Pay attention. Listen. Try.

It's been 5 months since I've added anything to the blog - sheesh! It's been a week, from Peter Rollins to Chris Crass to the beautiful opportunity to speak to the congregation of First Presbyterian-Argenta on Sunday. I'm sure I will have much more to say on the first two, but for those who asked I've posted my sermon below. A few points:

1. Yes, I write everything out.
2. I write what I'm hearing, and I write it for a particular audience. So I'm preaching at me, really. And I'm speaking in the context of a particular congregation. I hope it translates.
3. It seems SO much longer when I try to fit it on the blog!
4. The scripture reading was from Exodus 3:1-15 - the burning bush.
5. I'd love your feedback. Is something I said unsettling? Anything you'd like to push back on? Anything you'd like to elaborate on?

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It’s a pleasure to be with you today.

When I showed up last Sunday morning, I met Lori – and I told her I wanted to get a feel for the rhythms of the service, since I’ve only been here a few times – and ½ of those were Easter bluegrass.  She assured me not to worry about getting it wrong – that 1^st Pres is a lot like that Island of Misfit Toys… an illustration I am WELL acquainted with.

I don’t know most of you, but I do know many of you (some who may or may not actually be in attendance today). I know some of your stories, and the history that you bring into the larger story of 1^st Presbyterian - Argenta.

Some of you come from toxic environments, where you were hurt or dismissed – it made it difficult for you to trust others, and to trust God.

Some of you come from communities you loved, that you poured your heart and soul into, only to see them crumble, or slowly dissolve away.

Some of you come from perfectly fine and seemingly healthy congregations, where you just never quite fit in.

And I’m told a rare few of you are actually dyed in the wool Presbyterians who always found your place in a church very similar to this one.

This week we get a picture of Moses the misfit - raised in a Hebrew home, adopted into Egyptian royalty, and never quite fit in either place. The scriptures jump right from Pharaoh’s daughter adopting & naming the child, to Moses entering adulthood:

“One day, after Moses had grown up, he went out to where his own people were and watched them at their hard labor. He saw an Egyptian beating a Hebrew, one of his own people. Looking this way and that and seeing no one, he killed the Egyptian and hid him in the sand. The next day he went out and saw two Hebrews fighting. He asked the one in the wrong, “Why are you hitting your fellow Hebrew?” The man said, “Who made you ruler and judge over us? Are you thinking of killing me as you killed the Egyptian?” Then Moses was afraid and thought, “What I did must have become known.” When Pharaoh heard of this, he tried to kill Moses, but Moses fled from Pharaoh and went to live in Midian, where he sat down by a well.”

That well proved serendipitous, as it led to Moses getting a job, meeting a girl, and finding a place to settle in. And he did settle in, as well as someone can who’s not quite Hebrew enough for the Hebrews, not quite Eqyptian enough for the Egyptians, and now finds himself a stranger in a strange land.

Scripture goes on to tell us, “During that long period, the king of Egypt died. The Israelites groaned in their slavery and cried out, and their cry for help because of their slavery went up to God. God heard their groaning and he remembered his covenant with Abraham, with Isaac and with Jacob. So God looked on the Israelites and was concerned about them.”

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Storytellers need a good arc. Obviously we are not told every mundane detail of Moses’s life. (Or the Israelites’… Or God’s…) I’m going to venture to guess that God hadn’t been oblivious to the Israelites suffering. God had long seen their suffering, long heard their cries, long held concern, and long remembered the covenant. But it makes for a better storyline if God suddenly heard & noticed – because it means the action is about to pick up.

One of my favorite scripture references is the advice in Thessalonians to “make it your ambition to lead a quiet life, to mind your own business and to work with your hands.”

I would have made an excellent Hobbit.

Of course, if you know the story of The Hobbit, or the Lord of the Rings trilogy, you know that sometimes even comfortable little Hobbits are called beyond the life of the Shire, called to an adventure, called to live beyond themselves.

As dear Sam reminds us in The Two Towers: “We shouldn't be here at all, if we'd known more about it before we started. But I suppose it's often that way. The brave things in the old tales and songs, Mr. Frodo: adventures, as I used to call them. I used to think that they were things the wonderful folk of the stories went out and looked for, because they wanted them, because they were exciting and life was a bit dull, a kind of a sport, as you might say. But that's not the way of it with the tales that really mattered, or the ones that stay in the mind. Folk seem to have been just landed in them, usually — their paths were laid that way, as you put it. But I expect they had lots of chances, like us, of turning back, only they didn't. And if they had, we shouldn't know, because they'd have been forgotten. We hear about those as just went on — and not all to a good end, mind you; at least not to what folk inside a story and not outside it call a good end. You know, coming home, and finding things all right, though not quite the same — like old Mr Bilbo. But those aren't always the best tales to hear, though they may be the best tales to get landed in! I wonder what sort of a tale we've fallen into?”

Moses certainly fell into a tale. He was out in the fields, leading a quiet life, minding his own business, working with his hands.

And then he saw a burning bush. A bush covered in flames, yet not consumed. He was drawn to the spectacle. And while he was paying attention, God spoke to him. God told him to take off his shoes on holy ground. God told him he had seen the oppression and heard the cries of his suffering people. God said he was here to rescue his people. And then God said:

“So now, go. I am sending you to Pharaoh to bring my people the Israelites out of Egypt.”

So now go.

I am sending YOU.

Come again, God…?

“But Moses said to God, “Who am I that I should go to Pharaoh and bring the Israelites out of Egypt?””

Who am I?

I’ve been there. I don’t fit in. I tried to help and I messed up. They didn’t even want my help. Nobody wants me there. Nobody will listen to me. I mean, what am I supposed to even say?!

^“God said to Moses, “I am who I am. This is what you are to say to the Israelites: ‘I am has sent me to you.’”

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I’ve got to be honest with you. I don’t really do conflict. Or change. Or chaos.

Did I mention the Hobbit thing…?

So there are many parts of the sweeping epic of scripture, of the sweeping epic of human history, that disturb me. The land wars and the pillaging and plundering. I could do without it.

Yet I’m drawn to the sociology in things like The Lord of the Rings or, say, The Walking Dead. I’m drawn to the parts of the story that show how life goes on despite all of the destruction, the hopelessness, the oppression, the sorrow and the loss. How we walk through it – together.

When I first started pondering the scripture for today, my mind drifted to burning bushes of hashtags. Those little symbolic words that tie together posts in our hyperconnected world, that help us stay current on events around the globe, to see the chaos and confusion and trauma that is occurring not only in our own communities, but in our neighboring communities, our neighboring countries, and to the uttermost parts of the world.

It can be incredibly overwhelming to get a picture of just how much turmoil and destruction, hate and misunderstanding, greed and apathy have a presence in our world.

Whether it’s a hashtag or a headline, these stories capture our attention. They call us to notice oppression. They call us to listen to the cries of the people. And knowing how and when and where to respond can be a great challenge.

We may throw up our hands and say it’s too much to deal with.

We may make the mistake of thinking we can fix it all, and in the process break down.

We may insist that we’ve already tried.

We may ask, but who am I to do anything about it?

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I want to insist to you today that being here, in this community, is a brave act.

Like I said at the beginning, I know many of your backstories.

You have all traveled here from different places and different experiences. You carry those places and those stories with you. Maybe you wore yourself out serving in every ministry under the sun. Maybe you were told you were not worthy to serve. Maybe you felt like the gifts and talents you had to offer weren’t valued, or maybe your time and energy were bled dry.

Putting yourself out there – offering yourself to community is brave.

Other people force us to face us.

To face our hurt. To face our brokenness. To face our own oppressive natures & destructiveness. To be honest about our doubts and fears and secret hopes.

Community forces us to face the reality that bad stuff happens. And there’s nothing we can do about it except sit with one another until we’re strong enough to stand, stand with one another until we’re energized enough to walk, walk with one another until we’re motivated to act.

Community also forces us out of our comfort zones.

You had a choice to say, “You know what? I’m tired. I tried. Been there, done that. I’m comfortable now. Please God don’t make me go back there.”

Yet something caught your attention. Something drew you near to this place.

In scripture, we hear the Creator’s promise to be with us as we dip our toes in once again to this experiment in becoming something bigger than ourselves. We learn from our stories, and we keep pressing forward, walking in the purpose that Jesus proclaimed in Nazareth:

“The Spirit of the Lord is on me,
because he has anointed me
to proclaim good news to the poor.
He has sent me to proclaim freedom for the prisoners
and recovery of sight for the blind,
to set the oppressed free,
to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor.”

The hashtags and the headlines may be overwhelming.

Life may be overwhelming.

But the Spirit of the Lord is on this Church, and you have the opportunity in this community and with your neighbors to be present to one another.

You have the opportunity to live out that notion of ministry described by John Howard Yoder where “there would be no one ungifted, no one not called, no one not empowered, and no one dominated.” I would add, no one unheard.

Moses observed the oppression of his people. He tried to help, and he failed. But when God told him to go back and try again, he gave it another effort with God’s presence.

You are God’s presence for one another. You are the hands and feet that care for the poor, the prisoners, the blind and the oppressed. You are the mouths that proclaim the Lord’s favor.

And the more that we are brave enough to give it another go, to plant some seeds, and build some relationships, to break down some barriers, and listen deep, to speak out against oppression, and speak up for one another, the more you practice resurrection on earth as it is in heaven.

May we pay attention to the signs around us.

May we listen to the Spirit speaking to us.

May we have the courage to try, try again.

What do you know?

I participate in an online (and sometimes in person) community known as Emergent Village. EV has gone through several configurations over the year, but basically it is a community in which to have conversations about Christianity in a postmodern context – the practice, exploration and even rejection of the faith.

Anyone who has been a part of Emergent Village knows that it has its share of conflict and frustrations because of all the different personalities and intentions that gather at the table.

As an experimental practice to try to open up a space for conversation where people are coming at scripture from different backgrounds (and may be moving in different directions with their faith), we are trying to engage scripture passages from a lectionary with a few “simple” questions:

1) What encourages you about this passage? (gives you hope, inspires you to act, makes you feel peace or joy, etc.)

2) What disturbs you about this passage? (frustrates or confuses you, makes you angry or sad, etc.)

3) What questions does this passage raise? What would you like to explore more?

That’s it. We want to practice reading scripture as a community, in a way that is not mining for rules or feigning certainty, but rather as an honest reading where we feel safe to be vulnerable. We want to say what makes us angry, what doesn’t seem to add up. We want to say what brings us joy and fills us with hope. We want to express our questions and maybe even explore them more together.

This may be a practice you want to try in your own scripture reading or in your local community. I hope that it can encourage and enrich you, particularly if scripture has become something you avoid out of expectations that have been placed on you. 

Listen Up, Y'all!

If we are going to be in community with one another, whatever form that takes, we have to learn to listen to one another.

If we are going to grow, to take deeply honest looks at our faults, to repent and turn in a healthy direction, we have to be willing to hear one another.

If I ever hope to become a wise elder, I have to first be wise enough to slow down, to listen, to hear, to process… these things precede all understanding.

Questions are healthy. Not having the answers is ok. Exploring the mystery together is growth. Listening together to how the spirit is moving, challenging, illuminating – this is an essential practice of the body of Christ.

When we fail to listen to those who feel their voices are being silenced, we dismiss their experience and receive their challenge as a something negative to be sneered at, rather than something valid and valuable from which we can grow.

“This is a common response to those of us who speak from the margins of evangelical Christianity about issues around gender, race, and sexuality, and it’s an effective one because it appeals to something most of us value deeply: Christian unity… far too often, the “stop-being-so-divisive” line is used by those in power to diffuse, or even silence, difficult conversations about why things might need to change… I don’t like being divisive. Believe me. But I don’t like being silenced either.”
~ Rachel Held Evans, “On Being ‘Divisive’…”

When we fail to listen to those who feel their voices are being silenced, we miss out on the beauty, honesty and healing that can come when we release our tight grip of control, and step out into the risky unknown of growth and change.

"To me, the marginalized are those who, for all kinds of different reasons, are on the border or edge of whatever groups or systems they are part of. They are not in the center where the power and resources flow, but instead are in the white blank space that lingers on each side of the center… So much beauty emerges from the margins, and I get to see it almost every day. Truth so pure that it is like gold. Beauty so glorious that it can’t be matched. Honesty so raw that it pierces souls. Healing so deep that it transforms the most hardened heart.”
~ Kathy Escobar, “Truth from the Margins”

Adam McHugh, who has an upcoming book on listening, recently tweeted, “We are, in large part, a result of the voices we choose to listen to. Pick good and diverse voices.” And also, “If the people with power in your community do not practice listening, odds are no one else will either.”

Who am I choosing to listen to?

How am I practicing listening?

Am I willing to learn from the voices that are speaking into my life?

Spring: part 5 ~ released

Photo Credit: St. Scholastica Monastery

(…continued from yesterday.)

Entering the labyrinth path, I proceeded at a slow and steady pace, one foot in front of the other, between smooth stones and crunching dried pine needles. I started by tapping each finger one at a time on my leg, repeating the name of the person whose initial was on that fingertip, presenting them before the father.

Pacing the rhythm to my steps, I returned to the first finger and continued winding patiently through the path as I recounted the words that were spoken, the wounds that were cut, the actions that were taken.

Surprisingly, there was no fear, no anxiousness, no sorrow. The bitterness, anger, wounds and pride, indeed, had no power over me. God is greater than my heart, and he knew I was ready.

I repeated each name again, slowly, methodically, melodiously. Then I recited the name of each person’s spouse and, because they are one flesh, I went back through my fingers naming the person and their spouse together.

Once everything was out there, I began to pray forgiveness over each name:
“Lord, I surrender this person to you.
I surrender my need to change what happened,
I surrender my desire to control their actions,
I receive the responsibility to press on toward the goal, to follow your path.”

I lifted each name some more and, as I approached the center, I began rubbing each initial off my fingertips until they were no longer visible. I entered the center of the labyrinth, and I knelt at the feet of the father. One by one, I laid yellow wildflowers I had been carrying in my right hand, one for each person, at his feet, as well. I stood and opened my arms to his spirit. I silently recited several times, “You will go out with joy and be led forth in peace, the mountains and hills will burst forth in song.”

I took my pen and, where I had removed the initials, I inscribed the word “LOOSE” across my fingertips, and drew an open heart on my palm. I circled back out of the labyrinth, reciting scripture and singing hymns of praise, realizing the power to forgive, the awe-inspiring responsibility of forgiveness, comes not from my knowing how to release control, but through leaning on the grace and strength of Christ, my savior.

In the few days that have followed that encounter, it is not as if all memories have been replaced by rainbows and butterflies, but I can sense a change in my spirit. I’m less lethargic, my creative juices are flowing, and I haven’t been late for work all week (hey, that's something). I believe our father longs to release us from the burdens we willingly heap upon ourselves, to bring us fully into the freedom of his presence. If God created us, he knows our faults and our fears, and he formed our innermost being. As the psalmist says, he has searched our hearts, he knows us inside and out, we are fearfully and wonderfully made, wonderful works of his hands.

God knows our anxious thoughts, and yet he calls us to be anxious for nothing, to seek him first and trust him to take care of the rest.

Let us commit our spirits into his hands, whether they are spirits of condemnation, fear, or anxiety. Let us allow him to mold and transform them into spirits of joy, peace and grace. May we learn to forgive as we have been forgiven. May we learn to extend grace as we have received grace. May we grow in the grace and knowledge of our Lord.

Spring: part 4 ~ initiated

Photo Credit: St. Scholastica Monastery

I wasn’t the one who did wrong.

I was hurt deeply, you see, so I deserved to feel this way.

And I planned to forgive them, but I didn’t know how. One and maybe I could have handled it. But not when each person’s injury was piled on top of the injuries that had come before. I’m not that strong.

I had books on my shelves that held pieces to the puzzle of forgiving, but I wasn’t quite ready to read them, certainly not to apply them. It wasn’t just the pain, it was the life changes I was forced to make because of each decision, each infliction, that was beyond my control.

But the Lord, he is a tricky thing.

I signed up for the prayer retreat because I love prayer. I love the conversation with my God. I love abiding in his presence, and listening and sharing. And I especially enjoy opportunities to get away to places of beauty and quiet, where I am free to give God my undivided attention.

Arriving at the retreat center, I was filled with joy. Entering the first session, I was filled with calm.

And then the invitation, to go around the room, to make introduction, and to answer the questions: Why are you here? What question will you take to God as you walk the labyrinth? What are you hoping to hear from him? What are you hoping to release?

Like a mother who has taken her child to the doctor on promise of ice cream (Oh, sure. There will be ice cream. But first, let’s go ahead and get these shots out of the way…), the element of surprise, no time to get anxious, just a quick pinch and then all will be well. And I’ll be here with you, holding your hand.

“It’s time,” God said.

“I know,” I replied.

And I did know, because the anxiousness was gone and his peace was present. Why was I there? What did I have to release? My firm grasp on a spirit of condemnation. I wanted to forgive, and I wanted to give up my need to control. I wanted to allow Christ to heal my hurt.

I really should have seen it coming. If I had brought my laptop, I could have looked back at the posts of the previous week and seen that God was leading me to this point. It’s not that I didn’t think I would get to a place of forgiveness, but I figured it would be down the road, after I had figured it all out and knew all the right words, and had sufficiently fortified myself against future attacks. In other words, I would forgive once I had regained control.

Saturday afternoon, after spending the morning reading scripture and resting, I wrote “loose” on my left wrist in thick black ink, for that was my intention. On each finger of my left hand, I inscribed the initial of someone whose debts I needed to forgive, whose actions I needed to release, whose sins I needed to loose. I approached the labyrinth, but I dared not enter. It wasn’t that I thought it was going to be a magical walk, but I knew it would be a powerful one. The path was designed so that I could simply follow, as I conversed with the creator of the universe. No big deal, right?

I circled once around the perimeter of the path, repeating “Whatever you bind on earth will be bound in heaven; whatever you loose on earth will be loosed in heaven.”

And again, repeating “Whosoever you forgive, their sins will be forgiven; whosoever you do not forgive, their sins will not be forgiven.”

A third time, “Forgive, as you have been forgiven.“

Then, because I still did not feel ready (and because I had made reference to the film The Labyrinth the previous day), I circled, repeating to the evil one “You. Have. No. Power. Over. Me.”

And to his fruit, I proclaimed (circling once for each):
“Bitterness has no power over me.”
“Anger has no power over me.”
“My wounds have no power over me.”
“Pride has no power over me.”

The last circle before entering the labyrinth walk was “God is greater than my heart, and he knows everything.”

He knows how I was hurt. He also knows what was going on in the hearts and lives of those I have been unable to forgive. He knows how he will redeem every person and every situation.

I stood at the entrance to the path, took a deep breath, said a prayer for peace and began my pilgrimage.

(to be continued tomorrow…)

Spring: part 3 ~ constrained

excerpts from Madeleine L'Engle's The Irrational Season:

It is difficult to bless and not to curse when one's control of a situation is taken away.

It is only when I am not afraid to recognize my own brokenness, to say, "Turn us again, Lord God of hosts, cause thy face to shine and we shall be whole" - that the broken bones may begin to heal, and to rejoice. Without this phos hilaron, this joyous light, we fight against our impotence, in our spiritual lives, our intellectual lives, a large portion of our physical lives.

But in the small events of daily living, we are given the grace to condition our responses to frustrations... If our usual response to an annoying situation is a curse, we're likely to meet emergencies with a curse. In the little events of daily living we have the opportunity to condition our reflexes, which are built up out of ordinary things. And we learn to bless first of all by being blessed. My reflexes of blessing have been conditioned by my parents, my husband, my children, my friends.

Blessing is an attitude toward all of life, transcending and moving beyond words. When family and friends gather around the table to break bread together, this is a blessing. When we harden our hearts against anyone, this is a cursing. Sometimes a person, or a group of people, do or say something so terrible that we can neither bless nor curse. They are anathema. We put them outside the city walls, not out of revenge, not out of hate, but because they have gone beyond anything we fragile human beings can cope with. So we say, Here, God, I'm Sorry. This is more than I can handle. Please take care of it. Your ways are not our ways. You know what to do. Please.

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I was beyond any response of either blessing or cursing. But I knew that I couldn't go home until I had been washed clean of the hate... Feeling sick and cold I called Timothy and walked and walked... My dog knew that something had upset me. He kept close as we walked, instead of tearing off in great loops. We kept walking until I had come to the point where I could simply turn over to God whoever had [hurt me]. This person was beyond my puny human ability to understand. I could not add to the curse by cursing. But I did not know how to bless.

Reconcilable Differences

on Binding and Loosing from John Howard Yoder's Body Politics:

Moral discernment and forgiveness condition and enable one another in complex ways. Admonition presupposes prior discernment; otherwise the criteria for admonition would not be common to both parties. Conversation with reconciling intent is the most powerful way for a community to discover when the rules they have been applying are inadequate, so that they may be modified. Asking whether there has really been an offense helps determine which differences need to be resolved by coming to unanimity by means of dialogue and forgiveness and which call for an agreement to differ. Having experienced forgiveness together enables a community to deliberate in an otherwise inacessible mode of mutual trust...

Taking seriously this apostolic witness would seem to put us at the mercy of a number of ecclesiastical scarecrows. It gives more authority to the church than does Rome, trusts more to the Holy Spirit than does Pentecostalism, has more respect for the individual than does liberal humanism, makes moral standards more binding than did Puritanism, and is more open to the new situation than was what some called "the new morality" a quarter-century ago. If practiced, it would radically restructure the life of churches...

...We have here a fundamental anthropological insight into the relationship of conflict and solidarity. To be human is to have differences; to be human wholesomely is to process those differences, not by building up conflicting power claims but by reconciling dialogue. Conflict is socially useful; it forces us to attend to new data from new perspectives. It is useful in interpersonal process; by processing conflict, one learns skills, awareness, trust, and hope. Conflict is useful in intrapersonal dynamics, protecting our concern about guilt and acceptance from being directed inwardly only on our own feelings. The therapy for guilt is forgiveness; the source of self-esteem is another person who takes seriously my restoration to community.

The Christian community has thereby been endowed with the wherewithal for ongoing moral discernment in the face of questions which could not conceivably have been answered substantially ahead of time. Just as a wisely written constitution for an institution or government provides procedures for amendment and for decision making rather than immutable prescriptions, so the Christian community is equipped not with a code but with decision-making potential.