A mother remembers...

A recent conversation with a ministry colleague, who also happens to be a young mother, made me think of this poem, written shortly after I delivered our first child many years ago.

As my friend reminds me, one of the essential differences between the way we tend to celebrate Christmas these days and the biblical story of our Lord's birth that we proclaim is the inherent level of control embedded in our expectations.

This poem takes a more back-to-basics approach to "expecting."  It's called, 13 more days.

Thirteen more days

'til Christmas --

We know beforehand

just when to celebrate

the nativity.  We

count shopping days,

penciling activities

on December's blocks,

organizing his birth.

Yet in that first moment

the words

must have been whispered

as they have been

many thousands of times

before and since,

in surprise and surety –

"It's time, Joseph. It's time."

Lord, awaken us this Christmas

sharply, suddenly,

that we might gasp

with Mary's joy,

"He's come!"

Pastor Shirley

What's Working?

I’ve always been interested in how things work and yet, I still persist in trying to catch the news in some form each day. That’s either a comment on the resiliency of optimism (holding out hope for a report of a random act of kindness somewhere), the addictive quality of pessimism (now what!), or something else.

Inaccessible healthcare websites, international surveillance of cell phone conversations, renewed interest in conspiracy theories for historical events, lack of support for public schools, shifting more responsibility for food and shelter for the unemployed or underemployed to non-profits, distrust of government representatives, disgust at huge profits and bailouts, long terms of recovery from being underwater either from storm surges or from mortgage losses - our society is a mess!  My own chosen constructs and political leanings sway and stagger.  My confidence wanes.  I’m sick of it.  Tired.  And the irony is that in the midst of this, I’m actually fine. By that I mean I’m still standing.  Solvent.  Healthy.  Secure. Befriended.  Married with children. Educated. Passionate about my life’s work. Blessed.  Fortunate.  I take the cake, as they say, on all the above, but I’m frosted with frustration and foreboding. This is what I have in common with nearly everyone I know.  I’m beginning to discover that the only thing that might work will have to be “something else.” 

I’m a Christian, but not the sort of Christian that you might expect, that is, not the sort that seems to make the daily news.  For example, I don’t worry about prayer in public schools.  I prayed in study halls, at lockers, at ball games, on my way to and from schools all my life, and I never missed another person leading the group in prayers aloud because, for one thing, the bible, and Jesus in particular, warns against its pitfalls (Matthew 6: 5-6).  In fact, I don’t regularly grumble about or retreat from humanity with all its flagrant failures and debauchery, partly because I was raised to practice honest self-examination and largely because Jesus was known for moving among and eating with low life.  It was the one true, irrefutable charge against him, and yet, in the context of his purpose and character, that choice was transformed from a condemnation to confirmation of his message and then, believe it or not, to commission for those who would follow him. 

In trying to figure out how things work, I’ve uncovered the value of that rather inauspicious word, expectation.  It was like discovering hidden wealth.  What do I expect?  The difference between what I expect and reality is the measure of my disappointment or sense of offense.  Since I can’t fix reality, I had better adjust expectations.  That doesn’t mean I accept or – what’s the psychological advice? – embrace reality.  While I am diametrically opposed to embracing judgment, I also don’t embrace what prickles or is sleazy.  There’s a third way.  I embrace something else. 

So, here’s how it works:  You have to pack and carry two basic expectations:  1) Jesus is Jesus.  We are only like Jesus when His Spirit produces something else through our attempts to engage life’s situations and relationships.  2) People are people, God love them.  Everyone I meet is lovable, because God made them so and, in fact, does love them.  But at the same time, everyone I meet is also certainly selfish.  Everyone I meet struggles with the dichotomy of money or other form of personal power and God; everyone chooses regularly between self-indulgence and sacrifice.  Everyone I meet is self-righteous, excusing him or herself and judging others.  Everyone.  It’s only when I expect something different from that, something more from others, that I’m offended, disappointed, frustrated, or shocked.  It’s only when I expect something different, something more that I tend to play dress-up in self-righteousness myself, tossing those faux-god boas of emotional reaction around my shoulders.  You can flaunt high and mighty principles all day long, but you can’t fix people.  They won’t shape up.  They don’t shame up.  They aren’t berated into better-ness. 

I expect Jesus to be Jesus and people to be people.  At the same time, I try to remember which one I am and how I'm doing at the moment.  And, especially, I remember that Jesus repurposes damaged goods, left and right.  He’s good at it.  Perfect, actually.  That’s not too high an expectation to believe; he is something else. 

So I expect the news to be graphic and gripping and awful much of the time, unless interrupted by God's grace and provision.  I expect the world to be continually dying and bent on decaying and God to be continually resurrecting and life-giving.  I do not expect to be abandoned, because I have God’s word on it that that will never happen.  I expect praise to be a response, not pre-requisite or leverage in my relationship with such a powerful ally who is also, always my loving abba-father.  That’s as far as I can go with figuring out how it all works here.  It gives me a place to stand and not be blown away.  It gives me a place to start. 

May you have undaunted Grace and Peace, 
Pastor Shirley

Back to the Basis

I have been deleting my impulsive facebook posts lately almost as quickly as I post them.  It's a sign.  I'm too preachy for that medium these days or at least on this topic.  But I'm also waking up early in the morning with this on my mind.  So I've decided to spread it out here.

I'm hoping and praying for peace continually. News of gathering war ships is scary stuff for my timid soul.  

However, I'm also frustrated by the public reasons I'm hearing for keeping out of international events: "What's in it for us?"  "How much will it cost?"  "How better might that money be spent here at home?"  "As unfortunate as it is to know human beings are being assaulted by nerve gas, face it, people suffer all the time."  "A US military response may also harm civilians so we should do nothing."  

As I hear and read these comments, I'm asking myself what they are based on. Among my particular group of friends, one answer is their faith.  I'm guessing that their faith has been trumped by fear.  I'm listening for conviction, for commitment that seeks (or at least, struggles) to transition from statements of faith to action.  

As Christians, our actions need to flow from our moral core -- from our understanding of Jesus' example of humility, compassion, confrontive truth-telling, and self-sacrifice. "Let your attitude to life be that of Christ Jesus himself."  (Philippians 2:5a) 

For me, as a Christian, it's a question of HOW we will best help any particular group of suffering humanity.  Here's my personal list of 'whether's.'
whether we stand up against their oppressors (verbally/ militarily/ influentially);
whether we can bring humanitarian aid;
whether we step back to let others take the lead, acknowledging that in this instance we are less capable of understanding and providing what is needed in ways that are most helpful;
whether, alternatively, we accept that we ourselves are, in fact, those to whom much has been given in this instance and, therefore, from whom much will be expected. 

Looking to theology, history and culture is a way to acknowledge we aren't the first people to deal with difficulties and that we can learn from those who went before us.  Debate on these levels makes sense to me.  Just being able to make a good case for something does not automatically make that a valid biblical stance; on the other hand, discerning and following God's lead often isn't easily explained to others, but there we are met and blessed by God's promised presence and power. 

Do we remember that Jesus is at table with us, at the computer, tablet?  His companionship makes all the difference.  All. The. Difference.

Following Jesus means I factor all of these weighty matters honestly, that I take risks with an attitude of humility, trusting that God will use my response. It means I throw my personal influence behind outcomes derived from such motives on local and national forums. The only cautions I find in scripture are to repress my instinct to stay where I'm confident and secure in my own understanding, to avoid judging others as having lesser insight or value than myself, and to self-examine my real motives.   

I guess, to be completely honest, I have never understood selective-biblical-literalists.  Jesus says love your enemies.  Surely the complexities of our decisions need to begin there.

Whether we work for peace by negotiating further or by taking action against oppressors, we need to re-frame the discussion so we claim and seek to act consistently from our core truths.  

Grace and Peace,

Pastor Shirley

Too Good

“Sometimes it doesn’t pay to be too good at what you do.”

That advice was coming from a woman who had been born and raised in Massachusetts and, consequently, she spoke with characteristic vowel sounds that made whatever she said sound curiously gentle to me.  I liked hearing her talk and I also wondered what was behind that statement so I was glad when she went on to explain.  

“Once I caught [sounds like ‘cot’] a chicken for the pot.  Had to butcher it myself.  Left a number of those pin feather ends under the skin, though,” she said with a chuckle, leaving me to apply her conclusion. Sometimes it doesn’t pay to be too good at what you do because you might be called upon to do it more often.

That applies, however, only when we don’t want to be called upon again.  Perhaps we don’t want others to assume that we will do whatever it is, that we don’t want to be taken for granted.  Perhaps we just react badly to being told what to do by someone else.  Perhaps we simply don’t care for this job.  Then, doing something reluctantly or doing it poorly probably is likely to get us off the hook when that task comes around again.  Or we could just say “no, thank you,” but that might seem uncomfortable.

In any case, when I look at it that way, my soft-spoken friend is right and also pretty clever.  It's true that sometimes being competent does not pay, that is, it doesn’t benefit me.  What’s in it for me?  A lot of work.  Few rewards.

But Jesus looks at this sort of thing differently.  He isn't describing drudgery when he teaches, “You have shown yourself trustworthy in a very small matter and you shall have charge of ten cities.”  (Luke 19:17 NEB)  Jesus is announcing good news!  

Ten cities.  That’s quite a lot of responsibility.  And quite a prominent position – one I might aspire to if I want people to look up to me, or one that I might avoid if I don’t like having a lot of responsibility.  But it’s also an expanded sphere of influence within which to operate using the values of my faith -- a position from which to offer good to the world.  Those who leave pinfeathers might seem harmless, but if they are put in positions of even more influence, think of what the world will have to choke down!

In a CBS This Morning show interview recently, Tyler Summit summarized the series of difficulties that his mother (coach Pat Summit) has faced by saying, "I believe God gives us platforms."  It struck me that this is the way to receive all circumstances of our lives, not just the crucial, but also the ordinary.  Everything we do says something about ourselves.  As we practice our faith in the daily details, we are not only improving, but also proving that we are ready for what lies ahead.  Everything we do says something distinctive about who we worship.  

We are called to be those who understand even the smallest task as an opportunity to show that we have caught (or ‘cot’) on to our Lord’s way of offering healing and hope to the world he so loves. 

Even grace and peace can be delivered in very small packages.

Pastor Shirley