Where do I fit?

During a recent study leave, Nancy and I experienced some different forms of contemporary worship and discussed them with those who planned and led the services. The services included significant time for contemplation. I did not intend to compose a meditation during those times, but the following thoughts found their way into the small notepad I usually have with me. I hope they stimulate reflections in you as well. The opening sentence followed a meditation by a young pastor, who has much to offer and ample room to grow homiletically.

How curious that a stumbling, stammering, obviously inexperienced, and unfortunately inarticulate preacher, who wandered through the four lectionary readings and two others just for the mystery of it, came to the very question that has hounded me for months: "Where do I fit?" She offered no answer. Nor can I. Beneath her words, however, I heard or sensed a call, perhaps a command, to trust. Trust what? Trust that calls or commands exist and find their way to us? Trust that glimpses of life speak more truly and profoundly than death? Trust that death itself yields because, for reasons we may never fathom, creation (and hence life) is? Trust that relationships matter, even though those into which we are drawn and we ourselves fail or fade?

Where do I fit? I once claimed with conviction that I knew. Now I whisper and sometimes hurl the query into depths of echoless silence. Perhaps for now that is precisely where I fit until/unless some new call/command comes. Trust will/does suffice.

What/who do I trust? I trust that relationships matter and always have the capacity to matter for good. I trust that we exist only in relationship and that we remain in relationship even when we feel alone and/or refuse to acknowledge the connections that provide and sustain our lives. I trust that God exists in relationship, a relationship best described as perichoresis, which literally means "dance around" and points to the indwelling and intersecting realities that we experience and know as God. Because all that is exists in relationship, I trust that despite our temporality and other frailties we matter and I matter. Because all that is exists in relationship, I trust that we and I stand accountable to the author of life for the gift of life.

Where do I fit? We/I fit with the hungry, for every hunger illustrates our dependence on others, a dependence both necessary and wonderful. We/I fit with the thirsty, for each drink comes from something other. We/I fit with those who may not know they have need and with those who acknowledge their deep, abiding, grace-filled, and grace-seeking need. How curiously we are led, even, when necessary, in spite of ourselves, to the grace and embrace of relationship, which is life.

Thanks for your part of the relationships, MWPC. I do not always claim to know where our relationships will take us, but I resolutely believe that we are led and that we follow most faithfully together.

Grace and Peace,

LP

Preparing for Thanksgiving

(Please note: No Beacon Lite the week of Thanksgiving.)

 

Near the end of The Temple, seventeenth century poet and priest George Herbert begins a poem entitled "Gratefulnesse" with these lines:

Thou that hast giv'n so much to me,

Give one thing more, a gratefull heart.

Herbert then acknowledges that, despite God's constant outpourings of grace, he perpetually knocks at God's door asking for more. He closes his poem confessing that his petitions will not be silenced:

Till I a thankfull heart obtain

                                      Of thee:

Not thankfull, when it pleaseth me;

As if thy blessings had spare dayes;

But such a heart, whose pulse may be

                                      Thy praise.

           

"Not thankfull, when it pleaseth me." What refreshing honesty. When we limit our thanksgiving to pleasures, we reduce our capacity to love. Perhaps the clearest illustration of that comes when we mourn the death of someone we love. If we offer God only tears, we denigrate the blessings we have received from our loved one and at least temporarily ignore the many ways that saint remains a part of us. So we gather to offer thanksgiving for that person's life not because we find the moment pleasant, but because anything less would be wrong.

Gratefulness, like greed, is more than a characteristic. It is a way of life. The most grateful people I have known would never make it onto a Fortune 500 list of influential people. Yet, their daily lives abounded with joy and thanksgiving. Those who have less often have profound awareness of what they have. Awareness of their blessings exceeds longing to acquire more. That reflects not slothfulness, but rather a choice to celebrate life as a gift worth celebrating, even when the celebration requires courage.

Too many prayers of gratitude sound like lists of personal achievements offered to conceal profound sadness. Few enter sadness, ingratitude, or loneliness more deeply than those who claim to have earned all or most of what is most important to them. Thanksgiving that flows only from achievement reaches no farther than one candle can shine.

As we prepare for Thanksgiving next week, please recall not only the blessings of sun-filled days of pleasure, but also those that came and will come in more troubled times. Such reflections can help us to recall how companionship found us when we thought we were alone and how goodness and mercy followed us even when our path darkened. Such reflections can also make us more aware of and grateful for present pleasures. Elizabeth Barrett Browning more eloquently offers similar advice in this prayer/poem:

  I praise Thee while my days go on;

                        I love Thee while my days go on;

                        Through dark and dirty, through fire and frost,

                        With emptied arms and treasures lost,

                        I thank Thee while my days go on.

Our days go on, and in them we have creation, each other, and God. Blessings have no "spare dayes." May we choose daily to have and seek "a gratefull heart" that beats with praise to God.

           

Happy Thanksgiving, a week early!

LP

More than "what's in it for me?"

The November issue of Presbyterians Today focused on church leadership, especially the qualities needed in the leaders who will guide the church in the future. Although I found most of the suggestions helpful, I felt that the articles too often suggested bending to cultural trends without appropriately challenging them. As good news the gospel offers a relevant word to the particular people and situation addressed. That relevance often challenges more than it comforts.

One article quoted these thoughts of a homiletics professor: "Today's culture promotes independence and nonconformity and celebrates a world full of options. ... In a 24/7 world of endless opportunities, obligations, and information, many adults exercise an exacting ... formula for time management based on immediate and tangible rewards and will no longer dedicate an hour on Sunday morning to something that doesn't help them make sense of the other 167 hours of the week." If I understand the point, it troubles me.

Some folks will not find their way into a faith community through Sunday worship or worship at any time. That has always held true and may hold truer now for younger folks who, like their grandparents, place a premium on doing something to help someone. I also agree that worship wastes precious time when it lacks connection with the world in which those present live. I emphatically reject, however, focus on "immediate and tangible rewards," especially rewards. The dictionary near my desk defines a reward as "something given or done in return; especially a gift, prize, or recompense for merit, service, or achievement." We stand on dangerously shallow theological ground when we declare, "I've been good and shown up for worship, God; so give me something." We sometimes receive blessings from a worship service (or any service in Jesus' name) simply by showing up. Showers of grace fall indiscriminately and we always receive more than we give. Yet, liturgy remains literally and practically "the work of the people." God moves most powerfully in those who come to do that work, who seek to participate and offer themselves to God.

Most of us enjoy music, but it speaks most powerfully to the choristers and other musicians who spend hours in preparation and show up intending to sing and play to the glory of God. We've all endured insipid and irrelevant sermons from unprepared preachers. Yet, even the worst sermon often yields to the Living Word when we listen intentionally for something worth pondering. When we come to worship expecting to receive a reward without making a commitment, we likely will return home hungry, having blinded ourselves and others from the blessings available.

Unless we are willing to ask a question larger than, "What's in it for me?" and to seek a greater good than personal satisfaction, we will lead lives with abundant contacts but scarce and shallow relationships, lives filled with activities but void of meaning, lives shaped by many choices but lacking a solid core of conviction. I enjoy reading the Sunday New York Times, but need to seek, encounter, and receive a reality, a presence, a God who offers light in darkness, security amidst wars and violence, comfort in illness and death, and a peace that passes understanding amidst doubts and perplexities. Those blessings never come as a reward. They flow from a relationship, and relationships require time, effort, commitment, and much more than merely showing up.

We are magnificent creatures, but life and worship are not all about us. If they are, we are the most self-deceived and the most to be pitied of all. Our true identity requires effort to uncover and receive, and offers far more worth than self-centered satisfaction ever can yield.

Grace and Peace,

LP

Happy All Saints Day 2012

This Sunday we will observe All Saints Sunday. The saints who went before us laid the foundation on which we stand by responding to God's call and allowing God to work in and through them. Each All Saints Day we can honor all the saints by remembering and thanking God for a particular saint who blessed and guided us.

This year I remember and thank God for my mother. I do not recall a single theological conversation with my mother. Although intelligent, she did not attend school after the third grade and humbly avoided conversations for which she felt unqualified. Shame on me for failing to invite those chats. Nor did she encourage me to enter ordained ministry, but she supported my decision. Her blessings came in her actions.

On Sunday morning mother and I went to church. Always. Dad was not antagonistic toward this, but did not participate. On a Sunday morning a week after I received my driver's permit, we awakened to a heavy blanket of snow atop a thin sheet of ice. Mother did not drive in the snow and dad was at work, so she handed me the keys. Along the way I hit a slick spot where the road tilted down and away from center. Our car slowly slid sideways and gently collided with a telephone pole. Bracing for what would come next, I glanced in the rear view mirror in time to watch a police cruiser slide into us with greater velocity and significantly damage the bumper, tail lights, and trunk of our Impala. Mother took all of this in stride and seemed oddly calm. As the police officer slowly completed his accident report, however, she looked at her watch, demanded his attention, and said, "Do we have to do this now? We need to get to church!" We soon left the scene and made it in time for worship. Mother taught me the importance of worship.

For thirty consecutive years, mother taught the four year old Sunday School Class. I've always admired her longevity, but now that I know a little more about four year olds, I admire even more her sheer grit. When mother committed herself, she did so absolutely. God alone knows how many people remember the Bible stories and moral lessons she taught them. She completed more "sermons" than I'll ever imagine.

I became an avid reader at an early age. When I found worship tedious, mother allowed me to read the book I brought with me. That probably insulted some. One woman clearly took issue and asked with an unfriendly tone, "Are you aware than your son was reading during the service?" Mother replied, "He sings the hymns, stays quiet during prayer, and takes communion. I think that's enough." She considered participating with the community more important than pretending to understand all that transpired.

When her grandchildren came along, mother wished that they lived closer to her, but visited often and made certain that her stay included Sunday, which included worship. She sat proudly with her granddaughters, helped them to use the hymnal, had activities to engage them when they grew restless, and helped God speak to them through the community and her love.

Mother did not debate theology with me, but her persistent practice of her faith has played a part in every ministry to which God has called me. Now that she has joined that great cloud of witnesses surrounding us, sharing her story and trying to be for others what she was for me are the best ways to thank her and give thanks for her.

Happy All Saints Day,

LP