I opened my computer Monday to the shock of news I’d hoped to hear for years. Archbishop Nienstedt, leader of the Catholic archdiocese of Minneapolis-St. Paul, had resigned from his position.
On some important level, this event doesn’t concern us Protestants. Nor can I claim well-studied knowledge about the man and his leadership, simply impressions and vignettes that built over time. Besides, my six year-old reminds me often, “Shane, when someone gets hurt, you’re never supposed to laugh.” And that’s right. Christians shouldn’t gloat, ever. We’re called to love mercy.
Nevertheless, I think it’s very good he’s gone. This resignation provides an opening for renewal in that church and the broader religious community. Perhaps a kinder, more compassionate and open Christianity will emerge in the public consciousness, one long held at bay.
Let explain why I say that. My hairstylist grew up Catholic. He’s gay. His parents were highly involved in their small Catholic church for decades. Until 2012, when the archdiocese funded an aggressive campaign to write marriage restrictions into our state constitution. At the Archbishop’s insistence, priests were asked to distribute anti-LGBTQ messages and materials, use their religious authority to sway votes. My hairstylist’s parents decided they supported their son more than Archbishop Nienstedt’s inflexible ideology. So they left the church home they’d long loved, which hurt their souls. But they loved their son more. I told him I found that act spiritually courageous, that it rang of the Gospel to me.
Many more families wrestled with such painful division due to the archbishop’s desire to deny LGBTQ citizens equal rights. I, obviously, don’t agree with his theology. But that’s not the issue. I respect diverse beliefs. But this went beyond theology for me. The situation felt like a powerful man using Jesus-speak to actively contribute to other people’s marginalization, without shame or caring. I find that troubling.
Besides, I heard colleagues say, “Shane, this isn’t why I became a priest. I wanted to show mercy to the poor, help the hurting, guide the lost. I didn’t want to fight culture wars. But that’s what my leadership demands.” May these faithful servants now breathe fresh, freeing air.
Finally, while writing, I just overheard child care kids outside my office, waiting for the bathroom. A boy just said, “Hey, don’t touch my body!” It was two three year-olds innocently wiggling for wall position. But those words evoked the issue that’s haunted our Catholic sisters and brothers for years. And, more importantly, has haunted the lives of too many victims of clergy assault. Not only the abuse, the unconscionable cover-ups too.
I lead our region’s clergy ethics investigation committee. So I’ve pondered what I would do if someone accused a clergyperson I know and respect of crimes against children. My answer: I’d cringe at the thought, pray it’s untrue, and immediately contact police. The protection of innocent victims is more important protecting my church or colleagues. Under this archbishop’s watch, though, clergy were given more special treatment than victims, some of whom were sidelined or silenced. Whatever after-the-fact child protection procedures were instituted (and I’m told they were good), justice demands accountability.
So a new beginning looms. I’m glad for our Catholic neighbors. And for us. After all, if you look past culture warriors, and encounter Catholic teachings and ministry regarding serving the poor, welcoming the stranger, advocating peace, they do it as well as-often better than!- most denominations. I think this leader stymied local efforts to unleash that full goodness on our community. That’s unfortunate, because given his church’s size and prestige, a more robust Christian witness was possible. We could’ve helped more people, and lost less worshipers to disgust.
The new archbishop, of course, won’t necessarily embody the merciful, compassionate leadership my priest friends long for, that I’d love to see and partner with. But I trust the Holy Spirit to whisper words of hope and grace always. May the Pope listen for that guidance as he decides who leads our neighbor Catholics next.
And let us pray for the former archbishop, grateful he stepped down, finally. May he find a renewed focus on care and devotion, rather than division or fear.
Grace and Peace,
Shane
Read more!
Friday, June 19, 2015
Tuesday, June 9, 2015
Looking within…
Several weeks back, our foster son met several older boys. He just graduated from Kindergarten; these kids were in second, fifth and seventh grades. Our little guy looked like, “Whoa! They’re bigger kids. And they’re cool. I need to impress them!” I remember such thinking as a boy. Thus, it came as no surprise that, when they asked him to share the toys he was playing with, he quickly agreed, even going to find more of his precious toy cars for all the play with. It was his chance to prove himself to the bigger kids (and me). “See what cool toys I have (and how I’m learning to share!)!”
But what followed felt almost surreal. Together, they zoomed the toys around, making up voices and stories, especially for the Disney Cars (a popular cartoon movie) cars, which everyone knew the names for. I see our foster son do this several times daily. Playing cars is his favorite. And you know that feeling when someone you’ve just met reveals they like what you like? How hope bubbles up that you’ll connect with someone new at a deeper level, or at least, you’re affirmed in that special thing that brings you joy? Something like that occurred. It was lovely.
It was also odd, uncomfortable. Because our foster child is six, not graduating into middle school. This car toy game seemed, frankly, too young for these other boys. Granted, I lack experience parenting middle schoolers. But I was once an adept youth minister. So I think it’s fair to wonder why these youth were connecting with our guy on an emotional level seemingly inappropriate to their age. Is it typical for a middle schooler to crawl on his knees, playing Cars? And not in the way I do as an older person joining the younger kid’s game. Rather, they all seemed on the same level, experiencing similar emotions, from these shared activities and toys, as if they were all in Kindergarten.
I should add that I’ve got good reason to believe these boys came from rough backgrounds. They’ve been exposed to things such young men shouldn’t encounter, in my opinion; or, at least, have little-to-no emotional tools for responding to healthfully. The seventh grade boy just looked- for lack of a better word- hard, in the manner you see from survivors. I celebrate his resiliency, and hurt for his need of it, and was mostly glad he wanted to play with, rather than intimidate, our boy.
Yet to witness that near-adolescent act like a six year-old, overjoyed at putting words into toy cars’ mouths with a voice already deepening, it struck a nerve I didn’t like feeling. I wondered if I was seeing an innocence exposed that should’ve developed into more sophisticated play years before, but has been locked inside. Or maybe it was just the joy of a poor kid getting to use toys he’d long wanted to. I’m sure that was part of the story. I’m also convinced there was much more.
Perhaps the child development gurus among you have better wisdom than I for interpreting that vignette. I’ve spent the past weeks simply confused. Besides, it didn’t go on long. Within fifteen minutes, parent-types appeared and the boys’ seeming innocence hid again. They jumped up, left with determined looks and a wave that was maybe thankful, but I couldn’t tell. It felt more like they were shutting the door on that experience and marching onto the next.
The fifth commandment is “Children, honor your parents.” The converse must be included too- “Parents, honor your children.” Especially their innocence, the joy within that needs chances for healthy expression, lest it fester or snuff out too soon. None of us, of course, should force our own values on an unknown family as to what counts as damaging innocence. But aren’t there lines that, if crossed, ought bother both parents and community members alike? Probably. What are they? That’s an evolving question. In any case, thank God that goodness, innocence is resilient enough to endure within these boys. May God guide them- and us- to better places, where everyone can smile and play in peace.
Grace and Peace,
Shane
Read more!
But what followed felt almost surreal. Together, they zoomed the toys around, making up voices and stories, especially for the Disney Cars (a popular cartoon movie) cars, which everyone knew the names for. I see our foster son do this several times daily. Playing cars is his favorite. And you know that feeling when someone you’ve just met reveals they like what you like? How hope bubbles up that you’ll connect with someone new at a deeper level, or at least, you’re affirmed in that special thing that brings you joy? Something like that occurred. It was lovely.
It was also odd, uncomfortable. Because our foster child is six, not graduating into middle school. This car toy game seemed, frankly, too young for these other boys. Granted, I lack experience parenting middle schoolers. But I was once an adept youth minister. So I think it’s fair to wonder why these youth were connecting with our guy on an emotional level seemingly inappropriate to their age. Is it typical for a middle schooler to crawl on his knees, playing Cars? And not in the way I do as an older person joining the younger kid’s game. Rather, they all seemed on the same level, experiencing similar emotions, from these shared activities and toys, as if they were all in Kindergarten.
I should add that I’ve got good reason to believe these boys came from rough backgrounds. They’ve been exposed to things such young men shouldn’t encounter, in my opinion; or, at least, have little-to-no emotional tools for responding to healthfully. The seventh grade boy just looked- for lack of a better word- hard, in the manner you see from survivors. I celebrate his resiliency, and hurt for his need of it, and was mostly glad he wanted to play with, rather than intimidate, our boy.
Yet to witness that near-adolescent act like a six year-old, overjoyed at putting words into toy cars’ mouths with a voice already deepening, it struck a nerve I didn’t like feeling. I wondered if I was seeing an innocence exposed that should’ve developed into more sophisticated play years before, but has been locked inside. Or maybe it was just the joy of a poor kid getting to use toys he’d long wanted to. I’m sure that was part of the story. I’m also convinced there was much more.
Perhaps the child development gurus among you have better wisdom than I for interpreting that vignette. I’ve spent the past weeks simply confused. Besides, it didn’t go on long. Within fifteen minutes, parent-types appeared and the boys’ seeming innocence hid again. They jumped up, left with determined looks and a wave that was maybe thankful, but I couldn’t tell. It felt more like they were shutting the door on that experience and marching onto the next.
The fifth commandment is “Children, honor your parents.” The converse must be included too- “Parents, honor your children.” Especially their innocence, the joy within that needs chances for healthy expression, lest it fester or snuff out too soon. None of us, of course, should force our own values on an unknown family as to what counts as damaging innocence. But aren’t there lines that, if crossed, ought bother both parents and community members alike? Probably. What are they? That’s an evolving question. In any case, thank God that goodness, innocence is resilient enough to endure within these boys. May God guide them- and us- to better places, where everyone can smile and play in peace.
Grace and Peace,
Shane
Read more!
Thursday, June 4, 2015
In the details…
Lots of pastor types think the phrase, “The devil’s in the details,” applies to budgeting and church finances. Present them with a balance sheet and they’ll react like it’s Satan’s spawn. I don’t, honestly, blame them! For starters, when ministers discuss money, we’re dealing with something that’s sensitive. Most folk don’t have as much as we’d prefer, or need to have. So there’s an understandable hesitation about pouring salt on wounds that church members may have, but aren’t readily visible.
Then, there’s the fact that the church budget includes the pastor’s salary. It’s awkward to discuss a document that says how much you’ll get paid if people just keep freely giving their money. I know… Of course, the pastor’s salary is about more than an individual. It’s how the church values the work that any pastor does. Same goes for musicians, janitors, anyone an organization compensates. That conversation, though, rarely seems so theoretical. Typically, it’s held when you know who’s receiving these funds, whether you like her vision, his preaching. At that point, money talk can get personal, and uncomfortable. So many tacitly agree to avoid the issue.
But here’s something I’ve learned about church finances: there can be glory in the details too! After all, besides the Bible, we have few better resources than our budget to tell us what our community care about. In other words, those dollars and cents and line items transcend greed v. compassion, failure v. success, scarcity v. abundance. They’re about identity. Who we are as God’s people can be interpreted from them. And maybe we don’t like sometimes what they say! But at least our budget tells us something we should know, and therefore, the foundation on which we can grow.
That matters these days, because among the hardest thing every church faces- and many Christians face too- is figuring out who they really want to be. And not in the shallow sense of contemporary or traditional music, young families or intergenerational. I mean that we need to understand the direction we’re willing to walk to follow Jesus. That requires choices. Too frequently, church folk won’t make choices. How many church signs read “Everyone’s welcome!”, as if they’re the first to consider that idea interesting? Too many. And it’s not interesting. Unless you REALLY mean it, and welcome gay people, poor people, conservatives, liberals, the handicapped, bigots, Spanish-speakers, repentant child-molesters… Well, then, that would make a unique church.
But most churches don’t actually mean “everyone is welcome”. They just want to sound nice. Which means they don’t want to accept the choices they’ve already made about who they’ll be, who they intend to serve, or include in their relationships. And the problem with that is, when we don’t intentionally claim our identity in Christ, we give power to other, less-holy forces in our society to choose our identity for us. We let the privilege of wealth or class, ethnicity or gender, whether our team “won” the last election or not, dictate who we’ll be, who we’ll invite to dinner, who we’ll extend an invitation to fellowship. None of that is Christian.
What’s Christian, instead, is a community of people pooling their money to help struggling neighbors get a step ahead in life, donating their time to delight others with joyful music made unto the Lord, paying someone to lead them in that most counter-cultural of experiences these days – shutting up and listening for a word of challenge, insight and inspiration (not mediated by a smartphone) – in the hope they’ll be made better for it, and through them, God’s world.
That’s why I like budgets and church finance conversations. They tell us who we want to be. Besides, I had good mentors teach me how to read those documents and not be afraid!
As you know, we recently finished our pledge campaign for next year’s budget. Therefore, our leadership is making those choices at present. You should know that we’re very grateful for your ongoing support, trust and generosity!
You should also know that we haven’t received as much pledged support as we anticipated. We’re still several thousand dollars short in meeting our hoped-for budget. If you can give more, we’d be grateful. Also, for those faithful givers who haven’t pledged: thank you and please keep giving! But if you can tell us what you anticipate giving, it will help our plans be as accurate and responsible as we’d like them to be. Thus, to everyone, please all pray about your pledging and respond to me, Mike or John quickly. We’ll meet to consider our budget- that is to say, who we are, who God’s calling us to be- after church June 14. Thank you for helping make that possible.
Grace and Peace,
Shane
Read more!
Then, there’s the fact that the church budget includes the pastor’s salary. It’s awkward to discuss a document that says how much you’ll get paid if people just keep freely giving their money. I know… Of course, the pastor’s salary is about more than an individual. It’s how the church values the work that any pastor does. Same goes for musicians, janitors, anyone an organization compensates. That conversation, though, rarely seems so theoretical. Typically, it’s held when you know who’s receiving these funds, whether you like her vision, his preaching. At that point, money talk can get personal, and uncomfortable. So many tacitly agree to avoid the issue.
But here’s something I’ve learned about church finances: there can be glory in the details too! After all, besides the Bible, we have few better resources than our budget to tell us what our community care about. In other words, those dollars and cents and line items transcend greed v. compassion, failure v. success, scarcity v. abundance. They’re about identity. Who we are as God’s people can be interpreted from them. And maybe we don’t like sometimes what they say! But at least our budget tells us something we should know, and therefore, the foundation on which we can grow.
That matters these days, because among the hardest thing every church faces- and many Christians face too- is figuring out who they really want to be. And not in the shallow sense of contemporary or traditional music, young families or intergenerational. I mean that we need to understand the direction we’re willing to walk to follow Jesus. That requires choices. Too frequently, church folk won’t make choices. How many church signs read “Everyone’s welcome!”, as if they’re the first to consider that idea interesting? Too many. And it’s not interesting. Unless you REALLY mean it, and welcome gay people, poor people, conservatives, liberals, the handicapped, bigots, Spanish-speakers, repentant child-molesters… Well, then, that would make a unique church.
But most churches don’t actually mean “everyone is welcome”. They just want to sound nice. Which means they don’t want to accept the choices they’ve already made about who they’ll be, who they intend to serve, or include in their relationships. And the problem with that is, when we don’t intentionally claim our identity in Christ, we give power to other, less-holy forces in our society to choose our identity for us. We let the privilege of wealth or class, ethnicity or gender, whether our team “won” the last election or not, dictate who we’ll be, who we’ll invite to dinner, who we’ll extend an invitation to fellowship. None of that is Christian.
What’s Christian, instead, is a community of people pooling their money to help struggling neighbors get a step ahead in life, donating their time to delight others with joyful music made unto the Lord, paying someone to lead them in that most counter-cultural of experiences these days – shutting up and listening for a word of challenge, insight and inspiration (not mediated by a smartphone) – in the hope they’ll be made better for it, and through them, God’s world.
That’s why I like budgets and church finance conversations. They tell us who we want to be. Besides, I had good mentors teach me how to read those documents and not be afraid!
As you know, we recently finished our pledge campaign for next year’s budget. Therefore, our leadership is making those choices at present. You should know that we’re very grateful for your ongoing support, trust and generosity!
You should also know that we haven’t received as much pledged support as we anticipated. We’re still several thousand dollars short in meeting our hoped-for budget. If you can give more, we’d be grateful. Also, for those faithful givers who haven’t pledged: thank you and please keep giving! But if you can tell us what you anticipate giving, it will help our plans be as accurate and responsible as we’d like them to be. Thus, to everyone, please all pray about your pledging and respond to me, Mike or John quickly. We’ll meet to consider our budget- that is to say, who we are, who God’s calling us to be- after church June 14. Thank you for helping make that possible.
Grace and Peace,
Shane
Read more!
Thursday, May 28, 2015
What’s coming…
Every Sunday, we take Communion. You know this. But do you listen closely to the words our Servant Leaders say? Technically, they’re “The Words of Institution.” Different churches use different versions, but they’re mostly either a quotation of 1 Corinthians 11:23-26, or based upon it. Fun fact: those verses are taped to the cross on our communion table, in case someone needs help!
They begin, “On the night he was betrayed, our Lord Jesus took bread…” The passage continues with a retelling of that last supper; Christ breaking the bread, sharing the cup. But the final words aren’t a quotation from Jesus. They’re what Paul (the author) wrote to the Corinthians as a summation of this story. He said, “(A)s often as you eat this bread and drink this cup, you proclaim the Lord’s death until he comes again.”
To many, that’s the most confusing part of Communion. Assuming, that is, they’re still paying attention! I’ll be honest, I used to hate that last part when it was my turn to preside. I’ve even- Paul, forgive me- left it out before. Now, instead, I change it slightly. I add something to that final verse that communicates my understanding of Paul’s meaning- “…you proclaim the Lord’s victory over death…” See what I did there?! You decide if it’s clever or blasphemous. But more interesting, I think, is that last phrase, “until he comes again.”
In Sunday School recently, we discussed Paul’s understanding of the Second Coming. Specifically, we listened to an NPR interview with John Dominic Crossan, a scholar of early Christian history (whose Irish accent is awesome). In it, he said something about that spooky doctrine I found rather profound. First, recall the way many folk understand Jesus’ return. They predict that someday soon or otherwise, he’ll come to earth and the world will end in violent tribulation and mass death. To which, Crossan responded, “Such people seemingly refuse to accept the First Coming. As if Christ’s non-violent acceptance of crucifixion was a mistake. They want Jesus to come back and do it right this time, by killing all the evildoers.”
Interesting perspective. To be fair to those who pine for Jesus’ violent return, there’s fodder for that in the New Testament. Paul himself obviously thought that, in his lifetime, Jesus’ reappearance would create a sudden, permanent transformation of society. He was wrong, obviously. But Crossan’s point wasn’t to laugh at Paul’s poor prediction. That’s secondary to Paul’s wiser instinct that the “End of Days” wasn’t to be a bloody cosmic battle fought outside Jerusalem. Rather, the “End of Days” (in Jesus’ words, “The Kingdom of God,” a social order ruled by compassion and love, not violence and greed) was already at hand, had begun with Christ’s first coming. And whatever fight it required would occur in the hearts of God’s children.
I love that! Why assume a Second Coming if you’re convinced the first one worked great?! That Jesus already conquered death, already overcame sin, already ushered his followers into life eternal, which began the moment they accepted God’s Love. Did Jesus fail by not leaving the cross, killing the Romans and setting himself up as King? No! Instead, he revealed the ultimate, radical truth that God’s peace is stronger than war, that compassion will defeat fear, that love won’t ever be beaten, no matter how terrifying the present looks, how long the bending arc of justice.
In other words, from the eternal perspective, troubles look different. And while that doesn’t mean our hurts are trivial- God knows our trials real and hard- because Jesus came, we can live with confidence that we’ll make it, that we’re never alone if we let ourselves be known. So here’s how I now understand that final, elusive Communion phrase. Next time someone says, “…you proclaim the Lord’s (victory over) death, until he comes again,” remember that Jesus is ever-poised to “come again” into your heart, your life, if you ask his power to guide you, his hope to uplift you, his joy to strengthen you, his truth to set you free. That’s a second coming I look forward to. And third, and fourth, and forever!
Grace and Peace,
Shane Read more!
They begin, “On the night he was betrayed, our Lord Jesus took bread…” The passage continues with a retelling of that last supper; Christ breaking the bread, sharing the cup. But the final words aren’t a quotation from Jesus. They’re what Paul (the author) wrote to the Corinthians as a summation of this story. He said, “(A)s often as you eat this bread and drink this cup, you proclaim the Lord’s death until he comes again.”
To many, that’s the most confusing part of Communion. Assuming, that is, they’re still paying attention! I’ll be honest, I used to hate that last part when it was my turn to preside. I’ve even- Paul, forgive me- left it out before. Now, instead, I change it slightly. I add something to that final verse that communicates my understanding of Paul’s meaning- “…you proclaim the Lord’s victory over death…” See what I did there?! You decide if it’s clever or blasphemous. But more interesting, I think, is that last phrase, “until he comes again.”
In Sunday School recently, we discussed Paul’s understanding of the Second Coming. Specifically, we listened to an NPR interview with John Dominic Crossan, a scholar of early Christian history (whose Irish accent is awesome). In it, he said something about that spooky doctrine I found rather profound. First, recall the way many folk understand Jesus’ return. They predict that someday soon or otherwise, he’ll come to earth and the world will end in violent tribulation and mass death. To which, Crossan responded, “Such people seemingly refuse to accept the First Coming. As if Christ’s non-violent acceptance of crucifixion was a mistake. They want Jesus to come back and do it right this time, by killing all the evildoers.”
Interesting perspective. To be fair to those who pine for Jesus’ violent return, there’s fodder for that in the New Testament. Paul himself obviously thought that, in his lifetime, Jesus’ reappearance would create a sudden, permanent transformation of society. He was wrong, obviously. But Crossan’s point wasn’t to laugh at Paul’s poor prediction. That’s secondary to Paul’s wiser instinct that the “End of Days” wasn’t to be a bloody cosmic battle fought outside Jerusalem. Rather, the “End of Days” (in Jesus’ words, “The Kingdom of God,” a social order ruled by compassion and love, not violence and greed) was already at hand, had begun with Christ’s first coming. And whatever fight it required would occur in the hearts of God’s children.
I love that! Why assume a Second Coming if you’re convinced the first one worked great?! That Jesus already conquered death, already overcame sin, already ushered his followers into life eternal, which began the moment they accepted God’s Love. Did Jesus fail by not leaving the cross, killing the Romans and setting himself up as King? No! Instead, he revealed the ultimate, radical truth that God’s peace is stronger than war, that compassion will defeat fear, that love won’t ever be beaten, no matter how terrifying the present looks, how long the bending arc of justice.
In other words, from the eternal perspective, troubles look different. And while that doesn’t mean our hurts are trivial- God knows our trials real and hard- because Jesus came, we can live with confidence that we’ll make it, that we’re never alone if we let ourselves be known. So here’s how I now understand that final, elusive Communion phrase. Next time someone says, “…you proclaim the Lord’s (victory over) death, until he comes again,” remember that Jesus is ever-poised to “come again” into your heart, your life, if you ask his power to guide you, his hope to uplift you, his joy to strengthen you, his truth to set you free. That’s a second coming I look forward to. And third, and fourth, and forever!
Grace and Peace,
Shane Read more!
Wednesday, May 20, 2015
Regret…
I discovered last week that a high school friend died abruptly. He was 31, I think. Honestly, I hadn’t spoken with Jim in over a decade; just before or after college graduation. Yet I followed his life’s progress on Facebook. He’d moved to upstate New York, became a chef, and bragged about the clever risotto dishes he concocted. More than once, I’ve daydreamed about showing up in his café without prior announcement.
But that won’t happen now, and I’ve cried more about his passing than I would’ve anticipated. The thing is, I had some good reasons for growing apart from Jim. For starters, he was younger, so I was in college before he’d graduated. That created distance, though we did see each other on school breaks when I came home. He attempted college initially. But it didn’t seem to stick. Anger, rebellion and drugs were more his style. I shared some of that during high school, but as college progressed, my priorities changed, my outlook improved.
Nevertheless, I still cherished memories of his gifted guitar playing and soulful voice, of us singing together. We grew close in our school’s select choir. Neither of us felt we “fit” the school’s dominate expectations. But outcast instincts weren’t all we shared. We loved music and its transportational possibilities. He was the much better musician! With several other friends, we’d frequent the same coffee shop or billiard hall, and sing or listen to music, or otherwise be together. For some, that’s nothing special. They’ve always had many close friends, felt part of “a group.” I never did. Still don’t. Except those few years with Jim (and Ryan and Kyle and Brian).
I’ll admit that behind my tears last week were regrets not only that Jim died, but that I’d lost that sense of belonging so many years ago. I didn’t plan for us losing touch. I didn’t welcome it. Nor did I work hard to stop it. And I think it was, in general, an okay development. Phone calls grew more infrequent as Jim and others got jobs while I changed majors. Ryan started traveling. People found girlfriends or new friends and I worked toward seminary. A wedding occurred that I missed and then it felt like I couldn’t go back. Like I couldn’t restart a past that was past. And that’s right. None of us can, not really. Still, I’m sad I couldn’t find some new way to include these now-men in my life who, for a time, mattered as much to me as any.
Thus, I cried for Jim and- forgive me!- for me too. And that I’ll never tell him I’m so glad his risotto blend is creative and healthy, and that his life is too. He seemed to overcome the drugs, and his Facebook photos at least showed a smile that looked earned and true. People sometimes say, “Live life without regrets.” I think that’s wrong. Some regrets, of course, are fools’ prisons, us being shackled by events we can’t change, and need to get over. But other regrets connect us to what matters, what would be a shame to forget. For instance, I’ve never been very good at being a friend, at remaining close to people, and much of my regret revolves around that. Moments like these, however, remind me that I needn’t accept that fact as fully defining. i.e., I’ve done it before.
Besides, long ago I accepted that my ultimate belonging is in God’s forever family. These regrets, therefore, serve as occasional prodding to build on that firm foundation and share my vulnerabilities, my mundane joys more readily. That’s quite hard for me, but one who’s greater than me holds me forever. And that’s sufficient. Besides, Jim helped teach me my foibles were beautiful too.
Ryan- who I think remained close to Jim- sent me his phone number last Sunday. I hope by the time y’all read this I’ve found the nerve to call him. And in honor of a dear, sometimes disturbed, always beloved of God young man- too soon gone- I’m making risotto for my family soon. My blend isn’t super creative, nor perfect. But I’m proud to share it.
Grace and Peace,
Shane Read more!
But that won’t happen now, and I’ve cried more about his passing than I would’ve anticipated. The thing is, I had some good reasons for growing apart from Jim. For starters, he was younger, so I was in college before he’d graduated. That created distance, though we did see each other on school breaks when I came home. He attempted college initially. But it didn’t seem to stick. Anger, rebellion and drugs were more his style. I shared some of that during high school, but as college progressed, my priorities changed, my outlook improved.
Nevertheless, I still cherished memories of his gifted guitar playing and soulful voice, of us singing together. We grew close in our school’s select choir. Neither of us felt we “fit” the school’s dominate expectations. But outcast instincts weren’t all we shared. We loved music and its transportational possibilities. He was the much better musician! With several other friends, we’d frequent the same coffee shop or billiard hall, and sing or listen to music, or otherwise be together. For some, that’s nothing special. They’ve always had many close friends, felt part of “a group.” I never did. Still don’t. Except those few years with Jim (and Ryan and Kyle and Brian).
I’ll admit that behind my tears last week were regrets not only that Jim died, but that I’d lost that sense of belonging so many years ago. I didn’t plan for us losing touch. I didn’t welcome it. Nor did I work hard to stop it. And I think it was, in general, an okay development. Phone calls grew more infrequent as Jim and others got jobs while I changed majors. Ryan started traveling. People found girlfriends or new friends and I worked toward seminary. A wedding occurred that I missed and then it felt like I couldn’t go back. Like I couldn’t restart a past that was past. And that’s right. None of us can, not really. Still, I’m sad I couldn’t find some new way to include these now-men in my life who, for a time, mattered as much to me as any.
Thus, I cried for Jim and- forgive me!- for me too. And that I’ll never tell him I’m so glad his risotto blend is creative and healthy, and that his life is too. He seemed to overcome the drugs, and his Facebook photos at least showed a smile that looked earned and true. People sometimes say, “Live life without regrets.” I think that’s wrong. Some regrets, of course, are fools’ prisons, us being shackled by events we can’t change, and need to get over. But other regrets connect us to what matters, what would be a shame to forget. For instance, I’ve never been very good at being a friend, at remaining close to people, and much of my regret revolves around that. Moments like these, however, remind me that I needn’t accept that fact as fully defining. i.e., I’ve done it before.
Besides, long ago I accepted that my ultimate belonging is in God’s forever family. These regrets, therefore, serve as occasional prodding to build on that firm foundation and share my vulnerabilities, my mundane joys more readily. That’s quite hard for me, but one who’s greater than me holds me forever. And that’s sufficient. Besides, Jim helped teach me my foibles were beautiful too.
Ryan- who I think remained close to Jim- sent me his phone number last Sunday. I hope by the time y’all read this I’ve found the nerve to call him. And in honor of a dear, sometimes disturbed, always beloved of God young man- too soon gone- I’m making risotto for my family soon. My blend isn’t super creative, nor perfect. But I’m proud to share it.
Grace and Peace,
Shane Read more!
Thursday, May 14, 2015
Cultural competency…
Last Monday, I had the privilege of helping leaders throughout our community address an important issue: Cross-cultural competency and skill building.
Here’s the full story. For the past several years, I’ve joined several local leaders in exploring ways to help close or eliminate the achievement gap in our schools. Surely, you’ve heard that while MN schools typically rank among the nation’s finest, we also have the highest average gap in student achievement between white students and students of color. That’s true for our local district, the Wayzata Public Schools. Their students, generally, score amongst the best in state! Students of color, though, especially Latinos and African-Americans, consistently perform below their peers. That gap also exists for students from low-income families, regardless of ethnic background. Kids in these groups tend to struggle more than others, and more than they should.
So how do you solve that distressing phenomenon? I mean, success shouldn’t derive from the lottery of skin color or parental income, right? But that’s what we’re seeing, and that portends tough long-term consequences for the whole community.
Well, one response that’s worked elsewhere is called “Collective Impact.” The plan is to get leaders from all the sectors in a local community who impact or are affected by this issue (e.g. school districts, businesses, social services, YMCAs, churches, governments…) to craft a common agenda for solutions. That agenda should include measurable goals that research says leads to student success (e.g. all kids enter Kindergarten ready to learn, all achieve math proficiency by eighth grade), which is constantly monitored. Then, we create common initiatives that move kids toward those goals, avoiding isolation, duplicating of efforts and avoidance of sharing best practices.
That’s a thick, tricky, big idea. But if it works, we’re imaging no less than our entire community working collectively for all kids to achieve their greatest expectations. Thus, the initiative is called…Great Expectations! I’m the steering team’s “faith community” voice. And because the achievement gap is our focus, we figured that helping community leaders build more diversity/cross-cultural skills would be worth the effort.
I even helped pay for it. Remember that fellowship I got from Collegeville two years back? It included $1,000 to use toward a project that impacted our community, as long as the project aligned with the work of my church. Well, consider Great Expectations theologically. We’re gathering different people around one table, not to conform, but to unify in common hope for a better future. How perfectly Disciples is that?! To get this workshop going, then, I put my fellowship money into the pot (technically, Plymouth Creek paid $1,000 and Collegeville will reimburse us, which the Board approved, though I just told attendees it was Plymouth Creek sponsoring the training!). And after seeing the wonderful engagement of our community, I’m glad I did it.
After all, I’ve become much more sensitive to diversity issues since November, when an African-American boy from difficult circumstances came to live in my home. In school, at church and elsewhere, he’s been both supported and rejected because of who he is. Some are super quick to love him up, cheer for him, help him achieve. Thank you! Others lack the cultural bridge building skill to understand where he’s coming from, and so have yelled at him inappropriately, judged him as less capable or bad, even told me he won’t amount to much.
We Disciples know those latter responses are neither right nor holy treatments of a neighbor, whether they look or sound like you, or not. We believe in the freedom of all God’s children to become the unique, blessed soul God created her/him to be. Which means we must first learn about others’ differences or commonalities before presuming to judge, to shame, to dismiss. Essentially, that’s what we discussed on Monday- nurturing the skills to hear and appreciate diverse neighbors’ backgrounds.
So, again, given our faith tradition, it was worth the time and money! And the prayers I hope you’ll join me in lifting, that all kids and families struggling today will get needed support to reach their great expectations. And that we’ll all recommit to being better neighbors, those who listen, care and respond.
Grace and Peace,
Shane
Read more!
Here’s the full story. For the past several years, I’ve joined several local leaders in exploring ways to help close or eliminate the achievement gap in our schools. Surely, you’ve heard that while MN schools typically rank among the nation’s finest, we also have the highest average gap in student achievement between white students and students of color. That’s true for our local district, the Wayzata Public Schools. Their students, generally, score amongst the best in state! Students of color, though, especially Latinos and African-Americans, consistently perform below their peers. That gap also exists for students from low-income families, regardless of ethnic background. Kids in these groups tend to struggle more than others, and more than they should.
So how do you solve that distressing phenomenon? I mean, success shouldn’t derive from the lottery of skin color or parental income, right? But that’s what we’re seeing, and that portends tough long-term consequences for the whole community.
Well, one response that’s worked elsewhere is called “Collective Impact.” The plan is to get leaders from all the sectors in a local community who impact or are affected by this issue (e.g. school districts, businesses, social services, YMCAs, churches, governments…) to craft a common agenda for solutions. That agenda should include measurable goals that research says leads to student success (e.g. all kids enter Kindergarten ready to learn, all achieve math proficiency by eighth grade), which is constantly monitored. Then, we create common initiatives that move kids toward those goals, avoiding isolation, duplicating of efforts and avoidance of sharing best practices.
That’s a thick, tricky, big idea. But if it works, we’re imaging no less than our entire community working collectively for all kids to achieve their greatest expectations. Thus, the initiative is called…Great Expectations! I’m the steering team’s “faith community” voice. And because the achievement gap is our focus, we figured that helping community leaders build more diversity/cross-cultural skills would be worth the effort.
I even helped pay for it. Remember that fellowship I got from Collegeville two years back? It included $1,000 to use toward a project that impacted our community, as long as the project aligned with the work of my church. Well, consider Great Expectations theologically. We’re gathering different people around one table, not to conform, but to unify in common hope for a better future. How perfectly Disciples is that?! To get this workshop going, then, I put my fellowship money into the pot (technically, Plymouth Creek paid $1,000 and Collegeville will reimburse us, which the Board approved, though I just told attendees it was Plymouth Creek sponsoring the training!). And after seeing the wonderful engagement of our community, I’m glad I did it.
After all, I’ve become much more sensitive to diversity issues since November, when an African-American boy from difficult circumstances came to live in my home. In school, at church and elsewhere, he’s been both supported and rejected because of who he is. Some are super quick to love him up, cheer for him, help him achieve. Thank you! Others lack the cultural bridge building skill to understand where he’s coming from, and so have yelled at him inappropriately, judged him as less capable or bad, even told me he won’t amount to much.
We Disciples know those latter responses are neither right nor holy treatments of a neighbor, whether they look or sound like you, or not. We believe in the freedom of all God’s children to become the unique, blessed soul God created her/him to be. Which means we must first learn about others’ differences or commonalities before presuming to judge, to shame, to dismiss. Essentially, that’s what we discussed on Monday- nurturing the skills to hear and appreciate diverse neighbors’ backgrounds.
So, again, given our faith tradition, it was worth the time and money! And the prayers I hope you’ll join me in lifting, that all kids and families struggling today will get needed support to reach their great expectations. And that we’ll all recommit to being better neighbors, those who listen, care and respond.
Grace and Peace,
Shane
Read more!
Friday, May 8, 2015
Location,
I spent several days this week with clergy colleagues at the Collegeville Institute on the St. John’s campus. This was part of a two-year fellowship I received in 2013, designed to teach a select group of early career ministers greater skills for doing “public theology.”
You may not be familiar with that term, public theology. If it sounds like professional clergy jargon, well, you’re not wrong. Nevertheless, it’s a valuable idea. The point is that churches don’t exist for themselves alone. We operate in a location, a public context whose needs and failures, triumphs and hopes we bear some responsibility for. Sometimes, broader social issues obviously impact many of our people; the high costs of health care in an aging nation, the possibilities of school success for our children and grandchildren. Other times, our immediate self-interest in, say, prison or criminal justice reform isn’t entirely clear. Still, we have neighbors who that fraught topic effects significantly. We’re riveted by news about conflict in Baltimore and the Black Lives Matter movement. Besides, we serve a God who splendidly called us all Beloved Children, and for that reason alone, whatever improves, diminishes or threatens the social fabric ought make a difference to our spiritual well-being.
What’s more, Christians have profound, millennia-tested insights for making that “public” space better; good ideas for the doing of justice and loving of kindness that Micah 6:8 recommends to those attempting to walk humbly with God. Hence the “theology” in “public theology.” That’s when Christians speak spiritually-derived wisdom about situations that impact world and church together.
Notice that’s different than attempting to convert people. It’s also distinct from the unabashedly partisan harangues that characterize too much current public religious speech. Rather, over the past two years, my colleagues and I explored how to think and speak about issues important to the common good (education, health care, criminal justice, business, poverty) with patience for complexity and comfort with nuance. And respect for disagreement.
Maybe that last lesson’s one we all need to honor better. Too many comments about public issues quickly turn political, then devolve into sarcasm, meanness and cynicism. By contrast, good public theology- whether done by a preacher in the pulpit, a co-worker around the watercooler, a neighbor at coffee with friends- values those the speaker disagrees with. It doesn’t mean s/he keeps silent about the truth our faith in Jesus helps reveal. But s/he should acknowledge the image of God in any potential adversary, and respond accordingly.
After all, the reason we speak anything about this stuff, again, is location. We are located- created!- in a particular place, with specific characteristics and people, and it’s that fullness to which we’re responsible. Not to some ideology or party, nor to a small group we feel most comfortable with or like best. It’s the entirety of our neighborhoods and society that Christians must care about, think about, pray about, act together to improve. For the God of us is the God of all, and nobody’s lacks an invitation to God’s heavenly banquet.
In other words, we’re called to engage the world as it is, not simply as we wish it could be. That includes perspectives we might not like, nor understand initially. Therefore, the counterintuitive first step of Christians attempting public theology is…listening. First, we listen for God’s wisdom in prayer and worship, scripture and Christian tradition. Then, we listen for holy insights in the dreams and convictions of neighbors. Ever “chatted” with someone so eager to speak you could tell they weren’t hearing at all? It’s absolutely obnoxious, amen?! Christians shouldn’t be like that, though we’ve done so before, myself most definitely included.
But now, I’m going to try to act different. The issues are too important, the wisdom we have too precious. And more importantly, the potential of anyone we encounter to shine God’s light to us and with us is always present. Perhaps if we modeled such ways of being and speaking more regularly- rather than blustering or staying silent- than the epidemic of snide, divisive speech that’s rending our social fabric would start healing. And with it, some of our world’s pain. A worthy dream, I’d say.
Grace and Peace,
Shane Read more!
You may not be familiar with that term, public theology. If it sounds like professional clergy jargon, well, you’re not wrong. Nevertheless, it’s a valuable idea. The point is that churches don’t exist for themselves alone. We operate in a location, a public context whose needs and failures, triumphs and hopes we bear some responsibility for. Sometimes, broader social issues obviously impact many of our people; the high costs of health care in an aging nation, the possibilities of school success for our children and grandchildren. Other times, our immediate self-interest in, say, prison or criminal justice reform isn’t entirely clear. Still, we have neighbors who that fraught topic effects significantly. We’re riveted by news about conflict in Baltimore and the Black Lives Matter movement. Besides, we serve a God who splendidly called us all Beloved Children, and for that reason alone, whatever improves, diminishes or threatens the social fabric ought make a difference to our spiritual well-being.
What’s more, Christians have profound, millennia-tested insights for making that “public” space better; good ideas for the doing of justice and loving of kindness that Micah 6:8 recommends to those attempting to walk humbly with God. Hence the “theology” in “public theology.” That’s when Christians speak spiritually-derived wisdom about situations that impact world and church together.
Notice that’s different than attempting to convert people. It’s also distinct from the unabashedly partisan harangues that characterize too much current public religious speech. Rather, over the past two years, my colleagues and I explored how to think and speak about issues important to the common good (education, health care, criminal justice, business, poverty) with patience for complexity and comfort with nuance. And respect for disagreement.
Maybe that last lesson’s one we all need to honor better. Too many comments about public issues quickly turn political, then devolve into sarcasm, meanness and cynicism. By contrast, good public theology- whether done by a preacher in the pulpit, a co-worker around the watercooler, a neighbor at coffee with friends- values those the speaker disagrees with. It doesn’t mean s/he keeps silent about the truth our faith in Jesus helps reveal. But s/he should acknowledge the image of God in any potential adversary, and respond accordingly.
After all, the reason we speak anything about this stuff, again, is location. We are located- created!- in a particular place, with specific characteristics and people, and it’s that fullness to which we’re responsible. Not to some ideology or party, nor to a small group we feel most comfortable with or like best. It’s the entirety of our neighborhoods and society that Christians must care about, think about, pray about, act together to improve. For the God of us is the God of all, and nobody’s lacks an invitation to God’s heavenly banquet.
In other words, we’re called to engage the world as it is, not simply as we wish it could be. That includes perspectives we might not like, nor understand initially. Therefore, the counterintuitive first step of Christians attempting public theology is…listening. First, we listen for God’s wisdom in prayer and worship, scripture and Christian tradition. Then, we listen for holy insights in the dreams and convictions of neighbors. Ever “chatted” with someone so eager to speak you could tell they weren’t hearing at all? It’s absolutely obnoxious, amen?! Christians shouldn’t be like that, though we’ve done so before, myself most definitely included.
But now, I’m going to try to act different. The issues are too important, the wisdom we have too precious. And more importantly, the potential of anyone we encounter to shine God’s light to us and with us is always present. Perhaps if we modeled such ways of being and speaking more regularly- rather than blustering or staying silent- than the epidemic of snide, divisive speech that’s rending our social fabric would start healing. And with it, some of our world’s pain. A worthy dream, I’d say.
Grace and Peace,
Shane Read more!
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