The Day My Son Got In A Fight

Yesterday evening, as my wife and I were beginning to unpack the day and forage through the refrigerator for whatever leftovers we could scrounge together for dinner and as our three-year-old son, Zachary was once again finding himself mesmerized by his new favorite show, "Paw Patrol," Debra shared with me this piece of  news:

"I talked to Zach's teacher today," she started, "evidently another boy hit him today."

While disappointing and somewhat disconcerting, this was not the first time an incident like this has happened since he has been at his current school.  It seems like every couple of weeks he is either getting hit or bit by another boy (or girl).  We have been searching for ways to try to get this problem somewhat reconciled with his teacher and the administrators, but when it's one teacher and a whole bunch of 3-year-old children, there's only so much you can do.  So, this news by itself was not all that troubling or surprising, what was troubling was what came next:

"And Zachary hit him back."

This news hit me (forgive the expression) hard. This was the first time I could remember hearing news that Zachary had retaliated in this way. It was surprising to me to learn of this because Zach is an altogether super sweet kid.  He is not one that is all that rough when he plays and is not one to get violent or destructive when he gets angry with Debra or I.  Generally when he gets mad (which isn't all that often) he will either curl up into a "limp noodle" or will attempt to ignore whatever it is we are trying to tell him.  Very rarely have I seen him act out in a way that could even be considered physical.

This news was disappointing to me because we, as pastors who believe in following the example of Jesus, have done our very best to teach Zach the way of non-violence and the way of peace.   We do not watch shows on television that could be considered violent (Chiefs and TCU football not withstanding), he does not own any toy guns, swords, or the like, he is not spanked by either Debra or I, and the common expression around our house in those times when he does get angry is, "Hugs not Hits." This approach is one that we both believe in very strongly and it is one that, for the most part, seems to work.

But what about those times, like yesterday, when the lessons of peace and the example on non-violence is unheeded?  What about those times when the desire of one to live in peace bumps up against the very real human condition and the intrinsic desire to retaliate and to "get even"?

As a parent, in that moment there in our kitchen as I learned that my son had gotten into his first "fight," a myriad of thoughts and questions began to run through my brain.  "Have we done something wrong?"  "Is there something going on with Zach?" "Did the other kid 'deserve' it?"  "What now?"

Understanding that we had to respond to this in some way, we summoned Zach away from watching the "Paw Patrol" rescue a kitten who had been washed out to sea on a toy boat, and we asked him what had happened.  To be honest, I was not really expecting him to be able to formulate much of a response.  Often when we ask him what he did at school he says, "nothing," or perhaps, "ate dinner."  But amazingly enough, he could recount the whole incident in pretty specific detail.  Which of course brought to mind a whole new question, "why do we remember things like this, but not always the good teaching moments that happen throughout our day?"

After he recounted the experience to us, we told him the only thing we knew to say, "we do not hit, when that happens you walk away and tell a teacher."

Perhaps this was not the "right" response, perhaps there were (are) better ways to react when you hear that your firstborn son, who is only three years of age had, if for only a moment, resorted to his most primal instincts and lashed out against another child. It was a struggle for Debra and I to determine there on the spot what our response to Zachary would be.  We believe in Jesus' example of "turning the other cheek," but, of course, like all parents, we want our son to be able to stand up for himself and to not allow other children to take advantage of his peacefulness.  We, like him, had only a moment to respond to what had happened, and we had to make a decision.  What else could we do?

How do you really explain the path of non-violence to a young child anyway? How do you explain it to grown-ups? Forget non-violence for a second, and tell me how we explain violence?  How do we explain the destructiveness that violence and retaliation brings to both ourselves and to those around us?  So many times a peaceful way of life does not make sense and flies in the face of both what our society tells us is normal and the animalistic instincts that exist within each and every one of us.  How do we explain to our child that when someone hurts them, the proper response is to not attempt to "get even?"  How do we explain that there are other forms of justice, even within the world of three year olds?

Perhaps more importantly, how do we as parents, set and live the example we want our children to follow? How do we help them see that choosing to live in peace with those around us is the most faithful and authentic demonstration of what strength truly is?

These are the questions that are on my heart today.  The events of yesterday are long since forgotten in the mind of Zach.  Today is a new day. He woke up, ate his waffle, enjoyed a new (finally!) episode of "Paw Patrol" and happily trotted into his classroom.  And this morning as I watched him interact with another smiling little boy (perhaps the one who hit him?) I thought to myself,

"Maybe I do not have much to teach him about living in peace after all....perhaps instead he has a few lessons he could teach me."

I Might Be The World's Worst Evangelist (and why I'm okay with it)

The other day I'm  cruising down the highway  listening to the "Frozen" soundtrack (don't judge, just let it go) when I run over something hard and metallic, which, of course, blew out one of my front tires.  This was not the first time this has happened since moving to Oklahoma, so my level of frustration was higher than it probably should have been as I maneuvered my poor car off the highway and over to the shoulder.

After reassuring my three-year-old son who was in the backseat that we were okay and answering "yes" multiple times to the question, "Daddy broke a tire?" I had just begun the process of unpacking all the needed items to change out said tire when an old, beat-up minivan pulls up behind me.  "Great," I thought, "This is how most horror movies begin."

I needn't have been concerned, however, because out of that van stepped an older gentleman who simply needed to know if I needed any help with the car.  After thanking this Good Samaritan and telling him that I thought I could handle it, we got to talking for a few minutes. Seeing as how I was rather preoccupied with the task at hand, this man did most of the questioning.   "Are you from around here?" (Yes)  While pointing to my son in the back seat, "Is this your only child?" (No) And then, seemingly out of the blue, this question came to me, "Are you a Christian?"  After recovering quickly at the surprise of this inquiry, I told him yes and that my wife and I were in fact, both ordained pastors.  He smiled, nodded and then replied, "Well, I'm glad I stopped."  Just like that, he then got back into his van and drove away.  It was an awkward end to an otherwise (given the circumstances) pleasant exchange.

In the  days since that event, I have been thinking more about that man and about that conversation and namely his desire to know if I proclaimed myself as a follower of Jesus. As I recounted that experience in my mind and to my wife, my mind started to ask questions. What would his response been had I answered otherwise?  Would the same offer to help had been extended (or rescinded) if I had professed allegiance to another faith (or no faith at all)? Was there an intention present all along to evangelize a young(ish) broken down traveler? The truth of the matter is, I have no idea and will never have a way of knowing. All I know for sure is that I am grateful for his willingness to stop and help, and now as I continue to think back on that exchange there on the side of the highway, I realize why the ending of  that conversation seems so perplexing to me;

I never would have thought to inquire about the religious beliefs of a person I had just met.

As I came to that understanding, I also realized that I cannot remember the last time (if ever) I have actually inquired about anyone's religious affiliation, regardless of the circumstances. As a pastor, this feels strange to acknowledge, but I believe it is, in fact, true.  In my ten-plus years of pastoral ministry, I do not think the words, "Are you a Christian" have ever passed through my lips. To be honest, I do not know if I've ever asked anyone if they even WANT to be a Christian. Once this light dawned on me, I thought to myself, "I might be the world's worst evangelist."

If this is true, I accept that title.  To be fair, I come by my evangelistic inadequacies honestly.  As a life-long member of the Christian Church (Disciples of Christ) I am part of a tradition that tends to shy away from that sort of on-the-spot questioning. As a tried and true introvert, I tend to prefer to be left to my own devices and generally assume that most others do as well.  Who are you to question me? Who am I to question you? Finally, and this perhaps is the biggest influence into my lacking desire to be considered an "evangelist," I have rarely seen evangelism, at least in it's traditional, culturally accepted form, done well.

 I have memories of being in seminary and having people hand out tracts in downtown Ft. Worth and telling me that my seminary education made me LESS of a Christian, I can remember people walking around with giant crosses slung over their shoulder, yelling at me to "repent" (again in Ft. Worth), and here in Oklahoma City there is a giant billboard on the side of one of our highways asking us the question, "If you die tonight: Heaven or Hell?" A week or two ago I found a Bible tract strategically placed on the toilet paper dispenser at Starbucks (really?).  Even on a more personal level, there have been plenty of times when, in the midst of the conversations with other Christians, the topic of religious beliefs came up, the message I have gotten over and over is that if I don't adhere to their particular flavor of Christianity, then I AM in fact, less of a Christian.

So as I think about how I may in fact hold the title for "World's Worst Evangelist," I realize that if I am being judged against some of the methods I just described, than I am perfectly okay with that title.  Because, you know what?  None of the above methods even come close to describing the path that I followed to get to a place in my life where I proclaim myself as a follower of Jesus. Never after hearing someone yell at me to "repent" have I been moved into a different direction, never after seeing a billboard or hearing a talking head on television talk to me about buying into their brand of "fire insurance" have I felt myself drawn closer to Jesus, and there isn't a pamphlet or tract that has ever (or ever will be) printed that will cause my spirit to connect with the Spirit of the Divine.

As a matter of fact, as I think about my own faith journey, I do not have the slightest clue who it was who first told me about Jesus.  Honestly, I have no idea who it was who "evangelized" me.   It might have been a minister, it might have been my parents or grandparents, I don't know. I do not have any recollection of my "salvation" moment or the time I "asked Jesus into my heart."  What I do know is that I have a very clear memory of all those throughout my life who have walked with me, shown me what it means to live like Jesus, and inspired me to go and do likewise.

To me, this is what evangelism is anyway.  Evangelism cannot be and thankfully is not "peddling" Jesus like we would vacuum cleaners or carpet cleaning services.  It is in fact, seeking to embody the life and lifestyle of Jesus.  It's doing our best to live in the manner he did and inspiring those around us to attempt to do likewise. Throughout the course of his ministry, Jesus never asked the question, "Are you a Jew?" or told those of a different belief system to change their understanding before he would join them on the journey. It did not matter if the one whom Jesus encountered was a Jew, a Samaritan, or even a Roman, He loved and served unconditionally, with grace, humility, compassion, and perhaps most importantly, respect.

The way of Jesus does not translate well to a billboard or a tract, but that's okay, it was never meant to. It won't sell many books or promote too many political campaigns (but imagine if it did).  The way of Jesus is meant to be embodied in and among all God's beautiful creation.  I am thankful to all those who have come into my life who have shown me The Way, not through words, but through a listening ear, a hug, a shoulder to cry on, and the demonstrated desire to walk with me on this journey.

This is the kind of evangelism in which I desire to engage.  And come to think of it, I'm not all that great at this kind, either.  But walking with, loving, respecting, and listening to my fellow human beings sounds like something I'd much prefer to continue to improve.

What If There Was A Different Way?

A new study has been released that offers new insight into the sleep habits of American teenagers. Brace yourself, this may shock you. They don't sleep enough. New research is out that gives as a fairly in-depth peek into the sleep habits of our students.

In this latest report, we are told, once again, that almost all of America's teens do not come anywhere close to getting the recommended nine to ten hours of sleep per night.  According to this study it is far more likely that a typical American teenager will get closer to five hours/night rather than the highly recommended nine or ten.  If my math is correct (which is no guarantee) that would mean that, assuming that most have to awake sometime between five and six o clock in order to get to school on time, on average, our students are finally drifting off to dreamland well after midnight and perhaps as late/early as one or two o clock in the morning.

While the statistics are interesting, they, for anyone who either has, was, or works with middle school and high school students, are not the least bit surprising, nor is this anything new.  I remember these same conversations taking place when I was in high school and as I remember my own sleep habits as a teenager, I was certainly on the five to six hours a night side of the scale. When it comes to teenagers getting an even somewhat adequate amount of rest each day, the struggle is real.  As I was reading this article, I found myself thinking about a conversations that I have had over the years with students, and I remember thinking, as they detailed to me how much homework and how many hours of extracurricular activities they had each day, "Gosh, when do you sleep?"  And as it turned out, they really didn't.  Of course, the causes for the sleep deprivation that exists among our students has been well documented and debated.  It seems that everyone has their own opinion about what needs to change in order for some semblance of balance is restored.  It's either school start times, the amount of homework that is assigned each day, the amount of hours required by band, choir, theater, and athletics, after (or before) school jobs, or maybe it is in fact the increased prevalence of technology in the bedroom of our teenagers.

The truth, of course, is somewhere in the middle.  It is a combination of these factors in addition to a variety of other variables that contributes to the seemingly constant sleepiness of our students.  No matter which way we slice it, teenagers are busy.  From the moment they wake to the moment they (eventually) go to sleep, they bounce from activity to activity and obligation to obligation. It hardly seems that for many, there is even enough time left in the day to eat, let alone rest.  So what place does the Church, and it's ministry to her students, have in the already jam packed lives of those same students that we have been called to serve?

On average, youth ministers and volunteer leaders get somewhere between three to six hours a week of "programmed" time with their students. Currently, at the church I serve I am blessed to have about four hours a week set aside for our youth ministry program. There is a temptation in those precious few hours we have to share together to pack as much in as we possibly can.  This, of course,is the continuing trend in our culture, and thus, in our attempt to "stay relevant," this is the continuing trend in youth ministry.  It seems only reasonable, after all, if we only have four hours a week to "bring kids to Jesus," then we better pack it all in, right?  The temptation is there for us to bounce from music to games, to Bible studies in quick succession, feeling like time (and attention spans) is at a premium.

This is an approach to ministry that I do not understand, and one that seems completely counter intuitive as we consider the already over programmed and exhausting lives so many of our students already lead.  Why does the Church, the place where all (students and adults alike) have traditionally come to seeking sanctuary and rest, have to resemble each and every other moment of our chaotic lives?  The short answer is, it does not.  Lest we forget that we come to Church on the Sabbath, the Holy day of rest.  Youth, how often do you leave your places of worship just as exhausted as you would leave your schools, rehearsal halls, or playing fields?  Adults, do you ever come to church just as (if not more) concerned about what you are responsible for that day as if you were headed off to work?  If you answered "yes" to these questions than that means we, as ministers, are doing you a disservice and that our congregations have lost sight of our original charge: to be a place of safe haven where a meeting between the Creator and Creation can be facilitated.

What if there was a different way?  What if there was a way of ministry that was not so much focused on "what we are going to do," but instead was focused on "how we are going to be?"  What if we were able to create safe, sacred space within the midst of our fundraisers, Bible studies, mission projects, and trips to the bowling alley, for rest, for silence, for intentional prayer, and for unstructured conversation that allows faith, life, and relationships to intersect in altogether beautiful and unexpected ways?  What if "Youth Group" (or whatever fancy name you have for your program) could once again be a place where we no longer hear how tired our students are, because we are giving them the space to rest and recover in the way that the need that night? What if, in short, our ministries became far less about program, and far more about presence?

Top Ten Lessons life as a Youth Minister has taught me

After a five year foray into the world of senior/solo ministry, I have returned to my first love of youth ministry.  As I have been settling back in, I have been reflecting on what I have learned since coming to Oklahoma and what I have had reaffirmed to me after this five year break.  While not an exhaustive list, here's my "top ten":

1. The world of Social Media is a strange and confusing place
    Ten years ago, Facebook was just becoming a thing.  Now, there is a new platform coming online almost daily.  These new communication platforms provide a wonderful space for sharing, but they can also be perplexing, and perhaps even a little frightening for those of us who are still learning how to navigate them.

2. Lock-Ins are the very Best and the very Worst idea in Youth Ministry.  
     Pro Tip: Make bedtime mandatory, and make sure you either bring an air mattress or snag a couch

3. Teenagers are not (and don't want to be) the FUTURE of the Church.
  Perhaps the greatest lie we have ever told our kids (and ourselves) is that they are the "future."  When we use that language, what we are actually saying is, "wait your turn." Meanwhile, teenagers are longing to make a difference NOW, and to know they have a voice NOW.  If we don't provide them the opportunity to get involved and make an impact today, they will find (and are finding) another organization who will.

4.  There is nothing more sacred than unplanned, spontaneous conversation. 
  Ministry, like life, is meant to be organic.  Teenagers know when we are trying to force the conversation or attempting to solicit certain answers/questions out of them. When things are forced, it creates an awkward situation for adult and teen alike.  Sacred conversation happens when we allow shared time to flow naturally, at its own pace.  This is true in a ministry setting, and it is true in our own homes.

5. When it comes to "program," less is most certainly more.
  It seems like every moment of our teens lives are programmed for them.  From the moment they wake to the moment they (finally) go to sleep, they bounce from one scheduled activity to the next.  How many of us have had our teens say, "I'm tired," as they lay on the couch in the youth room, not wanting to participate in our tediously planned night of ministry?  The last thing our youth need when they come to church is more "programming."  What would it be like if we moved away from program, and focused much more on prayer, presence, and the building of relationships between one another and with the One who brought us together?

6. Teenagers are still woefully understood (and they know it).
  Our youth are crazy, unpredictable, complicated humans.  They ask questions that do not have answers, do things that defy all rational comprehension, lash out in anger and frustration one moment and then immediately turn around and cling to us like they need us more than anything.  It can be so difficult for us as parents and youth leaders to understand why they do the things that they do.  Sometimes we even ask, "Why?"  Here's the thing, just as we don't understand them, they don't really understand themselves.  Just as confusing as the body, mind, and spirit of a teenager is to us, we need to recognize that it is even more so to them.  We do our teens or ourselves no justice by expressing the frustration that comes from our confusion to them.

7. Teenagers want to learn, but they do not necessarily want to be "taught."
  Gone are the days where our youth willingly defer to the "experts" and passively absorb information that is given to them.  This can be frustrating for us in ministry because our ministry models are still built upon the premise that the "expert" (minister or youth leader) provides the Good News and our teenagers will willingly lap it up like a dog at his water bowl.  That does not mean, however, that they do not want to learn.  The difference now is that they want to participate equally in the search for knowledge and Truth.  Blessed is the youth ministry the provides safe space for an equal exchange of ideas and allows for cooperative exploration.

8. Safe ground is Holy ground.
  The world is a beautiful place, but it is also a frightening one. Our youth come to us at Church out a variety of contexts, not all of them are the safest and most secure.  No matter what we are told, our teens come to us seeking sanctuary and an hour or two where they know that they will be safe and protected.  It is when our youth know that their minds, bodies, and spirits are safe from judgement, condemnation, ridicule, and pressure, that they will, over time, begin to open up and share the deepest longings and questions of their heart.  We may sometimes wonder why our youth are not sharing, talking, or paying all that much attention and often it is because they are trying to figure out if this space is safe and these people around them can be trusted.  Each teenager reaches their own conclusions on their own time.  This process cannot be forced.

9. "Numbers" do not matter, but Growth does.
  Perhaps the greatest trap to ever befall youth ministry programs is the trap of the "numbers game."  We all have fallen into it.  We seek to compare ourselves to other programs based on the number of youth who come to our weekly programs, how many we take on mission trips, and how many go to summer camp.  Programs have been judged and youth ministers have been hired and fired based on the numbers game.  But here's the deal, numbers do not matter.  Jesus himself only had 12 followers.  Ministry cannot and should not be judged based on how many kids we are able to cram into a room.  But while numbers do not matter, growth does.  Ministries should be evaluated based on how they are growing trust, relationships, community, authenticity, and the desire to serve.

10. Teenagers desire to experience the very real love of God and desperately want the Church to be the place where that experience happens.
  The Church has gotten a bad rap over the years and we are often told that teens do not need or want the Church any longer.  This is hogwash.  The Church can be and still is the place that most of our youth associate with God.  They need and want God in their lives, and they also need and want the Church.  The burden is NOT on them to conform to our programs, our theology, or "the way it has always been done," but instead the burden is on US to meet our youth where they are, to provide safe space, and to help facilitate a meeting between our teenagers and with the God who created them and loves them more than they will ever know.

An Open Letter to All Those Who Came To Church

To the one who came to church, 

It's a busy day.  You have a busy life.  You don't even have to be here.  After all, what is one Sunday out of the fifty-one others that will come and go during this year?  You've got a packed schedule and a brain and a heart that is full of thoughts, questions, and to-do lists. Some days, it's hard enough to get up and get moving when you have to be at a place where you get paid for your presence and participation.  Wouldn't it be nice to have a morning where you did not have to rush to get the family dressed and fed and hurriedly out the door?   No one would blame you if you were somewhere else today.

But you are here today.  There are many times when I long to crawl inside your head and your heart so that I may see more clearly what leads you out of your daily grind and into the Church and what good news you long to hear. 

What is it that brings you here?  Is it obligation and a sense of duty? Is it a need for refuge and a desire for sanctuary?  It is it a longing for community and companionship?  To you come here looking for a sense of belonging?  Do you enter through the doors of the Church desperately needing to hear the Good News that tomorrow can be brighter than today? What is it that calls you out of your home and into the house of God?  

Perhaps you come out of a sense of duty, and you sometimes feel under appreciated or that your commitment is not noticed or does not make a difference.  When you think those thoughts and when you feel like you are not making a difference, please know that I appreciate you and that what you do here is seen by the One we serve and that what you do matters.  

Perhaps you are coming here seeking sanctuary and safety. Feeling as if the world is an unforgiving and unrelenting place you coming here seeking to have the waves of life buffered by the sturdy walls of the Church.  As you seek that refuge, maybe there have been times when you have not felt safe even within the Church.  Perhaps you even come here slightly wary, feeling like you have to be on guard even as you want nothing more than to lower your defenses.  If you are coming here for safety, please know that I desire nothing more than for you to find it here.  

Perhaps you come here for companionship and to know that you belong..  Perhaps you have recently retired, sent your children off to college, or bid a final farewell to a parent or spouse. Perhaps life has brought circumstances to you in such a way where now all you need is someone to sit and to share with. Even in the midst of the commotion of this day, and though or in spite of the numerous activities offered by the Church, I pray that you found a cup of coffee, a comfortable chair, and a soul or two to worship alongside you today.  I pray that you were able to laugh, to cry, to listen, and to be listened to.  I pray that I showed you love and properly acknowledged your presence here.   

Perhaps you come here searching for Good News.  Perhaps this has been a week of less-than-good news and you need more than anything to hear a word of hope and of promise. I hope that the words that were shared in the hallways, around the coffee pots, in the classrooms, and in worship were good words. I hope that you were able to hear a message of love from not just the scriptures and the sermon, but from the eyes, lips, and hearts from all in this place.  I pray that you found yourself encouraged, strengthened, and enlivened by your time here.  I pray that you, even for a moment, had your sense of hope restored.  

No matter what led you to this place, and no matter if I will see you again next Sunday, please know that I am grateful and humbled to have the chance to share in a time of worship with you.  Please know that I saw you here and that I thanked God that we had this time together.  While I long to see you again, please know that no matter where life takes you that you will forever have a partner on the journey.  

In Love and Gratitude,

Your Minister

So really it's about selfishness....

One week ago, just last Wednesday,  the world awoke to news of an act of terror and senseless murder that had been committed in Paris. That day, and in the days since, media has been full of images, videos, and stories giving us every angle and every opinion about what happened at Charlie Hebdo and why it occurred.  In those days we found ourselves riveted by the search for the attackers and the images of the gun battles that would eventually end the lives of the accused gunmen.  Cable News has been full of "talking heads" who each have an opinion about what the world's response should be in the aftermath of Charlie Hebdo.  Rallies have been held, signs declaring, "I am Charlie" have been made, and the people of Europe have come together in a remarkable and inspiring display of unity.  The images that have been shared remind me a great deal of what took place here in the United States in those first days and weeks after 9/11.  It is amazing how grief can build bridges and bring people together.  I continue to grieve with the people of France and I pray for the day when "terror" of any form becomes just a distant, yet still painful memory.  

At about the same time, on a different continent, another act of terror was occurring.  Only we didn't know about it at the time.  It wasn't until after we had become overly saturated by what happened in France did we learn about the incredibly horrible atrocities that had been committed by the militant group Boko Haram.  There are now reports that up to 2000 civilians had been killed by this group and that up to 16 different villages had been razed.  It was amazing (in an incredibly sad sort of way) to me that I first learned about this event not from CNN or from other major news outlets,but from random journalists that I follow on Twitter.  When I first saw mentions of Nigeria coming across my Twitter feed, I did not at first know what was happening.  It took a little bit of digging on my part to get the full scoop about what had happened and what was continuing to happen.  

As I have started to compare the attention that Paris received to the attention garnered by the events in Nigeria I have gotten confused by the disparity.  It is not like the world isn't aware of the brutal capabilities of Boko Haram. It's also not like the world hasn't responded publicly to previous atrocities committed by this terror group.  We remember that it was the actions of Boko Haram that sparked the #bringbackourgirls campaign.   So what was it about these two instances that caused one to be at the forefront of the consciousness of the Western world and the other to be relegated to the back pages and the closing statements of the news broadcasts? 

As I have been wrestling with this question, I have been fighting the temptation to simplify it to the easy answer of "black" and "white"  That is, the majority of the victims in France were Caucasian, and those in Nigeria were, of course, not.  While we don't really know, and I'm sure that every news outlet will give a different response to their delay in reporting and the lack of attention to these atrocities that occurred in Nigeria, I imagine that the real reasoning boils down to an incredibly high level of ignorance on the part of so many of us (myself very much included) as to what the situation actually is on the African continent.  I wonder how many of us could actually locate Nigeria on a map of Africa (I had to look it up) and I wonder how many of us can resonate at all with the political and social upheaval that is occurring in that country.  

This is in sharp contrast to the situation in Paris where most (if not all) of us have some level of familiarity with the French way of life.  We have either visited Paris, know someone from France, or can otherwise identify with the French people.  In addition, what happened in France was an attack on "Free Speech" and for Westerners, there is not much that is more sacred to us than the right to express ourselves.  

As I have started to process this disconnect on a deeper level I have started to wonder how we each pick and choose what we pay attention to.  How do we determine what is important to us?  How do we ascertain what (and who) matters more than others?  I have started to ask these questions of myself as well.  I have started to become more fully aware of the nice, neat little bubble that I have successfully wrapped myself up in.  I am becoming more cognizant of where I get my news, who I talk to, and how my worldview is shaped.  I have become aware that I paid more attention to what happened in Paris, because it, in theory, could happen here in Oklahoma City.  

So really, at the end of the day, I guess it's about selfishness, and self preservation.  But then I realize that has a follower of the risen Christ, selfishness and self preservation cannot be were my devotion lies.  It is my prayer for myself that I will have the courage to expand my bubble, to become much more aware of what is happening outside of my very limited worldview, and will seek to invite others to do the same.  Doing this while remembering that until all live in peace, none of us truly do.  

Free Will in Matters of Life and Death

Did you see the story that broke last week about a 17 year old girl from Connecticut who, in the midst of her four month old battle against Hodgkin's Lymphoma, had somewhat recently decided to discontinue her chemotherapy treatments and seek "alternative" ways to combat the cancer that has invaded her body?    This decision was supported and affirmed by her parents but not by the judicial system of the state of Connecticut. If you haven't read this story, read about it here:

 In November of 2014, the Department of Children and Families was able to successfully petition the state to compel the girl, who is being identified in the media as "Cassandra" to undergo chemotherapy against her wishes and the wishes of her family.  This action set off a peculiar chain of events including Cassandra running away from home, the state placing her in "protective" custody, and two rather intensive court battles.  All of these actions were done in an attempt to reconcile to one basic question: "who has the authority to determine in what manner the health care of a minor will be administered?"

First, the facts (and it is in these facts that we begin to find the grey areas): Cassandra is a minor, the legal age of adulthood in Connecticut is 18.  Under Connecticut law, her rights as a minor who still lives under care of her parents are fairly limited. She can not vote nor can she can  (legally) drink. By law she is compelled to stay in high school unless she graduated early or her parents are able to demonstrate why it was in her best interest to withdraw, and she cannot legally get married unless her parents provide written permission.  

More facts: according the the National Cancer Institute, Hodgkin's Lymphoma strikes approximately 9,000 Americans every single year.  Out of those 9,000, approximately 1,100 patients die from this disease.  This equates out to about a 12% mortality rate.  In Cassandra's case, it was determined by medical professionals that, with treatment, she would have an 85% survival rate, but without treatment she would succumb to the cancer within two years. 

There are obviously a lot of different things to consider in this case and I am thankful that I am not the one having to make this decision.  From a legal standpoint, at the core of this case is the question of what is known as the "Mature Minor Doctrine," a policy that states that minors (those under 18) who still live under the care of their parents may make their own decisions regarding their health care.  In this particular case, the courts have ruled that Cassandra and her parents were not competent enough to make these decisions.   From what I understand, the basis for this judgement comes from the fact that Cassandra did run away from home not long after this legal battle began.  

This case brings with it a multitude of questions that are thus far not being answered by media reports.  It is my hope that more information will be forthcoming as this case undoubtedly continues to rise in the public consciousness.  For me, the issues at hand come down to basic questions of autonomy.  This case highlights a variety of similar medicinal questions that have arisen over the past several months, all of which coming back to this question of who has the ultimate authority to make medical decisions for an individual?  

We can certainly understand both perspectives in this particular case.  Medical professionals, supported by the state, firmly believe that they can save this girl's life.  They believe that for her to deny treatment to herself is to deny herself of life.  This tension is at the core of the medical code of ethics; doctors are here to preserve life.  On the other side, we can certainly appreciate the perspective of this family. Cassandra does not want the toxic chemicals of chemotherapy in her body, she and her family want to pursue other forms of treatment, and it is believed by the mother that, "she isn't going to die." In a statement regarding her preferred choice to not undergo the chemotherapy treatments, Cassandra says that in regards to her life span, "it's about quality, not quantity." 

As I have been reading up on this story, my mind has been drifting to the numerous instances about parents who, for whatever reason, refuse to vaccinate their children (Quick side note, if this is you, please, please, please, rethink that position, and if you still refuse to immunize your children, do not bring them into contact with my boys).  We have recently heard reports about a measles (measles, people, a disease that we've pretty much taken care of) outbreak at Disneyland in California. So on the most basic levels, as it relates to the case in Connecticut, why is it legally appropriate to mandate that a 17-year old, whose cancer is of no threat to anyone but herself, continue chemotherapy treatments, but it is not just as appropriate to mandate vaccinations against altogether preventable diseases that pose a real public health issue?  Why is one parent deemed negligent enough to warrant her daughter being placed in protective custody, but not those who refuse to have their children (who cannot yet make choices for themselves) immunized?  

In addition, the question of autonomy remains. We certainly recall the story of the young woman in Oregon who became the standard-bearer for the "Death with Dignity" movement.  There, we have a case where a legal adult chose to forgo any potential treatments and to allow her life end on her own terms.  In this midst of that story, the same debate raged on; Who has the right to make these life/death decisions, and on what basis are those rights granted?  There were (an undoubtedly still are) many who wish that the courts would have mandated some sort of treatment for this woman.  Under what conditions, religious or otherwise, would it be acceptable to deny a woman with full cognitive function the right to have autonomy over her own life?

So as we come back to the story of Cassandra in Connecticut, the questions of autonomy remain.  Can she make her own decisions? According to the state, no, she cannot.  Can her parents make decisions for her?  It would appear that under most circumstances, under Connecticut law, that yes, they can, so why not in this case?  Finally, under what standard does (or should) the state(s) use to determine how health care should be administered? 

From a faith-based perspective, the tension in this case and so many like it is very real. On one hand, the belief that life is precious and that all people have infinite value in the eyes of God is a core tenant of all faiths, and on the other hand we understand that human beings have free-will and autonomy over their own lives and are free to make their own choices.  So how do we determine how these cases should be understood?

 What say you?  Are our churches providing the open space to grapple with such issues?  Are our pastors providing the opportunity for honest conversation about how our congregants understand life and death and that murky grey area in between the two? How can we do a better job of helping to facilitate those conversations in an environment that is safe and free from judgement?   

Cold Mornings, Cold Hearts, and the Aftermath of Christmas

Baby, it's cold outside. Today is the first really cold morning that I can recall for us here in Oklahoma City this winter.  Even in the midst of the cold here, and the continued reluctance of my three-year old to put a coat on before he goes outside, I know that we've got it pretty easy here in Oklahoma.  So much of the country has now descended into that "bleak midwinter" and the nasty coldness that has come with it.  The weather app on my iPhone tells me that my hometown of Kansas City, MO is getting windchills of -25 degrees today.  Today, my heart goes out to all those who, for whatever cause, have to be outside in the ridiculousness of these temperatures.  I hope that businesses, churches, and civic centers will be gracious in opening their doors today in order to give folks at least a few minutes of respite from the elements.

In addition to the arctic temperatures, there seems to be a different coldness that has settled upon us this winter, it seems that the ice that belongs outside on our ponds and riverbeds has weaseled its way into the hearts of so many across this country and across this world.  You can sense it, can't you?  Things are pretty broken right now.  One only has to turn on the news, log onto Facebook or Twitter, or simply strike up a conversation with someone in the line at Starbucks to become inundated by the violence, fear, and negativity that is plaguing us as a people.

This morning we awoke to the news of the horrific terror attacks on the Paris offices of the French magazine, Charlie Hebdo, a horrific event that comes on the heels of the bombing of the NAACP offices in Colorado Springs (an event I am embarrassed to admit that I had no knowledge of until this morning).  These events are compounded upon the loss of the AirAsia flight and the 150+ souls that were on board. Of course, we cannot fail to mention the continuing uneasiness and unrest in regards to the disputes in New York between the police unions and the mayor, the renewed calls for a new grand jury in Ferguson, and the continued violence on the streets of our own communities.

And while these stories are saddening and disheartening, this coldness that has seemingly settled upon us is making itself known in other ways. It seems to be manifesting itself through otherwise good human beings.  As a people, we have separated ourselves from each other to the point of maddening ridiculousness. It seems that everyone has a "camp" in regards to whatever issue, topic, or debate is close to their heart.  We all have become so entrenched on our side that we have created a "no mans land" of sorts in the middle and to cross this ideological divide is to do so at extreme peril.

Over these past several weeks, with all that has been going on, Facebook, Twitter, and the 24-hour news cycle has been bombarding us with all of the different positions on all the different issues.  No matter the position, the message is the same, "believe and act this way, and if you don't, you're an idiot (or other derogatory term)..." What we are witnessing is otherwise good, faithful people, giving in to the fear and brokenness that is permeating our culture.  We are seeing the freezing of spirits, and of hearts, and if the movie, "Frozen," taught us anything, it is that there is nothing more tragic or dangerous than a frozen heart.  Until we can begin to see each other as people and not just positions, the deadlock will not be broken and the cycle will simply continue. Until we can understand the other and, in turn, be understood, thawing will not occur.

"A voice was heard in Ramah, wailing and loud lamentation, Rachel weeping for her children; she refused to be consoled, because they are no more.” ~Matthew 2:18

When I was preaching on a more regular basis I would often choose the text from Matthew 2: 16-18 as the basis for my sermon on the Sunday after Christmas.  Perhaps there is no more a difficult text to preach than the one that details what we commonly refer to at, "the slaughter of the innocents," and it is a text that became even more difficult for me after Zach was born.  But as difficult as it is, I am thankful to Matthew for including this story in his gospel, because it is in this story that we find the reality of the world into which Jesus was born and we are reminded of the reality in which we go through our days.

I have found myself thinking about this story quite a bit over these last couple of months, and I've been wondering how we should be responding to the brokenness that springs us all around us.  I've been thinking about the families of the two officers that were killed in NYC, I've been thinking about the family of Michael Brown, I've been thinking about the families of those who lost loved ones on that doomed airliner, and today I've been praying with those impacted by the violence in Paris.  These folks, and all those dealing with loss, fear, confusion, and discord have been on my heart, and I can imagine all of those beloved children of God asking the questions, "Doesn't anyone care, Doesn't anyone understand?"

The Good News is that Jesus understood, and understands, we know this because of the story of Matthew 2.  If we take the words of Matthew's Gospel to heart, we can give thanks for the realization that he knew what it was like to be poor, knew what it was like to be afraid,knew what it was like to be a refugee, and he knew from an early age what it was like to have enemies.  If Jesus were to tell us his own life's story, in his own words,  he would have undoubtedly told of the time when he was two years old, his dad woke him up in the middle of the night, through him on the back of a donkey, and snuck the family out the back door as he heard the sound of hoofs and the sound of screams in the darkness.

 And it was because Jesus knew and understood the realities of this life; he was able to show those around him that there was a way through it.

This is what makes the story we have here in Matthew 2 part of the Good News, it is Good News that Jesus is in fact one of us.  Emmanuel doesn't just mean God just hangs out with us but is immune to the realities of life…Emmanuel means that God is with us…living what we live…experiencing what we experience…sharing our hopes with us…as one of us.

It is my hope that has we move further into 2015 we can do so with the understanding that the God of all Creation, and the One who is "the Word made flesh" meets us where we are, understands us, and has compassion for us.  With this understanding may we in turn commit to meet one another in a place of compassion and understanding.



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A Prayer for Christmas Eve

O Holy One whose face we have long waited to see, on the eve of Christmas we gather here in the peaceful quiet with grateful hearts.  We come here to withdraw from the commotion of this season and to draw near to you, basking in the delight of your fulfilled promise that you have drawn near to us. 

On the Eve of Christmas we pray that you may grant to us the faith of Mary, granting within us the trust that You can and will do something amazing within us and through us.  May we, by your grace, accept the call that has been given to each of us to be Godbearers.

On the Eve of Christmas we pray that you might give us the courage of Joseph, bestowing upon us the willingness to embrace the uncertainty that comes when You are among us, dreaming up a new dream for us.  Help us to have the audacity to believe that to whatever You are calling us is far better than anything we can imagine on our own.

On the Eve of Christmas we pray that you may give us the joy of the Shepherds.  May we each have the trust to leave behind our burdens so that we may seek out your face.  May we each leave your manger with gladness in our hearts; praising you and basking in the Divine Truth that we are no longer alone in this life, and that You are with us.  May we sing of your glory as we consider your wonderful works.

On the Eve of Christmas we pray that Love may be reborn into our hearts and into the hearts of all your people.  May we, empowered by the Love you have shown us through Christmas, journey together remembering that above all else, we are called to love you and to love each other.

We pray these things tonight in the name of Emmanuel.

Amen. 

When Love Snuggles Up: What my dog teaches me about Christmas

In addition to our two human children, Debra and I share our house with a dog.  Our dog is a big red dog (obligatory Clifford reference, RIP Norman Bridwell!) named Amos.  He is awkward, he is somewhat annoying, and he eats like there is no tomorrow. In the 5 years he has been a part of our life, Deb and I have determined that Amos has two main priorities: His number one priority? Food.  If his bowl isn't perpetually filled, he will whine and paw to the point where we either have to fill it, or pick it up (we will admit to doing more of the former rather than the latter, which probably explains why Amos is a touch on the heavy side). Number two on his list is the need of the constant, focused attention of one of the humans in the house (usually, it seems, me).

When Amos wants attention, there is no mistaking what it is he desires, and there is no denying him.  He will very purposefully walk over to you, and sit down in such a way that his nose is no more than six inches or so from yours.  He will then look at you like this....

Are you paying attention?

He will then sit there and stare at you until you of course, start petting him. But woe to the one who stops petting him before he is finished with you. If you dare attempt to move on to something else, he will promptly repeat the entire procedure, as many times as necessary until he is convinced, once again, that he is in fact loved by the humans in his house.

The other morning I was running late to get out the door on my way to church.  It's been a busy week this week, it's almost like there is a MAJOR Holy Day coming up or something, and I was distracted by the rather extensive to-do list awaiting me.  I sat down to put my shoes on, and here comes Amos, he lumbers over in such a way that makes the floor shake and then assumes the position.  It seems that he always picks the most inconvenient times to demand my attention.  But it's like he knew...it's like he knew that my brain was in different places, and he knew that he would have to try a different tactic.  So as I'm sitting there, trying to lace-up my shoes with this very serious face not a foot a way from mine, as I'm trying to get on with the busyness of my day, Amos very gently lays his head on my legs and looked up at me with a face that said only one thing: "I just want to know I matter...."

What can you do in a situation like that, except love on your dog?  And, you  know, it was a good experience. I was thankful for that opportunity because  it feels good when love snuggles up, doesn't it?  It feels good whether it's our pets, our children, our parents, our friends, or our significant others.  It feels good when the feeling of love becomes tangibly present and we have a reminder to come out of our own little bubbles and be reminded of the bigger picture, and of what really matters.   When love snuggles up, for just a moment, nothing else really matters, everything else seems to fade away, and you find yourself lost in the present moment.

As we journey together into the busyness of Christmas Eve and Christmas Day, we can all find ourselves being drawn into our own little bubbles.  We are all trying to check off our to-do lists and ensure that everything is just "perfect."  Of course, this is nothing new, it's been like this for, it seems, forever. We humans have this determination within us to continue doing the things we think are right, without hesitation, question, or consideration of motives or purpose. Even when it comes to holy causes, we continue to try to create the experiences in our image, and our likeness, giving only second thought to the One who is the great Creator, and the One who invites us to share in the Holiness.

When Amos laid his head down on my leg, showing me in his own way that he loved me and wanted to be loved by me, I could not help but think of a night 2000+ years ago in a town called Bethlehem  when the God of Love decided to creep into our world and into our lives and snuggle up beside us. I cannot help but think that God of all Creation shared the same desire as my dog; the desire to show us how much we are loved, and how much God wanted to be loved by us.

Sometimes Love knows no other way to get our attention besides squirming and wedging its way into the forefront of our consciousness, demanding our attention, and compelling us to consider how we will respond.

Just as I am thankful to have not passed up the opportunity to share in a moment of love with my dog, I am thankful that we all have the opportunity to share in a similar moment with one another and with the One who is the complete personification of Love on Christmas Eve. I am glad to have the moments of sacredness that Christmas provides to be thankful for the love that is present in my life and the Love that connects each and every one of us together.

Merry Christmas

On Children, Communion, and an "Open Table"

A few months ago, my family was on vacation in Kansas City, MO and on Sunday morning we visited a congregation that we sometimes worship with when we are not with our home churches.  This congregation is a small group of Disciples who do a wonderful job in making all who enter into the worship space feel welcomed and like a critical element of the community.  When it came time for communion, my wife and I were a tad uncertain about how our then- 2 year old would handle going up front to partake in the elements.  Expecting a touch of chaos, we got in the back of the line so that no one would be waiting on us.   When it came time for our son to tear of the bread and dip it into the cup he did so joyfully and eagerly.  After eating the Bread he turned to my wife and I and proclaimed loudly, “I want more!”   This was a holy moment for our family, and I was thankful to this congregation for welcoming our son into that time of sacredness.   Thankfully, there are many of our congregations in the DoC that share in a similar practice of inclusivity, however, I know that this is not universal, and I know that there is still some question about when (and how) our children can share in the Table.

 This is a sensitive issue for some within our Denominational family, and I really have never fully understood why.  I’ve never really understood the tension between proclaiming an “open table” and then setting up a stipulation that essentially says, “The Table will be open to you, once you meet a certain set of criteria.” I believe this also sends a conflicting and possibly damaging message to our young people as they continue to try to find their place within the wholeness of Congregational life. 

The most common justification I have heard from folks who are entrenched into the camp that says children must wait until a certain age or until they are baptized, is that until they reach that milestone, don’t “get it.”  Now I don’t know about anyone else, but I’ve been a member of the Christian Church (Disciples of Christ) my entire life, and I’ve been in ministry for ten years, and I still don’t “get” what happens at the Lord’s Table.  I don’t fully understand what it means to share in the fullness of community and grace.  I don’t fully grasp what it means to be loved even to the point of death.  All I know is that I need community, grace, and love and I find all of those things at the Communion table.  And that every time I experience a time of communion, I want more.

Just as I need community, grace, and love I know that our children need to feel these same things and I know that as we continue to attempt to integrate our children into the fullness of worship, they will hear their ministers talking about these things and how Christ offers them to all people. How confusing it must be for them to be told that Christ welcomes all, but then have the communion plate passed over them or to be told to stay in their seats as their parents and older siblings make the journey to the front of the sanctuary. 

As a father, I will never deny my boys the opportunity to share in the meal of Love, and I pray for the day when all our congregations do likewise for all of our children.  

Good News? Great Joy

On Wednesday, December 17, FCC-Midwest City hosted it's annual "Service of Remembrance" for those in our community who's spirits perhaps aren't the brightest this Christmas time.  I was blessed to have the opportunity to bring the message.  I thought I'd share it with the world....

Good News? Great Joy?

Luke 2: 1-11

December 17, 2014

It would have been a lonely night.  Of course, every night is lonely for a shepherd….why would that night have been any different? It would have been cold, too.  Nights get cold on the desert. It would have been dark. 

Lonely.  Cold.  Dark.  Not exactly the scene we think of when we imagine Christmas, is it? Certainly this is a different image than the one that was painted last Sunday night by our children. We’d like to imagine a different picture at Christmastime.  We like to picture Christmas as a time of lights, action, and festive moods.  We hear songs on the radio about friends and family coming from near and far, gathering together to pass pumpkin pie and coffee while singing songs around the old piano.  This is what Christmas should be, right? If we don’t at least attempt to create this picture, if we’re not continuously basking in “the most wonderful time of the year,” we risk being labeled a “Scrooge.”  And who wants to be a Scrooge?

There’s just one small snag, however.  As I read the story of Christmas, more specifically, Luke’s account of the birth of Jesus, I don’t find a big, festive party.  Now, don’t mis-understand what I’m saying, I’m all for partying it up at Christmastime…I mean, I’m the guy who has had Christmas music on in the office since before Thanksgiving.  There is certainly nothing wrong (and there are so many things right) about hanging the lights on the house, passing around the eggnog, and braving the lines at the malls….all I’m suggesting is that there perhaps is another layer to the Christmas story….one that goes beyond the lights, glitz, and glamour of the festive season, and dives into the heart of the everyday reality of life. 

And this is good news for us, because what brings us here to worship here tonight is the realization and understanding that in some way the reality of life has crept in and made a home in the midst of the festive wonder of Christmas.  This can be scary, unsettling experience and realization.  We can wake up one day and realize that like Charlie Brown in “Charlie Brown’s Christmas,” we notice that everyone else is having fun; we recognize that we are supposed to join in those festivities…but for some reason, we just cannot.  This tension can create a lonely feeling that we cannot explain, but from which we cannot shake free.

Thankfully, the Church is now doing a far better job recognizing and acknowledging this reality.  Many different congregations are holding a time of worship like this.  This time gets called by many different names.  Some places call it, “The Longest Night,” others call it “Blue Christmas,” we call it the “Service of Remembrance,” but no matter by what name these sacred moments of worship are called, we know that at the heart of it all, this is a time where we can come and join with friends and family who are kindred spirits and companions on this journey, and we can look around this beautiful sanctuary and give thanks that we are NOT alone. 

We are not alone because of the companions we have beside us tonight, we are not alone because we worship and serve a God who promises to never leave us by ourselves, and we are not alone because as we enter the Christmas story in a new way, we recognize that the stories of those whom the Gospel authors tell us mirror our own stories in so many sacred ways. 

Take, for instance, the Shepherds.  While they are characters that get included in every single rendition of the Christmas story, we don’t often give the shepherds a whole lot of consideration.  But tonight, perhaps we can make a connection between us and them.  Perhaps we can picture them sitting there in the cold, lonely, darkness and we can insert ourselves into their place and them into ours.  Perhaps we think about our own experiences with the darkness…own own moving through our daily routines…just trying to get through the day in one piece.  Perhaps we, like the shepherds, don’t feel like we get a whole lot of consideration….perhaps we, like they, don’t feel like we’re fully understood. 

I mean, it’s hard to understand a shepherd….one who spends his days and night shouldering someone else’s burdens.  It’s hard to connect with one who spends all of their time away from any family or friends, and outside of the hustle and bustle of the city.  And it can be hard sometimes for our friends, neighbors, and family to fully understand us, as people whose festive lights perhaps aren’t exactly shining the brightest.  It’s hard to fully understand and empathize with one who has recently lost a parent or spouse…it’s hard to understand one whose children have recently moved to a new state and who is grieving that newfound separation….it’s hard to understand one who has family members deployed overseas and the worry and stress that causes for the one who stays behind….it’s hard to understand one who struggles with depression, and anxiety, and who can’t fully explain why they feel and think the things they do. It’s hard to understand one who has recently experienced job loss, yet still feels the pressure to create a “good” Christmas for their family.  This can create a new difficult reality, one that we can share with the shepherds, because at the end of the day, I think all that any of us want is to be understood.

The Good News, though, is that our God is a God who understands.  Just as God understood the shepherds, God understands you and me.  We remember that it is to the shepherds that the Angel first broke into that lonely darkness with the news that Emmanuel had been born.  It was the shepherds who heard, “Good News of Great Joy” that they would never again be made to feel alone, because God was with them, and from that moment forward, they would have a companion for their life’s journey. 

And in the same way, we, tonight, hear “Good News of Great Joy” that God is present with us…even in the midst of our uncertainties, our insecurities, our loneliness…God is there….and God is seeking to break into our loneliness and confusion with a proclamation that Emmanuel is with us. And so as we move ever closer to the stable of Bethlehem, let us do so with confidence trusting that no matter the condition of our own spirits, the Spirit of the Living God rests upon us and that Love dwells among us. 

Amen

Seasons Greetings

  "Seasons Greetings"

It's a phrase that is plastered somewhere in every town in every state across the country.When the "Seasons Greetings" banners, signs, and window paint begin making themselves visible, we know that the Christmas season has unofficially begun.  It is a phrase that, for one reason or another has seen itself as a flashpoint for critique, criticism, and debate.  Some view the phrase as the tragic result of "political correctness" and a new assault during the "War on Christmas."  Others understand these combination of words as an invitation for all people to enter into a season of joy, hope, wonder, and amazement.  There has been plenty of conflict between these two camps in regards to these two little words.  A quick perusal of social media will lead us to plenty of images proclaiming the poster's staked out position on this great debate.  For so many, it is a matter of the utmost importance, I, personally find it ridiculous. 

I never had given much (if any) thought to the phrase, that is, until last night...until the events in Ferguson unfolded before our eyes on national television.  There was incredibly brutal irony to be found in the midst of the tragic violence that erupted after the Grand Jury announcement. Forget the rhetoric of "political correctness," and the silly debate on whether or not we have to say, "Merry Christmas," last night, an actual battle took place underneath the "Seasons Greetings" Banner that was strung across the street in downtown Ferguson. Powerful images, such as this one captured the sheer brokenness that unfolded underneath and around a phrase that is meant to usher in a season of hope, peace, joy, and love.  it was a sad moment, and in the midst of everything else, all of the other questions that exist in and around the scenario that continues to unfold in Ferguson, I found my heart breaking.  My heart broke for the family of Michael Brown, who, prior to the announcement, made a passionate plea for peace; my heart broke for the family of Darren Wilson;  my heart broke for the police who were on riot duty last night, instead of preparing for Thanksgiving dinner;  my heart broke for the protesters, both those who stood in peaceful solidarity and those who felt that they had no other recourse than to act out in violent ways; my heart broke for the shop owners whose livelihood was damaged or destroyed in the riots; my heart broke for the people of St. Louis; and I think, ultimately, my heart broke for all of us. 

And it was in that moment, as I watched those events unfold underneath that "Seasons Greetings" banner, not even sure what I was supposed to be feeling or what questions I was supposed to be asking, that I started to understand Christmas a little more fully.  Last night showed me, in a new way, why we desperately need Christmas and why Christmas matters.  The events that unfolded in Ferguson were not unique, it happens every time where fear, suspicion, desperation and oppression (both real and perceived) meet power, authority, and the desire to maintain status quo. This has been one of the narratives of our history as a people, and it is most certainly the narrative into which Jesus was born.  Brokenness and division is a real thing.  It was real 2,000+ years ago when a young couple named Mary and Joseph brought into the world a baby named Jesus, and it is real today.  
But the Good News is that it is into that brokenness that God decides to show up.  Just as I believe with everything I have that God was present among the people of Israel, I believe just as strongly that God was present among the people of Ferguson and I believe that God is present anywhere and everywhere that pain, fear, and brokenness are present.  This is the story of Christmas.  Christmas is a reminder that we are not alone, and it is a promise that eventually, some how, some way, peace and love will overcome fear and violence.  

But this victory does not and can not come about magically or by accident.  Christmas requires direct participation from the brave and the fearful and from the oppressed and the ones doing the oppressing.  Just as God desperately needed Mary and Joseph to participate in Christmas by bringing the light that was and is Jesus into the world, God desperately needs us to do likewise.

So how do we do it?  How do we, even in the midst of the violence and chaos that engulfs our consciousness, commit ourselves to be bearers of light and hope into the world?  it seems to me that it begins and ends with a shift in our mentality and our way of thinking.  It requires a shift in how we see, understand, and interact with the world.  To bear light means that we are willing to begin to take up the mantle of peace.  Since the events in Ferguson began back in August, there has been lots of talk (perhaps justly, perhaps not) about the (de) militarization of our police forces.  There have been questions why local police need some of the pieces of equipment that they currently possess, but not once have I heard a conversation about the (de) militarization of ourselves.  We are a people who are pre-disposed to violence.  We see this in our movies, our video games, our music, our clothing, and our children's cartoons. We discover this as we study our history and read classical works of literature, we are reminded of this when we hear of our beloved actors and sports heroes violently abusing their spouses, children, or other members of society,  and we live this when we watch (or participate in) large scale altercations. Is it any wonder that our police forces have military-grade equipment when we have a military-grade worldview?

I don't have the answer, I don't know the magic word or possess the secret pill.  But I do know that if we continue down this path of violence, it will be our undoing, and I do know that this is not the life we have been called to live.  I do know that we are called to something bigger, better, and more faithful.  I do know that we have been called down the path of peace.  

Perhaps it will be this Christmas.  Perhaps it will be when we wish each other, "Seasons Greetings," "Merry Christmas" or whatever pairing of words suits you.  Perhaps it will be when we gather with our family and friends around the table of love.  Perhaps peace will come when we commit to stop looking with suspicion, and  start seeing the light of the Divine that shines within them.  Perhaps peace will come when we chose to make it so if we can live into the vision of Isaiah who said that peace would come when the people "beat their swords into plowshares and their spears into pruning hooks. Nation will not take up sword against nation, nor will they train for war anymore."

Seasons Greetings.  

Royally Blue

For as long as I can remember, I have been a Royals fan.  Born and raised in Kansas City, I was three years old when the Royals, under the leadership of Brett, Saberhagen, and the like, won the World Championship in 1985.  Even at the age of three, I remember those days and that time.  I remember getting so excited that George Brett had hit a homerun that I came running so fast to watch the celebration that I slipped on the floor, hit my head on a doorknob, and required stitches.  In my parents house there is still (I think) a team photo of that 1985 team taped to the back of the door of my bedroom. In the dead of winter I would pass the time on weekends playing baseball in the front room of my house, pretending I was Brett, or maybe Mike McFarlane, or perhaps Wally Joyner. I would collect Royals baseball cards, and would re-enact game scenarios using the cards.    I come by my Royals fandom authentically.The Royals are and have always been just as much a part of who I am as anything else.

But, as we know, it hasn't always been easy to be a Royals fan.  The history of the last 29 years of Royals baseball has been shared openly and freely over the years and throughout this postseason run.  These last few weeks I have had memories of those Royals teams of past years running through my mind.   Before the Royals were on TV regularly I would sit in my parents living room and listen to games over the stereo system, all the while living and dying through the words of Denny Matthews.  I remember the year where the Royals won like 4 (maybe more) walk-off games in a row, and the words of Ryan Lefebre, "What in the world is going on??"  I remember Bob (the Hammer) Hamelin.  I remember when we thought we were getting over the hump when we signed Benito Santiago and Jose Guillen after the 2003 season.  I remember pitchers like Scott Service and Runelyvs Hernandez. I remember Jeremy Affeldt and his blisters he would get on his fingers (guess he got that problem solved...) I remember going out to the seats by the bullpens on crazy hot summer days (before the renovations) and getting sprayed with a hose by the Royals pitchers. I remember going to games where it was so hot we, during every half inning would go get wads of wet paper towels to stick under our caps.

Do you remember these things?  What do you remember??

 In the summers in the late 90's and early 2000's I would go to the games with whoever I could convince to go with me.  I would usually wear the same get-up; a jersey, shorts, and my blue high school football socks.   One time, I was there with a friend and we were sitting in the far reaches of the upper deck, and we won the "Seat Upgrade" promotion. (we decided it was all because of the socks..) We moved to seats about 6 rows behind home plate, and got a great view of another loss.  But, for a high school kid, it was so cool being down there, next to the scouts....and to Buck O'Neil.

I was telling my wife (who is still become acquainted with the exasperating joy that is Royals baseball) as we sat in the same section on the third base line during Game 6 of the World Series about the Krispy Kreme promotions (12 hits = a dozen donuts) and how often we'd get more excited about the 12 hits than a possible win. I remember going straight from Kaufman to the nearest Krispy Kreme and sitting in crazy long drive through lines just to get my free donuts.

 This was my team...it was cheap, it was dysfunctional, it was bad....but it was mine.  Never was or has there been a day where I have ever thought about abandoning the Royals...because they never thought about abandoning us.  No matter what, the Royals would take the field on those hot Kansas City nights, and I would support them.

Though we would always say things like, "This is our year" or "just wait till next year...." I'm not so certain that we ever actually believed it. Sure it was fun to dream, but it is something else to actually believe that the dream could become real.

But this year...this summer was different.  Royals fans knew that this might be our best team in a generation.  We had good pitching, a solid lineup, we had tasted some success in 2013.  All the pieces were there.  We knew that there was also a sense of urgency...if for no other reason then it was James Shields' final year.  This was "THE YEAR"....it had to be.

And ohmygoodness it was.  The Royals, our Royals, led the Division not once, but TWICE, this season.  We clinched our first playoff spot since 1985. (with games to spare!)  I remember watching that clinching game against Chicago with my Dad and my (almost) 3 year old son. I remember thinking that night about how everything has come full circle. That was enough for me.  Had we not won another game, I, and I think most of us, would have been more than satisfied.  

But then...something strange happened: the Royals forgot how to lose.   These last few weeks have been something that I have never seen, experienced, or ever thought possible.  And it's not just about the baseball....not just about the wins....but it's about experiencing a renaissance for an entire generation of Kansas Citians.  Never in my life have I sensed and felt so much pride in who we are and where we come from.  People who were born in K.C and have moved away (like me) were proudly wearing their Royals gear no matter where their adopted home was. It didn't matter if it was NY, Chicago, LA, or OKC, Royals fans were loud, proud, and unashamed.  But then the city of Kansas City itself...oh. my. gosh.  Blue, Blue Everywhere. Flags, Banners, Shirts....and Pride.  Pride in not just our baseball team....but in our community...and maybe...just maybe...in ourselves.

I'm convinced that when Greg Holland got the 27th out of the ALCS that clenched the AL Pennant and sent this fanbase into hysterics this stopped being about baseball...and it became instead about community, unity, and the joy of watching hope turn into joy.   We didn't win the World Series...we came up 90 feet short.  But you know what? Who Cares?  We will remember this for as long as we live.  And if it's another 29 years until we get there again....we will relive all of those with a new generation.

Even as the temperatures drop and we put away our t-shirts and jerseys and replace them with ones declaring other allegiances in other sports, we will remember this October.  We will remember how we came together.  We will remember that belief is a powerful thing. And we will remember that we are forever Royals.

To the 2014 Kansas City Royals:  Thank you.

Baggage

So, We've been moving these past couple of weeks. We (my wife, son, and dog) packed up the life that we had created for ourselves in Pasadena and hauled it all to our new home in Oklahoma City.  This isn't the first time that either one of us have done this.  In college, the Fraternity I belonged to moved every single year that I was an active member.  But this particular move has proven to be harder than some of the past ones.  Perhaps it was because of the relationships that had been developed and the memories that had been made in SoCal, but at this particular moment I am fairly well convinced that the difficulty of this move boils down to one simple fact...we had (and continue to have) a lot of stuff.  I don't say that in a "heylookatuslookhowgreatwearewithallourstuff" kind of way, I say it in a "OHMYGAWDWHEREDIDALLTHISSTUFFCOMEFROM???" kind of way.  I mean seriously, we're young, our kid is young....where did it all come from?

We don't usually perceive stuff to be a problem.  Our society is built upon the premise of the more stuff we have the more "successful" and "happy" we certainly are.  Whether it be clothes, games, toys, tools, or whatever our particular pleasure might be, most of us like to have stuff. But there's a bitter irony to be found in the quest to accumulate higher quantities of (usually) more expensive stuff: We don't usually think about how much stuff we have until it's time to move it.  And that's when stuff turns into something else....baggage.
And please understand the distinction. Stuff exists to be played with, used, and admired.  Baggage exists to be carried, hauled, pushed, and pulled.  Whether it be across the country or across the airport, the more baggage we have the more difficult (and costly) our journey becomes.

And of course the truth of the matter is that we all have stuff that we have accumulated...both within our homes and within our spirits. This is a fundamental reality of the journey of life.  Our stuff, be it physical or metaphorical, represents our life, it is a tangible manifestation of our experiences...both positive and otherwise.  This is why it becomes so difficult to let go of our accumulated possessions.  Everything has an experience, a person, and a memory attached to it, and perhaps within the depths of our heart we are afraid that if we part with that possession...we part with that memory or perhaps even that person.  In the same way, we can struggle to break free from the stuff that accumulates within our hearts, minds, and spirits. Some of the stuff we carry we desperately want to be freed from, emotions like hurt, anger, grief, regret and longing are all natural millstones that we would love to have removed from our neck....but then there are other feelings and emotions that swirl around inside of us that we desperately want to hold on to, this stuff is usually associated with whatever period in our life (either personal or professional) that we classify as our "glory days."  Why would we ever want to let go of those memories, feelings, and the euphoria that comes from recounting the "good old days?"  For the same reason we have got to let go of those negative experiences that continue to haunt us...be it good or ill, these feelings and thoughts kind of meld together and stack on top of each other until there is this weight that has seemingly overnight turned into baggage that we are compelled to haul around as we move from place to place. And what this baggage does is prevent us from experiencing anything new.

Think about it, when we're busy hauling stuff around, how focused are we on our destination?  We're pretty determined aren't we?  It's rare that when we are overloaded with baggage we are content to take the time to browse the shops at the airport or to stop off at the tourist destinations along the highway.  We just want to get there (wherever "there" might be). Jesus said a little something about this reality.  When he met that rich young man (Luke 18) he told him that if he wanted to experience the Kingdom of God, he needed to let go of his stuff.  Why?  I think it's because that it is next to impossible to experience the new unless we are able to part with the old.  The "stuff," the possessions that man carried around represented his life...his "glory days," if you will.  But Jesus offered and continues to offer a different way...and a different glory...one that cannot be experienced until we are willing to no longer allow our possessions and our past to define us.

Just as this was true for that rich man...just as it is true for each and every one of us.  The same is true for the Church.  There perhaps is no other place on the face of the earth were stuff accumulates and becomes sacred faster than in the church.  Oh my goodness to our churches have a lot of stuff.  I remember the week where some folks in my congregation in Pasadena cleaned our our worship closets....took them a whole week, and there is still a lot there. My fellow youth ministers know how quickly stuff accumulates in a youth room.  Every time someone needs to get rid of a couch, the natural instinct is, "hey, let's give it to the youth."  And what do we do?  We graciously take it, and put it next to the 5 other circa 1984 couches that sit in that same room.

And just as physical stuff accumulates quickly...so does emotional stuff.  Our churches fondly remember the "glory days" and the "way we've always done it."  We talk to no end about former pastors or members that are long since gone. We remember that great VBS from years ago or the wonderful potluck dinner that was held once.  Each room within the church is filled with invisible stuff.  And you know what?  It's turned into baggage...and it's crippling us. We lug it from year to year, minister to minister and perhaps even building to building.  The baggage that our churches are carrying are preventing us from enjoying the journey and from experiencing anything new.  We have become that rich young man weeping in grief because we have "many possessions."  In the words of the song from the movie, Frozen, we have got to "let it go."

I am fairly well convinced that it is next to impossible to "Live in Love" until we can free ourselves from the burdens that have accumulated around us and within us.

What stuff are you holding on to? What baggage are you lugging from place to place?  Churches, what invisible stuff exists within your rooms and your DNA?  What do we need to let go of?  How can we seek to lighten to burdens of another?  How can we better share together in the journey of life?

"Come to me you who are weary and heavy laden, and I will give you rest." ~Jesus of Nazareth



 

A Word of Thanks

The following is a final Word of Thanksgiving that comes from my heart and is extended to the people of Pasadena Christian Church (Disciples of Christ)

7/13/2014

Today will be the final time that I will have an opportunity to serve together with you as your pastor.  I grieve the thought that a parting of ways will soon occur but I also rejoice and give thanks for the opportunity that we have been given to share in church, life, and faith with one another.  It has been an incredible three years.  I am humbled by the trust you have put in me to allow me to share in the sacred moments of your lives and the lives of your loved ones.  I have been honored to be with you in moments of sickness, grief, anxiety, and uncertainty.  I have been blessed to share with you in your moments of joy and sheer exuberance.  The tears shed and the laughs shared have been sacred ones, and I will take those experiences with me as I go. 

Thank you for the grace and love that you have extended to and imparted on my family.  You have given Zachary his first glimpses of the Church and you are responsible for the joy he feels every time he hears the word, "church." I will be forever grateful for the lessons that you have taught my son.  Thank you for the love and encouragement that you have poured out to Debra as she has endeavored in ministry at her congregation.  We have been blessed to be able to walk alongside you, just as you have walked alongside us.  The bonds that have been forged will not easily be broken and the memories shared will not quickly fade away. 

May the Peace of God and the God of Peace be with you today, tomorrow, and forever.