One of our congregation’s members is on the ballot this November. I hope you vote. Either for her or against her, or should you live outside Minnesota’s 3rd, for whichever congressional candidate best represents your political hopes. Because participating in our democracy matters. Lifting your voice is an act of faith. And this election has me thinking about how Christians use “our voice” to impact society, beyond simply voting.
For example, not long ago, I had conversation with friends about the word, “justice.” I had used it in a recent sermon. That sparked interesting feedback. So I talked it over with pastor pals, for their ideas. And it occurred to us how this term had taken on litmus proportions in many circles. Like among seminary trained ministers, whose schooling likely taught them (as it did me!) to pray enthusiastically for justice, preach about justice, conceive the very work of God’s Kingdom come as justice be done on earth.
That notion has deep Biblical roots. Hebrew prophets used “justice” to critique their leaders for forgetting the poor and orphaned. Jesus began his ministry quoting the justice-loving Isaiah: “The Spirit of the Lord is upon me, because God has sent me to bring good news to the poor.” As such, many contemporary theologians and pastors describe the entire point of church as God’s people championing justice. They want all Christians using their “voices” for that project, and criticize those who won’t.
But something odd often happens in that process. These calls for justice frequently overlap with certain political agendas, namely liberal ones. One pastor even bragged to me about it years ago. S/he’d written an article listing several reasons Christians should support healthcare reform. Describing the writing, s/he casually remarked, “I basically cut and pasted from President Obama’s website.” Merits of those reasons aside, this nonchalant fusing of faith with liberal politics left me uncomfortable. Surely celebrating “justice”, in a Biblical sense, need not always mean, “I’m liberal”, right? Is our Christian voice that narrow, that unimaginative, that constrained?
It reminds me of how the just-as-Biblically-important word “freedom” was deployed last decade. In response to 9/11 and the Iraq Invasion, “freedom” frequently signaled “conservative.” I can’t tell you how many mailings our church received from conservative religious organizations, demanding all “freedom loving” Christians lift their voices in support of conservative political issues. Therefore, many liberal Christians began avoiding the term like Ebola. Though Paul profoundly claims, “For freedom Christ has set us free,” they couldn’t stomach it. They were different. They loved justice.
In other words, these key words- with all their Biblical wisdom, guidance and inspiration- became litmus tests for speakers and hearers. Are you with us, or against us? I find that sad, and not terribly helpful. Perhaps even dangerous to faith itself. We need deep values like justice and freedom, to say nothing of compassion, reconciliation, forgiveness, to enter the public sphere, to guide decision makers and voters toward more holy solutions to common problems. But if one or the other value becomes totally identified with a particular party’s policies, then our distinctive Christian voice becomes diluted. Our Christian identity becomes cheapened.
Or, and here’s what really worries me, Christians will simply check out. They’ll stop wanting to raise their voices because they fear being co-opted by our divisive politics. And they’d be right. But imagine that scenario with me. This community of faithful souls, committed to loving their neighbors, welcoming back the prodigal, binding the Samaritan’s wounds, decide they’ve got nothing to say about our nation’s most pressing struggles. Which values then will take over? Winning at all cost? Doing what’s best for only your preferred party? At the expense of the common good? That, frankly, scares me. And I hope it scares you.
So let’s be different Christians. Those whose abiding concern for God’s Kingdom trumps partisan leanings. Those who enjoy coming to the Table with sisters and brothers who may vote different, but love Jesus too. Let us lift our voices for justice and freedom, faith and hope and love, to better the lives of all neighbors. Because Jesus’ arms were that wide-open, God’s love that vast. And enduring.
Grace and Peace,
Shane
Read more!
Friday, October 24, 2014
Thursday, October 16, 2014
You might be next. - Rev. Tabitha Isner
I heard on MPR today that Americans just aren’t giving money for Ebola the way they do for natural disasters. Following the earthquake in Haiti, a disaster which took the lives of over 200,000 people, charities received over $1.4 billion. In contrast, the Ebola virus will likely kill more than that number in the next six months, but very few charities are reporting significant donations.
So why do we donate for natural disasters but not for outbreaks? I think the answer has to do with fear.
When a natural disaster happens, the damage is largely done by the time we hear about it. The fact that an earthquake happened in Haiti is terrible, but it is not a threat to us here. It’s sad, but it’s not scary.
The Ebola outbreak is different. There isn’t a day on which it “happened.” And because there’s not a date when we can say it started, there’s also not a date on which it ended. It is still happening. The damage is far from being done. Instead, it is growing, expanding, deepening by the day… and you might be next.
When terrible things happen to other people, but we continue to feel safe, it awakens our sympathy. We feel grateful for the blessing that it wasn’t us, and we become generous givers.
When terrible things happen to other people and we might be next, it awakens our anxiety. We feel sorry for the people who have been victims, but our fear keeps us focused on protecting ourselves rather than on helping those who have already been affected.
A few years ago I would have made this observation and then concluded that it’s a crying shame how fear and self-preservation stand in the way of loving your neighbor.
Today I find that conclusion unsatisfying.
Let’s say we apply the same “fear makes you selfish” principle to police brutality such as that seen in the Ferguson shootings. As a white woman, the shootings in Ferguson and surrounding areas seem to me analogous to the earthquake in Haiti. The fact that it happened is terrible, but it’s not a threat to my personal safety. The fact that it happened to those young men means nothing at all about what will happen to me. But to a young black man (or the parents of a young black man), this spate of police shootings may sound a whole lot more like Ebola. Not only did it happen to those young men, but it’s possible that I might be next.
But contrary to the “fear makes you selfish” notion, the fear that those young black men face is not a barrier to their compassion. Their fear is what makes them truly able to empathize. And when they stand up to this injustice, it is extraordinary precisely because they are afraid. Precisely because they have good reason to be afraid.
In contrast, if I attend a protest, raise my arms, and shout “don’t shoot,” my actions don’t reflect my selflessness. They reflect my privilege. I can afford to do that because I know it’s highly unlikely there will be any real consequences for me.
So what am I to do when faced with a tragedy and protected by privilege? (I’m not entirely sure – this idea is new to me!) But here’s what I’m going to try..
1) I am going to admit that my privilege results in my inability to fully empathize or understand. And because my personal experience isn’t relevant, I am going to commit to reading, listening, and asking for the stories of those who have experienced what I have not and likely will not ever face.
2) With those stories in hand, I am going to try to imagine that I might be next. I’m going to let it play out fully in my imagination. The idea that this could happen to me, to my family. I’m going to let it overwhelm me, terrify me, paralyze and outrage me. I’m going to let that fear loose on my gut and my nerves.
3) And having felt just a small portion of that fear, I am going to remind myself that it is someone else for whom this nightmare is a reality. And that it’s unreasonable to ask someone in that state to take sole responsibility for righting this wrong. So I had better put that privilege to good use.
If you have good ideas for how to develop compassion in the face of privilege, send your ideas along. I’d love to hear them! Read more!
So why do we donate for natural disasters but not for outbreaks? I think the answer has to do with fear.
When a natural disaster happens, the damage is largely done by the time we hear about it. The fact that an earthquake happened in Haiti is terrible, but it is not a threat to us here. It’s sad, but it’s not scary.
The Ebola outbreak is different. There isn’t a day on which it “happened.” And because there’s not a date when we can say it started, there’s also not a date on which it ended. It is still happening. The damage is far from being done. Instead, it is growing, expanding, deepening by the day… and you might be next.
When terrible things happen to other people, but we continue to feel safe, it awakens our sympathy. We feel grateful for the blessing that it wasn’t us, and we become generous givers.
When terrible things happen to other people and we might be next, it awakens our anxiety. We feel sorry for the people who have been victims, but our fear keeps us focused on protecting ourselves rather than on helping those who have already been affected.
A few years ago I would have made this observation and then concluded that it’s a crying shame how fear and self-preservation stand in the way of loving your neighbor.
Today I find that conclusion unsatisfying.
Let’s say we apply the same “fear makes you selfish” principle to police brutality such as that seen in the Ferguson shootings. As a white woman, the shootings in Ferguson and surrounding areas seem to me analogous to the earthquake in Haiti. The fact that it happened is terrible, but it’s not a threat to my personal safety. The fact that it happened to those young men means nothing at all about what will happen to me. But to a young black man (or the parents of a young black man), this spate of police shootings may sound a whole lot more like Ebola. Not only did it happen to those young men, but it’s possible that I might be next.
But contrary to the “fear makes you selfish” notion, the fear that those young black men face is not a barrier to their compassion. Their fear is what makes them truly able to empathize. And when they stand up to this injustice, it is extraordinary precisely because they are afraid. Precisely because they have good reason to be afraid.
In contrast, if I attend a protest, raise my arms, and shout “don’t shoot,” my actions don’t reflect my selflessness. They reflect my privilege. I can afford to do that because I know it’s highly unlikely there will be any real consequences for me.
So what am I to do when faced with a tragedy and protected by privilege? (I’m not entirely sure – this idea is new to me!) But here’s what I’m going to try..
1) I am going to admit that my privilege results in my inability to fully empathize or understand. And because my personal experience isn’t relevant, I am going to commit to reading, listening, and asking for the stories of those who have experienced what I have not and likely will not ever face.
2) With those stories in hand, I am going to try to imagine that I might be next. I’m going to let it play out fully in my imagination. The idea that this could happen to me, to my family. I’m going to let it overwhelm me, terrify me, paralyze and outrage me. I’m going to let that fear loose on my gut and my nerves.
3) And having felt just a small portion of that fear, I am going to remind myself that it is someone else for whom this nightmare is a reality. And that it’s unreasonable to ask someone in that state to take sole responsibility for righting this wrong. So I had better put that privilege to good use.
If you have good ideas for how to develop compassion in the face of privilege, send your ideas along. I’d love to hear them! Read more!
Wednesday, October 8, 2014
Health…
I spent part of this week in conversation with healers. The majority were early career pastors like myself, learning more about good ministry. The others were health care industry leaders, who gave us presentations and led discussions. These included a Nurse Practitioner dealing with public health and sexually transmitted infections, a doctor committed to integrating western and eastern medical practice, and the CEO of Health Partners (the country’s largest non-profit medical delivery system).
So it was a full few days, and my head is spinning. I’m convinced I really, really need to imbibe more vitamin D! And I’m wondering how spiritual people, not to mention local faith communities, should think and act together regarding health.
We know the basic fallback plan, don’t we? Simply pray about ours or another’s health when problems arise. This happens in our church. Weekly, we invite folk to share prayer concerns with their sisters and brothers during worship. That serves two functions, to my mind. First, and most obvious, it lifts those situations before God’s light. Mysterious though the mechanics of such prayer will always be, spiritual folk have long believed it somehow mattered. The technical term is “Intercessory Prayer”; you’re interceding for another’s well-being. “God, Rosa needs help. Please help her!” It’s not the only prayer we should ever pray, but it’s well-known and focused on health in moments of need.
Honestly, I’m never certain if or how intercessory prayer works. It’s hard for me to imagine God picking and choosing health care winners. Still, the accumulated evidence of millennia of earnest prayers from all kinds of religious people, and the positive reports they’ve left behind, convinces me it’s not a waste of time. Perhaps there’s some spiritual energy that gathers as more people pray. Maybe that somehow reaches the prayed-for, and in cases where the odds of recovery aren’t zero, this attention could help tip the scales to energize her body to fight back harder and achieve healing, with God’s help, in whatever way.
But who knows?! Prayer is mysterious. It’s neither a sure bet if “done right,” nor a fruitless exercise for fools. Two central virtues of good religion are humility and compassion, and prayers for healing, properly understood, practice and nurture both. So keep praying, and pray well!
The second thing our weekly prayers accomplishes, though, is less about the person prayed for, than the prayer-ers themselves. Someone wise once said, “I pray not to change God’s mind, but for God to change mine.” And when we, during worship, put our personal concerns aside to listen to another’s pleas, we’re augmenting our individual agendas with God’s and our neighbors’. That makes a serious difference. First, it assists our spiritual growth, because you can’t grow spiritually by making life more about you. The Dali Lama said, “If you want others to be happy, practice compassion. If you want to be happy, practice compassion.”
Besides, when a community gathers in prayer for a loved one in crisis, a co-worker with cancer, they’re creating space for everyone else to know, “Here, we are safe. Here, you are loved.” However that impacts the particular situation we’re praying for (and I pray it does!), the effect- if practiced well- affects the whole. It builds confidence in the listener who may not be experiencing crisis, right now. But should it come, they know a whole community will hold them close to soul.
So it’s like preventative medicine, right? When a group of faithful partners or friends communicate regularly that health matters to each other, health itself is built. That’s because health care isn’t simply about taking drugs when you’re sick. It’s surrounding your life with the nourishment and attention it needs to be strong and whole. Which we can’t do alone, amen? Individuals without community feel not only lonely, but less healthy. Alternatively, if you’re loved- and know it- life is stronger and better. Not perfect, obviously, but critically enhanced.
So help your neighbors build health by praying for each other. Not just during crisis, but…well…whenever. And ponder what else you can do to build them up before life smacks them down. Chances are they’ll then do the same for you.
Grace and Peace,
Shane Read more!
So it was a full few days, and my head is spinning. I’m convinced I really, really need to imbibe more vitamin D! And I’m wondering how spiritual people, not to mention local faith communities, should think and act together regarding health.
We know the basic fallback plan, don’t we? Simply pray about ours or another’s health when problems arise. This happens in our church. Weekly, we invite folk to share prayer concerns with their sisters and brothers during worship. That serves two functions, to my mind. First, and most obvious, it lifts those situations before God’s light. Mysterious though the mechanics of such prayer will always be, spiritual folk have long believed it somehow mattered. The technical term is “Intercessory Prayer”; you’re interceding for another’s well-being. “God, Rosa needs help. Please help her!” It’s not the only prayer we should ever pray, but it’s well-known and focused on health in moments of need.
Honestly, I’m never certain if or how intercessory prayer works. It’s hard for me to imagine God picking and choosing health care winners. Still, the accumulated evidence of millennia of earnest prayers from all kinds of religious people, and the positive reports they’ve left behind, convinces me it’s not a waste of time. Perhaps there’s some spiritual energy that gathers as more people pray. Maybe that somehow reaches the prayed-for, and in cases where the odds of recovery aren’t zero, this attention could help tip the scales to energize her body to fight back harder and achieve healing, with God’s help, in whatever way.
But who knows?! Prayer is mysterious. It’s neither a sure bet if “done right,” nor a fruitless exercise for fools. Two central virtues of good religion are humility and compassion, and prayers for healing, properly understood, practice and nurture both. So keep praying, and pray well!
The second thing our weekly prayers accomplishes, though, is less about the person prayed for, than the prayer-ers themselves. Someone wise once said, “I pray not to change God’s mind, but for God to change mine.” And when we, during worship, put our personal concerns aside to listen to another’s pleas, we’re augmenting our individual agendas with God’s and our neighbors’. That makes a serious difference. First, it assists our spiritual growth, because you can’t grow spiritually by making life more about you. The Dali Lama said, “If you want others to be happy, practice compassion. If you want to be happy, practice compassion.”
Besides, when a community gathers in prayer for a loved one in crisis, a co-worker with cancer, they’re creating space for everyone else to know, “Here, we are safe. Here, you are loved.” However that impacts the particular situation we’re praying for (and I pray it does!), the effect- if practiced well- affects the whole. It builds confidence in the listener who may not be experiencing crisis, right now. But should it come, they know a whole community will hold them close to soul.
So it’s like preventative medicine, right? When a group of faithful partners or friends communicate regularly that health matters to each other, health itself is built. That’s because health care isn’t simply about taking drugs when you’re sick. It’s surrounding your life with the nourishment and attention it needs to be strong and whole. Which we can’t do alone, amen? Individuals without community feel not only lonely, but less healthy. Alternatively, if you’re loved- and know it- life is stronger and better. Not perfect, obviously, but critically enhanced.
So help your neighbors build health by praying for each other. Not just during crisis, but…well…whenever. And ponder what else you can do to build them up before life smacks them down. Chances are they’ll then do the same for you.
Grace and Peace,
Shane Read more!
Thursday, October 2, 2014
Growth…
In the course of my workaday, church pastor life, I have occasional opportunity to chat with consultants. Rarely is this by choice. I’ll be at the office when a call comes in, “Can I speak with the pastor?” “This is he,” I say. The pitch begins. “I’m Ms. Johnson, and I want your church to grow.”
Well, how very nice of you, I’m known to think; services are at 10, and all are welcome. But that’s not the growth Ms. Johnson has in mind (names changed, of course, for propriety’s sake). She’s not offering to join the church. Instead, she has a program to sell, a great opportunity: Five proven principles for making your church get bigger.
Typically, the call ends quickly, and not only because our church can’t afford it. Frankly, I’m skeptical of most church consulting programs I’ve encountered. First, it often sounds too simple, too easy. Five basic principles, three stress-free program changes, just clearly articulate the church’s vision and values. And then, so the narrative seems to suggest, all will be well and all will be lovely. Again, I’m unconvinced, though I realize my response is slightly unfair. No consultant I’ve spoken with actually promises quick fixes. They’re typically honest about how challenging it is for churches to discern and define their identities. They understand, usually, that modern religion isn’t paint-by-numbers. Nevertheless, if there truly is some secret to explosive growth, I haven’t heard it. Perhaps that explains why each consultant markets different products and plans.
That gets to my second reason for skepticism, derived from several plans our church previously crafted under outside guidance. Invest in youth ministry, paper the neighborhood with invitations, within two years hire a family minister, within five years build a bigger sanctuary because, obviously, you’ll be bursting at the seams. Some of those ideas proved useful, I’ve heard; these were tried before my arrival. But they weren’t sustainable, and community life became challenging (as it always will!), and these old plans now read to me like records of failure. At least, that’s how some experienced it. So another plan was crafted, with different ideas, but those didn’t pan out as dictated either. The deflating sense of “we can’t do this right,” however, returned in force. And it hurt.
Thus my disinterest in the church growth guru industry. I’m cognizant, though, of what my wife would say (she the statistics master and early career church consultant), “Your experiences with consultants don’t define all consulting.” Truth! That got me wondering recently about what kind of planning or consulting would stir my soul rather than stoke my suspicions. An idea emerged, that I’m sure wise consultants have sold before, but it’s new to me.
You see, I realized that I get annoyed when churches talk about getting bigger, and call that growth, as if the two are obviously the same. But are they? My wife says, rightly, that focusing on numbers matters, but also that counting the right numbers matters even more. The church-growth-as-getting-bigger project has the benefit of simplicity; only one number matters- How many people attend your church. This provides clarity for decision makers. Do what adds more people, avoid what keeps them away.
But suppose you’re convinced- like me- that a church can get bigger, but not truly grow. Or it can stay the same size, and grow wildly! Then, measuring “growth” would include different numbers than simply how many attend weekly, right? Obviously, attendance numbers matter. A lot. It’s hard to grow in discipleship, spiritual depth, faithfulness when people aren’t coming, with their energy for worship waning. Still, isn’t a church growing when its attendance is stable but its frequency of Bible Study increases? When it uses more funds for feeding hungry neighbors? When its sermons more consistently address issues broader than solely church concerns? When members talk more about authentic family struggles than budget or building troubles?
I’m unsure how I’d transform that insight into a consulting process; I’ll leave that to my brilliant wife! But I find the question interesting. And I’m anxious to hear others’ answers. What’s the difference between church growth and simply getting bigger? How would you measure that?
Grace and Peace,
Shane
Read more!
Well, how very nice of you, I’m known to think; services are at 10, and all are welcome. But that’s not the growth Ms. Johnson has in mind (names changed, of course, for propriety’s sake). She’s not offering to join the church. Instead, she has a program to sell, a great opportunity: Five proven principles for making your church get bigger.
Typically, the call ends quickly, and not only because our church can’t afford it. Frankly, I’m skeptical of most church consulting programs I’ve encountered. First, it often sounds too simple, too easy. Five basic principles, three stress-free program changes, just clearly articulate the church’s vision and values. And then, so the narrative seems to suggest, all will be well and all will be lovely. Again, I’m unconvinced, though I realize my response is slightly unfair. No consultant I’ve spoken with actually promises quick fixes. They’re typically honest about how challenging it is for churches to discern and define their identities. They understand, usually, that modern religion isn’t paint-by-numbers. Nevertheless, if there truly is some secret to explosive growth, I haven’t heard it. Perhaps that explains why each consultant markets different products and plans.
That gets to my second reason for skepticism, derived from several plans our church previously crafted under outside guidance. Invest in youth ministry, paper the neighborhood with invitations, within two years hire a family minister, within five years build a bigger sanctuary because, obviously, you’ll be bursting at the seams. Some of those ideas proved useful, I’ve heard; these were tried before my arrival. But they weren’t sustainable, and community life became challenging (as it always will!), and these old plans now read to me like records of failure. At least, that’s how some experienced it. So another plan was crafted, with different ideas, but those didn’t pan out as dictated either. The deflating sense of “we can’t do this right,” however, returned in force. And it hurt.
Thus my disinterest in the church growth guru industry. I’m cognizant, though, of what my wife would say (she the statistics master and early career church consultant), “Your experiences with consultants don’t define all consulting.” Truth! That got me wondering recently about what kind of planning or consulting would stir my soul rather than stoke my suspicions. An idea emerged, that I’m sure wise consultants have sold before, but it’s new to me.
You see, I realized that I get annoyed when churches talk about getting bigger, and call that growth, as if the two are obviously the same. But are they? My wife says, rightly, that focusing on numbers matters, but also that counting the right numbers matters even more. The church-growth-as-getting-bigger project has the benefit of simplicity; only one number matters- How many people attend your church. This provides clarity for decision makers. Do what adds more people, avoid what keeps them away.
But suppose you’re convinced- like me- that a church can get bigger, but not truly grow. Or it can stay the same size, and grow wildly! Then, measuring “growth” would include different numbers than simply how many attend weekly, right? Obviously, attendance numbers matter. A lot. It’s hard to grow in discipleship, spiritual depth, faithfulness when people aren’t coming, with their energy for worship waning. Still, isn’t a church growing when its attendance is stable but its frequency of Bible Study increases? When it uses more funds for feeding hungry neighbors? When its sermons more consistently address issues broader than solely church concerns? When members talk more about authentic family struggles than budget or building troubles?
I’m unsure how I’d transform that insight into a consulting process; I’ll leave that to my brilliant wife! But I find the question interesting. And I’m anxious to hear others’ answers. What’s the difference between church growth and simply getting bigger? How would you measure that?
Grace and Peace,
Shane
Read more!
Wednesday, September 24, 2014
Dear Mr. Bowlen,
Firstly, I offer you and your family my best wishes as you struggle with Alzheimer’s. May God be near your spirits with courage, hope and peace.
I grew up a Broncos fan in suburban Denver. Many fond- and sad!- childhood memories involve the team you’ve long owned. Joe Montana, playing for the Chiefs, breaking our hearts with a last-minute drive. The pride you echoed for the Broncos-loving public, when we finally won the big one, and you said, “This one’s for John.” I’m closer to my family because we cheered on your football team together. My sister married a Broncos fan, and that’s been a bridge for our relationship. It always felt like you cared not simply about Broncos’ profits, but the pride, the joy it could nurture in my home city.
I’ve since moved to Minneapolis, but remain loyal to my first football love. I root for them weekly, enthusiastically. I’m writing, however, not simply to say thank you, but to ask your organization for help.
Every week, I’m blessed to preach for a small church in a Minneapolis suburbs. They sportingly tolerate my football obsession, until, that is, the Vikings play the Broncs. But we’ve all watched with slow-building frustration as recent, terrible news engulfed the NFL. Ray Rice punching his wife. Our hometown Adrian Peterson hurting his child. Reports about head trauma in football, seemingly neglected or willfully overlooked. Sadly, it’s felt like these issues were handled by league leadership, less with concern for their moral impact, than for the PR fallout or impact on income.
That’s not the sport I grew up loving, and I attribute that positivity in many ways to your decency, your integrity. Your franchise appeared well aware of its unique stature in Denver, and therefore, its ethical responsibility. I commend you for that success. Perhaps that’s why, as I’ve heard many recently question whether considerate people can still watch or support NFL football, I’ve been reluctant to join the critical chorus. I love my team too much.
But I love the children in my church more. I want them to admire moral leaders. One young man and I have connected previously over his beloved Peterson jersey. I hurt for his parents now having to say, “You can’t wear that. He hits his children.” My wife and I recently discussed the proper, Christian response these heartrending stories. I said, “If Broncos players were in the news, I’d feel greater responsibility to speak up. I’d probably write the Broncos a letter…” She responded, “Why don’t you anyway? They should know how their fans feel too.” She was right.
Truthfully, this letter isn’t just for you. I write one to my church weekly, about varied topics, spiritual and otherwise. But this is my first such letter addressed to someone else, which I’ll share with them also to read. Perhaps they’ll overhear my pondering, and think more deeply about the role of their own voices in our society. Because whatever team we root for- or don’t- these events are big enough to demand thoughtful evaluation.
I wonder, were I in your position, how I’d interact with the Vikings’ owners, the Ravens’, Rodger Goodell. Would I pressure them to stop reacting, and start leading better? What core values should the game stand for? Because something feels lost, like football’s leaders are hiding, dissembling, making excuses. Given its outsize influence, shouldn’t the NFL more readily sacrifice winning or revenue, for player safety, and their families?
Given your franchise’s positive reputation, I hope Broncos leadership currently advocates for a course correction. I’d love to celebrate my team being agents for positive change. Plus, I don’t want to stop watching! Should this flood of mistakes, of tone deaf responses to battered spouses and hurting children continue, however, I worry I’d have no choice but to leave my Manning jersey tucked away, neglected.
I’d be glad for a response, if your staff has time. Nevertheless, I’ll be rooting passionately, for goodness, not simply wins. And again, may the good Lord bless you in your trials. May your players be safe. May love prevail always, forever and now.
Grace and Peace,
Rev. Shane Isner
Pastor, Plymouth Creek Christian Church
Plymouth, MN
Read more!
I grew up a Broncos fan in suburban Denver. Many fond- and sad!- childhood memories involve the team you’ve long owned. Joe Montana, playing for the Chiefs, breaking our hearts with a last-minute drive. The pride you echoed for the Broncos-loving public, when we finally won the big one, and you said, “This one’s for John.” I’m closer to my family because we cheered on your football team together. My sister married a Broncos fan, and that’s been a bridge for our relationship. It always felt like you cared not simply about Broncos’ profits, but the pride, the joy it could nurture in my home city.
I’ve since moved to Minneapolis, but remain loyal to my first football love. I root for them weekly, enthusiastically. I’m writing, however, not simply to say thank you, but to ask your organization for help.
Every week, I’m blessed to preach for a small church in a Minneapolis suburbs. They sportingly tolerate my football obsession, until, that is, the Vikings play the Broncs. But we’ve all watched with slow-building frustration as recent, terrible news engulfed the NFL. Ray Rice punching his wife. Our hometown Adrian Peterson hurting his child. Reports about head trauma in football, seemingly neglected or willfully overlooked. Sadly, it’s felt like these issues were handled by league leadership, less with concern for their moral impact, than for the PR fallout or impact on income.
That’s not the sport I grew up loving, and I attribute that positivity in many ways to your decency, your integrity. Your franchise appeared well aware of its unique stature in Denver, and therefore, its ethical responsibility. I commend you for that success. Perhaps that’s why, as I’ve heard many recently question whether considerate people can still watch or support NFL football, I’ve been reluctant to join the critical chorus. I love my team too much.
But I love the children in my church more. I want them to admire moral leaders. One young man and I have connected previously over his beloved Peterson jersey. I hurt for his parents now having to say, “You can’t wear that. He hits his children.” My wife and I recently discussed the proper, Christian response these heartrending stories. I said, “If Broncos players were in the news, I’d feel greater responsibility to speak up. I’d probably write the Broncos a letter…” She responded, “Why don’t you anyway? They should know how their fans feel too.” She was right.
Truthfully, this letter isn’t just for you. I write one to my church weekly, about varied topics, spiritual and otherwise. But this is my first such letter addressed to someone else, which I’ll share with them also to read. Perhaps they’ll overhear my pondering, and think more deeply about the role of their own voices in our society. Because whatever team we root for- or don’t- these events are big enough to demand thoughtful evaluation.
I wonder, were I in your position, how I’d interact with the Vikings’ owners, the Ravens’, Rodger Goodell. Would I pressure them to stop reacting, and start leading better? What core values should the game stand for? Because something feels lost, like football’s leaders are hiding, dissembling, making excuses. Given its outsize influence, shouldn’t the NFL more readily sacrifice winning or revenue, for player safety, and their families?
Given your franchise’s positive reputation, I hope Broncos leadership currently advocates for a course correction. I’d love to celebrate my team being agents for positive change. Plus, I don’t want to stop watching! Should this flood of mistakes, of tone deaf responses to battered spouses and hurting children continue, however, I worry I’d have no choice but to leave my Manning jersey tucked away, neglected.
I’d be glad for a response, if your staff has time. Nevertheless, I’ll be rooting passionately, for goodness, not simply wins. And again, may the good Lord bless you in your trials. May your players be safe. May love prevail always, forever and now.
Grace and Peace,
Rev. Shane Isner
Pastor, Plymouth Creek Christian Church
Plymouth, MN
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Wednesday, September 17, 2014
Effective discipline…
I don’t recall why I was being disciplined, the last time my parents ever spanked me. But I remember my response. I was old enough to have learned sarcasm, and I didn’t like that I was in trouble, though I’m certain discipline was called for. I’d probably mouthed off to Mom, or hurt my sister, or done something inappropriate that growing boys do. My father said, “Son, bend over,” and took out his belt. I did as I was told.
The spanking was swift, and light; just two or three two raps. Though not enough time lapsed for my stubbornness to have waned. In fact, in an act of ill-considered defiance, I laughed, then declared, “That didn’t hurt!” In my memory, I see my father’s head shaking, thinking, “Is he serious?” He’d obviously not meant to deliver much physical pain, but instead encourage feelings of remorse for my misdeed. In an instant, however, he reconsidered. “Then we’re not through here,” he informed me. I stiffened. I knew I’d crossed the line, and the second go-around wouldn’t be so soft. I bent over again. The belt came out again. This spanking was also swift. And it hurt, though not as much as it could have. Dad knew the message had finally sunk in.
Honestly, that’s one of the few memories I have of childhood corporal punishment. My parents used it rarely, and pain was never really their goal. It was the idea that mattered. The sound of my dad’s belt being removed had symbolic value. Its leathery swish communicated that I’d gone too far, that I knew better, that disobedience was at an end. Usually, the punishment included time in my room, or further grounding. In other words, it seemed part of a larger strategy. Not an end in itself, nor an outlet for their anger. For that last fact, I’m grateful.
But I suspect some children couldn’t say the same about their parents’ spankings. And it’s in my mind because of recent news that local football star Adrian Peterson was arrested for disciplining his son. My dad used a hand or a belt. Peterson used a tree branch, a “switch.” I don’t remember ever receiving bruises. Photos of Peterson’s son show broken skin, and swelling. No one but them can, of course, say exactly what happened. But apparently, Peterson struck his child repeatedly, and with greater force than my parents applied.
That’s what the grand jury, who indicted him, suggests in any case. Perhaps, as a professional athlete, he’s simply stronger than my father. But I wonder if that’s all. It shouldn’t take much self-control to deliver your parental message, while refraining from injuring a four-year old boy. That said, I suspect the public will listen to his explanation with some sympathy, and not just because he’s famous. Attitudes toward corporal punishment are changing in our country, but surveys show it’s still quite popular. Over two-thirds of Americans approve of it. That’s 15% fewer than 1980, and there are variances by region, race, religious and political identity. Nevertheless, it has majority support from all groups asked. Much more than, say, domestic violence. Obviously.
But I don’t plan to spank or strike my children. Count me among those whose views on this have changed. I didn’t grow up thinking corporal punishment was abuse, and I still don’t. Not in every situation, at least. What I wonder now, though, is whether it’s effective long-term. Studies reveal that it solves immediate behavior problems; kids who fear pain typically stop their actions. But it can also encourage future aggression among children, while changing the parent-child relationship dynamic. Plus, there are effective discipline techniques that cease bad behaviors without hurt, like talking through natural consequences of dropping a toothbrush in the toilet. And ultimately, I worry that if physical punishment is in my parenting arsenal, I might take it too far someday.
I’m guessing that’s Peterson’s issue. He wanted to parent his son, but couldn’t manage his frustration when it mattered most. Now he has to rebuild for his boy that sense of safety every child should expect as their God-given right. May that rebuilding come swift.
Grace and Peace,
Shane Read more!
The spanking was swift, and light; just two or three two raps. Though not enough time lapsed for my stubbornness to have waned. In fact, in an act of ill-considered defiance, I laughed, then declared, “That didn’t hurt!” In my memory, I see my father’s head shaking, thinking, “Is he serious?” He’d obviously not meant to deliver much physical pain, but instead encourage feelings of remorse for my misdeed. In an instant, however, he reconsidered. “Then we’re not through here,” he informed me. I stiffened. I knew I’d crossed the line, and the second go-around wouldn’t be so soft. I bent over again. The belt came out again. This spanking was also swift. And it hurt, though not as much as it could have. Dad knew the message had finally sunk in.
Honestly, that’s one of the few memories I have of childhood corporal punishment. My parents used it rarely, and pain was never really their goal. It was the idea that mattered. The sound of my dad’s belt being removed had symbolic value. Its leathery swish communicated that I’d gone too far, that I knew better, that disobedience was at an end. Usually, the punishment included time in my room, or further grounding. In other words, it seemed part of a larger strategy. Not an end in itself, nor an outlet for their anger. For that last fact, I’m grateful.
But I suspect some children couldn’t say the same about their parents’ spankings. And it’s in my mind because of recent news that local football star Adrian Peterson was arrested for disciplining his son. My dad used a hand or a belt. Peterson used a tree branch, a “switch.” I don’t remember ever receiving bruises. Photos of Peterson’s son show broken skin, and swelling. No one but them can, of course, say exactly what happened. But apparently, Peterson struck his child repeatedly, and with greater force than my parents applied.
That’s what the grand jury, who indicted him, suggests in any case. Perhaps, as a professional athlete, he’s simply stronger than my father. But I wonder if that’s all. It shouldn’t take much self-control to deliver your parental message, while refraining from injuring a four-year old boy. That said, I suspect the public will listen to his explanation with some sympathy, and not just because he’s famous. Attitudes toward corporal punishment are changing in our country, but surveys show it’s still quite popular. Over two-thirds of Americans approve of it. That’s 15% fewer than 1980, and there are variances by region, race, religious and political identity. Nevertheless, it has majority support from all groups asked. Much more than, say, domestic violence. Obviously.
But I don’t plan to spank or strike my children. Count me among those whose views on this have changed. I didn’t grow up thinking corporal punishment was abuse, and I still don’t. Not in every situation, at least. What I wonder now, though, is whether it’s effective long-term. Studies reveal that it solves immediate behavior problems; kids who fear pain typically stop their actions. But it can also encourage future aggression among children, while changing the parent-child relationship dynamic. Plus, there are effective discipline techniques that cease bad behaviors without hurt, like talking through natural consequences of dropping a toothbrush in the toilet. And ultimately, I worry that if physical punishment is in my parenting arsenal, I might take it too far someday.
I’m guessing that’s Peterson’s issue. He wanted to parent his son, but couldn’t manage his frustration when it mattered most. Now he has to rebuild for his boy that sense of safety every child should expect as their God-given right. May that rebuilding come swift.
Grace and Peace,
Shane Read more!
Thursday, September 11, 2014
The peace that passeth my understanding - Rev. Tabitha Isner
As a person of faith, I’d like to believe that I am filled with the Holy Spirit. Not in a speaking-in-tongues way, but in the sense that God’s Spirit impacts all aspects of my life, that God is present in each of my moments, helping me to be Christ’s hands and feet in the world. But to be honest with you, it just isn’t true. When I am caring for a distressed friend, it’s usually true. When I’m mentoring my “little sis,” it’s mostly true. But for the largest chunk of my time – the time I spend at work – it’s just not true. I am NOT Spirit-filled.
Sometimes I think the problem is my job, the environment in which I work. It’s a bureaucracy, filled with excessive paperwork and excessive meetings, and it requires excessive patience to wait for anything actually to get done. So, day after day goes by, and I rarely feel a sense of accomplishment or appreciation. But it’s not just me, and it’s not just my workplace. We’re all frustrated. Resentful. Impatient. Defensive.
At work, I am often NOT Spirit-filled. And yet, it’s not never. When it does happen - when a spirit of grace and peace and gentleness fills my heart and mind, when I speak to my colleagues with patience and empathy as my sisters and brothers on this journey - I find myself completely caught off guard by my own actions and words. It’s not that they feel wrong or inappropriate. Quite the opposite. They feel wonderful. Like a cool breeze sweeping unexpectedly through a stuffy room. They feel right and obvious. Like the muscle memory of climbing into bed in the dark. Of course I am filled with the Spirit! Of course I am responding to a stressful situation with grace and peace and gentleness! It’s the most natural thing in the world.
And I’m 100% baffled about how it happened.
The thing is, I’ve been praying for peace. I’ve been praying that the Spirit might grant me the “peace that passeth understanding,” that standard Christian notion from Phillipians 4:7. I imagine it as the Zen calmness of one who knows her place as God’s beloved child and therefore is unruffled by the stress of deadlines and unscathed by the rough edges of inconsiderate coworkers. It’s a good prayer, I think, the kind that, if granted, would bring me closer to God and also to my neighbors. I’ve been praying it for months now and simultaneously reading books and blogs about how to make it so. But to no avail. I still don’t get it. I haven’t found an effective trick for staying in that Spirit-place throughout the day or for ordering up an injection of Spirit when the need arises.
Sure, I have those unexpected moments when it just happens, but I want more. I want to be the expert on the peace that passeth understanding. I want to be able to do it consistently, on command. I want to be a master of Spirit-channeling. I want to control it. The Spirit. The chaos-ordering, death-defying, church-birthing, millennia-crossing Spirit of God. If I’m being honest with you, I have to admit that I don’t want the peace that passeth my understanding. I want the peace which I completely understand, and can predict – but that others are impressed by, saying, “I just don’t understand how she does it!” And having put it that way, I have a sudden clarity that I’m not going to get it.
So back to the drawing board. No, not the drawing board. The prayer mat. It’s time to give up my self-conception as the expert designer and instead assume the position of baffled gift-receiver. It’s time to pray this prayer again, this time asking for the ability to blindly accept the Spirit’s incomprehensible gift of peace; to lean in to the fact that I can’t control when the Spirit shows up in me, I can only welcome it when it arrives. It’s time to pray for the peace that passeth right over understanding and skips straight to my heart. I pray it comes to you too.
Read more!
Sometimes I think the problem is my job, the environment in which I work. It’s a bureaucracy, filled with excessive paperwork and excessive meetings, and it requires excessive patience to wait for anything actually to get done. So, day after day goes by, and I rarely feel a sense of accomplishment or appreciation. But it’s not just me, and it’s not just my workplace. We’re all frustrated. Resentful. Impatient. Defensive.
At work, I am often NOT Spirit-filled. And yet, it’s not never. When it does happen - when a spirit of grace and peace and gentleness fills my heart and mind, when I speak to my colleagues with patience and empathy as my sisters and brothers on this journey - I find myself completely caught off guard by my own actions and words. It’s not that they feel wrong or inappropriate. Quite the opposite. They feel wonderful. Like a cool breeze sweeping unexpectedly through a stuffy room. They feel right and obvious. Like the muscle memory of climbing into bed in the dark. Of course I am filled with the Spirit! Of course I am responding to a stressful situation with grace and peace and gentleness! It’s the most natural thing in the world.
And I’m 100% baffled about how it happened.
The thing is, I’ve been praying for peace. I’ve been praying that the Spirit might grant me the “peace that passeth understanding,” that standard Christian notion from Phillipians 4:7. I imagine it as the Zen calmness of one who knows her place as God’s beloved child and therefore is unruffled by the stress of deadlines and unscathed by the rough edges of inconsiderate coworkers. It’s a good prayer, I think, the kind that, if granted, would bring me closer to God and also to my neighbors. I’ve been praying it for months now and simultaneously reading books and blogs about how to make it so. But to no avail. I still don’t get it. I haven’t found an effective trick for staying in that Spirit-place throughout the day or for ordering up an injection of Spirit when the need arises.
Sure, I have those unexpected moments when it just happens, but I want more. I want to be the expert on the peace that passeth understanding. I want to be able to do it consistently, on command. I want to be a master of Spirit-channeling. I want to control it. The Spirit. The chaos-ordering, death-defying, church-birthing, millennia-crossing Spirit of God. If I’m being honest with you, I have to admit that I don’t want the peace that passeth my understanding. I want the peace which I completely understand, and can predict – but that others are impressed by, saying, “I just don’t understand how she does it!” And having put it that way, I have a sudden clarity that I’m not going to get it.
So back to the drawing board. No, not the drawing board. The prayer mat. It’s time to give up my self-conception as the expert designer and instead assume the position of baffled gift-receiver. It’s time to pray this prayer again, this time asking for the ability to blindly accept the Spirit’s incomprehensible gift of peace; to lean in to the fact that I can’t control when the Spirit shows up in me, I can only welcome it when it arrives. It’s time to pray for the peace that passeth right over understanding and skips straight to my heart. I pray it comes to you too.
Read more!
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