Tabitha and I welcomed a foster child into our home for the first time last Friday. He’s five, energetic, fun, and apparently, I’m older than I once was. My upper lip is scratched from an accidental elbow during an enjoyable game of “Let’s Flip onto the Couch!” My knuckle is scuffed, my wrist a bit prickly (though that one’s from our other post-toddler, Fawkes the Dog). Crawling around the basement floor didn’t use to light up my knee’s nerves. In short, I’m becoming my father, which- all things considered- would be a blessing. But it may mean I have hip surgery in my future. Ugh.
But so goes life, from generation to generation, right? Passing on the torch, creaky joints, and with them, (hopefully) some wisdom. It’s suddenly my turn to play a part in that drama, however small and temporary as a foster care dad. Thankfully, we’re not alone on the journey. We have community around to help solve problems, discover unknown options. Family and friends, neighbors and church, people like you- generous, compassionate, empathetic (if it sounds like I’m sucking up, well…a little pre-emptive goodwill never hurts).
Besides, one funky thing about church is we don’t always choose our “family.” When the Isners (Johnson’s, etc.) welcome another, in some way, you do too. Perhaps some heads up, then, about several things would help our mutual transition go smoothly. Before you ask, please know I can’t tell you the backstory of why he’s in our home. For starters, I don’t know it all. Besides, as I told a dear friend last week, “I’m not allowed to divulge. His story is his story; he gets control over when it’s told and to whom.” Such a standard is basic respect, I feel. Particularly when the topic involves something so vulnerable as what trauma disrupted a child’s family. Similarly, it’s probably helpful to know he calls us “Tabitha and Shane.” We’re not Mom and Dad, after all, just temporary guardians; opening up our family, but not replacing his. Indeed, our main goal is to love on this little rascal, keep him healthy and growing, until he can rejoin his family, if that’s possible. We’re not sure how long those determinations will take. 6 months?...8? That’s ultimately controlled by the parents, courts and social workers.
In the meantime, we’ll be playing together, dancing goofy, reading books, eating macaroni and cheeses, and learning about life- him and us! For example, already in the past few days I’ve discovered something you parents (or adult caregivers) likely figured out long ago. Namely, that caring for another can lead to the caregiver experiencing a perpetual state of catch up. I noticed this while taking a brief break after Tabitha got home from work. I opened my email, twitter feed, etc., and all had backlogged more than usual. And I knew there were dishes undone, laundry loads to attend, a dog walk I should’ve gotten to, a filling TV show watch-list (anyone else love Sleepy Hollow?!?), plus games to play and play with the youngster. I’ve been stressed about to-do lists before. This weekend felt different. Perhaps because another relied on my ability to get things done. Perhaps because my priorities were shifting real time; those ‘tasks’ that just last week were about personal enjoyment seemed less critical.
I didn’t even watch the Broncos game. Calm down. I listened some on the radio. Which leads to Obvious Observation about Parenting #1: Caring for another makes what you care about less important, but shouldn’t eliminate it entirely. I mean, if I don’t read every tweet I’m accustomed to, I’ll be fine. If, however, I never watch the Broncos play, I’m doing something wrong. That’s the wisdom embedded in Jesus’ commandment- Love your neighbor as yourself- i.e. be less selfish, life will improve, but don’t neglect yourself entirely. Or thus I’m thinking during week one of foster parenting. If that conclusion seems rushed, well, so does my life these days!
In anticipation, then, thanks for your patience. And for foster caring with Tabitha and I. You’ll enjoy the young man; we certainly do. If we do it together, we may even keep up!
Grace and Peace,
Shane
Read more!
Wednesday, November 12, 2014
Tuesday, November 4, 2014
Sweet Expectations…
I wasn’t expecting to find an Advent Calendar for sale at Starbucks recently. Honestly, I don’t anticipate seeing them peddled most anywhere these days. They strike me as artifacts from earlier eras, when Church had more sway over American pocketbooks. But society has changed. Religiously, we’ve grown more fragmented, diverse, and less invested. To discover, therefore, that cosmopolitan Starbucks chases profit from Advent Calendars seemed odd, though also lovely, in a quaint, nostalgic way.
My first Advent Calendars were gifts from faithful Grandma Ray. Sure like seasons, every November a package would arrive from Chicago with my name on it. I’d open the seal with delight. Inside was a card, perhaps five whole dollars, and my new Advent Calendar, typically a decorated sheet of cardboard with perforated windows. All were numbered. Each corresponded to one day in the season of waiting for Jesus’s birth. Occasionally, Grandma outdid herself, and the calendar wasn’t flat and boring, but a 3-D pop-up house, or castle.
Yet the instructions were always to open one window per day – no peeking! – until Christmas arrived. I loved those calendars, and not only because their annual arrival re-communicated Grandma’s love.
The daily discovery enhanced our seasonal waiting, beyond simply distracting from dreams of Santa’s sled. You see, the windows, when opened (and we usually did it together as family), told part of the Christmas story or said something affirming about God, or life. Reading those messages, then, focused attention on stuff like meaning, not that I thought about “meaning” at age seven. Rather, I’d talk with Mom about love, or with Dad about joy, depending on what we found behind the window that day. This Advent Calendar ritual helped us wait for Christmas less greedily, more significantly.
The Starbucks calendar, as one might expect, wasn’t decorative cardboard destined for family kitchen tables. It was a wall hanging, twenty-five tins of various sizes glued on, each numbered…and taunting. Because behind every lid, the Advent devotee found a chocolate, or a candy. The advertisement explained, “Something sweet for each day,” promising to make your holiday waiting more bearable.
The Grinch in me wants to call that cheating. It’s like having your Christmas candy and eating it too early. It’s like replacing the season of waiting with twenty-five days of Christmas, gifts consumed before the pear tree’s partridge even arrives. Sure, a tiny toffee on December 15 isn’t a Christmas gift on par with the soft sweater I hope my wife surprises me with (Honey, you reading?). Nevertheless, replacing the meaningful words I experienced in childhood with tangible things changes an Advent Calendar’s function. It doesn’t prepare one for Christmas, or do something different than Christmas, really. It merely extends Christmas earlier.
But the Grinch in me isn’t the only part of my admittedly multiple-personality soul. In fact, as a pastor and Christian- and, more basically, a human- I should want more Christmas, more often, for more people. Not in the sense that I want everyone to be Christian. Interfaith diversity remains an American development I celebrate. Rather, it’s that infectious hope, that optimism, that abandonment of cynicism that arrives annually during the holidays that I’d love to discover more often in my neighbors’ attitude, in my own mind and heart.
Indeed, snide observers in recent years have disparaged “Christmas Creep,” as if it’s an obviously bad phenomenon. Holiday sales starting ever earlier. Cards arriving sooner. Festive sweaters worn longer (well, perhaps that’s a problem). And much of their criticism’s valid, given crass commercialization of religious observance and family tradition. But I’ve sometimes noticed too a sneaking encroachment of holiday cheer into our oft-depressed culture. What of when seasonal love crowds out the sadly hip detachment that threatens our collective well-being? A sweet-a-day from Starbucks during December won’t solve those dilemmas. But they may longer delay a return to dreary normal. And I’d like to think that’s a valuable contribution, one Grandma Ray would celebrate, were she still around to send me packages. Preferably, another cardboard castle would arrive. But I’d take sweets-holding tins. And since I don’t like chocolate, I’d share that joy with neighbors, like Christmas arrived already.
Maybe it would linger awhile.
Grace and Peace,
Shane
Read more!
My first Advent Calendars were gifts from faithful Grandma Ray. Sure like seasons, every November a package would arrive from Chicago with my name on it. I’d open the seal with delight. Inside was a card, perhaps five whole dollars, and my new Advent Calendar, typically a decorated sheet of cardboard with perforated windows. All were numbered. Each corresponded to one day in the season of waiting for Jesus’s birth. Occasionally, Grandma outdid herself, and the calendar wasn’t flat and boring, but a 3-D pop-up house, or castle.
Yet the instructions were always to open one window per day – no peeking! – until Christmas arrived. I loved those calendars, and not only because their annual arrival re-communicated Grandma’s love.
The daily discovery enhanced our seasonal waiting, beyond simply distracting from dreams of Santa’s sled. You see, the windows, when opened (and we usually did it together as family), told part of the Christmas story or said something affirming about God, or life. Reading those messages, then, focused attention on stuff like meaning, not that I thought about “meaning” at age seven. Rather, I’d talk with Mom about love, or with Dad about joy, depending on what we found behind the window that day. This Advent Calendar ritual helped us wait for Christmas less greedily, more significantly.
The Starbucks calendar, as one might expect, wasn’t decorative cardboard destined for family kitchen tables. It was a wall hanging, twenty-five tins of various sizes glued on, each numbered…and taunting. Because behind every lid, the Advent devotee found a chocolate, or a candy. The advertisement explained, “Something sweet for each day,” promising to make your holiday waiting more bearable.
The Grinch in me wants to call that cheating. It’s like having your Christmas candy and eating it too early. It’s like replacing the season of waiting with twenty-five days of Christmas, gifts consumed before the pear tree’s partridge even arrives. Sure, a tiny toffee on December 15 isn’t a Christmas gift on par with the soft sweater I hope my wife surprises me with (Honey, you reading?). Nevertheless, replacing the meaningful words I experienced in childhood with tangible things changes an Advent Calendar’s function. It doesn’t prepare one for Christmas, or do something different than Christmas, really. It merely extends Christmas earlier.
But the Grinch in me isn’t the only part of my admittedly multiple-personality soul. In fact, as a pastor and Christian- and, more basically, a human- I should want more Christmas, more often, for more people. Not in the sense that I want everyone to be Christian. Interfaith diversity remains an American development I celebrate. Rather, it’s that infectious hope, that optimism, that abandonment of cynicism that arrives annually during the holidays that I’d love to discover more often in my neighbors’ attitude, in my own mind and heart.
Indeed, snide observers in recent years have disparaged “Christmas Creep,” as if it’s an obviously bad phenomenon. Holiday sales starting ever earlier. Cards arriving sooner. Festive sweaters worn longer (well, perhaps that’s a problem). And much of their criticism’s valid, given crass commercialization of religious observance and family tradition. But I’ve sometimes noticed too a sneaking encroachment of holiday cheer into our oft-depressed culture. What of when seasonal love crowds out the sadly hip detachment that threatens our collective well-being? A sweet-a-day from Starbucks during December won’t solve those dilemmas. But they may longer delay a return to dreary normal. And I’d like to think that’s a valuable contribution, one Grandma Ray would celebrate, were she still around to send me packages. Preferably, another cardboard castle would arrive. But I’d take sweets-holding tins. And since I don’t like chocolate, I’d share that joy with neighbors, like Christmas arrived already.
Maybe it would linger awhile.
Grace and Peace,
Shane
Read more!
Tuesday, October 28, 2014
“I want you to be less Christian…”
Good evening…
“I want you to be less Christian…” What a great goal, amen?! Dear Lord, how I pray for that in my own life, for our church, for believers worldwide.
But first, some context. Those words came from a video I saw of a pastor promoting his new book. It’s provocatively titled, PostChristian: What’s Left? Can We Fix It? Do We Care?, and promises “to piss you off.” So…I’m intrigued! By the way, his name is Christian Piatt; he’s a Disciples of Christ member, like us (wahoo!). And he uttered the above quote during an event he held at some local church, sometime during his ongoing national tour. As such events go, he read selections from his writing, engaged the audience’s questions and concerns, basically offered his thoughts on living faithfully in the 21st Century. A worthy topic, indeed.
And I tell you this because Plymouth Creek will host him- Wednesday, November 5th, 5:30-7:00PM. We’ll provide dinner, childcare if needed, and seek to deepen our collective faiths.
Please come! And bring inquisitive friends, family, co-workers, neighbors, whomever! After all, it’s not typical our small congregation has opportunity or resources for such an event. Nationally prominent bloggers/authors like Rev. Piatt usually command larger stages, and speaker fees. But last week, his production company sent notice that he’d be in our area soon. As a Disciples church, they thought we might appreciate his words, if we could arrange our mutual schedules. Turns out, we could, without disrupting choir practice! And because of a recent donation for outreach purposes, we had funds to offer a reasonable honorarium. Some would call that, “A God Moment.”
Anyway, that’s all boring details of what and how it worked out. Let me explain why I’m looking forward to the evening. Because, as he said, I want YOU to be less Christian, and I suspect you want the same.
Our sermon series this fall, in fact, has been about that issue. We’re exploring questions many folk wonder about, but often don’t express. Why does God allow suffering? Do only Christians get to Heaven? Why is Christianity so associated with violence/gay-bashing/demeaning women? Certainly, many non-churchgoers ruminate on those themes. Yet lots of churches consider it out-of-bounds to discuss them openly, to question together, to doubt. Anything besides complete acceptance of that “old time religion”, as expressed by your over-confident preacher, and you’re suddenly, “less Christian.”
You know, however, I’m of another opinion: that modern faithfulness requires questioning, actively exploring ideas that some deem “un-Orthodox”, but are reasons many uncommitted young (and older) adults avoid church nowadays. Like the blessings of interfaith cooperation, or so-called “non-traditional families.” We live in such fast-changing times that new possibilities, and challenges, arise constantly. Without an attentive, inquisitive faith, we’re at risk of society passing religion by. Of Jesus’ followers becoming unable to share a Gospel worthy of the name Good News anymore.
But as Rev. Piatt implies in the quote I opened with (but didn’t complete; sorry, I tricked you), that’s a dynamic Jesus confronted in his day. And helped his disciples answer! As Piatt said, “I want you to be less Christian…And more Christ-like.” Perhaps he refers to that instinct Jesus constantly nurtured to battle with his overly-“religious” Pharisee opponents, who worried more about rules and traditions, than helping the poor, forgiving trespassers, discovering new answers to real-life problems, loving all, even enemies. If so, like I said, great goal! Be less Christian, more like Christ! After all, Jesus didn’t found a religion. He showed us a way, a path to true life (John 14). And if this provocative author can help us engage that way further for our time, it’s worth 90 minutes on a Wednesday evening.
So, again, I hope you attend, and invite others to join you. We’ll take up an offering also to help IOCP, because why not give at the same time we get?! And whether you come or not, remember that your pastor want you to be less Christian. And more Christ-like. Because our world still needs Jesus, amen? Situations change. Love remains essential. Especially the unconquered kind, which Jesus offers, eternally, and showed us a way to share with all.
Grace and Peace,
Shane Read more!
“I want you to be less Christian…” What a great goal, amen?! Dear Lord, how I pray for that in my own life, for our church, for believers worldwide.
But first, some context. Those words came from a video I saw of a pastor promoting his new book. It’s provocatively titled, PostChristian: What’s Left? Can We Fix It? Do We Care?, and promises “to piss you off.” So…I’m intrigued! By the way, his name is Christian Piatt; he’s a Disciples of Christ member, like us (wahoo!). And he uttered the above quote during an event he held at some local church, sometime during his ongoing national tour. As such events go, he read selections from his writing, engaged the audience’s questions and concerns, basically offered his thoughts on living faithfully in the 21st Century. A worthy topic, indeed.
And I tell you this because Plymouth Creek will host him- Wednesday, November 5th, 5:30-7:00PM. We’ll provide dinner, childcare if needed, and seek to deepen our collective faiths.
Please come! And bring inquisitive friends, family, co-workers, neighbors, whomever! After all, it’s not typical our small congregation has opportunity or resources for such an event. Nationally prominent bloggers/authors like Rev. Piatt usually command larger stages, and speaker fees. But last week, his production company sent notice that he’d be in our area soon. As a Disciples church, they thought we might appreciate his words, if we could arrange our mutual schedules. Turns out, we could, without disrupting choir practice! And because of a recent donation for outreach purposes, we had funds to offer a reasonable honorarium. Some would call that, “A God Moment.”
Anyway, that’s all boring details of what and how it worked out. Let me explain why I’m looking forward to the evening. Because, as he said, I want YOU to be less Christian, and I suspect you want the same.
Our sermon series this fall, in fact, has been about that issue. We’re exploring questions many folk wonder about, but often don’t express. Why does God allow suffering? Do only Christians get to Heaven? Why is Christianity so associated with violence/gay-bashing/demeaning women? Certainly, many non-churchgoers ruminate on those themes. Yet lots of churches consider it out-of-bounds to discuss them openly, to question together, to doubt. Anything besides complete acceptance of that “old time religion”, as expressed by your over-confident preacher, and you’re suddenly, “less Christian.”
You know, however, I’m of another opinion: that modern faithfulness requires questioning, actively exploring ideas that some deem “un-Orthodox”, but are reasons many uncommitted young (and older) adults avoid church nowadays. Like the blessings of interfaith cooperation, or so-called “non-traditional families.” We live in such fast-changing times that new possibilities, and challenges, arise constantly. Without an attentive, inquisitive faith, we’re at risk of society passing religion by. Of Jesus’ followers becoming unable to share a Gospel worthy of the name Good News anymore.
But as Rev. Piatt implies in the quote I opened with (but didn’t complete; sorry, I tricked you), that’s a dynamic Jesus confronted in his day. And helped his disciples answer! As Piatt said, “I want you to be less Christian…And more Christ-like.” Perhaps he refers to that instinct Jesus constantly nurtured to battle with his overly-“religious” Pharisee opponents, who worried more about rules and traditions, than helping the poor, forgiving trespassers, discovering new answers to real-life problems, loving all, even enemies. If so, like I said, great goal! Be less Christian, more like Christ! After all, Jesus didn’t found a religion. He showed us a way, a path to true life (John 14). And if this provocative author can help us engage that way further for our time, it’s worth 90 minutes on a Wednesday evening.
So, again, I hope you attend, and invite others to join you. We’ll take up an offering also to help IOCP, because why not give at the same time we get?! And whether you come or not, remember that your pastor want you to be less Christian. And more Christ-like. Because our world still needs Jesus, amen? Situations change. Love remains essential. Especially the unconquered kind, which Jesus offers, eternally, and showed us a way to share with all.
Grace and Peace,
Shane Read more!
Friday, October 24, 2014
Meaningful words…
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!
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!
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!
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