Holy Communion and Being a Dad

I can't say that growing up the church was the most exciting experience of my childhood. I remember spreading out and falling asleep on the pews. Every word coming out of the preacher's mouth was like a sweet lullaby singing me to sleep.

Most kids would go back to children's church but not me! My parents sure did try with little success. I was shy and preferred to sleep on the pew than to be away from my parents. I think my mom tried to leave me at VBS one summer. That lasted for no more than a day. 

Yet the experience of taking communion has to be the most vivid image of the church. I remember kneeling at the altar taking the wafer and the tiny cup of grape juice. I was also aware that this wasn't an every Sunday experience it was every so often experience. 

This ritual that I remember as a child has become central to my understanding of our worship life together and the type of worship life I long for my children to experience outside of anything else.

I know many pastors that would love to move their church in the direction of receiving the sacrament of Holy Communion more often. 

Although most churches might not acknowledge this... that is why you have someone who is ordained/licensed all the other stuff laity can do. You have them to administer the sacraments. 

Most people will say that it "lacks" meaning when it is taken more often. That answer is flawed in and of itself because the meaning isn't derived from us but from God. Or that it makes the service longer. 

There is a powerful, convicting revelation to this reflection to Holy Communion more often... that it isn't really about God but more so about our own preference. 

Yet what the sacrament does for us is draws our story into God's story. We are woven into this beautiful narrative of God, "when our love failed... your love remained steadfast..." We recognize our own limits and frailty and ask God's spirit to "pour out upon these gifts of bread and wine and make them be FOR us the body and blood of Jesus Christ so that we might be for the world the body of Christ redeemed by his blood." 

Yet the convincing factor for me isn't theology, tradition, or even scripture. 

It is my daughter and son. 

Nothing enlivens me more than to see Laurel cup her hands to receive this beautiful offering from God to her. His life. And to be three years old and to know that she dips and shares in the suffering and sacrifice of God. 

No matter where we are whether in a church space or in someone's backyard she is enlivened by this ritual and sacrament. Hands cupped and ready to receive. 

My hope and dream are to create a church around the Eucharist table. Everything we do as a community I want it to lead back to the Eucharist table. Because I have witnessed God's goodness in my own child and I dream for that same worship experience for others. 

Where is your church at?

One of the first questions that come up in conversations when meeting new people is the "what do you do?" question. Anyone who is a pastor knows that when answering this question a myriad of responses will now occur. Some good and some not so good.

We get responses like we haven't been to church in years or we get to hear about the large, happening church that everyone is going to. Or maybe it is the opposite. The word pastor to some is a complete turn-off. It just might conjure images of judgment and condemnation. The label pastor might come off as someone who is trying to instill religion in any and everyone.

Now I am not only a pastor. I am now a church planter, which adds another layer of complexities to a conversation.

I get this line all the time, "Where is your church at?" Wait? Am I supposed to have an answer for this? I officially started this work yesterday?!?! Should I know the location? Should I make something up? And if so... would that make the church legitimate.

And most of all... why does this question irk me so much?

The church has become synonymous with the institutionalized building. A structure somewhere that people attend once a week if that and who give money to maintain.

A building that often times occupies land tax-free that a local business could utilize and add revenue to the city.

Yet the church that is in my dreams... that wakes me up in the middle of the night is not a building.
It is everywhere I go.

I imagine people at the park gathering around a picnic table to feast and celebrate the Eucharist. Or the coffee shop being transformed for a moment into a worship space where we feast over each other's stories and celebrate the story that breathes life into our story.

Where is the church at? It is here. Right now. In this place. It is not something I create but that God is creating, forming, breathing life into the community.

I was delayed...

This past week I have been packing up my office and reminiscing about the last few years (and why I keep so many books that I will never ever read again...).

Last year one of the churches made me a collage of my ordination. There were pictures of me being ordained and pictures with my family after the service. It was a beautiful gift.

The year prior to being ordained was a difficult year because I was delayed. I knew it after my ordination interview before they even told me. At the end of the interview, I got the impression that there was going to be some things that I needed to work on prior to being ordained. It was pretty clear to me that this wasn't my year.

I held myself together in the interview... on my way to the car I passed a friend who just had his interview. He said his interview went great. I lied about mine and said mine did too. Got in the car and my stomach sank.

Some might have cried injustice. But I went right to shame.

"Someone has finally figured you out... you aren't cut out for this work..."

"Just give up... throw in the towel..."

I began thinking about how I was going to tell my church. Would they even care? What were the people who didn't like me going to think? "We knew this guy wasn't cut out for church work..."

And then I thought about my one-year-old daughter.

"Wow! What kind of father are you for her..." What was she going to think about this delay?

Then trying to digest all these emotions in the coming weeks... I felt like I no longer existed to those in my cohort that were getting ordained that year... I had disappeared... they wouldn't look at me... talk to me... I was delayed...

The root of shame is to destroy our dignity. I was trying hard to keep my head above water and a smile on my face.

This collage of pictures became a beacon of hope for me. It reminded me that the voice in my head wasn't telling me the truth.

And the greatest gift of all is that in one of these photos was a picture of my one-month-old son. Grant it he didn't sleep the entire annual conference both me and my wife were stressed the entire time! But none the less not just my daughter was present that day but my son was there too.

There is definitely a lot of feelings that go with being delayed from ordination. There are also a lot of stigmas that keep people like me in the shadows like I carry the disease of being delayed.

Sometimes I would stay up late at night and type into google, "blog delayed united methodist ordination..." and blogs would come up about how people were delayed in the process and how they were grateful. I was somewhat cynical about their experience but also looking and searching for some hope.

And now here I am full of gratitude because of how the journey has shaped me and how I might encourage and lift up those that experience the same things I did.

Or that this blog might come up late one night when someone like me is looking for some hope....

She is shy...

This is what people say when my three-year-old daughter tucks her head into her chest and hides behind my legs. It is the exact same thing people said of me when I was her age. I have been wondering over the past few weeks what it might mean to change my language around shyness.

I understand why people say it and I also feel the need to say these words to somebody to make up for my daughter not accepting automatically every person she meets. It sometimes feels as if she has a secret disease that everyone knows about and feels the need to point it out, "Oh, she is shy".

And yet the most devastating thing about shyness is that people think it means that she doesn't want to play or be involved. Or that they aren't taking in their environment or thinking intently about the people they are around. But the truth is that often times at the end of the day she will tell about how much fun she had playing with her friends or about a friend of mine that she met. Maybe from the surface, she appeared disengaged and fearful, but she unlike others was deeply connected and present.

A couple of weeks ago we went to Disney World and we got a fast pass to see Cinderella (I was thrilled...). She wasn't very excited about seeing Cinderella and much more interested in Minnie Mouse. She did what she normally does tucks her head into her chest, frowns, and hides behind mom.

I am thinking let's hurry this up. Just get the picture and let's go. I couldn't take it! There is a line of people waiting who want to see Cinderella.

And then Cinderella steps in and tell us, "Let her take her time. We don't need to rush." Really... seems to be a lot of people in line...

These words were "magic" no pun intended. Because maybe this is what I wish people would say to her. Maybe these are the words I wish someone would have said to my parents when I was a kid.

After you turn 65 you can do whatever you want... (no offense)

Traditionalist/Silent generation (born prior to 1946) and baby boomers spend a lot of time complaining about millennials. They label millennials with a variety of stereotypes: lazy, entitled, unmanageable, selfish, etc,. The majority make up of those who attend United Methodist churches are people in their 50s and 60s while the millennial generation continues to decline.

And yet the baby boomers generation continues to salivate for "millennials" to show up, "we want more young people!"

Yet there is a deadly cancer that has infected most UM churches. It is none other than entitlement. To attract a new generation means the willingness to change. Yet the mantra of the baby boomer generation is that I can do what I want when I want it. I don't care what others think. I don't care whose feelings I hurt. In fact, I don't really care what Jesus thinks. He is just a mask I keep so I can be around friends. 

I try to see in the heart of people their best intentions. And maybe I thought I could just look away from this baby boomer problem.  

The reason millennials don't want to go to your church is that surprisingly they don't want a vision that is all about me. They want a vision that brings about hope in the midst of disparity. And they can see right through the baby boomers. They can see right through the entitlement. They want a vision that matters and that they can feel a part of. 

If baby boomers want more young people to come to their church. I have a solution. It is easy. Abandon the mantra of I can do what I want because I have earned it. Throw it away. Make it into a pretty wreath. Burn it in a fire. I don't care. Adopt a mantra that makes a difference and brings about hope to communities. Then... just then... maybe... millennials will begin to show up. 

the walk of shame

For some naivety works in their favor. What they don't know... works in their favor. Not for me.

When I was 16 years old me and my friends would go volunteer at a children's ministry in the projects of Crestview, Florida. There would be about 10 kid each week.

Back then I would get grandiose ministry ideas. And I began to think what if I started my own children's ministry in white, middle-class suburbia. I imagined hundreds of kids coming over to my house for the children's ministry. I imagined local church leaders wanting my expertise, "HOW DID YOU DO IT?"

In writing this I feel for myself. I think poor guy.

Ministry name... check.
Flyers... check.
Cards... check.

Next up was to hand out the flyers to the neighborhood. I was going to go door to door.

I am pretty sure I prayed. I was anxious. I didn't want to do it. But God was calling me to do it. I think.

I got to the first door. Introduced myself. Probably stuttering in a high pitch voice, "I am starting a ministry next door... send your children... that don't  know me... over to my house... for a bible lesson..."

I like any parent would say, "Thanks but no thanks...I teach my kids the Bible." That is what the person said. My heart sank. I was rejected at the first house. I couldn't dare go to the next house.

I took the walk of shame. I just went home. Through away the flyers.

I felt embarrassed. Shamed. Stupid. I should have known.

Now I am getting ready to start a church. Start a church! I don't have any flyers... yet. No name... yet. But what I do have is this voice that keeps me reminding me of the time I failed. The time I gave up that stupid idea. This voice tells me I can't do it. It tells me to take a safer route.

AMEN

I am keenly aware of who I am as a pastor. I feel like I have a good read on helping people on their journey to follow Christ. But I wasn't so sure how this whole pastor thing would pan out with being a parent. And I am still not sure. 

How was I going to teach my daughter to pray? How was she going to learn about God? 

Unlike most people sitting in the pews, I knew that my kids will most likely shine a huge spot lite on me. Not as a pastor but as a father. They more than anyone will seek in one way or another to mimic their parents. 

And then one day it happened. We were reading at night and I just asked my daughter if she would like to pray. She puts her hands together. What? I didn't teach you that... and not necessary but whatever... and bows her head. 

And we practice praying and giving thanks for others. Simple words that she repeats after me. And then we said the Lord's prayer. Repeating my lines in jibberish as if she knows the "song" already. 

And then at the end with a very loud, passionate AMEN. What a word to end the day with... so be it... a beautiful exhale for all the great things God has done. 

I couldn't be a more proud parent. Now, most Sunday's my daughter doesn't care about the so-called barrier between the pastor and the church. She comes right up and grabs my legs. People asked me if I am distracted. How could I be?

I so grateful that I don't have to stand all alone up here. Even more, I have my daughter to stand with me. 

In fact... that is what discipleship is... it is just walking together. Figuring this whole life thing out. 

And all along the journey continuing to embrace the AMENs.