Judgy-Wudgy Was a Bear...

It's amazing how many times I've run up against the criticism that Christians are judgmental. It's been named on numerous websites and a few studies, including the book unChristian. The shortest answer I have for that criticism is, "You're right."

I take quite seriously the admonition to be in the world, but not of it. To not be conformed to the ways of this world. To be a light to the world. All those things. All those things that say, "This world is broken; God has a better way."

My personal life is quite calm, sometimes downright boring. For the most part, I'm the designated driver, plan for a rainy day, think about the consequences kind of person. In ministry, parents love my stable, show up, be consistent traits.

I work to make my faith an embodied, living reality. I hope that faith is evident apart from my work and vocation. With God's help, my life does look very different from the ways of this world.

Yet, I find myself biting my tongue often when I'm with church folks. I try to gauge how much truth I can speak, how much is safe to reveal. Yes, there's appropriate pastoral boundaries, which I hope to employ. Then, there's this...this thing voice that says, "You can't say that here."

I can't say my best theological conversations are over dinner with people who steer clear of church. I certainly can't name the reasons they steer clear of church.

I can't say that the non-clergy friends from my life in mainline Protestant world have absolutely no clue why I would bother with church.

I can't say that, you know what, I really don't know how to theologically process transsexualism, but I want a community that will genuinely wrestle with that question.

I don't talk about the movies I watch or the books I read without careful deliberation, even though I am convinced that some Stephen King works provide better theological fodder than 90% of what is in the devotional section of bookstores. Give me an exorcism movie if you want to talk about the problems of evil and the difficulties of being faithful. I have an ever-growing whole collection if you want a viewing party!

The list of things I don't speak could go on and on.

And every one of those things adds a little bit to that chasm between my world and the church. It's part of the ever-growing concern I have, wondering if there is a church that has room for people like me and people nothing like me. I'm pretty sure the Kingdom of God does.

Oh--and one other thing. I want a community that holds me accountable, and yes, might even judge me. Please, look for the works that are a mark of my faith. See if I have done what Jesus asked--clothed the poor, fed the hungry, visited the lonely.

Look for the fruits of the Spirit. Guide me when I am not gentle enough. Admonish me when I speak in hate rather than love. Chastise me when I am impatient.

Please.

And don't worry that the title of this post is a quote from Sex and the City.

Christmas...

I'm as annoyed by Christian insanity over Christmas as the next person. Another "Keep Christ in Christmas" might put me over the edge. That's a whole other topic, though.

Instead, I want to pick on Santa Claus. Hang on. Don't freak out yet. Give me a few minutes.

I have absolutely nothing against the jolly old man. Really. It's just that he wasn't part of my childhood Christmas. He almost was, but my family was never really sure how to handle him. Basically, he was an excuse for presents appearing on Christmas morning rather than the night before. Because I never really believed in him, there's no traumatic childhood memory of realizing he doesn't exist, which has sometimes created problems.

Skipping over the trauma I caused my classmates, within three months of being hired as children's minister, I almost compared the nonexistence of Santa Claus to something else during a children's sermon. I don't remember what, actually. Yet, as I was walking up to give the children's sermon, I realized that anything alluding to no Santa was probably a bad idea. I can now only dream of the bullet I dodged there! Still, overall, I think Santa is a rather benevolent presence in life, even if a little creepy if you think about it very hard.

A couple weeks ago, though, I was talking with Sunday school teachers, all of whom are also moms. They were, of course, all sharing Santa stories. Who knew that Santa doesn't wrap presents at some houses? Or that he only fills stockings at others? Or that he only brings one gift at still others? One of the moms, though, was having to deal with her 4th grade daughter's realization that Santa isn't real.

As she and her daughter talked about Santa, she cried and told her daughter over and over again, "I've been lying to you. Santa is a lie."

Of course, the kid tried to comfort her mom, telling her, "No, it wasn't really a lie."

The mom dutifully responded, "Yes, it was. I want you to always remember that. I lied to you about Santa. He's not real. And I want you to know I lied to you about Santa because I really want you to know that I'm not lying to you about God and Jesus."

You can probably imagine the rest of the conversation.

There's something in there about the way Christians treat Christmas. I really, really am not upset if Christians choose to participate in the Santa thing. But I am kind of upset we feel like we have to.

Yes, the gifts go overboard. Yes, Santa's now totally secular and maybe always was so. More than that, though, it's the same thing we keep saying over and over to ourselves and our kids: the Gospel is not enough.

The Christ Child is not enough. We need a magic man to bring presents to make this a good holiday. We need magical flying reindeer. We need elves. We need gingerbread men and houses. We need all sorts of things to make Christmas special and memorable.

Those things aren't bad by themselves, but they help us lose our way. And if they all disappeared, what would we find?

Welcome!

The thing I enjoy most about working with kids is getting to teach them Bible stories for the first time. It's awesome. They don't ask too many questions. They don't worry about the how and the details. They trust that God could do whatever the Bible story says God could do. It's awesome. I also believe that if those stories shape their world enough, then when they start asking all the questions, they'll wrestle with them rather than walking away from the faith in which they were raised.

But seriously, tell a kid about Elijah for the first time and watch her face. It's awesome.

Up until a few days ago, every kid I'd ever taught had some idea about God and churchy things. If I said, "It's time to pray," they'd bow their heads and fold their hands. If I said, "We're gonna sing," they'd have a request or two.

But all that changed a few days ago.

A man came to church and brought his two young children, ages 3 and 5. The second Sunday they came, I invited them to stay for Sunday school. They did.

That Sunday, I happened to be in the kids' class. Since I was the only person those two kids had ever met, they sat with me. I introduced them as my friends.

It soon became clear they'd never been to church at all.

They had puzzled looks when we sang. They didn't add to the list of things the kids were thankful for. And when the leader said, "Let's pray," the little boy looked up at me completely puzzled.

I thought quickly and said, "It's time to talk to God. Sit like this." So we sat, hands folded, eyes closed, heads bowed, and we talked to God.

It was easy, but it was easy because he was a little kid. Kids are used to having adults explain things to them. Kids are used to being shown how to do something. Kids are used to not knowing. As I think more and more about the people I encounter who have never had anything to do with church, I wonder how to do that. 

How do we teach adults to pray? Not just the Jesus' response kind of way, but the I have no clue what you mean way.

How do we invite adults to sing? Unless they're karaoke fans or former choir members, should we even expect participation in congregational singing?

And that doesn't even get to the perceived more important stuff of communion, baptism, Bible, sermons...

We say, "Welcome!" all the time, but how do we live it?

I've wondered many times since the day that little boy and I prayed together what would happen if he had been 25 or 35 or 45 instead of only 5. Could he have asked? Could I have answered as easily?

I love tradition. I love churchy words. I don't think the answer is to toss out all the churchy things to be more friendly to folks who have never walked in the door of a church.

All those things together, though, can make our "Welcome!" sound a little more like "Welcome?" Where is the space to just as gently take an adult by the hand and say, "Here's how we pray," as one would a child?

"Fear not!"

I don't remember the sermon or the commentator at this point. What I do remember is this gist of the commentary: the phrase repeated incredibly often in the Gospels is "Do not fear." There are variations, of course, but it's there, over and over and over, again. The angels spoke those words when they spoke of Jesus' birth. Jesus spoke those words when he calmed the storm, when he walked on water, when he called disciples, when he preached--and a whole bunch of times there!

Today, in one of those meetings that was going nowhere, one of my lay leaders asked the question of the pastors, "What's our greatest hindrance in going forward?"

My answer was quick and simple: fear.

I stand firmly by it. I wish they could have heard it better. Maybe there are others who can hear it now.

Church, please, do not be afraid.

Do not be afraid to toss out programs that aren't effective and wear you out.
Do not be afraid to try something you have never tried before.
Do not be afraid to hear stories of people and from people you do not understand.
Do not be afraid to make room for those stories and those people who tell them, even when it's going to mean thinking a little differently than you once did.
Do not be afraid to read the Bible with those stories in mind.
Do not be afraid to read the Bible as if you don't already know what it says.
Do not be afraid to admit, "We were wrong."
Do not be afraid to admit, "We don't know."
Do not be afraid to live in the gray space.
Do not be afraid to walk out in faith and trust that God will surely be there.
Do not be afraid of the things you don't know or understand.

Church, please, do not be afraid. Just because the culture doesn't think you are important doesn't mean it's true. But you have to stop being afraid.

You see, I've seen fear in a church firsthand, especially that fear to see and hear differently. I grew up in a church that told me time and time again, "God would not speak to you in that way." It was, of course, in response to entering ministry. I grew up in a church that was certain God would not speak that way, could not, no matter how loudly I heard God's voice.

They were unwilling to re-examine, re-interpret or listen with me. So I left.

I now understand a lot better why other folks my age have left. They've heard far too much, in too many ways, "God can't be speaking that way."

So church, please, do not be afraid. Re-examine. Re-interpret. Listen hard and listen with. God will show up. You might be surprised at what God has to say, but since it is God, whatever the word is will lead to goodness.

Hear the Good News: "Do not fear, only believe."

In case you have to look it up, that quote's from Jesus. 

Just a Little Heresy

I am quite aware that there are many, many heresies I could preach from the pulpit and no one in my congregation would ever complain. However, here is one heresy that is going to get me into a lot of trouble: it's time to kill potluck dinners.

If some of the older church ladies heard that, I'd be scraping them off the floor right now. My personal distaste for potluck dinners is pronounced and easily identified: it's a large social gathering in which I'm expected to mingle. I don't like that whole scenario.

More broadly, though, it's about a way of life that is not part of my reality.

Potluck dinners assume:

• I cook.
• I like to cook.
• I know what to cook.
• I can cook for several people.
• I have ingredients in my home to cook.
• I can cook unhealthy things. 

Ok, short of the last one, there's a theme here: it's a family-oriented, very domestic event. Here's the thing, again: that's not me. It's not the great stretch for me to cook something for a potluck that it is for many of my friends, but it is a stretch. I cook mostly healthy stuff for just one person or I grab take-out. I'm happy to eat my own cooking, but who knows about anyone else. My cooking is certainly never subject to judgment and yes, I do cook up some delicious experiments. I also cook up some disgusting experiments. And oh yeah, I eat all of those on my couch. I consider my table to be more of a large shelf.

So to cook, sit down, eat a meal and clean up afterwards is a foreign concept for the way I live my life.

I want table fellowship, don't get me wrong. I'd just rather go out to eat or be told very specifically what to bring.

What I don't want is the expectation that table fellowship can only take place in the same way it always has. Or a table fellowship that is a remnant of a time when women were to have strong domestic skills. I don't want table fellowship that resembles family dinners similar to ones I haven't participated in regularly since childhood.

For once, there's nothing resembling theological reflection going on here. It's just my own cry to the church: Make space for someone like me. Figure out a way to be church that doesn't ask me to be a family-oriented cook. That way, I don't feel like such a misfit in a church that is already unsure of what to do with me.

I'm pretty sure some other folks would agree.

And Now I Wonder...

I survived preaching on September 11. I even surprised myself on walking the line of political affiliation. And the sermon was more Gospel than me. It was prayed over, Spirit breathed on, that much I know.

I knew, though, the potential problems in my congregation. I can honestly attest to a few people skirting me at the door. A few others made a special stop to thank me. Some genuinely responded to the sermon. All in all, I'd say a pretty standard Sunday.

Before I preached at all, though, that sermon that inevitably tipped my hand away from something like "kill all the terrorists," the conversations were already flying about the tenth anniversary of the attacks. The person most adamantly sharing her beliefs was one well on the other side of things from me. It was that union of God and country that is almost synonymy. It also included her conviction that if the threat of the Muslims ever came too close, she would "lock and load." There were accompanying motions, as well.

I like this woman. I gratefully accepted the number of her hairdresser a few weeks ago. She's funny, in the witty, not over the top kind of way. Then this happened.

For the last few weeks, I've been considering more and more what boundaries place a person outside the Christian community. The questions started when about ten people walked out of worship a couple of weeks ago, which is a long story all by itself. In the fundamentalist world I grew up in, the ability to say something was outside accepted behavior of the Christian community was present. I can't say I agreed with the choices made even then, but I miss the ability to hold the community accountable.

The choice for accountability is made by a community that isn't so afraid of money or decline in numbers that it can take the risk of demanding something of a person's life. Most of the choices about accountability made in other communities weren't ones I would replicate now. They usually involved things like drinking alcohol in public and sex among teenagers. Even now, though, I respect the choice of accountability if not the parameters of it.

And now I wonder what to do with this member of my congregation. It's political, which is always messy. If I answer from a purely political stance, I'll surely throw around words like bigot and racist. But to love this woman does not mean looking the other way. To love her in the name of Christ does not mean that.

I am aware that I am offended by her beliefs and attitudes; I am also convinced that they are not Christian. While I believe Christians and Muslims worship the same God, she does not. She would say that Muslims are our enemies and a threat to our lives. Actually, she did say it. She believes they are persecuting us. Ok, then. Jesus said to love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you.

Really. Love your enemies. Pray for those who persecute you.

Jesus didn't elaborate a lot on that particular teaching; Paul didn't elaborate a lot on penalties of not adhering to such behavior in a Christian community. There are no guidelines for how failure to adhere to a teaching might sever a person from the community.

Now I am wondering, though, where is that line? Where is that line that once crossed, means you're not welcome in this community any more?

I admit, I'm willing to draw the line right there, right where she crossed over from viewing a certain group of people as our enemies to wanting to destroy those enemies and believing that's the way it should be. For me, that is an utter failure to hear the Gospel of Jesus Christ.

If I do draw that line, though, all of a sudden I have an enemy...an enemy I must love. At least I'm pretty sure that's how that works.

So now I'm left to wonder, is there anything so great that it can actually oust a person from the Christian community? Or is love really the greatest of all?

That Can of Worms

I had about eighteen hours to think about what I would say, what I would do, possible repercussions. I don't know that I would do anything differently if I had eighteen days.

Yesterday, I got the call I had skated past a couple weeks ago. It was from the local anti-abortion clinic. They go by a lot of names, some good, some derogatory, but at the end of the day, if one thing is an abortion clinic, they must be anti-abortion clinics. This time, it wasn't the community recruitment lady, Nancy, calling, it was a guy from my church, quite excited about the fundraising walk in a few weeks. He wanted to know which promotional materials he should bring to the church and well, would I talk to Nancy since I knew what we could do and couldn't?

I did. And he called late last night to confirm when he could bring the materials to church and the plan for Sunday and further promotion. All the time, I knew he was going to ask me to walk in that fundraising walk and I was grappling more and more with the fact that I would have to tell this man that I would not do that. I had to tell this to a good-hearted man who genuinely cares about people and is also a proud supporter of the Tea Party. Yes, we have some differences of opinion in lots of things.

Sure enough, this morning, I was right. He came bringing the materials, bearing the news he would be out of town that weekend and would I be willing to walk?

The rest of the conversation (a shortened version) went something like this:

"I'm not a pro-lifer."

"Are you serious? Well this changes my opinion of you, it really does. I didn't know any minister wouldn't be pro-life."

"Most of the ministers I know aren't pro-life."

"Well, that's the Lord's decision, not ours."

"I agree. And we should talk about it some time, but we probably won't ever agree. But no, I don't personally support the pro-life movement. Now what do we need to get out to the church?"

"You're still ok with making the announcement on Sunday and telling people about it?"

"I knew when I became a Disciples minister this kind of thing would happen. There are people in this church who strongly agree with you. Others don't. And this church has supported this in the past, so I'm not going to do anything to keep the information from them."

It wasn't much messier than that, truly. I could see the dismay written on his face; it only got stronger as our conversation progressed. I think the cognitive dissonance was wreaking havoc.

I'm sure it won't be the end of that conversation, as much as I'd like it to be. I'm sure more people in the church will hear about it and will hear a lot of things about not being pro-life that are or aren't true about me. There's little room for nuance on the subject in just about any circle.

I think more of the shock, though, came from the fact that I was still passing on the information to the congregation, or that I didn't want to fight about it. Both things are definitely true on my end.

The thing that drives me crazy about the whole scenario isn't what anyone would easily guess. The thing that drives me crazy about it is that he, like so many others in my church, doesn't think the bond of the church is strong enough for this kind of thing or anything else that might cause heated debate. They don't think that bond that exists among members of the church is strong enough to hold opposing opinions and bend, not break, under the strain. That bond is strong enough. Really, truly, it is.

It takes the grace of God. It takes a strong presence of our Lord. The Spirit may be tested to its very limits. But the bond is strong enough to hold us together if we don't let ourselves get in the way. The schisms in the church testify to the fact that we don't believe the bond is strong enough to hold us together. And there are certainly things that stress us to the point that we really can't be in fellowship with one another--women preaching, yes me preaching, is one of those things. Trust me, I've been there.

But I wish it weren't true. Then, later this afternoon, I read the Epistle reading for the week and can think only, "May it be so."

Welcome those who are weak in faith, but not for the purpose of quarreling over opinions. Some believe in eating anything, while the weak eat only vegetables. Those who eat must not despise those who abstain, and those who abstain must not pass judgment on those who eat; for God has welcomed them. Who are you to pass judgment on servants of another? It is before their own lord that they stand or fall. And they will be upheld, for the Lord is able to make them stand. Some judge one day to be better than another, while others judge all days to be alike. Let all be fully convinced in their own minds. Those who observe the day, observe it in honor of the Lord. Also those who eat, eat in honor of the Lord, since they give thanks to God; while those who abstain, abstain in honor of the Lord and give thanks to God.

We do not live to ourselves, and we do not die to ourselves. If we live, we live to the Lord, and if we die, we die to the Lord; so then, whether we live or whether we die, we are the Lord's. For to this end Christ died and lived again, so that he might be Lord of both the dead and the living.

Why do you pass judgment on your brother or sister? Or you, why do you despise your brother or sister? For we will all stand before the judgment seat of God. For it is written, "As I live, says the Lord, every knee shall bow to me, and every tongue shall give praise to God." So then, each of us will be accountable to God. (Romans 14:1-12)

Amen.