Full table…

I joined the Disciples of Christ denomination during seminary. I had begun pastoral training as a free-agent Protestant – and yes, that’s odd! – but I found a spiritual home when I discovered Disciples.

Ironically, the main reason for that choice made news recently. So did Disciples. You see, I joined, basically, because of…Religious Freedom.

First, a Disciples History lesson. We’re an American-grown religious movement. We started in the early 1800s, believing deeply in Unity. Our reasoning was simple. Back then, there seemed an ever-increasing number of splintering churches, each claiming they had God’s Ultimate Truth, while others didn’t. So they’d leave. This constant debate about who were The Real Christians, well, annoyed our founders.

After all, they were Revolutionary Era Americans. They believed in freedom too! In this case, freedom of individual autonomy to interpret faith and the Bible personally. And that should foster unity, they thought, not division, because diversity was God’s gift for making Christ’s church stronger. Therefore, you could believe one thing, while I believed another, and we could still meet at Christ’s Table because Jesus welcomed everyone. A full table was best!
Besides, God’s love is what unites us, they said, not our beliefs. I LOVE that idea. Their pithy slogan was, “No Creed but Christ; No Law but Love.” Amen! God created us free to argue, even disagree, while respecting and accepting each other. I joined because I wanted such breadth and wisdom from my church home.

I also, like many young adult Christians, wanted my church home not to condemn gay people. Alas, that’s what my childhood churches- however decent otherwise- stridently taught. But as I now understand Jesus, he opened his fellowship to everyone. That’s what I found in Disciples. We value the freedom of all to live as they’re made before the God who made them. Therefore, we try welcoming everyone too. That includes, of course, those who don’t think, like me, that LGBTQ Christians should be included in church life and leadership. When I claim we are united by God’s love, I mean it.

But living that can be tricky. For instance, our denomination’s headquarters are in Indiana, whose governor recently signed a law purportedly protecting Religious Freedom. As I understand it (and I’m no lawyer…), it allows employers, landlords, merchants, etc., to make decisions about employment, rentals, service, etc., on the basis of personal belief. Sounds great on the surface! But I worry about the details. Could one effect be, say, a landlord believes that God wants gay people in Hell, not in her building, so she rejects LGBTQ applications?! African-Americans understand too well the unholy, devastating consequences such decisions create. It’s legalized discrimination.

And that’s religious freedom? We’re created to live and believe freely, I dearly believe. But I believe also in responsibility, i.e. my exercise of freedom can’t harm others. Thus, I couldn’t condone excluding LGBTQ neighbors from receiving the same treatment that I or my black foster kid’s entitled to. People died to make us one.

Which brings me to a new reason I love Disciples! Our denominational leaders sent Indiana’s governor an open letter last week asking that he veto the law. News organizations covered their claim that this wasn’t about religious freedom, but ran “contrary to the values of our faith…(W)e follow one who sat at table with people from all walks of life, and loved them all. Our church is diverse in point of view, but we share a value for an open Lord’s Table.” Then, they threatened to move our biennial General Assembly, scheduled for Indianapolis in 2017. That’s already deep in planning. But values held earnestly are worth paying for.

Perhaps you disagree with that decision. I’d strongly defend your free right to believe different than me! But I’m for it since I don’t think we’re fully free to love and serve as God desires if all neighbors aren’t afforded basic dignity. Perhaps this law isn’t as discriminatory as I worry. I hope so. Nevertheless, it provided our church with a clarifying moment: When we claim all are freely welcome to the united Table of the Resurrected One, what does that mean?

All, to me, means all.

Grace and Peace,
Shane
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Subtle Changes,

Poinsettias adorn our sanctuary every year as Christmas nears. Then on Christmas Eve, after our candlelight service, most Plymouth Creekers take home the plants they ordered. One exception this year was for perhaps the largest and reddest flower. Its owner/order-er graciously allowed the church to enjoy its beauty through the year’s end, into January, until Ash Wednesday, and, well, it’s there still!

This longevity surprised me. After all, I’m the guy who, my first Christmas here, left a poinsettia in my car for two hours during cold weather, thinking all would be well. It wasn’t. I returned to a car filled with wilted, dead leaves. Thus, my astonishment that our large poinsettia has endured through nearly three months! I figured we’d have it until Epiphany, Valentine’s Day if lucky. So every Sunday before service I’d throw away the couple wilted leaves that had fallen that week. I’d turn the pedestal so the most vivacious side faced the congregation, and assumed that next week would always be its last. But to my wonder, the following Sundays, while the plant wasn’t so grand as at first, it wasn’t yet a complete eye-sore. It kept fending off the compost pile, until after Palm Sunday, when we’ll finally remove it to make room for Easter flowers.

I recently decided that’s a great metaphor for what it’s like to follow the Christian Calendar. You know, that decision church leaders made way back whenever to structure Christian time not just on earthly, but spiritual cycles too. Essentially, we relive the same story annually. Christ’s conception opens the year, then the kid’s born, then adult Jesus does some neat stuff, then he upsets some brutal jerks, so he’s killed, but then- God is really awesome- He’s Alive! He’s Alive!

At least, that’s the rhythm of half our year, celebrating the basic narrative arc of Jesus’s birth, life, death, resurrection. Other important stuff comes up too, obviously. Yet Christians really like this story.

But it can get somewhat tedious, right? Reciting these moments over and over. Seriously, there’s only so much meaning you can forcibly extract from that weird Palm Sunday tale. Don’t get me wrong. I love Christmas every year, and not (only) because I get presents. Honoring Jesus’ birthday is meaningful and profound. We should observe it annually. Same goes for Easter.

It’s the middle stuff that drags. Like that poinsettia, Christmas kicks off each year with a blazing red bang and then, over subsequent weeks, the sheen of church slowly wilts and fades until… Well. For some, until it’s thrown onto the compost pile. They won’t do church unless it’s at its Biggest and Best! They have little patience for the mundane stuff of meetings, cleaning coffee cups, breaking down tables, attending Sunday School. That’s not always powerful like candlelight Christmas Eve (though our Sunday School often is…), but it’s what allows Christian community to exist, grow and thrive. Of course, others dwell only in those details, define their spiritual life purely through meetings, routines and tasks that (only they!) do. This keeps God’s wonder and awe from barging into their faith like a cannon of grace and light, alas.

The fading poinsettia shows me another way through our Calendar. We basked in its beauty at Christmas, then in its afterglow ever since. And it’s slowly faded, sure, the effect reduced. If we were Christian perfectionists, we’d have dismissed it weeks ago. If we were Christian drudgery artists, we may never have noticed it. But hopefully we’ve enjoyed the lingering effect. Yet little lasts forever. Renewal is ever needed. Thankfully, that’s built into the Christian calendar too! Annually, we celebrate new life at Easter, its persistent possibility. So at Lent’s end, a lovely new flower will replace the decaying body of one we received at Christmas. Maybe our own spirits will, then, feel a fresh push of beautiful grace that could inspire us to work harder again for God’s Kingdom come.
I’m certainly looking forward to that boost! I do annually. Thank God for the wonder of special moments in the rhythm of Christian time, the daily work of good workers, and the promise of new life. Available always.


Grace and Peace,
Shane
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Fair distinctions…

I recall little about eleventh grade English beyond the following conversation. My class was discussing a short story when the topic turned to humanity’s relationship to our animal cousins. For whatever reason, I grew passionate, and offered a theory about what makes us unique, “truly human.” Basically, I claimed it was our ability to create, to enjoy beauty. Perhaps predictably, the English teacher agreed. The other students, by contrast, chafed at this seemingly obvious attempt of kissing up!

Anyway, that vignette comes to mind whenever I encounter the Christian doctrine of (pretentious Latin warming) the imago dei. That translates into the Image of God, and is based on Genesis 1:27, which claims God created humankind in “God’s Image.” That’s what makes us unique.

The oft-asked response is “What does that mean?!” My high school English teacher enjoyed my answer privileging creativity, beauty art. And there’s something to that interpretation. All Genesis readers know so far about God before verse 27 is that God’s a Creator. So if we follow the Bible closely, being made in God’s Image could mean being endowed with the gift of creativity.

I recently encountered another claim, though, that- while related- takes it in a different direction. But it wasn’t made in a theology book. Instead, this was a book about science. Specifically, it’s called The Sixth Extinction, authored by science journalist Elizabeth Kolbert, who details the story of how many species are currently going (or have recently gone) extinct, compared with extinction trends and events over Life’s 3.5 billion years on earth. The short story: It’s not pretty; in fact, it’s terrifying. Pray for the earth, and forgiveness.

Still, when discussing humanity’s evolution and the not-long-after extinction of Neanderthals, she extensively quoted a Neanderthal expert. He pointed out that, genetically, modern humans are really similar to these now-extinct close cousins. What makes us different species is but several DNA mutations. What those are, he’s still trying to identify. But one thing we know, through fossil remains, are migration patterns of humans and Neanderthals. Turns out that Neanderthals migrated like every other large mammal, while humans did something…unique.

The key, he says, was ocean. Neanderthals never crossed the ocean, while humans found a way. Neanderthals crossed the English Channel, but at a time when sea levels were low enough to walk. Prehistoric humans, though (primitive to us technologically, yet identical genetically), they- or we- ventured across the ocean. We sailed toward a watery horizon we couldn’t see over, into a blue beyond we could only imagine, hoping something…else…lay in wait.

He described that as a kind of “madness,” and he’s probably right! Consider what it took for the first humans to say, “Enough of this close-to-shore sailing. Let’s see what else there is to explore!” And when they didn’t return- because surely many tried and died- what prompted those remaining to try again? Bad memory? Perhaps! Severe starvation? Could be, though I doubt it. Hunter-gatherers weren’t living luxuriously by our standards, but they were adept at survival across many climates. Their skeletons, in fact, were healthier and larger on average than those of typical humans after we settled into farming. That comparison of average hunter-gatherer vs “settled” human skeletal size and health only reversed in the past century!

Instead, I like this biologist’s instinct that something genetic drove us. An inborn madness, a need for exploration (as he further defines it), a created capacity for imagination other species lacked. Indeed, those three descriptions seem like one-in-the-same, and not in real contradiction with my imago dei definition above. Couldn’t we describe creativity, after all, as a mad leap of imagination into horizons we’ve yet to explore beyond?! The results could be maddeningly terrifying, of course. God could create a creature so imaginative, so powerful, it alone can destroy all Life. But creative madness could work another way too. God could create a creature perpetually aching to explore, to imagine Life’s unknown potential. Requiring it, therefore, to protect Life, to work with other species in harmony, even to save Life when the need arises and it has the chance. Sound similar to what God did for us in Jesus?

God’s image, indeed.

Grace and Peace,
Shane
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Whose definition…

The Queen of Jordan recently suggested dropping the “I” from ISIS. Remember that ISIS are those murdering thugs, now self-styled “The Islamic State”, who’ve taken over some Iraqi and Syrian territory, then released beheading videos, hoping to appear more menacing than they are. The Queen’s point is that “I” stands for Islamic, but they shouldn’t be granted the title. They’re simply bloody extremists, to her, undeserving of the honor of her faith.

Her comments dovetail a recent, related debate in American media and politics. People wondered- Is calling these terrorists “Islamic” accurate and helpful, or distracting and wrong? Some argued, “They call themselves Islamic, claim religious motivation. Let’s be precise.” Others said, “Negative stereotypes that ‘all-Muslims-are-terrorists’ persist. Calling ISIS Islamic feeds that fear, giving terrorists what they want.” All fair points to consider.

But the Jordanian Queen is a Muslim leader, no outside prognosticator. She’s influential across many Muslim communities, which made me pay closer attention. Although, honestly, I’ve heard similar comments from other Muslims about ISIS, and Muslim terrorists generally. Friends from the mosque near our church have adamantly told me, “There’s no room in Islam for terrorism! A terrorist cannot be a Muslim. Whatever s/he claims, s/he’s kafir.” FYI, that Arabic word translates into “unbeliever” or “apostate.” And one practice in some parts of Islamic tradition is takfir, i.e. one Muslim declaring another Muslim kafir (not truly Muslim). That’s basically what Jordan’s Queen did- practiced takfir by defining ISIS as un-Islamic.

If that sounds like the Christian practice of excommunication, you’re paying attention! And from my limited understanding (obviously, I’m no Islamic scholar), takfir is as varied and technical for Muslims as excommunication is for Christians. The proper takfir method varies across diverse Muslim communions. Likewise, Christian folk describe how and why they excommunicate (in Disciples parlance- disfellowship) differently than neighbor churches, if they have an answer at all. Besides, for some Christians that practice has become less formal than before. And more widespread. Nowadays, many believers don’t wait for the rigorous discipline of a church council or the pronouncement of learned theologians, to inform them who counts as “Christian” or not. They simply observe folk who believe different, or behave (what they’d call) badly and say, “You’re not Christian.”

So I felt a disconnect after listening to Jordan’s Queen. Part of me thought, “She’s Muslim. She knows much better than me about Islam.” Another part thought, “But if she were Christian, I’d disagree.” After all, it’s fundamental to my Disciples identity that I have no ability to define others’ religion for them. “No Creed but Christ.” So if you claim you’re Christian, I won’t deny it. Even if I consider your theology deplorable. That’s not to say I’d accept, for instance, an unrepentant abortion clinic bomber joining our church. I’d resign if our Board allowed that. Nevertheless, I won’t say s/he is un-Christian. S/he’s a terrible Christian, wildly mistaken about Jesus, will likely face a pissed-off God after death, but I don’t believe anyone has the power or right to personally define Christianity.

Which frames my thinking on this ISIS/Islamic State debate. Firstly, they’re bad people. I hope they’re stopped. But that’s a task, primarily, for their co-religionists. Non-Muslim Westerners don’t have the capacity to end this struggle, whatever our military prowess (i.e. I wouldn’t support another invasion). Because much of that struggle is about identity- political, economic and religious. And though she’s disgusted by it, because her theology is FAR superior, to my mind Jordan’s Queen is a co-religionist with ISIS. Just as we’re related to Christian terrorists, and therefore have a special responsibility to condemn their behavior, while disseminating a better way.

Perhaps it’s unfair for me to map my faith convictions on how Muslims define Islam. I simply think that the more we practice identifying who’re right or wrong, who’s in or out, the more we feed that us v. them, believer v. heathen mentality that animates ISIS’s brutality. We don’t have the full truth- anyone- but the truth we do confess is better than gangsters who slaughter whole communities, saying, “You’re takfir, unbelievers, so you die.”

Goodness will only win if a better way is shown.

Grace and Peace,
Shane
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Huge smile,

I had another of those parental insights into our relationship with God recently. They’ve been happening a lot! I was hanging out with T. We were talking about something goofy, when he made a comment that was both oddly brilliant and hilarious. That’s a good combo, I find, a natural one too. Well-executed humor is a form of intelligence. And apparently, our foster kid is quite smart because he does that to me more often than I expect from a six year-old.

Anyway, I laughed at his comment, loudly and earnestly. Thus, he knew he’d hit the funny spot. So he smiled a huge smile, feeling the pride of knowing he’d made me laugh. Which then made me smile bigger, because I knew that my joy added to his, and that brought me further joy. And he smiled more once he caught that. A positive feedback loop ensued. Then, I had a moment of insight: Is this (wonderful!) feeling akin to what God- our Heavenly Parent- feels toward us? 

Now, we should always remember that whenever we speak of who God is or what God feels, we’re talking in code, in metaphor. To use theologian speak, it’s via analogical reasoning that we “know” anything about God, i.e. it’s always indirect, an inference, analogy, mystery abides. That said, the metaphor of God-as-Parent (often Father, but not exclusively) has been used in our faith tradition for millennia now, and counting. We’ve long believed that this fundamental human relationship has something uniquely valuable to teach about how God relates to us.

And the specific aspect of that relationship I suddenly encountered last week was this feeling that a parent can receive incredible joy from the delight her/his child feels. That joy might even be out-of-proportion with the moment. It was for me. T making a successful joke isn’t unusual, nor was this one atypical funny or profound. But this time, for whatever reason, he was quite proud, so I was proud too. Then I became suddenly incredibly glad I’d participated his triumph. My heart filled to bursting. And I realized that I’d never imagined God reacting so joyfully to triumphs in my life.

I guess when I’ve pictured God as Mother/Father, I’d thought of a tender heart, a shoulder to cry on, a wise teacher, a firm discipline giver. But the notion of God feeling enraptured by my delight- incredibly glad that I’m glad, God fully present to my happiness, and moved by it- that’s new to me. I’m sad I hadn’t considered that before, because it strikes me now as obviously true. Do all parents feel thus?

I mean, I’ve never asked my parents, but I’m certain they’ve felt that way about me. I’ve made them proud before. And now I’m aware how much that feeling is its own source of magnified joy for a parent. Did that effect their parenting decisions? Maybe they enjoyed my experiences of triumph and delight so much they went out of their way to nurture my confidence and pride as I grew. And not just because they loved me, but because they received joy from it too. Does God do the same?

Another way of putting that is- What does God get out of our relationship with God?” I hope that doesn’t sound inappropriate, but think about it. If a (healthy) parent-child relationship really is a uniquely valuable source of insight into God, we should examine motivations on both sides. And answering simply with, “God gets more moral children, better disciples, when we follow God’s rules correctly,” makes God seem, well, boring. And not very parental, right?

Instead, let’s imagine God delighting in our delights, wallowing with joy in our triumphs! In any case, I’m mostly warmed by that notion of God, considering how glad my heart was last week when my foster kid was proud and happy. But it’s a challenging idea too. After all, the driver I cursed under my breath that same evening is also a child of God, whom God would delight in. And if I’m going to celebrate that I make God glad, then I should probably expect the same of neighbors…

Grace and Peace,
Shane
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Trends…

Our church made a big decision last Sunday. In case you missed the special congregational meeting, we agreed to partner with Yellow Brick Road Child Care Center in expanding our building and joint ministry. Understand, this vote was simply formal approval to send in a loan application. We still must a) secure a 10% down payment, and b) receive approval on the loan application. So if you’ve yet to send back your pledge or donation for the down payment, please do so and soon! (Click here for printable pledge card)

We’ve had good responses so far. We’ll still need thousands more in commitments, though, from members and friends. If you can give now, that would be great. If you’d rather pledge a certain amount over the coming months or years, that’s great too! Just let us know. As you might expect, we have several options for what’s possible beyond construction of new space. Whether, say, we can lay new carpet or paint the building this year will depend on the support we receive.

But the project’s main elements were approved in that vote- more child care space for poor kids, long-term YBR relationship, enhanced church ministry. So it’s an important time for Plymouth Creek that deserves our full attention. Essentially, we’re betting on our future in this location, and all that entails. We’re betting that the relationships we’ve built will endure and strengthen. We’re betting that those ideas about Jesus that inspire us now will evolve dynamically and remain relevant. We’re betting that we’ll form new relationships with people we don’t yet know, and whose presence will change us. Even that we’ll more actively extend Christian hospitality so as to grow for decades to come.

About that last point, we should be excited and thoughtful. As stewards of Christ’s mission to welcome the world, every church ought care about growth. Not to the exclusion of everything else, not so obsessively you neglect loving your enemy and helping the poor. Some churches- especially in our suburb- do exactly that and it makes me sick. There’s a temptation to turn “Big Church” into an idol. We’ve been looked down on for that reason, by others, and sometimes, sadly, ourselves. But through it all, I’m convinced we’ve shown that the true power of God is the power of love, which is about intimacy, smallness, the transformation of knowing and being known. Therefore, we’ve raised an incredible witness to Christ’s undying love, grand if not numerically triumphant. I’m glad for that. It shows our community what better ways are possible. They’re lucky we’re still around!

That said, we could face a numbers problem eventually. We’re a small church. We’re also not, ahem, a young church. One of you, during Sunday’s meeting, wisely counseled us to think about that, how who we have now to support our budget may not be around for the full term of this new loan. In some ways, that’s true for every church, whatever their demographics. Families move. Workers transfer. People get angry, or distracted, and leave. That’s how all churches work, so all churches must consider how they’ll grow, i.e. how they’ll include “others” into “ourselves.” It’s the pastor’s job. It’s the members’ job. It’s not easy, but it’s critical.

So, ultimately, that’s what we’re betting on: Plymouth Creek’s ongoing ability to grow and attract new folk. I believe in your ability to do that, because you’ve welcomed me. But it’ll be tough, particularly if we’re going to push those age trend lines younger. But consider this. Helping high-quality, low-cost child care expand in our neighborhood helps us grow, because it shows young families that we care about their needs. Offering seventeen child care slots to poor kids on scholarships helps us grow, because now we’re the neighborhood champion for fighting poverty. In other words, this project can be as much about attracting people to our mission as to our building. Because it changes our story, deepens it, brightens it, gives us more to tell.

But for that to work, we’ll have to tell that story…LOUDER!...then invite others to help write new, unexpected chapters. (And we’ll have to get down payment money!) Can we do it? I bet we can.

Grace and Peace,
Shane
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Turning tables…

Not too long ago, I was about to walk Fawkes the Dog when I noticed a moving van outside my gate. Turns out that the house just across our street- unoccupied for years- was finally going to have residents. I introduced myself. They seemed like a neat, young couple. But we didn’t take time to chat. They had furniture to get inside before the sun went down, and Fawkes the Dog was anxious to go.

A few days later, I walked out back to deposit something into our trash bin, when I noticed a younger couple entering the house just across the alley. It had been several months since anyone besides home renovators had gone in there. The previous rentors- who we enjoyed- moved out in fall for a smaller home. But now, it seems that someone was moving in. I said hello, confirmed they were, in fact, our new neighbors, and welcomed them to the neighborhood.

Then…it struck me. I’ve been in my home long enough now that I’m no longer the new kid on the block. Some of my neighbors, sure, have been around for many more years than we, but we’re no longer rookies. We’re part of the neighborhood. And that felt rather strange. I shook my head after telling both of these couples, “Welcome to the neighborhood,” as if I questioned whether I had permission to say that. In my mind, I feel at times like I’m still on the outside looking in. But these new neighbors couldn’t know that. They just saw someone who already lived there.

After the shock of that realization wore off, I smiled a bit. It dawned on me that I had wanted certain things from my neighborhood when I first arrived. We moved to North Minneapolis so we could know and be known by neighbors, not avoid and be avoided (which is what had happened where we lived previously). I mean, I’ll never be the most outgoing, gregarious neighbor. I’m enough of an introvert that when I’m home, I like being alone and quiet so I can gather and save energy to do my job well. Still, I wanted neighbor kids to feel comfortable asking to play with my dog when they walked by, and they do. I wanted to feel connected enough with folk who live close to ask for help if needed, and we do. I’m sure we could all do more. Still, I think we’ve got much of what we hoped for by being in this neighborhood. As new neighbors move in, though, it’s up to us to ensure that remains true, and that these new folk get the same treatment.

In other words, because I’m no longer the newest, I have to be what I want from a neighborhood in order to have the neighborhood I want. I’m no longer in position to accept it from others. I have to be it for others. There’s a parallel in that to church, amen? When you first arrive in a congregation, you hope “they” will offer and do the things you think are best about church. Over time, however, “they” becomes “we” and what you want from church is about what you bring to church, what you invest in it, what you’re willing to work for or risk, the creativity you support. When that transition happens is different for many, but it happens. Like moving in, at some point you’re no longer the “new neighbor” or “new church member.” You’re here. You are we. You are, therefore, responsible.

I think I’m going to like that about having new neighbors, but- I’ll be honest- it’s rather daunting. It’s easier to see myself in the outsider role than accept accountability for making our block the best block it can be. I mean, like church, my efforts aren’t the only that matter; I can’t do it all myself, even if I wanted to. But I bet that if I give the best I can, often enough and with a hopeful enough spirit, then I’ll live where I’ve wanted to live all along.

May we say the same of where we worship and serve God!

Grace and Peace,
Shane
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