Thursday night I got the opportunity to go to a discussion and book reading with one of my favorite authors, Brian McLaren. When I was in college it was his books (along with some wonderful people) that challenged me to finally question for myself the beliefs I'd held forever and come up with a set of beliefs that are actually mine. That makes him a big part of the reason that I am who I am and that I am where I am. There were so many great things said that night and I want to process a few of them over the next several days, so here we go!
The one I want to start with is important to me because it relates to what I talked about yesterday- relationships with and within the Church. Brian said this: "If your spirituality is not just about feeling good but about making a difference in the world in the direction of love, here's the problem... you can't learn to love alone." You can't learn to love without people who are hard to love. People who challenge you. People who disagree with you. People who don't like you. People who hurt you.
Sounding much like Annual Conference to anyone? Or perhaps like those people you are quite content to leave outside the arms of the Church?
I can't learn to love without the people who just made me want to scream in anger and frustration last weekend at Conference. They can't learn to love without people like me (who probably make them spitting mad, too).
Hardcore Democrats can't learn to love without hardcore Republicans. Republicans can't learn to love without Democrats.
Atheists can't learn to love without evangelicals. Evangelicals need atheists.
I could go on forever here, but you get the picture. Learning to love people is like learning patience- you can't learn it without being tested on it. It's easy to love the people who are just like you, but it's the people who are nothing like you who teach you how to love truly. It's easy to love the people in your oh-so-homogeneous little congregation, but it's the people who won't set foot in your door that you truly need to love, and you need them in order to even learn how to do it properly. That means you can't ignore them. That means you have to be out with them. You can't learn to love alone.
Saturday, June 4, 2011
Friday, June 3, 2011
This Post Doesn't Matter
Alright. I'm embarrassed.
It's officially been over a month (just a day, but over nonetheless) since I last updated. I daydreamed during finals about how over the summer I would have plenty of time to do all of the things I've wanted to do, like update my blog regularly. It turned out that after finals all I wanted to do was sleep and let my brain rot for a few weeks.
But no more. I've spent this week in a deadly boring intensive course on leadership (alright, alright, I'm sitting in that course right now- clearly, it's life-changing) and I think my brain is actually functioning again. Let's give it a shot.
Truly, the only important thing in my life the last few weeks has been Annual Conference. It was last weekend and it was a strange mix of soporific, frustrating, and exhilarating.
For those of you who are not United Methodist, Annual Conference technically refers to a geographic area; I'm a member in the Southwest Texas Annual Conference, but I'm currently living and working in the Baltimore-Washington Annual Conference. Every year, however, the Conference gets together for the- wait for it- Annual Conference. Yeah, we're good at names.
This year's Annual Conference was particularly important because next year is the General Conference, whenrepresentatives delegates from every Annual Conference come together to evaluate the state of the church. That means that this year's Annual Conference is when motions are put forward that, if passed, will go before the whole General Conference to be discussed and voted on to in some way modify the stated beliefs or actions of the United Methodist Church.
Because I'm still a member in Southwest Texas, I technically didn't need to be at the Baltimore-Washington Annual Conference. I wanted the chance to observe it, though, before I am in the position of being able to participate. As interesting as it was to be learning so much about the inner workings of the church, I also couldn't really participate. Thus, the soporific. Those three days of sessions and voting and legislation and worship are long.
Being so restrained was also frustrating at times. There were many times when I wanted to jump into a conversation or cast a vote but I simply couldn't. More frustrating than that was simply seeing the discord- the downright nastiness- that was sometimes a part of the discussion. Deep emotion is to be expected, I know, when you bring together such a diverse group of people to talk about such important topics. It hurts my heart, though, to see the church so divided.
What was amazing and exhilarating, then, was to see the Church come together. To see the incredible steps for justice that were made as people around me wept for joy. To see people come together after a divisive vote and to embrace one another from across the metaphorical aisle. To see the Church being the Church- growing, adapting, and coming together for good.
You know what the best part was, though?
The best part was when we were discussing ways to reach out to, to serve, to welcome, to love on all of the people that the Church has alienated and ignored, and the bishop himself wept in front of God and all of us talking about the people the Church has failed. His words were, "Until we change, it just doesn't matter." None of this- not the legislation, not the Conference, not anything we say or do- none of it matters until we fundamentally change the way we think about our relationship to the world. Until our relationship with the world is one of humility and love- not condescension, not judgment, not correction, not arrogance, not even charity- nothing we do or say matters. Our attitude infuses everything we do and it is that attitude that condemns us with the people we reach out to. Our bitterness and arrogance won't make a difference. It doesn't matter. Love makes a difference. Love brings the Church together when it disagrees. Love brings peace and change. Love matters.
It's officially been over a month (just a day, but over nonetheless) since I last updated. I daydreamed during finals about how over the summer I would have plenty of time to do all of the things I've wanted to do, like update my blog regularly. It turned out that after finals all I wanted to do was sleep and let my brain rot for a few weeks.
But no more. I've spent this week in a deadly boring intensive course on leadership (alright, alright, I'm sitting in that course right now- clearly, it's life-changing) and I think my brain is actually functioning again. Let's give it a shot.
Truly, the only important thing in my life the last few weeks has been Annual Conference. It was last weekend and it was a strange mix of soporific, frustrating, and exhilarating.
For those of you who are not United Methodist, Annual Conference technically refers to a geographic area; I'm a member in the Southwest Texas Annual Conference, but I'm currently living and working in the Baltimore-Washington Annual Conference. Every year, however, the Conference gets together for the- wait for it- Annual Conference. Yeah, we're good at names.
This year's Annual Conference was particularly important because next year is the General Conference, when
Because I'm still a member in Southwest Texas, I technically didn't need to be at the Baltimore-Washington Annual Conference. I wanted the chance to observe it, though, before I am in the position of being able to participate. As interesting as it was to be learning so much about the inner workings of the church, I also couldn't really participate. Thus, the soporific. Those three days of sessions and voting and legislation and worship are long.
Being so restrained was also frustrating at times. There were many times when I wanted to jump into a conversation or cast a vote but I simply couldn't. More frustrating than that was simply seeing the discord- the downright nastiness- that was sometimes a part of the discussion. Deep emotion is to be expected, I know, when you bring together such a diverse group of people to talk about such important topics. It hurts my heart, though, to see the church so divided.
What was amazing and exhilarating, then, was to see the Church come together. To see the incredible steps for justice that were made as people around me wept for joy. To see people come together after a divisive vote and to embrace one another from across the metaphorical aisle. To see the Church being the Church- growing, adapting, and coming together for good.
You know what the best part was, though?
The best part was when we were discussing ways to reach out to, to serve, to welcome, to love on all of the people that the Church has alienated and ignored, and the bishop himself wept in front of God and all of us talking about the people the Church has failed. His words were, "Until we change, it just doesn't matter." None of this- not the legislation, not the Conference, not anything we say or do- none of it matters until we fundamentally change the way we think about our relationship to the world. Until our relationship with the world is one of humility and love- not condescension, not judgment, not correction, not arrogance, not even charity- nothing we do or say matters. Our attitude infuses everything we do and it is that attitude that condemns us with the people we reach out to. Our bitterness and arrogance won't make a difference. It doesn't matter. Love makes a difference. Love brings the Church together when it disagrees. Love brings peace and change. Love matters.
Monday, May 2, 2011
An Imperfect World of Joy and Sorrow Mingled
It's been a while since I was able to free myself from finals work to write an entry here, but I'm doing it today.
Last night I just so happened to be taking a quick break from writing when the news broke on Twitter, Facebook, and finally the major news sources (thanks, social media!) that Osama bin Laden had been killed. It started with just two statuses on my newsfeed, but two turned almost immediately into ten and soon my newsfeed was a living thing, updating itself without me refreshing it because there were simply so many new statuses, articles, videos, and comments being posted all at one time.
These statuses fell into three main categories: joy/triumph, bitterness, and sorrow/hope. I'm not even going to touch on the statuses of bitterness about the President. I thought about it. I had clever things to say all laid out in my head. But really, that's not the issue today.
The statuses of joy were by far the most plentiful, and I get that. We've spent ten years looking for this man who was, directly or indirectly, responsible for the deaths of hundreds of thousands of people; it's no surprise that some people felt that celebration was in order when he died. Justice has been done, or so they say.
It was relieving to me, though, that these statuses of bitterness and joy were almost balanced by statuses of sorrow and hope. People who chose not to celebrate the death of a man, but the lives of those remembered. People who expressed gratitude to those who live and die so that we can feel safe. And, most importantly, people who pushed to keep this in perspective. A man died. A life was lost. A child of God- yes, a child of God- was killed. He committed terrible crimes against humanity. He was responsible for the death of thousands of innocents. But his rebellion against the healing, reconciling power of God makes him no less a child of God than your rebellion or my own does.
The issue at stake with the death of Osama and indeed with the whole War on Terror is just that- we are at war with an idea, the idea that a specific position gives the right to kill the opposition, that one life is of more value than another. The problem is that we don't get to decide which lives are valuable. The problem is that you can't kill an idea with guns and missiles. You can't kill it by taking the life that holds it. To kill an idea requires nothing short of a stronger idea.
My friend Amanda offered this quote from Martin Luther King Jr. last night:
Last night I just so happened to be taking a quick break from writing when the news broke on Twitter, Facebook, and finally the major news sources (thanks, social media!) that Osama bin Laden had been killed. It started with just two statuses on my newsfeed, but two turned almost immediately into ten and soon my newsfeed was a living thing, updating itself without me refreshing it because there were simply so many new statuses, articles, videos, and comments being posted all at one time.
These statuses fell into three main categories: joy/triumph, bitterness, and sorrow/hope. I'm not even going to touch on the statuses of bitterness about the President. I thought about it. I had clever things to say all laid out in my head. But really, that's not the issue today.
The statuses of joy were by far the most plentiful, and I get that. We've spent ten years looking for this man who was, directly or indirectly, responsible for the deaths of hundreds of thousands of people; it's no surprise that some people felt that celebration was in order when he died. Justice has been done, or so they say.
It was relieving to me, though, that these statuses of bitterness and joy were almost balanced by statuses of sorrow and hope. People who chose not to celebrate the death of a man, but the lives of those remembered. People who expressed gratitude to those who live and die so that we can feel safe. And, most importantly, people who pushed to keep this in perspective. A man died. A life was lost. A child of God- yes, a child of God- was killed. He committed terrible crimes against humanity. He was responsible for the death of thousands of innocents. But his rebellion against the healing, reconciling power of God makes him no less a child of God than your rebellion or my own does.
The issue at stake with the death of Osama and indeed with the whole War on Terror is just that- we are at war with an idea, the idea that a specific position gives the right to kill the opposition, that one life is of more value than another. The problem is that we don't get to decide which lives are valuable. The problem is that you can't kill an idea with guns and missiles. You can't kill it by taking the life that holds it. To kill an idea requires nothing short of a stronger idea.
My friend Amanda offered this quote from Martin Luther King Jr. last night:
"Returning hate for hate multiplies hate, adding deeper darkness to a night already
devoid of stars. Darkness cannot drive out darkness; only light can do that. Hate
cannot drive out hate; only love can do that. Hate multiplies hate, violence multiplies
violence, and toughness multiplies toughness in a descending spiral of destruction."
We live in "an imperfect world of joy and sorrow mingled." That quote came not from an illustrious speaker but from a 1914 book on cycling, "Three Men on the Bummel," yet its truth is still powerful. Our world remains an imperfect place of pain and love. We rejoice in peace. We grieve life lost. But hatred and violence cannot overpower hatred and violence; only a stronger idea than hatred can do that. This idea is the core of Christianity- love, peace, and reconciliation. These are the ideas that can change the world.
Another friend quoted a few lines from a poem, Recommendation, by Thich Nhat Hanh. It was written for youth who were going out into the dark places of the Vietnam War, trying to bring comfort and aid to the Vietnamese people. I want to share it with you in full:
Promise me,
promise me this day,
promise me now,
while the sun is overhead
exactly at the zenith,
promise me:
Even as they
strike you down
with a mountain of hatred and violence;
even as they step on you and crush you
like a worm,
even as they dismember and disembowel you,
remember, brother,
remember:
man is not our enemy.
The only thing worthy of you is compassion –
invincible, limitless, unconditional.
Hatred will never let you face
the beast in man.
One day, when you face this beast alone,
with your courage intact, your eyes kind,
untroubled
(even as no one sees them),
out of your smile
will bloom a flower.
And those who love you
will behold you
across ten thousand worlds of birth and dying.
Alone again,
I will go on with bent head,
knowing that love has become eternal.
On the long, rough road,
the sun and the moon
will continue to shine.
promise me this day,
promise me now,
while the sun is overhead
exactly at the zenith,
promise me:
Even as they
strike you down
with a mountain of hatred and violence;
even as they step on you and crush you
like a worm,
even as they dismember and disembowel you,
remember, brother,
remember:
man is not our enemy.
The only thing worthy of you is compassion –
invincible, limitless, unconditional.
Hatred will never let you face
the beast in man.
One day, when you face this beast alone,
with your courage intact, your eyes kind,
untroubled
(even as no one sees them),
out of your smile
will bloom a flower.
And those who love you
will behold you
across ten thousand worlds of birth and dying.
Alone again,
I will go on with bent head,
knowing that love has become eternal.
On the long, rough road,
the sun and the moon
will continue to shine.
Man is not our enemy. The only thing worthy of you is compassion- invincible, limitless, unconditional.
In that, the idea of declaring war on terror makes sense. It is not our fellow human being that we seek to destroy, but the ideas of hatred and violence that have so wounded and distorted his or her humanity.
We rejoice at the prospect of hope, of peace. But we grieve the loss of human life, even life so blinded by hatred that it tested our strength to love (to quote MLK again). We grieve that such hatred exists, that it so cripples us.
The idea that can defeat hatred, that can change the world, is the same idea I talked about back in March. Everyone deserves to be loved. Everyone is of sacred worth.
Love is stronger than hate. Love wins, if you will.
Friday, April 22, 2011
One Step At A Time
Between Lent and Holy Week and planning the church retreat and just being in seminary in general, I feel like people have been talking about journey a lot lately.
"Where have you been, and how has that affected you?"
"Where do you find yourself, and is it where you want to be?"
"Where do you want to go, and will the path you are on get you there?"
Well, I do know where I've been but I probably can't guess yet at all the ways that has affected and will continue to affect me. And I know where I am, most of the time. I love where I am. Not sure that I'm a fan of DC in general, but I love my school and my church and all of the amazing people here. But as for where I'm going? I have no clue. I think I'm slowly getting used to that, and I'm definitely starting to realize that it's probably for a reason.
See, sometimes I have control issues. Maybe it's because we didn't always have a lot of money growing up, or because my dad has been sick since I was in middle school, or because I was an only child--maybe I just wanted to be able to control something. Or maybe it's just that I'm precocious and stubborn. In any case, I'm not always very good at taking advice. Or letting other people make decisions for me. Even when that other is God and that other knows way more than me.
For example, I still look at myself and see this random assortment of semi-developed skills and wonder, "How am I supposed to cobble together a career out of those?!" Whereas I'm pretty sure God looks at me and says, "Heather! I gave you the perfect set of skills for this thing, or this thing, or even this other thing if you really want to. You'd be amazing at any of them and do great things. Why won't you get with the program already?!" And all the while I sit there, whining and worrying because I don't know what to do with my life.
But the conclusion I've come to this year is that perhaps the reason I don't have a clue what to do anymore is because, if I could see my life laid out, my control issues would come out and I'd say, "But this isn't right!" Or, "But I can't do that!" And I'd screw it up or just run away.
It started with just thinking about how very long it took me to acknowledge the possibility of even doing ministry. The thought that maybe I was called to ministry first occurred to me when I was seven, for goodness’ sake, and it took me over ten years to admit that maybe God really was calling me to ministry despite growing up Southern Baptist, despite being a woman. Even then, though, I’ve realized that I didn’t step out into what that call to ministry could mean. I stuck to what was safe, to what I’d already done: youth ministry. Working with youth in Sunday School, in youth group, and in camp settings all came naturally and I’d been allowed to do it, even as a girl in the Baptist church. I’ve started to feel, then, that what I did was assume that this ministry was what God was calling me to. It was easy. It was safe and familiar. Plus, I liked the idea. Clearly, all of this added up to youth ministry being my call from God. That’s what I decided that I would do. The thought that occurs to me, then, is that maybe youth ministry has just been my first step. Youth ministry was the first thing that I could finally admit to myself as a possibility, the first part of a plan that I can’t see yet.
So in the meantime I blunder along, sometimes listening to God and mostly just doing my own thing. For example, if you remember when I got here I had a minor crisis, way back in my very first entry. Am I here for the right reasons? And if I'm totally honest with myself, the answer is probably no. I came to DC because it was where Jeff was coming, and to Wesley because it was a good seminary here and they offered me a scholarship, and to my church because they offered me a job and seemed like they were doing really great things. But those were my reasons for coming.
That is not to say, though, that there were not other reasons for me being here that I could not see. That little piece of wisdom from a friend still rings true--the awesome thing is that no matter why you go, God can use you anyway. And looking back on this year, with just two more weeks to go, I can definitely see the ways that God has used my place here. Not used me, necessarily. Not in ways that I've seen, anyway. But where I am has affected me in powerful ways. Being in DC and at my amazing church here has rekindled the passion I once had for justice and peace. Being at Wesley has introduced me to truly wonderful people who challenge me every day and has given me the opportunity to explore not only youth ministry but also emerging ministry, which has given me the language to express what I was really yearning for all of those years that I struggled with being called to ministry. Wherever I end up, my ministry is to bring about the kingdom of God begun by Jesus and entrusted to us as Christians, where all people are loved and cared for, where hatred and violence and discrimination have no place. Wherever I go, whatever path I'm on, that is my compass and my goal. That is what I work toward.
"Where have you been, and how has that affected you?"
"Where do you find yourself, and is it where you want to be?"
"Where do you want to go, and will the path you are on get you there?"
This "journey" picture is from the hardest journey I ever took. It's one of the parts of my past
that's still affecting me in ways I can't imagine.
Well, I do know where I've been but I probably can't guess yet at all the ways that has affected and will continue to affect me. And I know where I am, most of the time. I love where I am. Not sure that I'm a fan of DC in general, but I love my school and my church and all of the amazing people here. But as for where I'm going? I have no clue. I think I'm slowly getting used to that, and I'm definitely starting to realize that it's probably for a reason.
See, sometimes I have control issues. Maybe it's because we didn't always have a lot of money growing up, or because my dad has been sick since I was in middle school, or because I was an only child--maybe I just wanted to be able to control something. Or maybe it's just that I'm precocious and stubborn. In any case, I'm not always very good at taking advice. Or letting other people make decisions for me. Even when that other is God and that other knows way more than me.
For example, I still look at myself and see this random assortment of semi-developed skills and wonder, "How am I supposed to cobble together a career out of those?!" Whereas I'm pretty sure God looks at me and says, "Heather! I gave you the perfect set of skills for this thing, or this thing, or even this other thing if you really want to. You'd be amazing at any of them and do great things. Why won't you get with the program already?!" And all the while I sit there, whining and worrying because I don't know what to do with my life.
But the conclusion I've come to this year is that perhaps the reason I don't have a clue what to do anymore is because, if I could see my life laid out, my control issues would come out and I'd say, "But this isn't right!" Or, "But I can't do that!" And I'd screw it up or just run away.
It started with just thinking about how very long it took me to acknowledge the possibility of even doing ministry. The thought that maybe I was called to ministry first occurred to me when I was seven, for goodness’ sake, and it took me over ten years to admit that maybe God really was calling me to ministry despite growing up Southern Baptist, despite being a woman. Even then, though, I’ve realized that I didn’t step out into what that call to ministry could mean. I stuck to what was safe, to what I’d already done: youth ministry. Working with youth in Sunday School, in youth group, and in camp settings all came naturally and I’d been allowed to do it, even as a girl in the Baptist church. I’ve started to feel, then, that what I did was assume that this ministry was what God was calling me to. It was easy. It was safe and familiar. Plus, I liked the idea. Clearly, all of this added up to youth ministry being my call from God. That’s what I decided that I would do. The thought that occurs to me, then, is that maybe youth ministry has just been my first step. Youth ministry was the first thing that I could finally admit to myself as a possibility, the first part of a plan that I can’t see yet.
So in the meantime I blunder along, sometimes listening to God and mostly just doing my own thing. For example, if you remember when I got here I had a minor crisis, way back in my very first entry. Am I here for the right reasons? And if I'm totally honest with myself, the answer is probably no. I came to DC because it was where Jeff was coming, and to Wesley because it was a good seminary here and they offered me a scholarship, and to my church because they offered me a job and seemed like they were doing really great things. But those were my reasons for coming.
That is not to say, though, that there were not other reasons for me being here that I could not see. That little piece of wisdom from a friend still rings true--the awesome thing is that no matter why you go, God can use you anyway. And looking back on this year, with just two more weeks to go, I can definitely see the ways that God has used my place here. Not used me, necessarily. Not in ways that I've seen, anyway. But where I am has affected me in powerful ways. Being in DC and at my amazing church here has rekindled the passion I once had for justice and peace. Being at Wesley has introduced me to truly wonderful people who challenge me every day and has given me the opportunity to explore not only youth ministry but also emerging ministry, which has given me the language to express what I was really yearning for all of those years that I struggled with being called to ministry. Wherever I end up, my ministry is to bring about the kingdom of God begun by Jesus and entrusted to us as Christians, where all people are loved and cared for, where hatred and violence and discrimination have no place. Wherever I go, whatever path I'm on, that is my compass and my goal. That is what I work toward.
Sunday, April 17, 2011
Service of Word and Table
My church here takes Communion twice a month, on the first and third Sundays. This is less often than my church in Austin, which took Communion every week, but much, much more often than I ever took it growing up.
I have to admit, it was a little weird at first, back when I became United Methodist. Coming from a background where Communion wasn't really talked about, much less emphasized, taking it so often was interesting at first simply because it was novel. I'll be honest, I don't think I got it. The words were pretty. After all, that's what I'd grown up focusing on- the words spoken. The sermon had been the center and the high point of the service. I'm also a huge word nerd anyway, so it made sense to me. But the actual taking of the bread and juice (Methodist- we're not big on wine for the most part) was just kind of a tasty mouthful while I thought about Jesus...and what I was going to have for lunch, because now I was hungry.
It may sound weird to some of you to imagine a 20-year-old taking Communion with the basic mindset of a 5-year-old (snack time!). Or maybe that's kind of how you think about it too, and maybe that's ok for where you are.
In any case, the people I've met, the books I've read, and the classes I've taken since I've been here have all been gradually but drastically changing the way I look at Communion. Also, I just wrote a paper on it. So yeah. It's on my mind and I thought I'd share a bit. I'm not going to touch on who blesses or serves communion or even to whom they serve it. I'm just not. Not today. Today is just about what happens.
One quick thing I will say before I go into that, though, is that the Service of Word and Table- a service where the Gospel is proclaimed not only through preaching but also through Holy Communion- has become my favorite kind of service. Part of it is because the Emergent Christian in me loves the physical, interactive nature of taking Communion, but mostly it's because I've come to see Communion, rather than the sermon, as the high point and culmination of a worship gathering.
Why? Because I see four main things happening in taking Communion. We receive and see God's grace; we remember and give thanks for the life, death, and resurrection of Christ and the power of the Holy Spirit; we affirm our place in the Church Universal; and we rededicate ourselves to our call to continue Christ's work in bringing about the already-present but not-yet-fulfilled kingdom of God (for more on that one, see my last post).
First, Communion is a matter of grace. Nothing we do makes us worthy of Communion with God- it is who we are, and who we are is the beloved people of God, being ever transformed into God's likeness. Grace has called us into the Church; grace makes us aware of God’s presence and power; grace gives the first inkling of understanding of our redemption; grace welcomes us to communion with God despite our failures. Grace invites us to the table despite all of our shortcomings, and at the table we find ourselves changed by nothing short of the most awesome grace of God.
Second, Communion lays before us in the most basic of elements the culmination of Christ's work in the world, defeating sin and death so that the work of God's kingdom could continue undeterred. It is by Christ’s sacrifice that we are saved and by the power of the Holy Spirit that we live, a community of the called. In the story that is told, in the blessings that are given, in the nourishment we receive, we see both of these lived out.
Third, Communion connects us to the entirety of the Church Universal, around the world and across the ages. We each take bread and juice, reminding us of the distinctly personal aspect of our relationship with God, but we take it from a communal loaf and a communal cup, reminding us that that relationship is for all of us. I mean that in both ways- God is in relationship with each of us, and each relationship is for the purpose of all of us. When we take Communion we stand in a line that stretches not simply down the aisles of our church but down the halls of time as we receive the gifts of God’s grace and love.
Finally, Communion reminds us of our part in bringing about reconciliation between God and the world. It is through simple bread and juice that we encounter God and it is through simple human beings that God works in the world. As we remember our union with God’s creation and God’s people, we are reminded of the ways in which we have failed to care for them. God has demonstrated God’s love for us in this good earth and in the gifts of food and drink, yet the earth is raped and polluted and God’s people go hungry and thirsty. The earth that produced the bread and juice is savaged and neglected; God’s children go without even the most basic elements of the table. God's kingdom has not been fulfilled. Our work remains.
Communion is the culmination of the work of the worship gathering- to draw together and to send out. As I've talked about before, I think we often get caught up in the drawing together and forget that the Church's purpose was to be sent out. Maybe that's why my favorite line from the words of institution said before Communion are these: "Pour out your Holy Spirit on us gathered here, and on these gifts of bread and wine. Make them be for us the body and blood of Christ, that we may be for the world the body of Christ, redeemed by his blood." Amen.
I have to admit, it was a little weird at first, back when I became United Methodist. Coming from a background where Communion wasn't really talked about, much less emphasized, taking it so often was interesting at first simply because it was novel. I'll be honest, I don't think I got it. The words were pretty. After all, that's what I'd grown up focusing on- the words spoken. The sermon had been the center and the high point of the service. I'm also a huge word nerd anyway, so it made sense to me. But the actual taking of the bread and juice (Methodist- we're not big on wine for the most part) was just kind of a tasty mouthful while I thought about Jesus...and what I was going to have for lunch, because now I was hungry.
It may sound weird to some of you to imagine a 20-year-old taking Communion with the basic mindset of a 5-year-old (snack time!). Or maybe that's kind of how you think about it too, and maybe that's ok for where you are.
In any case, the people I've met, the books I've read, and the classes I've taken since I've been here have all been gradually but drastically changing the way I look at Communion. Also, I just wrote a paper on it. So yeah. It's on my mind and I thought I'd share a bit. I'm not going to touch on who blesses or serves communion or even to whom they serve it. I'm just not. Not today. Today is just about what happens.
One quick thing I will say before I go into that, though, is that the Service of Word and Table- a service where the Gospel is proclaimed not only through preaching but also through Holy Communion- has become my favorite kind of service. Part of it is because the Emergent Christian in me loves the physical, interactive nature of taking Communion, but mostly it's because I've come to see Communion, rather than the sermon, as the high point and culmination of a worship gathering.
Why? Because I see four main things happening in taking Communion. We receive and see God's grace; we remember and give thanks for the life, death, and resurrection of Christ and the power of the Holy Spirit; we affirm our place in the Church Universal; and we rededicate ourselves to our call to continue Christ's work in bringing about the already-present but not-yet-fulfilled kingdom of God (for more on that one, see my last post).
First, Communion is a matter of grace. Nothing we do makes us worthy of Communion with God- it is who we are, and who we are is the beloved people of God, being ever transformed into God's likeness. Grace has called us into the Church; grace makes us aware of God’s presence and power; grace gives the first inkling of understanding of our redemption; grace welcomes us to communion with God despite our failures. Grace invites us to the table despite all of our shortcomings, and at the table we find ourselves changed by nothing short of the most awesome grace of God.
Second, Communion lays before us in the most basic of elements the culmination of Christ's work in the world, defeating sin and death so that the work of God's kingdom could continue undeterred. It is by Christ’s sacrifice that we are saved and by the power of the Holy Spirit that we live, a community of the called. In the story that is told, in the blessings that are given, in the nourishment we receive, we see both of these lived out.
Third, Communion connects us to the entirety of the Church Universal, around the world and across the ages. We each take bread and juice, reminding us of the distinctly personal aspect of our relationship with God, but we take it from a communal loaf and a communal cup, reminding us that that relationship is for all of us. I mean that in both ways- God is in relationship with each of us, and each relationship is for the purpose of all of us. When we take Communion we stand in a line that stretches not simply down the aisles of our church but down the halls of time as we receive the gifts of God’s grace and love.
Finally, Communion reminds us of our part in bringing about reconciliation between God and the world. It is through simple bread and juice that we encounter God and it is through simple human beings that God works in the world. As we remember our union with God’s creation and God’s people, we are reminded of the ways in which we have failed to care for them. God has demonstrated God’s love for us in this good earth and in the gifts of food and drink, yet the earth is raped and polluted and God’s people go hungry and thirsty. The earth that produced the bread and juice is savaged and neglected; God’s children go without even the most basic elements of the table. God's kingdom has not been fulfilled. Our work remains.
Communion is the culmination of the work of the worship gathering- to draw together and to send out. As I've talked about before, I think we often get caught up in the drawing together and forget that the Church's purpose was to be sent out. Maybe that's why my favorite line from the words of institution said before Communion are these: "Pour out your Holy Spirit on us gathered here, and on these gifts of bread and wine. Make them be for us the body and blood of Christ, that we may be for the world the body of Christ, redeemed by his blood." Amen.
Monday, April 4, 2011
The Mission of Ultimate Importance
*dun, dun, dun dun, dun, dun, dun dun, dun, dun, dun dun duuunnnn*
Alright, if that didn't make any sense to you go back and read it again while singing to yourself the Mission: Impossible theme song.
Theeeere you go. Alright. Cultural hook completed.
As you may have noticed, this is actually my second post for the day. The first one was basically for all of my loved ones who really just want to keep tabs on me and see what life is like for me here in DC, which I'm more than happy to do. I love to keep in touch this way.
This post, however, is for the people who are also interested in what I'm thinking about because I'm in seminary and that's a big part of what I do with my time. I think about faith and truth and the church and the world and what we're all supposed to be doing with our lives, and then I try to go out and do it and bring some people along with me. Also, I just need a space to work out all of what gets thrown at me in a week. So here we go.
The cheesy M:I hook is one I got in class today when we talked about this subject. It worked, though, and I'm also just kind of a big fan of cheesy things, so here it is again. Of course, he could actually play the song for us, but I do what I can.
The reason I used it, though, and the reason my professor used it, is to start off thinking about the word mission. What's the difference between a "mission-minded" church and a "missional" church?
A mission-minded church is a great thing. It's a group of people who dedicate their time, their money, and their efforts do doing missions. They do great things.
Yet, "mission" in a "mission-minded" church is still just that: something they do. The idea of a "missional" church is that mission is recognized as something they are; it's an inextricable part of their identity.
And what identity, what mission is that? Christ's, of course. Our identity as Christians is tied up with the identity of Christ. Christ's mission is our mission. So, as I asked before: what mission is that?
If you look at the gospel of Luke, there's a lot of buildup to Jesus' ministry. We get a lot about his birth and his childhood and the proclamations of his coming from John the Baptist. Then Jesus gets baptized, the Holy Spirit descends on him, and he goes off for forty days into the wilderness. When he comes back, he's ready to roll. He starts preaching and teaching. But it's not until he gets back to his hometown in chapter 4 that he really gets going, revealing who he is and why he's come.
He stands up to read in the temple, as usual. Someone hands him a scroll. He opens it and reads from Isaiah:
"The Spirit of the Lord is upon me,
because he has anointed me
to bring good news to the poor.
He has sent me to proclaim release to the captives
and recovery of sight to the blind,
to let the oppressed go free,
to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favour."
And then he sits down. Everyone's staring at him. And he says "Today this scripture has been fulfilled in your hearing."
It has been fulfilled. This is who I am. This is what I'm doing.
And then he does it.
Jesus' self-proclaimed mission has two main parts, and we know that it's legitimate because it's from the Spirit of the Lord. This is what God wants. His mission is to proclaim the good news and to bring about the good news, the good news of God's present and coming kingdom, of God's reconciliation with the world. And that's what he goes out and does. Along the way, he makes disciples; he creates a community of people who are charged with this same mission. And to seal the deal, to finish the beginning of the bringing about of this kingdom, Christ sacrifices himself. I could (and might) write a whole other blog post about how maybe in holding up Christ's death and resurrection as the be-all, end-all of Christianity we've lost an important part of who Christ was and therefore who we are. In the meantime, you can check out my good friend Andy's blog post about it here.
So that's it. That's our mission. To proclaim the kingdom of God and to bring it about. To bring in more people who are working side by side with us, who believe in this with us. And this is not just what we do; it's who we are. We live in the already-present but not-yet-fulfilled kingdom of God, and we are called by virtue of our identity as Christians to continue to bring about this vision for the world.
I didn't say the Lord's Prayer much growing up. I was Southern Baptist and they're more about praying as the Spirit leads, which is great. We miss out, though, on the skin-tinglingly communal aspect of praying a prayer that is prayed around the world by millions of people and has been prayed by billions more for 2,000 years. I loved being a part of a church that said the Lord's Prayer often when I left the SBC. I always kind of shivered at the one line, though: "thy kingdom come, thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven." Maybe it's my past, maybe it's something else, but that always conjured images of scurrying servants for me. It brought back the giant, angry, old God.
I don't think that's it, though. Thinking about God's kingdom as a vision for a healthy, whole, reconciled creation, as something that I am intrinsically a part of because I am Christian but even simply (or wondrously) because I am human--that changes it. When I say the Lord's Prayer now, that's one of my favorite lines. Thy kingdom come! And I want to be a part of it! That's my mission, and I have chosen to accept it.
EDIT: I meant to include this video in my original post. Here you go:
Alright, if that didn't make any sense to you go back and read it again while singing to yourself the Mission: Impossible theme song.
Theeeere you go. Alright. Cultural hook completed.
As you may have noticed, this is actually my second post for the day. The first one was basically for all of my loved ones who really just want to keep tabs on me and see what life is like for me here in DC, which I'm more than happy to do. I love to keep in touch this way.
This post, however, is for the people who are also interested in what I'm thinking about because I'm in seminary and that's a big part of what I do with my time. I think about faith and truth and the church and the world and what we're all supposed to be doing with our lives, and then I try to go out and do it and bring some people along with me. Also, I just need a space to work out all of what gets thrown at me in a week. So here we go.
The cheesy M:I hook is one I got in class today when we talked about this subject. It worked, though, and I'm also just kind of a big fan of cheesy things, so here it is again. Of course, he could actually play the song for us, but I do what I can.
The reason I used it, though, and the reason my professor used it, is to start off thinking about the word mission. What's the difference between a "mission-minded" church and a "missional" church?
A mission-minded church is a great thing. It's a group of people who dedicate their time, their money, and their efforts do doing missions. They do great things.
Yet, "mission" in a "mission-minded" church is still just that: something they do. The idea of a "missional" church is that mission is recognized as something they are; it's an inextricable part of their identity.
And what identity, what mission is that? Christ's, of course. Our identity as Christians is tied up with the identity of Christ. Christ's mission is our mission. So, as I asked before: what mission is that?
If you look at the gospel of Luke, there's a lot of buildup to Jesus' ministry. We get a lot about his birth and his childhood and the proclamations of his coming from John the Baptist. Then Jesus gets baptized, the Holy Spirit descends on him, and he goes off for forty days into the wilderness. When he comes back, he's ready to roll. He starts preaching and teaching. But it's not until he gets back to his hometown in chapter 4 that he really gets going, revealing who he is and why he's come.
He stands up to read in the temple, as usual. Someone hands him a scroll. He opens it and reads from Isaiah:
"The Spirit of the Lord is upon me,
because he has anointed me
to bring good news to the poor.
He has sent me to proclaim release to the captives
and recovery of sight to the blind,
to let the oppressed go free,
to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favour."
And then he sits down. Everyone's staring at him. And he says "Today this scripture has been fulfilled in your hearing."
It has been fulfilled. This is who I am. This is what I'm doing.
And then he does it.
Jesus' self-proclaimed mission has two main parts, and we know that it's legitimate because it's from the Spirit of the Lord. This is what God wants. His mission is to proclaim the good news and to bring about the good news, the good news of God's present and coming kingdom, of God's reconciliation with the world. And that's what he goes out and does. Along the way, he makes disciples; he creates a community of people who are charged with this same mission. And to seal the deal, to finish the beginning of the bringing about of this kingdom, Christ sacrifices himself. I could (and might) write a whole other blog post about how maybe in holding up Christ's death and resurrection as the be-all, end-all of Christianity we've lost an important part of who Christ was and therefore who we are. In the meantime, you can check out my good friend Andy's blog post about it here.
So that's it. That's our mission. To proclaim the kingdom of God and to bring it about. To bring in more people who are working side by side with us, who believe in this with us. And this is not just what we do; it's who we are. We live in the already-present but not-yet-fulfilled kingdom of God, and we are called by virtue of our identity as Christians to continue to bring about this vision for the world.
I didn't say the Lord's Prayer much growing up. I was Southern Baptist and they're more about praying as the Spirit leads, which is great. We miss out, though, on the skin-tinglingly communal aspect of praying a prayer that is prayed around the world by millions of people and has been prayed by billions more for 2,000 years. I loved being a part of a church that said the Lord's Prayer often when I left the SBC. I always kind of shivered at the one line, though: "thy kingdom come, thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven." Maybe it's my past, maybe it's something else, but that always conjured images of scurrying servants for me. It brought back the giant, angry, old God.
I don't think that's it, though. Thinking about God's kingdom as a vision for a healthy, whole, reconciled creation, as something that I am intrinsically a part of because I am Christian but even simply (or wondrously) because I am human--that changes it. When I say the Lord's Prayer now, that's one of my favorite lines. Thy kingdom come! And I want to be a part of it! That's my mission, and I have chosen to accept it.
EDIT: I meant to include this video in my original post. Here you go:
Cherry Blossoms!
If you don't know, DC is covered in cherry blossom trees. For a few weeks every spring the city is absolutely breathtaking as they all bloom in various stages and colors. I finally got to go down by the monuments where the majority of the trees are clustered last week; unfortunately, it was kind of a cloudy day but I took pictures anyway. Since today is such a gorgeous day here it reminded me and I thought I'd share. So here you go!
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