of travelers who came as servants or basic workers without an agenda. They made up about one-third of the Mayflower’s passengers, and had no interest in establishing a pure, new world religious outpost. They simply thought this foreign land held more opportunity for work, advancement, survival.
Little did they know. Or maybe they did know the depravations the journey would entail. Nevertheless, they gathered all they had and sought a fresh start or new adventure. What does that say about the society they left behind, the struggles of ordinary poor folk in 17th century England? I haven’t read that book yet, so I can’t say for sure, though I suspect the situation “at home” was desperate too.
Which returns me to my forlorn glances out of the window today and niggling annoyance I can’t take my dog for a run. I may have trouble counting my blessings at times, but I’ve got a great many to count, if I took the time. People in generations before mine underwent ghastly struggles that- God willing- I’ll never have to endure, not even close. Native tribes exterminated by disease or bigotry. African families bought and sold and treated like cattle. Fragile European migrant communities still figuring out how to till this soil, build enduring homes, make a living or simply survive. It’s not a new or especially insightful point I’m trying to make. But it’s useful to remember now and again. For all our troubles, we have many advantages unthinkable to ages past. May it be our kids will say the same.
Grace and Peace,
Shane
Read more!
Wednesday, December 4, 2013
Wednesday, November 27, 2013
Silent Night….
Among the moments I most look forward to each year is the end of our Christmas Eve service. We’ve typically spent the past half hour reading familiar stories, singing beloved carols, reflecting together on the glorious mystery that is Jesus, Emmanuel, God with Us. Then I’ll walk to the back of the sanctuary and turn off the lights and pass around flame from the Advent Wreath candle to handheld candles we’re holding. As dimness first falls and then slowly recedes- these simple torches collectively pushing back the dark- Jeremae leads the congregation in singing Silent Night. We go through four verses; often the piano cuts out toward the end. And a peace that passes understanding wraps our church for a blessed moment. Every year, I feel a chill and a flash of profound awe. God is here, among us, prepared to still love us, from everlasting to everlasting.
We’ll do that again this year; join us for a Christmas Eve service staring at 4:30PM. But as I’ve thought recently about not just that time of worship, but the entire Advent season, something struck me about the Christmas narratives that, honestly, hasn’t before. There are very few, if any, silent nights in those familiar texts. You know the stories I’m referring to- Mary and Joseph learning she’s pregnant, Magi traveling to honor the Christ child, shepherds and angels outside Bethlehem. The Christmas story, broadly conceived. Night figures into many of these plots. The characters are sleeping, or praying, or waiting. And time and again, God or something divine shows up, interrupting what those people were doing. Which is to say, their nights are markedly unsilent. Not peace, but disruption descends.
For instance, take Joseph, who’s snoring away one evening. He has a dream telling him, “Your fiancé is pregnant and the kid’s going to save your people.” I don’t imagine he woke up slowly from that dream, no languid morning yawn. God arrived and totally disrupted his plans, his family, his life.
Not only does that shocking disturbance contrast with the peace I feel singing Silent Night, I’m wondering if it contrasts with many of our spiritual expectations. In other words, it’s bigger than Christmas. We often expect comfort and calm from God. I’ll sing “Abide with Me” one May Sunday morning and sway in relaxed contentment. I’ll say my prayers before dinner one evening and, with a self-satisfied grin, dig in. Occasionally, I’ll include in that mealtime grace a phrase, “May you care for those going without tonight.” But never, in response to that prayer, have I stepped outside to share my table with someone nearby in need. Never have I left that table once dinner’s over to make a donation to IOCP’s food shelf. Not that any of us have to do that in order to claim spiritual integrity. The point is, rather, that saying grace to me is an exercise in comfort or routine. It’s certainly not a time I expect God to disturb me. I wonder if I ever do.
But we should, right? We should expect that God, every now and then or more often, wants to shake things up. Of course, sometimes we beg for it! Those times we’re feeling down, at a loss, in need of help, nowhere to turn. But other times, when life is smooth and we’re feeling in control, on top of things, God knows others don’t have that good feeling, and you could probably help out. Besides, spiritual growth never ends. We’ve never fully developed our relationship to God. And being human, you (and I!) get into routines, into comfort zones that arrest growth.
So this Advent, I think it’ll do you and me some spiritual good to think of such things. To re-encounter the story of Christmas as a parade of unsilent nights. We’ll still sing beloved, familiar songs at church. We’ll re-enact that annual waiting for Christ’s birth. But we’ll ponder that event in light of God’s tendency not just to comfort us, but also to disturb us. After all, Christmas isn’t normal. God, in flesh, dwelling among us…?! You’d think that would change someone’s world, right?
Well, does it yours?
Grace and Peace,
Shane
Read more!
We’ll do that again this year; join us for a Christmas Eve service staring at 4:30PM. But as I’ve thought recently about not just that time of worship, but the entire Advent season, something struck me about the Christmas narratives that, honestly, hasn’t before. There are very few, if any, silent nights in those familiar texts. You know the stories I’m referring to- Mary and Joseph learning she’s pregnant, Magi traveling to honor the Christ child, shepherds and angels outside Bethlehem. The Christmas story, broadly conceived. Night figures into many of these plots. The characters are sleeping, or praying, or waiting. And time and again, God or something divine shows up, interrupting what those people were doing. Which is to say, their nights are markedly unsilent. Not peace, but disruption descends.
For instance, take Joseph, who’s snoring away one evening. He has a dream telling him, “Your fiancé is pregnant and the kid’s going to save your people.” I don’t imagine he woke up slowly from that dream, no languid morning yawn. God arrived and totally disrupted his plans, his family, his life.
Not only does that shocking disturbance contrast with the peace I feel singing Silent Night, I’m wondering if it contrasts with many of our spiritual expectations. In other words, it’s bigger than Christmas. We often expect comfort and calm from God. I’ll sing “Abide with Me” one May Sunday morning and sway in relaxed contentment. I’ll say my prayers before dinner one evening and, with a self-satisfied grin, dig in. Occasionally, I’ll include in that mealtime grace a phrase, “May you care for those going without tonight.” But never, in response to that prayer, have I stepped outside to share my table with someone nearby in need. Never have I left that table once dinner’s over to make a donation to IOCP’s food shelf. Not that any of us have to do that in order to claim spiritual integrity. The point is, rather, that saying grace to me is an exercise in comfort or routine. It’s certainly not a time I expect God to disturb me. I wonder if I ever do.
But we should, right? We should expect that God, every now and then or more often, wants to shake things up. Of course, sometimes we beg for it! Those times we’re feeling down, at a loss, in need of help, nowhere to turn. But other times, when life is smooth and we’re feeling in control, on top of things, God knows others don’t have that good feeling, and you could probably help out. Besides, spiritual growth never ends. We’ve never fully developed our relationship to God. And being human, you (and I!) get into routines, into comfort zones that arrest growth.
So this Advent, I think it’ll do you and me some spiritual good to think of such things. To re-encounter the story of Christmas as a parade of unsilent nights. We’ll still sing beloved, familiar songs at church. We’ll re-enact that annual waiting for Christ’s birth. But we’ll ponder that event in light of God’s tendency not just to comfort us, but also to disturb us. After all, Christmas isn’t normal. God, in flesh, dwelling among us…?! You’d think that would change someone’s world, right?
Well, does it yours?
Grace and Peace,
Shane
Read more!
Wednesday, November 20, 2013
Thanks…
As we prepare for Thanksgiving, my thoughts turn to a moment during my Bosnia Sabbatical. Toward its end, I had an encounter with gratitude that y’all might find stimulating.
We- meaning I and the middle-aged man who was my sabbatical guide- began a journey to the country’s south one morning, knowing a ninety-minute drive loomed ahead. You should know that my guide worked for several years as a Church World Service employee. His job was directing charitable donations- from Disciples of Christ and others- to poverty relief and redevelopment projects following the 1990s war. So stop one on our trip was a church, whose building and community he’d helped restore. Next, we drove to a famous tourist site; a centuries’ old Islamic monastic (Dervish) house.
Noon arrived. It had been a full morning, and we had several more visits planned. But suddenly, my guide stopped the car and said, “Tell me Shane- yes or no?” Conspicuously, he’d not shared the original question, though I saw he was wrestling with something internally. Being generally positive, I figured “Yes” is usually best, and that’s what I said.
He responded, “Okay. Then we’re going now to meet another family I know. Their farm is in a village about twenty minutes away that CWS helped rebuild after the war. The problem is, the man from that family who I’d worked most closely with died last January. I haven’t seen them since. I kept wanting too, but it’s far from my home. Now that I’m close, however, I thought we could stop, but I wasn’t sure that was right, since we’d arrive without a gift to give his mother.”
My “yes”, then, was the deciding factor for his paying condolences now or waiting for another time. At first, his concern confused me. Do we need a gift to say, “I’m sorry”? But I figured it wasn’t my culture, so I’d best sit back and observe. Then, it occurred to me that the woman we’d meet had experienced a parent’s worst fear- seeing a child die before her. Our visit could stoke the fires on painfully hot memories. A gift to cool the flames was the least we might do.
Yet we went, rather anxious whether we’d be a welcome distraction or renewed burden. My guide said hello and offered regrets to the still-grieving mother, ninety years old. She gave us homemade pomegranate juice and several cookies beloved in that country. My guide told her how much her son had meant to him, and the fondness his memory still brings.
I couldn’t understand most of this, of course. They spoke Bosnian; I smiled and watched. But as my guide translated to me what was happening, I saw a change in the woman’s wrinkled forehead. The burden of years and conflict and loss didn’t leave her, but they shifted noticeably. And a sincere, relieved smile emerged. She grabbed and patted his hand.
Right then, I realized- and I hope my guide did too- that he had brought the woman a gift. It wasn’t tangible, not like the boxes of pomegranates and vegetables they loaded into our car as we left, despite our protests of “It’s too much, too kind, really.” They kept giving. Rather, my guide’s gift was something a woman in her situation couldn’t buy, but desperately wanted. She saw that she wasn’t alone in her grief, in missing her beloved boy. Indeed, because my guide went out of his way to witness her sorrow, to share his with her, she learned that her son’s memory endured in more hearts than her own. I’ve grieved before. I know how lonely, how isolating it can be. So to discover others are in it with you, to be assured your loved one’s life made a difference, isn’t forgotten…well…she was grateful.
We stayed for just a few minutes longer, toured their farm and moved on. I saw more tourist sites, heard further stories, ate the best ice cream you can imagine. Night had fallen as we arrived back home. I opened the door and said goodbye. My guide said, “I’m glad we said hello to that family.” I was too.
Happy Thanksgiving.
Grace and Peace,
Shane Read more!
We- meaning I and the middle-aged man who was my sabbatical guide- began a journey to the country’s south one morning, knowing a ninety-minute drive loomed ahead. You should know that my guide worked for several years as a Church World Service employee. His job was directing charitable donations- from Disciples of Christ and others- to poverty relief and redevelopment projects following the 1990s war. So stop one on our trip was a church, whose building and community he’d helped restore. Next, we drove to a famous tourist site; a centuries’ old Islamic monastic (Dervish) house.
Noon arrived. It had been a full morning, and we had several more visits planned. But suddenly, my guide stopped the car and said, “Tell me Shane- yes or no?” Conspicuously, he’d not shared the original question, though I saw he was wrestling with something internally. Being generally positive, I figured “Yes” is usually best, and that’s what I said.
He responded, “Okay. Then we’re going now to meet another family I know. Their farm is in a village about twenty minutes away that CWS helped rebuild after the war. The problem is, the man from that family who I’d worked most closely with died last January. I haven’t seen them since. I kept wanting too, but it’s far from my home. Now that I’m close, however, I thought we could stop, but I wasn’t sure that was right, since we’d arrive without a gift to give his mother.”
My “yes”, then, was the deciding factor for his paying condolences now or waiting for another time. At first, his concern confused me. Do we need a gift to say, “I’m sorry”? But I figured it wasn’t my culture, so I’d best sit back and observe. Then, it occurred to me that the woman we’d meet had experienced a parent’s worst fear- seeing a child die before her. Our visit could stoke the fires on painfully hot memories. A gift to cool the flames was the least we might do.
Yet we went, rather anxious whether we’d be a welcome distraction or renewed burden. My guide said hello and offered regrets to the still-grieving mother, ninety years old. She gave us homemade pomegranate juice and several cookies beloved in that country. My guide told her how much her son had meant to him, and the fondness his memory still brings.
I couldn’t understand most of this, of course. They spoke Bosnian; I smiled and watched. But as my guide translated to me what was happening, I saw a change in the woman’s wrinkled forehead. The burden of years and conflict and loss didn’t leave her, but they shifted noticeably. And a sincere, relieved smile emerged. She grabbed and patted his hand.
Right then, I realized- and I hope my guide did too- that he had brought the woman a gift. It wasn’t tangible, not like the boxes of pomegranates and vegetables they loaded into our car as we left, despite our protests of “It’s too much, too kind, really.” They kept giving. Rather, my guide’s gift was something a woman in her situation couldn’t buy, but desperately wanted. She saw that she wasn’t alone in her grief, in missing her beloved boy. Indeed, because my guide went out of his way to witness her sorrow, to share his with her, she learned that her son’s memory endured in more hearts than her own. I’ve grieved before. I know how lonely, how isolating it can be. So to discover others are in it with you, to be assured your loved one’s life made a difference, isn’t forgotten…well…she was grateful.
We stayed for just a few minutes longer, toured their farm and moved on. I saw more tourist sites, heard further stories, ate the best ice cream you can imagine. Night had fallen as we arrived back home. I opened the door and said goodbye. My guide said, “I’m glad we said hello to that family.” I was too.
Happy Thanksgiving.
Grace and Peace,
Shane Read more!
Wednesday, November 13, 2013
Looking back…
I returned from sabbatical over two months ago. Strange. Some days, it feels like yesterday; other days, like ancient history. But every day, were someone to ask me- How did the sabbatical go?- my honest answer still would include many platitudes and few profundities.
When I first came back, this fact worried me. I thought I needed gripping, insightful answers at ready at once! After all, people would ask about it and expect fresh wisdom. I imagined that was the point of sabbaticals; what y’all would expect.
Then, a conversation with an IOCP employee, whose 1980s Peace Corps stint was in Western Turkey, calmed my nerves. She opened with, “Welcome back. How was the trip?” I prepared to share my awkward list of halting clichés, when she cut in. “Sorry. I bet you’re still figuring it out, right?” Why, yes, I was! How did she know? “I struggled with that after the Peace Corps,” she said. “More happened than I could fit into three sentence conversations. It took awhile for even me to grasp everything I took in.”
I can’t tell you how exactly that description captured my post-sabbatical feelings. So from then on, I felt less anxiety about giving “perfect” answers. Wisdom would come, as distance and time gave me occasion to reflect with more fullness. I imagined a large movie screen, and sitting just five feet away from it. The intensity of its colors and movements would engage my senses and shock my system. But I wouldn’t fully understand the story, the movie until I stepped back and saw the whole screen. Honestly, that’s at the core of how my sabbatical has felt these past couple months.
This Sunday, however, I’ve committed to sharing my sabbatical story with the church. During our potluck, just after worship, I’ll stand before folk and sum up “what I learned.” I chose this date because, a) there was a potluck already scheduled and food always brings a crowd, b) if I didn’t have anything interesting to say, again, there’d be food…, but most especially, I figured that, c) it would give me enough time- to step back, to sort out the wise from the trivial, to organize my thoughts so others could share them. Now that it’s here, I’m still feeling unprepared, but for a different, more normal reason, thank God. I’m less overwhelmed by the closeness of the memories than I am stressed about having too much to do. How typical!
Anyway, here’s a preview of what I might say. But don’t hold me to it, okay? Still, among things that may be worth sharing about how these two months away impacted my soul, I could say:
We have a dysfunctional relationship to rest. And by we, I mean “Americans”. At least, many whom I know struggle to honor rest, to find it, to love it. But that’s not because we’re somehow less peaceful or wise than other cultures or countries. I suspect, rather, it comes from a great strength. We value work, and do it well and hard. But like most strengths, there’s a hidden weakness, and ours might be measured through bad sleep patterns, questionable eating habits and unmanaged stress.
Power matters, and we should hold ourselves responsible for how we use it. This claim comes partly from war stories I kept hearing, and otherwise from observations about divergent living standards. Whether our power is military, economic or personal privilege granted by class, race or gender, we shouldn’t pretend we don’t have it. Instead, we should account ourselves well of opportunities to use our power to help others.
Gratitude opens doors better than perfect qualifications or “proper” beliefs. Whether that’s making a connection with a stranger serving roast lamb, or hearing from a neighbor about her/his understanding of faith, you’ll learn more, get farther if you start with being thankful, rather than showing off how much you (think you) know. I’ve learned that both the glorious, and the hard way.
As for the remainder, well, I’m sure I’ll figure it out before Sunday! Mostly, though, I’m grateful for this church to sabbatical from and return to.
Grace and Peace,
Shane Read more!
When I first came back, this fact worried me. I thought I needed gripping, insightful answers at ready at once! After all, people would ask about it and expect fresh wisdom. I imagined that was the point of sabbaticals; what y’all would expect.
Then, a conversation with an IOCP employee, whose 1980s Peace Corps stint was in Western Turkey, calmed my nerves. She opened with, “Welcome back. How was the trip?” I prepared to share my awkward list of halting clichés, when she cut in. “Sorry. I bet you’re still figuring it out, right?” Why, yes, I was! How did she know? “I struggled with that after the Peace Corps,” she said. “More happened than I could fit into three sentence conversations. It took awhile for even me to grasp everything I took in.”
I can’t tell you how exactly that description captured my post-sabbatical feelings. So from then on, I felt less anxiety about giving “perfect” answers. Wisdom would come, as distance and time gave me occasion to reflect with more fullness. I imagined a large movie screen, and sitting just five feet away from it. The intensity of its colors and movements would engage my senses and shock my system. But I wouldn’t fully understand the story, the movie until I stepped back and saw the whole screen. Honestly, that’s at the core of how my sabbatical has felt these past couple months.
This Sunday, however, I’ve committed to sharing my sabbatical story with the church. During our potluck, just after worship, I’ll stand before folk and sum up “what I learned.” I chose this date because, a) there was a potluck already scheduled and food always brings a crowd, b) if I didn’t have anything interesting to say, again, there’d be food…, but most especially, I figured that, c) it would give me enough time- to step back, to sort out the wise from the trivial, to organize my thoughts so others could share them. Now that it’s here, I’m still feeling unprepared, but for a different, more normal reason, thank God. I’m less overwhelmed by the closeness of the memories than I am stressed about having too much to do. How typical!
Anyway, here’s a preview of what I might say. But don’t hold me to it, okay? Still, among things that may be worth sharing about how these two months away impacted my soul, I could say:
We have a dysfunctional relationship to rest. And by we, I mean “Americans”. At least, many whom I know struggle to honor rest, to find it, to love it. But that’s not because we’re somehow less peaceful or wise than other cultures or countries. I suspect, rather, it comes from a great strength. We value work, and do it well and hard. But like most strengths, there’s a hidden weakness, and ours might be measured through bad sleep patterns, questionable eating habits and unmanaged stress.
Power matters, and we should hold ourselves responsible for how we use it. This claim comes partly from war stories I kept hearing, and otherwise from observations about divergent living standards. Whether our power is military, economic or personal privilege granted by class, race or gender, we shouldn’t pretend we don’t have it. Instead, we should account ourselves well of opportunities to use our power to help others.
Gratitude opens doors better than perfect qualifications or “proper” beliefs. Whether that’s making a connection with a stranger serving roast lamb, or hearing from a neighbor about her/his understanding of faith, you’ll learn more, get farther if you start with being thankful, rather than showing off how much you (think you) know. I’ve learned that both the glorious, and the hard way.
As for the remainder, well, I’m sure I’ll figure it out before Sunday! Mostly, though, I’m grateful for this church to sabbatical from and return to.
Grace and Peace,
Shane Read more!
Wednesday, November 6, 2013
Greater communication…
Did your childhood include regular bedtime prayer? Mine did. Sometimes, it was informal, improvisational. Other times, we recited the famous- “Now I lay me down to sleep…” I remember it well. One line goes, “If I die before I wake,” which occasionally produced nightmares, but that’s another letter. The point is, I’m grateful my parents taught me to consider prayer an everyday pursuit. Be it at the dinner table or just before bed, this rhythm of steadily seeking an audience with God helped me learn important ideas about how faith works well.
For starters, I learned that what I said mattered less than how I said it. Eloquent prayer is no substitute for sincerity; brilliant phrasing holds no candle to humble consistency. Adults should pay more attention to their words choices than kids, but only just so. We live such busy lives, and when we’re not busy, we’re distracted. TVs that never get turned off. Web browsers always open. Memories or anxieties crowding our consciousness about families and bills, unmet responsibilities. To never interrupt that soul-stifling, spiritually-deadening torrent of constant activity, invites emotional burnout, meanness, diminished relationships. However you pray, just pray. It matters.
I know from personal experience. My first Easter in seminary, a friend invited me to his family’s dinner. I couldn’t get home for the holiday, so I accepted and naturally, they invited the seminarian to bless the meal. It had been months, I’ll confess, since I’d spoken to God beyond church. And boy, did it show. The least elegant prayer I’ve ever said in public sputtered from my mouth. Everyone cringed. But more concerning than the prayer’s awkward phrasing was the gap I felt in my soul where I knew I’d been missing something- the consistency of asking for help, an intimacy with God’s ever-ready love. I may be no prayer champion now, but I try hard not to skip as much as I’d done then!
I don’t know what your prayer life is like, but I hope one exists beyond what you do in church. May you know that God is eager to hear from you, speak with you, abide with you. And because I believe we church folk should help each other build and maintain that blessed rhythm of life, we’ve decided to expand on certain prayer efforts we’ve already been offering.
You may know that we invite prayers from worshippers each Sunday, and the following Sunday, they’re listed in the bulletin. Some of you, surely, include those in your regular prayers, and for that, thanks! But we’d like to expand that list to include concerns that may be more ongoing than, say, an upcoming surgery. Chronic pain, for instance, unemployment…you get the idea. Plus, there’s not currently an easy-to-activate mechanism for time-sensitive, critical prayer concerns. So after recent conversation with Lyle and Bonnie, we’ve identified ways to upgrade the system.
For starters, we’re now going to keep and distribute a regular prayer list that anyone can add names to for whatever reason. The names will stay on the list for a month, unless otherwise asked to remove or extend. Also, we’re inviting Plymouth Creekers to consider becoming an intentional church prayer partner. What that involves is you committing to adding this expanded list into your regular prayer routine. Do you have morning devotions or every-third-day meditations? If so, just include these names into that time. If neither, why not start now?! It’ll help our community remain connected throughout the week in prayer. If you’d like to be a church prayer partner, contact me or Lyle, and we’ll reach out to you each Monday via email or phone (your choice!) with that week’s prayer concerns. Finally, if you have a prayer concern to add- and it’s not Sunday morning- do as we’ve done before and contact the church office to put it on our list. If it’s urgent- say, an emergency surgery- then church prayer partners will be contacted, like a prayer chain, ensuring good timing.
So that’s the new plan. Send me your feedback. We’re always open to helpful suggestions! In the meantime, I pray that you will pray, with increasing devotion, compassion and love.
Grace and Peace,
Shane
P.S. - Besides our regular tray on the Communion Table, we’re placing a prayer box in the narthex for anyone who comes into our church to put prayer concerns. So if you have something you’d prefer not to share during worship, but still want attended to by our prayer partners, slip in a note and we’ll include that concern. Read more!
For starters, I learned that what I said mattered less than how I said it. Eloquent prayer is no substitute for sincerity; brilliant phrasing holds no candle to humble consistency. Adults should pay more attention to their words choices than kids, but only just so. We live such busy lives, and when we’re not busy, we’re distracted. TVs that never get turned off. Web browsers always open. Memories or anxieties crowding our consciousness about families and bills, unmet responsibilities. To never interrupt that soul-stifling, spiritually-deadening torrent of constant activity, invites emotional burnout, meanness, diminished relationships. However you pray, just pray. It matters.
I know from personal experience. My first Easter in seminary, a friend invited me to his family’s dinner. I couldn’t get home for the holiday, so I accepted and naturally, they invited the seminarian to bless the meal. It had been months, I’ll confess, since I’d spoken to God beyond church. And boy, did it show. The least elegant prayer I’ve ever said in public sputtered from my mouth. Everyone cringed. But more concerning than the prayer’s awkward phrasing was the gap I felt in my soul where I knew I’d been missing something- the consistency of asking for help, an intimacy with God’s ever-ready love. I may be no prayer champion now, but I try hard not to skip as much as I’d done then!
I don’t know what your prayer life is like, but I hope one exists beyond what you do in church. May you know that God is eager to hear from you, speak with you, abide with you. And because I believe we church folk should help each other build and maintain that blessed rhythm of life, we’ve decided to expand on certain prayer efforts we’ve already been offering.
You may know that we invite prayers from worshippers each Sunday, and the following Sunday, they’re listed in the bulletin. Some of you, surely, include those in your regular prayers, and for that, thanks! But we’d like to expand that list to include concerns that may be more ongoing than, say, an upcoming surgery. Chronic pain, for instance, unemployment…you get the idea. Plus, there’s not currently an easy-to-activate mechanism for time-sensitive, critical prayer concerns. So after recent conversation with Lyle and Bonnie, we’ve identified ways to upgrade the system.
For starters, we’re now going to keep and distribute a regular prayer list that anyone can add names to for whatever reason. The names will stay on the list for a month, unless otherwise asked to remove or extend. Also, we’re inviting Plymouth Creekers to consider becoming an intentional church prayer partner. What that involves is you committing to adding this expanded list into your regular prayer routine. Do you have morning devotions or every-third-day meditations? If so, just include these names into that time. If neither, why not start now?! It’ll help our community remain connected throughout the week in prayer. If you’d like to be a church prayer partner, contact me or Lyle, and we’ll reach out to you each Monday via email or phone (your choice!) with that week’s prayer concerns. Finally, if you have a prayer concern to add- and it’s not Sunday morning- do as we’ve done before and contact the church office to put it on our list. If it’s urgent- say, an emergency surgery- then church prayer partners will be contacted, like a prayer chain, ensuring good timing.
So that’s the new plan. Send me your feedback. We’re always open to helpful suggestions! In the meantime, I pray that you will pray, with increasing devotion, compassion and love.
Grace and Peace,
Shane
P.S. - Besides our regular tray on the Communion Table, we’re placing a prayer box in the narthex for anyone who comes into our church to put prayer concerns. So if you have something you’d prefer not to share during worship, but still want attended to by our prayer partners, slip in a note and we’ll include that concern. Read more!
Tuesday, October 29, 2013
Community cares…
For Plymouth Creek, October saw a good deal of good church. We had fun, fellowship and success with our chili cook-off and auction. Receipts so far total over $4,000, with more coming in, the best such fundraiser I’ve seen yet! Sincere thanks to Sharon for her leadership, along with help that Deb and Tabitha provided. And thanks to everyone who donated, bid, ate chili and enjoyed the day. Bravo! Ironic thanks to Richard for leading the charge to shave my head. I’m tempted to make our next fundraiser a beard shaving event…just sayin’!
Anyway, we prepared for that event with a trip to Feed My Starving Children the day before. Service mixed with fellowship, exactly how church should be. Thanks to the Weavers for setting that up, and for all who joined the team. And three cheers for another good year for the community garden, our third in total. It’s closed now for the winter; thanks to Al and Kimberly for their hard work.
Sadly, church isn’t simply the fun events, the service days, the weekly worship. It’s also about bearing witness to God’s eternal promises when a community member dies. We had two deaths last month, in two days- Ruth and Pat, beloved women each. Thanks to Jeremae and LeAnn for their musical offerings to Pat’s Memorial service, and to the many who arranged chairs and flowers, brought cookies and bars, and otherwise ensured full hospitality for that sad, but beautiful, day.
Triumph and heartbreak, welcome and loss. Church can sometimes feel rollercoaster-like, amen?! I, for one, was exhausted that Sunday afternoon- emotionally, bodily, spiritually. But I wouldn’t have it any other way, and I doubt you would too. All that stuff- service, giving, laughing, loving, celebrating life’s fullness- it’s why church matters. It’s why we keep coming. It’s what honors and brings us closer to God.
Notice how many names I made an effort to thank specifically in those first few paragraphs. Had I space, I’d list many more. We can’t do any of this alone. And we don’t, praise the good Lord. It’s not like one person makes our church happen. I saw people who barely knew Pat take hours out of their days off to honor her memory. I saw long-time members who’ve given so much already participate with gusto in our auction and service. Truly, the spirituality of our church isn’t just personally focused; it’s not just about self-realization. It’s community driven, an always evolving exercise in gathering and being good partners through Christ’s love.
I like that definition of spirituality. It gets me to think broader than solo prayer or personal retreats. As much as I like that stuff and think it deepens my spiritual growth, it’s wise to admit that’s not sufficient. We grow spiritually when we help others, tear down tables, clean the kitchen after a funeral. In the giving of our time and efforts to serve a bigger purpose, our spirits expand. We grow.
It reminds me of an annual event to come in November- IOCP’s Community Sleep Out. You’ll remember that this yearly campaign raises funds for our local human services provider and good partner IOCP, i.e. the agency that most helps nearby neighbors in need. Starting with a prayer walk (5pm) and block party (6pm) at IOCP on Saturday, November 9 (which, by the way, I’m helping lead and emcee…), the Sleep Out will continue through the year’s end with various events and chances to give. The point, of course, is that no one person can end homelessness or poverty. But if enough good people of good will work together in our community, incredible things can happen.
IOCP’s director likes to say, “There’s nothing more powerful than a community that discovers what it cares about.” I think that’s true, when I see the broader community give to help poor neighbors, when I see you work together to honor God and love each other. Being a community that cares isn’t always easy; sweat and tears are occasional requirements. But it’s better than not caring. Because it nurtures that most divine of all God’s gifts- Love.
Grace and Peace,
Shane
Read more!
Anyway, we prepared for that event with a trip to Feed My Starving Children the day before. Service mixed with fellowship, exactly how church should be. Thanks to the Weavers for setting that up, and for all who joined the team. And three cheers for another good year for the community garden, our third in total. It’s closed now for the winter; thanks to Al and Kimberly for their hard work.
Sadly, church isn’t simply the fun events, the service days, the weekly worship. It’s also about bearing witness to God’s eternal promises when a community member dies. We had two deaths last month, in two days- Ruth and Pat, beloved women each. Thanks to Jeremae and LeAnn for their musical offerings to Pat’s Memorial service, and to the many who arranged chairs and flowers, brought cookies and bars, and otherwise ensured full hospitality for that sad, but beautiful, day.
Triumph and heartbreak, welcome and loss. Church can sometimes feel rollercoaster-like, amen?! I, for one, was exhausted that Sunday afternoon- emotionally, bodily, spiritually. But I wouldn’t have it any other way, and I doubt you would too. All that stuff- service, giving, laughing, loving, celebrating life’s fullness- it’s why church matters. It’s why we keep coming. It’s what honors and brings us closer to God.
Notice how many names I made an effort to thank specifically in those first few paragraphs. Had I space, I’d list many more. We can’t do any of this alone. And we don’t, praise the good Lord. It’s not like one person makes our church happen. I saw people who barely knew Pat take hours out of their days off to honor her memory. I saw long-time members who’ve given so much already participate with gusto in our auction and service. Truly, the spirituality of our church isn’t just personally focused; it’s not just about self-realization. It’s community driven, an always evolving exercise in gathering and being good partners through Christ’s love.
I like that definition of spirituality. It gets me to think broader than solo prayer or personal retreats. As much as I like that stuff and think it deepens my spiritual growth, it’s wise to admit that’s not sufficient. We grow spiritually when we help others, tear down tables, clean the kitchen after a funeral. In the giving of our time and efforts to serve a bigger purpose, our spirits expand. We grow.
It reminds me of an annual event to come in November- IOCP’s Community Sleep Out. You’ll remember that this yearly campaign raises funds for our local human services provider and good partner IOCP, i.e. the agency that most helps nearby neighbors in need. Starting with a prayer walk (5pm) and block party (6pm) at IOCP on Saturday, November 9 (which, by the way, I’m helping lead and emcee…), the Sleep Out will continue through the year’s end with various events and chances to give. The point, of course, is that no one person can end homelessness or poverty. But if enough good people of good will work together in our community, incredible things can happen.
IOCP’s director likes to say, “There’s nothing more powerful than a community that discovers what it cares about.” I think that’s true, when I see the broader community give to help poor neighbors, when I see you work together to honor God and love each other. Being a community that cares isn’t always easy; sweat and tears are occasional requirements. But it’s better than not caring. Because it nurtures that most divine of all God’s gifts- Love.
Grace and Peace,
Shane
Read more!
Thursday, October 24, 2013
Creating reality…
Some words don’t just describe the world. They change the world. Simply saying something can make something new happen.
This isn’t news, right? You’ve witnessed this dynamic before. When a couple utters “I do,” something previously unknown arises. These people are now married! Their words created. Some call this “performative speech” or “speech acts,” i.e. utterances that do something, and don’t simply communicate. “Let there be light…”
I thought about speech acts recently, as Washington politicians debated the national budget and debt limit. Congresspersons and the president attempt speech acts often, through their public appearances. For instance, many say something like, “The American people believe…” followed by a demand for their party’s preferred position. In some ways, this is arrogant speech; the “American people” have diverse beliefs. But at a deeper level, the politician’s trying to create the support she desires by convincing listeners- us- we’re part of her vision for “the American people”.
But during this recent shutdown, I listened to many words besides what politicians said; those of voters, neighbors, church members, us. And many weren’t intended as speech acts, I think. They were declarations of annoyance. If the “American people” agree on anything, it seems to be, “(Insert politician’s name here) is an idiot!”
Full confession: I said those words. I wasn’t happy with the shutdown. And when I spoke with others about it, I was quick to insult elected officials too. Perhaps that’s simply a way to discuss politics while not offending others. If you’re bashing politicians, you don’t risk upsetting your neighbor with political beliefs he doesn’t share. But I’ve begun worrying that these speech patterns have potentially dangerous consequences. The more we complain about our leaders, after all, the greater our anger becomes. Which could move these conversations from communication into performance. I’m concerned it’s creating a culture so distrusting of political leadership it’s impossible to accept anything they do. Then, we complain more. Leaders lose more trust to make decisions. Negative, destructive feedback loop ensues.
The Bible advocates for good leadership and governance. It’s a necessary condition for God’s Kingdom come on earth. Scripture’s often critical about bad governance, calling us to agitate for justice, freedom and peace. But it accepts the need for government and wants it to work well for everyone. Which isn’t to say it clearly commands a certain type of government. Large, small, democratic, republican, Scripture’s silent on such things. So Biblical people can be politically diverse; it’s healthy, in fact, that we don’t all vote the same. But one thing we shouldn’t do, as Biblical people, is bash “government” per se, or treat politicians as scapegoats, even when we justly feel let down by them. Partly, that’s about performative speech. The more we toxify the political environment, the worse it gets and the more disillusioned we become. Then, the only people who engage are selfish interest groups or extreme “true believers,” which rarely appears to help government behave more holy. But it’s also about the basic spiritual principle that Christ followers “love kindness.” Even if we’re upset with politicians, we still need to be kind. That’s something Christians do.
So here’s my “takeaway” from the recent shutdown debate: I want to stop insulting politicians, and instead engage in speech acts of gratitude for government. Not that I love every decision elected officials make, but theirs is a tough job, and even those I wouldn’t vote for, I’m convinced, are usually good people trying their best. Plus, because my Christian responsibility is to use my power- at the ballot box, with donations, my speech- to make life better, I feel a need to subvert this emerging culture of political disgust. Our nation faces many challenges from climate change to staggering government debt that it can’t tackle if those charged to lead us can’t ever earn our trust. But achieving that trust isn’t just about them. It’s also about our willingness to engage, to hope, God forbid, we can do good things together. I believe that starts with us, with me, with my desire to follow Christ’s ways by loving kindness and creating a world of grateful encouragement through what I say.
Grace and Peace,
Shane Read more!
This isn’t news, right? You’ve witnessed this dynamic before. When a couple utters “I do,” something previously unknown arises. These people are now married! Their words created. Some call this “performative speech” or “speech acts,” i.e. utterances that do something, and don’t simply communicate. “Let there be light…”
I thought about speech acts recently, as Washington politicians debated the national budget and debt limit. Congresspersons and the president attempt speech acts often, through their public appearances. For instance, many say something like, “The American people believe…” followed by a demand for their party’s preferred position. In some ways, this is arrogant speech; the “American people” have diverse beliefs. But at a deeper level, the politician’s trying to create the support she desires by convincing listeners- us- we’re part of her vision for “the American people”.
But during this recent shutdown, I listened to many words besides what politicians said; those of voters, neighbors, church members, us. And many weren’t intended as speech acts, I think. They were declarations of annoyance. If the “American people” agree on anything, it seems to be, “(Insert politician’s name here) is an idiot!”
Full confession: I said those words. I wasn’t happy with the shutdown. And when I spoke with others about it, I was quick to insult elected officials too. Perhaps that’s simply a way to discuss politics while not offending others. If you’re bashing politicians, you don’t risk upsetting your neighbor with political beliefs he doesn’t share. But I’ve begun worrying that these speech patterns have potentially dangerous consequences. The more we complain about our leaders, after all, the greater our anger becomes. Which could move these conversations from communication into performance. I’m concerned it’s creating a culture so distrusting of political leadership it’s impossible to accept anything they do. Then, we complain more. Leaders lose more trust to make decisions. Negative, destructive feedback loop ensues.
The Bible advocates for good leadership and governance. It’s a necessary condition for God’s Kingdom come on earth. Scripture’s often critical about bad governance, calling us to agitate for justice, freedom and peace. But it accepts the need for government and wants it to work well for everyone. Which isn’t to say it clearly commands a certain type of government. Large, small, democratic, republican, Scripture’s silent on such things. So Biblical people can be politically diverse; it’s healthy, in fact, that we don’t all vote the same. But one thing we shouldn’t do, as Biblical people, is bash “government” per se, or treat politicians as scapegoats, even when we justly feel let down by them. Partly, that’s about performative speech. The more we toxify the political environment, the worse it gets and the more disillusioned we become. Then, the only people who engage are selfish interest groups or extreme “true believers,” which rarely appears to help government behave more holy. But it’s also about the basic spiritual principle that Christ followers “love kindness.” Even if we’re upset with politicians, we still need to be kind. That’s something Christians do.
So here’s my “takeaway” from the recent shutdown debate: I want to stop insulting politicians, and instead engage in speech acts of gratitude for government. Not that I love every decision elected officials make, but theirs is a tough job, and even those I wouldn’t vote for, I’m convinced, are usually good people trying their best. Plus, because my Christian responsibility is to use my power- at the ballot box, with donations, my speech- to make life better, I feel a need to subvert this emerging culture of political disgust. Our nation faces many challenges from climate change to staggering government debt that it can’t tackle if those charged to lead us can’t ever earn our trust. But achieving that trust isn’t just about them. It’s also about our willingness to engage, to hope, God forbid, we can do good things together. I believe that starts with us, with me, with my desire to follow Christ’s ways by loving kindness and creating a world of grateful encouragement through what I say.
Grace and Peace,
Shane Read more!
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