Grace and different take on Judas Iscariot

I don't know why but recently I have been thinking about Judas Iscariot. He like Thomas the doubter carries a title that won't go away Judas the betrayer.

We tell his story like this. Judas betrayed Jesus for 30 pieces of silver, then used that money to buy a field, and then killed himself.

We don't cry over his death. He had it comin'. He betrayed Jesus because he was greedy.

He was a sell-out. And his present and future community would never forgive him for the destruction his greed caused.

Yet this is just one side of the story. I was surprised to read Matthew 27 and realize that Judas actually felt very deep remorse and returned the money.

He gave the money back quite possibly because he didn't realize the destruction his actions would cause. Haven't we at some point our lives made very bad decisions that have ended with devastating outcomes and have deeply hurt others. just like us my wonders are that Judas didn't realize that Jesus would be killed for his actions.

There is no debate over the end of Judas' life. Filled with such deep remorse and banished from his community... his only option in this life... was to kill himself.

For many good Christians, our attitude is that he had it comin'. Our grace is limited.

Jesus' response to Judas knowing the fullness of what his decision would lead to his impending death...didn't banish Judas from the table but invited him closer and offered him the cup of life.

Maybe the life and actions of Jesus are reminders that those who have made destructive decisions that have damaged their life and others shouldn't be banished from the table but should be invited to come, sit, and feast at the table.

We desperately need to hear this in a society that continues to see suicide rates rise and rise.

We all have family members or we are selves who have made bad decisions. Maybe they/we were/are addicts who have destroyed our/their life and our/their relationship with others.

Or maybe there are those that we have banished from our community because they don't see nor understand the world from our perspective.

Someone asked me today who is this church for that you are starting. Well... Judas. The church was his salvation... and it was nowhere to be found. We have for generations been okay with this story...  but I hope this table that we gathering people around will be a table where people can share the pain and find healing... and their story doesn't have to end... the way so many stories have ended.

can we be friends?

There are moments of my childhood that I recall with such clarity as if they were yesterday.

One of those moments was being in elementary school trying to navigate making friends. Especially navigating who your best friends were. So in first grade, I was in hot pursuit of a best friend. Like in most first grade elementary classes there were bathroom breaks. Everyone lines up and goes to the bathroom.

I remember standing in the line of boys in the bathroom next to my friend and as we waited I asked him if he would be my best friend. Why the bathroom I don't know? Maybe it just seemed like the right time to ask? He said that I couldn't be his best friend. Dreams dashed. Someone had already taken that place. But I could be number two. I guess that would be okay.


I realized then and I still do now in my thirties my deep need for friendship. My deep need to belong.

Somewhere in our culture, something has gotten skewed about friendship. We are now under the impression that friendship comes at the click of a button. The term Facebook friend means something quite different than the word friend.

We live under the idea consciously or unconsciously that friendships come at a click of a button. But they really don't. Friendships, I am learning at this stage of my life, come at a cost and a high cost at that.

I am living into and accepting the reality that friendships aren't fast but instead take time to develop. Sure there are friendships that just naturally blossom organically but I think most friendships especially those formed in adulthood don't start out that way. It is hard to know someone over just spending a few moments with them. Instead of getting to know people now... we do background checks. We check people's statuses, political affiliations, posts, blogs... and just then we might enter this space called friendship.

I am learning that friendships take sacrifice. The willingness to stop the background check and enter into the unknown territory of making a friend. It also means I have to prioritize them in my life. They don't just happen. My wife and I often commiserate with one another as we try to schedule lunches, dinners, phone calls with friends or constituents that could be friends. We open up our calendars sacrifice evenings with the family and to no avail, it never works. Either phone calls are dropped, emails unreturned or someone isn't willing to drop something for the sake of being a friend. And parents are the worst. I love being a parent but if I have learned anything from these past few years... I need and want friends!

They take a steadfast commitment. Like I said friendships take time to develop. Knowing this means that everyone has to be committed to this long term commitment to building friendships and community. If we are ever to really "know" one another we have to take the time to spend with one another. Which means we have to abandon our stereotypes and assumptions of each other. Accept that everyone we are friends with is different. Meaning they live life differently. They parent differently. And to accept that is okay. And in fact, it is great that not everyone is like me. I would be a poor friend to myself!

All the while I am entering into this phase of my life of intentionally making friends I am planting a church. Yet I am trying not to even think about the church part. Friendship is what it is all about... and friends can come together to mutually support one another, affirm one another, empower one another. And to me, that is what church is and should be...

Plants have always been a great image for stuff like this. I am the worst at propagating a plant (rooting it from a cut of another plant). Usually what happens is that the plant I am trying to propagate dies. Usually, it is under my watchful daily eye. But a few months ago I took a couple gardenia flowers placed them on the counter in some water. And I forgot about them. Occasionally I changed the water. And three months later there were roots forming on each of the cuts of plants. Before I knew it I had three more gardenia plants to bloom in the garden.

This is what I am doing... I am making friends. And in making friends we are growing a garden without even knowing it. And this garden that just might sustain and nourish our community. Or in other words church.

kickball and never feeling good enough

For the past few months, I have been doing some soul work. Exploring ways that I might be a better spouse, parent, son, and leader... a better human being. Yet to do this has meant to dive into the murky waters of my childhood. I am discovering that to be a better human being means that I have to be willing to face the darkness that exists within me.

Just recently I found a book "Reboot: Leadership and the Art of Growing Up" by Jerry Colonna that recognizes that being a good leader means being aware and connected to who we are as a human being. Being aware of the unconscious darkness that lurks underneath who we are. 

I think about some of the simple moments of my childhood that had a profound impact on me.  One of those moments was playing kickball in elementary school and the utter terror of standing in line while team captains picked players for their team. I was always near last to be picked. And I always would tell myself why I was last, "you aren't any good, you aren't athletic enough, you made a mistake in the last game..." And when we did play and I missed catching the ball... I would yet again tell myself these things... 

And I still struggle with this very same voice in my head that tells me I am not good enough. But I have always compensated. Faked my way. Pretended. And crossed my finger no one found out. 

We often create bad behaviors that silence our demons so we don't have to face them. We make huge sacrifices as not rouse our demons. As long as my demons stay quiet I am okay. So the temptation is not to I take risks. 

Colonna says, "We forge our truest identity by putting our heads into the mouths of the scariest demons, the realities of our lives."

Or as Carl Jung states that if we bring the unconscious to lite we will change our fate. I don't have to live with this lurking feeling "of never measuring up" I can instead choose the path for which our baptism makes real in all of us. 

Relinquish the shame that holds us captive. 

We are children loved, cherished, and called by God. We no longer have to measure up or be good enough or feel the need to change who we are to please others. 

For many, I think this type of soul work makes people uncomfortable. In an age where we share any thought... has really become let's talk about everything but the demons that lurk behind the surface of us. 

This journey has made me more empathetic and compassionate especially towards people that I have been difficult to get along with. I envision them as a child at their metaphorical kickball game or living in the household for which they came. What demons have they spent their whole life trying to hide? Maybe they were abused... mistreated... ignored. Maybe they weren't loved and cared for well. 

Maybe they never felt like they were truly human and deserving of love and compensated for it in all the wrong ways. 

Or I think about my mom. My mom's dad died in a tragic car accident when she was five years old. I think of the thousands (a conservative number) of photos and moments that I have had just in the past three years with my daughter. I can't imagine the type of devastation that does to one's soul to lose your father at such a young age. And then the questions and what-ifs you live with for the rest of your life. All the while trying the best you can to raise your family.

So I am trying to do my soul-work. Everyone has a story or stories they could tell that would make all of us cry for one another because we just didn't know. So I am trying to tell myself on this complicated journey called life that I am of worth and value regardless if I am picked first or last on the kickball. And God celebrates me regardless of whether I kick a home run or not. 

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. 

...still want to be the cool kid...

The desire to be the popular one that everyone talks about never goes away. "Have you seen so and so's exploding ministry?"

Colleagues drop names and kiss ass.

We all want to be "that guy." And I pretend that I don't want to be that guy... but I want to be the cool kid. Secretly I want to be the one everyone talks about... and I hate this part of myself.

So often the work of clergy go unrecognized not just by parishioners but by the high leadership of the church. We save face and always try to make our lives and ministry look shiny and spectacular. We throw around people like they are just another number. So and so took a church from 50 to 200 people.

And I get caught up in this all the time. It is probably why I get so depressed when I spend time around other clergies. Because I am reminded of my own desire to be the cool kid. And maybe my cool kid friends on the other side have given up the fight. They have sought the accolades and it worked.

"In the Name of Jesus" by Henri Nouwen is one of those books that I read over and over again. He spends a lot of time talking about the upward climb that we all do including clergy. We seek our affirmation in people and things and not in the love of God. Even Jesus was susceptible to this temptation as well. In Christ, we recognize that our lives are not built upon accolades but all the sustaining love of Christ. I don't need anything more. I don't need to nor ever will need to be the cool kid.

Just this past evening I had the privilege to introduce my congregation to the work of Henri Nouwen and to his concept of the wounded healer. We talked about how our wounds make us more sensitive and caring towards others. And our wounds that can be so painful at a point in our lives can be a healing balm for others later in our journey.

After the bible study, a gentleman came up to me.... and got close. He said, "You know... I never believed I was a child of God my whole life until... you told me that I was. You are my wounded healer..."

For me, it was a powerful affirmation that I am doing exactly what I need to be doing. Other kids can be cool...

A Coke and a Pack of Nabs

A few weeks ago I sat with one of my favorite parishioners at his home. We didn't immediately hit off when I first arrived at the church. I didn't get him and he didn't get me. Some people are okay to reside in this tension with no resolution. But for the both of us, I think we wanted to be friends but couldn't find the road to get there.

 I would come home from a church event and my wife would ask me how it went. I'd say the church event went great but I don't think so and so likes me and I can't figure it out.

This person had a great relationship with everyone in the community but not with me his pastor. I couldn't figure this out.

Then one day there was a knock on my office door. And it was him. I was nervous and surprised. I invited to come in and sit down. He asked me if I wanted to drink a coke and eat a pack of nabs (at 10am in the morning). The immediate answer was probably not right now... but my real answer was yes lets feast and drink!

At that moment the nabs and coke became our bread and wine blessed by God. We celebrated that we actually are two people that can get along very well. We could actually be friends. We spent a few minutes together and then he went off on his day. I actually didn't think much of that moment. There would be many more knocks on my door. He would often times remark... if those people who didn't like you... would come and do what I did... they would know how real and kind you are...

As we sat together in his living room talking. He told me with a tear running down his face. That day he knocked on my door with nabs and a coke changed him. Not only did that day change him... it changed me.

We have to get rid of the liturgy... young people don't want it

As I was getting ready to leave after a long Easter morning of services I walked to my car with one of my parishioners. He was telling me that they went to a non-denominational church early in the morning. I could see the excitement in his face about this new experience in worship. He loved the upbeat lively music. He loved that the pastor preached for a long time (40 minutes). And then to top it all off... the service was simple. Sing, preach, sing, go home... Botta bing Botta boom!  And this is the type of rhythm we should adopt in our church... away with the rhythm we feel God has called us to practice. 

Grant it... I am tired... I am ready to go home... and he just pushed my liturgy button! 

I had a lot of questions about his experience. My first thought was that our worship experience is no longer shaped God but by people. 

It is about what we want... what makes us feel good... and this is on both sides of the so-called contemporary vs. traditional stupid debate. 

Or we see what other churches are doing that are working or that we like... we get jealous... and then we have to do whatever that thing is. 

There is a rhyme to the reason. We worship the way we do for a reason. I don't think the problem is with the liturgy... it is with us. 

We have lost the rhythm. God hasn't... we have. 

Our liturgy is spiritual. It doesn't need to change one bit. Why? Because it is God created and ordained... yet we often times receive the liturgy with half-heartedly.

Consider a song... Almost every popular song has multiple components: Intro, Verse, Chorus, Bridge, Tag, Outro. If one of these components was missing... the song would feel weird... it would seem like it was going anywhere. 

I know what my friend desired... let's take out the confession... then we can have a service like the one I attended this morning... then I could preach for 40 minutes. Sure...we could do it... but we just took out the chorus... now the song will feel weird for us. 

I am surely not saying that this other church is wrong. They are worshipping the way they feel God has called them to worship. Yet the difference between us and them... is that they are owning their song... all the while we are complaining about ours... 

I don't think the liturgy needs to change (for which God gave us from scripture)... I think it is us. 

No one gets it...

During Holy Week I've invited my congregation to practice various spiritual disiplines while interacting with the scripture. Today the practice is journaling. So here I am... journaling... The scripture we are reading comes from John 13:21-30 Jesus foretells his betrayal. 

I am particuraly fond of using these words during the Great Thanksgiving, "On the night in which Jesus was betrayed he took bread..." Most Great Thanksgiving's say, "On the night Jesus gave himself up for us..."

I like betrayal because it is the elephant in the room. It is real. There is no pretending that everyone is on the same page and this is just another good ole sit down family dinner. It isn't the type of experience we post on Facebook (okay some do...). This table is broken. Awkward. And the host is none other than Jesus. 

The only one at this table that is feeling betrayed and hurt... is Jesus. No one else gets it. 

Everyone thinks Jesus is sending Judas on a shopping trip to get some supplies for the coming passover celebration. It must suck to be the God of the Universe... yet no one get... how hurt your heart is... because of betrayal. 

Everyone continues to party like everything is good.

In some ways I get this... one of the churches I serve has decided that they want a pastoral change. There is no compromise... it doesn't matter that the other church doesn't want a change... I get it. They are dying... they need someone to blame. I am a fun target. (tell me how you really feel...) 

Yet what gets me... is that I did not see it coming. I was blindsided. There was a lot of wants... that were never made clear to me. I felt betrayed. I felt betrayed by those especially I thought cared about me. 

In a few weeks the congregation will be told officially that I am leaving. Most everyone will think it is my decision... this is what pastors do. I then have to smile... and say God is good. 

All the while no one gets it... we play pretend... this is normal... yet we are not living in resurrection... we are still living at the table where no one gets it... where everyone is lost and confused... everyone is pretending everything is okay. 

And yet I find it interesting that the next thing Jesus says is to love one another as I have loved you. If there is anything that might end this cycle it is love. It frees us from hurt and the recieve the abundance of God's mercy and forgiveness. 

"God's got this"

Today my wife is 28 weeks and four days pregnant. Eight weeks ago at her 20-week appointment, we were told that she had a partial placenta previa, a part of her placenta was covering the cervix. Not a huge concern because it usually corrects itself. Fast forward eight weeks. My wife and I were getting ready for bed. My wife went to the restroom before getting in bed. She comes in and tells me that she is bleeding. I told her to call the hospital and we will go from there. The hospital said that we should go ahead and come in. We weren't ready for anything. No prepared bags. No plans for our daughter. We packed up the car and went. 

They admitted her immediately to the hospital. We were nervous that this could be it. The baby might be born now. But everything cleared up fast and they kept her in the hospital for a few days. 

We found out while we were there that she didn't have a partial previa but a full previa. This meant that she would have a c-section and that she might have other occasions of bleeding. 

The following day we were both sitting in the hospital together watching television. I received a text from a parishioner showing concern for my wife and encouragement that said, "God's got this." 

My first thought was who told you? Who let the news out? As a pastor... I have always tried to be private and keep my concerns to myself. I did this out of maintaining "healthy" boundaries. This is the kind of stuff they taught me in seminary. In some ways, it messed me up. 

Because what this experience has taught me is that my church loves, supports, and cares for my family. And when my family is facing a trial they want to uphold us. If I maintain so-called "healthy" boundaries I miss out on this gift of grace. 

In a way for a brief moment, they became my pastor. Reminding me in the midst of my own struggles that God was with my family. Tears welled up in my eyes. Tears of gratitude. My wife asked me what I was reading (I hate tearing up...)... I lied..."Oh, nothing...". What I should have said... in the midst of bad news... the church became some good news for us!

I thought your sermon was good... BUT

This past Sunday I preached a sermon that first of all... I didn't even like. After preaching I felt icky. I felt that I didn't have enough time to prepare. I didn't sense people were engaged. And I felt that I was all over the place. Whether it is true or not... I don't know... but that is how it felt.

Like most Sunday's I follow the acolyte out and greet people as they exit the church. I make small talk with people as they leave.  In this short moment as people were leaving a lot happens. It is the moment that I hear from the people. It is their turn to talk.  "How was your week? Not good.. this was the one year anniversary of my husband's death..." It becomes a time to offer pastoral care and catch up with folks.

It is also a time for reflection about the sermon. There are Sundays that folks tell me, "you hit it out of the park... or that one went straight to my heart... or good sermon preacher." I appreciate those words. They build me up. The affirmations are great because in less than an hour after I hear those words I am preaching yet again at another church.

Then there are the comments or the critiques. These comments always welcome a conversation but they are always said in jest because a conversation just might challenge what is about to come out of their mouths.

A gentleman, a patriarch in the church and community comes up to me after the service. He puts his arm around me and said, "I thought your sermon was really great, BUT I think it would be even better if you would quit talking to the congregation and stand behind the pulpit. You know you are always talking about change... so you know maybe... you should change."

Side note I preach at the level of the congregation and not behind the pulpit. And I also ask the congregation questions while I preach.

It was the last part that got me. The manipulative part. So often critiques are framed from the perspective of the one giving the critique. It is what they desire. Typically doesn't have me in mind at all. Weeks previously I challenged the congregation to make changes, goals in their lives. My commitment to them was that I was doing the same.

Yet he took a word I preached and twisted it around to fit what he desired.

The way I preach isn't unhealthy at all. It is who I am. And I am sure not telling the congregation to change who they are...

I don't say any of this of course to him. I just say thank you for your feedback... I appreciate your willingness to tell me. But I wanted to say more but I couldn't... I just went on to the next church.

Following worship, a 96-year-old woman (who never compliments my sermons) trying so hard to just hold on to her walker reached her arm over to grab me. She looked at me and said, "That was a good sermon..." Okay... I will hold on to those words...

We never talked about it...

I've sat with many grieving family members. Their grief is so real, raw, and unique. In the midst of immense grief, very difficult decisions have to be made. Decisions need to be made about arrangements. Part of my role as a clergyperson is to help navigate and teach the family the significance of what we will do during in a Funeral service.

I begin by asking, "Did you talk about it?" The response, "No, we never talked about it..." "Do you know hymns that he/she loved to sing?" "No. Preacher you pick them." "How about scriptures?" ... you get the gist.

I remember a few years ago asking some "young at heart" folks if they ever have thought about "death and dying." It was just silence. Everyone I could sense wanted to move on to happier subjects.

I agree talking about death is awkward and weird. I would never recommend talking about it every day... that would be depressing. But acting like death is not imminent in our lives and that we are immortal is also strange.

So what should we talk about when we have this conversation... and just to note... this doesn't have to be a "death" conversation... these things are just good to know in general about the people we love...
1. What hymns or songs have been of value to you on your journey? ("all of them" is not an appropriate answer!)
2. What scriptures have journeyed with you, inspired you, lifted you?
3. Holy Communion... I have never had someone say to me lets have Holy Communion at a Funeral... but it is actually very appropriate and something worth talking about. We believe that when we partake of the sacrament of Holy Communion that our hearts are united with God and the communion of Saints (for which your loved one now belongs)... so it only seems right that we might dine and feast together with Christ and our loved ones.

I believe if some discussion is made around these three areas when that day comes... believe me... it will be a glorious celebration of life. Because you can be confident and celebrate how God worked and sustained one's life here on this earth and have full confidence that they are now in the full embrace of God.

She didn't get a turkey...

Each month one of the churches I serve has a food pantry. During this time of year, we receive about 100 families requesting food assistance. I struggle at times whether this service is actually a good thing. I wonder if it hardens the divide between the giver and the receiver and also if it hardens the stereotypes that we so often carry about poor people.

After a long night of serving others, my parishioners felt excited and empowered about their good works. They celebrated the number of people they served. It was quite an achievement for such a small church to handle such an operation. But I think the celebrating was more about scratching the good works itch. I know that this is a grand indictment. It is an indictment of a majority of churches that strive to serve their community. But is this real kingdom work? Were we seeing the lives of people transformed and changed for the better? And if not, what are we doing about it? These questions are so often not faced and in fact, we stifle them.

A few weeks ago one of our parishioners came to help at the food pantry. Her job that night was to help carry clients' groceries to their cars. After helping someone she came back fuming. "Can  you believe that lady?" she exclaimed, "She yelled at me for not giving her a turkey... these people need to be grateful for what they get!" Another parishioner, "Amen to that!" A common phrase I hear often. This is the gospel that most good-hearted followers of Jesus aspire too. But what she didn't know was that lady (who had a name... Linda) didn't understand how we were distributing out food since we had a limited number of turkeys. Yet too often the giver/parishioner perspective is that the receiver should shut up and be grateful regardless. We have no perspective on what it means to be hungry. Or no understanding of what it means when over the holidays "meat" is always a maybe. And even if we do... shouldn't that drive us to have a deeper compassion?

This interaction lacked so many things that Jesus taught. It lacked compassion. It lacked grace. And most of all it lacked dignity.

If anything... secondary in our calling as Christ-following people is distributing food to those whose need it. Our primary calling as followers of Jesus Christ is to give everyone the God-given dignity they rightfully deserve.

We often miss this... yet here I am the pastor called to serve this congregation. Tempted to relinquish the dignity of those in my congregation yet I hear Jesus calling me to the very same primary calling.  Month after month we all struggle to live into this primary calling. Yet I do see glimpses of the kingdom often.

I see it in the relationships being formed between my parishioners and the people who come to the food pantry. I see it in their smiles, warm affirmations, caring words, concern for one another. We are not there yet as a Church but I hope in some shape or form we are on our way.

Is there anything else I can do for you?

This is the question I ask at the end of all my visits with shut-ins and people in the hospital. Most everyone answers this question, "No, we're fine but thank you." A few weeks ago I was visiting a parishioner whose husband has early onset dementia. Recently he has found it difficult to stand on his own. He is no longer able to participate in his daily ritual of standing in front of the mirror to shave his face. Every man knows how refreshing shaving is. Because he no longer can shave he had two weeks worth of stubble (or a beard). I knew the beard must have been uncomfortable for him. His wife told me that she was hoping to get someone to shave his face soon.

As I was about to leave we prayed together then I asked the question, "Is there anything else I can do for both of you?" I got the typical answer, "No we are fine." But then I asked a more pointed question, "Can I give him a shave before I leave?" I saw the calculation. "How could she ask a preacher to shave her husband?" But she said, "yes."

I don't want to get too theological but there are times that I don't "feel" like a pastor. I can't explain it. But in that moment when I was giving this man a fresh shave, I felt like I was his pastor. I felt like I was doing exactly what Jesus called me to do.

In many ways, it felt like I had the honor of washing his feet.

After my visits with them, she always says, "Let me get you something for doing that..." My response, "The blessing is all mine." Because in serving in such a way I to find Jesus.

an introvert living in an extrovert world

I am an introvert and a pastor. "Fitting in" has never been easy. This makes being a pastor challenging. A few years ago a pastor friend told  me that I wouldn't be a good preacher since I was an introvert. I took these words to heart. Maybe he is right. It was an indictment on who I was. And who I was... was going to keep me from who God was calling me to be. I viewed my introversion as a cross I need rid myself of rather than a gift. Fast forward a few years another pastor told me not tell people that I am an introvert. It was supposed to be a secret.

Time and time again and I am reminded of this quality. Every new place I go to I hear the same murmurings "he didn't talk to everyone at the supper" or "he is not fitting in..."

I explain to people that you have to give me a chance to marinade.

I confess I find it difficult being an introvert. I wish I could walk into a room with a big group of people and not be overwhelmed. Or that I  wouldn't be so disappointed by surface level conversations. Some one asks me, "How are things going?" I respond, "Not so good." They respond, "Cool... well it was good to see you!" Salivating for a real, deep conversation, yet again let down.

Yet there is a gift in the introvert. There is a gift in me. I reflect, process, and listen well. I see people that others don't see. Because I know what it means to be lost in the crowd. And so I know how to make sure someone isn't lost in the crowd.