Needlessly dividing...seeking common good

In Conjectures of a Guilty Bystander, Thomas Merton offers this definition of a pharisee: "A pharisee is a righteous [person] whose righteousness is nourished by the blood of sinners." Merton has in mind not only the Pharisaic party we often see portrayed negatively in the New Testament but also people who embody that portrayal. Pharisees claim righteousness only by pointing to the corruptness in an opponent's methods, purposes, or person. For pharisees to feel or be good or right, opponents have to be evil or wrong.

Such thinking and practice abound, needlessly dividing the world into mutually exclusively categories and making it difficult for us to build on what we have in common. It also claims identity by stating what we are not rather than what we are.

Evil and good abide in all of us and we all have the capacity for wickedness and righteousness. Certain people clearly choose to act on their capacity for wickedness more than their righteousness, but the good do not need for that to happen in order to choose to act differently. Every denial of the sanctity of life, every thought or act that damages community and everything that brings out our worst instead of our best is tragic. That tragedy does not diminish when those who deem themselves good isolate themselves, but when we deepen our resolve to celebrate life, build community, and identify that on which we can work together. We rarely have the opportunity to choose between something clearly and totally wicked and something clearly and totally good. Rather we have opportunities to discern the path or option that seems best. Those who prefer a different path or option are not necessarily wicked. They may use different criteria in their decision making. Debating those criteria does more good than vilification, even when we fail to reach consensus.

Needing an opponent to be wrong to deem ourselves right often evades accountability. When I adamantly declare that I am not Catholic, evangelical, Republican, Russian, or contrarian, I have not stated who or what I am. We all benefit when preachers, politicians, pundits, and people with opinions clarify not what they oppose but what they stand for, deem important, and most want and value. The dust and heat of vitriol typically only harm. Dreams and hopes of what can be, even when varied, at least make it possible to help and to heal.

We are such wonderfully diverse creatures that seeking the common good is never easy. Yet, the possibilities make it worth the effort. Paul had something like that in mind when he advised, "Beloved, whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is just, whatever is pure, whatever is pleasing, whatever is commendable, if there is any excellence and if there is anything worthy of praise, think about these things" (Philippians 4:8). We cannot avoid opponents and adversaries, but we can avoid deeming them demonic. Let's reach for righteousness in ways that reflect our conviction that God provides sufficient righteousness for us all.

Grace and Peace,

LP

Transitions - leading to new or renewed promise and life!

I recently completed my annual self-review, using a tool recommended to me a decade ago. The early steps of this process invite you to look back on your life and to identify the milestones: significant dates, people, places, and occupations; key events; and dreams, aspirations, and interests. After charting that "evolution" of your life, you look for patterns and what they have to teach.

Since I have used this resource regularly, I have several charts of my evolution. This year, as always, some differences expectedly flowed from another year of life. But I also observed that the milestones I chose had more impact than I had realized on the patterns I identified and what I learned from them. When most of my milestones focused on endings, I typically responded by scrambling to recover. When my milestones emphasized beginnings, I felt drawn to new and renewed promises. Although both seem necessary, I'd much rather have the latter primarily shape me.

Death of a loved one, divorce, and undesired dismissal force our evolution. To remain healthy (however we measure that) we must deal with them honestly so that we can heal and recover. Some scrambling seems unavoidable. Yet, beginnings beckon even in those profound endings. Something wonderful has been lost, but vestiges of the wonder remain.

On other occasions, we can decide whether to focus on the ending or the beginning. When a child leaves home for college, military service, or to establish another home, some things end. She or he may "visit" again or may return to the nest for a season, but precious years of a certain kind of life together are over. Yet, we can also view that as the beginning of our child's reaching for dreams, stretching toward a hope, and building on the foundation we helped to lay. That makes it possible for us to begin forming an adult relationship with our child, which offers a different but no less precious kind of life together.

What most defines us? What do we most want to define us? Who we have been and what we have done ever remain with us. Do they define our parameters or provide a place from which to reach for new and renewed life? Regardless of our age or stage in life, do we primarily recover from what has been or reach for what now is and can be? Paul declared that we belong to God in both life and death. From a Christian perspective, even death yields to new beginnings. An old prayer for memorial services asks God to help us live as people who are not afraid to die. That does not call for martyrdom and does not diminish the loss that comes with death. Rather it reminds us that death does not define us. Endings will always come, thanks be to God. Yet, each one yields to new or renewed promise and life. May we embrace endings and beginnings, but allow and ask for the latter to define us.

Grace and Peace,

LP

A Prayer for Our Children and Youth as a School Year Begins

Four years ago I prepared the following prayer for the beginning of a new school and program year. On request, we are including it this week.

A Prayer for Our Children and Youth as a School Year Begins

Font of wisdom and source of insight, noisy buses once more accompany our morning coffee and around the neighborhood heavily loaded cars pull from the driveways. Anxious parents watch. Some from the windows. Some from the roadside. All with emotion (even those who work to hide it). A new school year has begun, so we pray for our children and youth.

May they not lose themselves as they make new friends. May their strong foundations help them to weather all storms that would harm them. May their goodness attract and multiply goodness.

May all that they learn fill them with wonder. Scripture calls us to love you with all our minds. May our children and youth love to learn and live to learn and love.

May the differences they encounter deepen their appreciation for all that is and help them to discover even more fully who they are. Many influences will attempt to divide them. May our children and youth weave the diversity of all that is into a multi-color, many-fabric tapestry that points to all that can be.

May they be kept safe from the misguided, small-minded, and cruel-hearted. May they be open to the timid, true, and noble. May they find and form community.

Bless those privileged to serve as their teachers. May parents support them and administrators clear the way for them. May the prayers of all inspire them, encourage them, and remind them of their sacred task.

Bless us as we walk alongside our children and youth. May we be open to the lessons they have to teach us and to our opportunities to learn with them. May our lifelong love of learning inspire their curiosity and invite their questions.

Font of wisdom and source of insight, a new school year has begun so we pray for our children and youth. May all that they learn deepen their reverence for, devotion to, and relationship with all that is, especially you.  Amen.

Grace and Peace Friends,

LP

Experiencing more than what we expect...

Noted Presbyterian preacher and pastor Morgan Roberts tells a story about a time in 2007 when violinist Joshua Bell performed a number of concerts in Washington, D.C. During his visit, the Washington Post employed him for an interesting experiment. Bell dressed as a "down on his luck" musician, leaned against a subway wall, and for forty-five minutes offered an impromptu underground concert consisting of six glorious but demanding selections. Bell played them on his $3.5 million Stradivarius. A hidden camera recorded the audience's response to this master musician whose concerts can cost $100 per ticket. Of the more than one thousand people who walked by, twenty-seven dropped some pocket change into Bell's box, but walked on without stopping to enjoy the music. Only seven actually stopped long enough to listen.

We often see, hear, and discover only what we expect to see, hear, and discover. Many years ago I served as pastor of a congregation also served by a housekeeper. She usually executed her job in the background and was careful to draw no attention to herself. She had grown up poor, married early, had limited financial means, and had very earthy speech and demeanor. Beneath that surface, however, a gem glistened. She was an avid reader of historical novels, able to converse with the best educated Anglophile. She enjoyed classical music and could identify not only the composers of the pieces on my sound system but also something about the writing of that piece. She also had an amazing ability to call squirrels. She'd walk to the back doors of the church, make a clucking sound, and soon be distributing peanuts to the squirrels sitting expectantly at her feet. I called her Mary Lou of Assisi. Most did not know that or anything else about her. They only knew her as our housekeeper and that did not trouble her at all.

Not all people are equally enjoyable, but unpleasant people usually wear their disagreeableness close to the surface and allow us to discover it quickly. Many blessings are disguised and reveal themselves only when we step beyond our expectations or assumptions.

I once attended a conference in which nearly every "big name" in the field was present. There was a beautiful park near the conference center and during our breaks I took a walk there. A well-known figure frequented the park on breaks as often as I did. He was a "big name" and I assumed that he did not notice me. He took the first step, introduced himself (as if I didn't know his name), and we shared an impromptu lunch purchased from a street vendor. It turned out that both of us were pondering potential vocational changes and consulting some of the same sources for guidance. It would be a stretch to say that we became friends, but we established a relationship. Even more, as we chatted a third presence seemed to join us. Blessings are often disguised and reveal themselves only when we step beyond our expectations or assumptions.

Somewhere around us an unexpected blessing awaits discovery. The first step to receiving it may be setting aside our assumptions and expectations. "The earth is the Lord's and all that is in it, the world and those who live in it" (Psalm 24:1). Goodness constantly spills over somewhere, whether we notice or not.

Grace and Peace,

LP         

Not all worship is equal

                                   Though private prayer be a brave designe,

                        Yet publick hath more promise, more love:

                        And love's a weight to hearts, to eies a signe.

                        We all are but cold suitours; let us move

                        Where it is warmest. Leave thy six and seven;

                        Pray with the most: for where most pray, is heaven.

Those lines come from George Herbert's "The Church-porch." Quoting a seventeenth century poet reinforces my status as a dinosaur, but some words endure through time (even though some spellings do not). Herbert reminds us that although private prayer has its place and purpose, it wanes in comparison with worshipping with and in a congregation. When I was a child I spent hours throwing a baseball at a target, retrieving it, and throwing it again, and still more hours playing catch with my dad or friends. That never rivaled actually playing a game of baseball. Worship works the same way. Private devotions help to prepare us, but, in the words of our denominational constitution, "The life of the Christian flows from the worship of the church, where identity as a believer is confirmed and where one is commissioned to a life of discipleship and personal response to God" (W-5,1001).

Yet, not all worship is equal. What allows worship to inform, form, reform, and, by the grace of God, transform us as Christians?

Worship that informs, forms, reforms, and, by the grace of God, transforms us is unmistakably God-centered. It is primarily about God, not us. The first question in the (Shorter and Larger) Westminster Catechism reminds us that our primary purpose in life is to glorify and enjoy God. We always have important matters on our hearts and minds when we gather to worship, but without God we would have no hearts and minds. God deserves our praise, adoration, recognition, and petitions. Several years ago Marva Dawn published a thought-provoking book on worship entitled A Royal Waste of Time that reminded us that feeling close to God, being moved by the music, and experiencing God's love and presence are to be desired, but secondary to offering praise, prayer, and ourselves to God. Whether we lift our eyes toward a screen or turn them to a hymnal, when our hearts, minds, souls, and spirits are not focused on God, worship does not serve its primary purpose.

Worship that informs, forms, reforms, and, by the grace of God, transforms us is authentic. First, it is characterized by excellence. When we share time with people we love, we may not always have on our Sunday-best (Those over thirty may need to Google that term.), but we always offer our best. That does not mean that incorrect notes, grammatical mistakes, or liturgists who lose their places insult God. It means that we prepare well and intend to offer God the best we can do, not left-overs or spur of the moment sputterings. Second, it reflects the unique spiritual gifts and needs of the community gathered. All traditions can influence our worship, but when we pretend to be someone we're not we offer God something false. Third, it comes from a distinct and unique people but is offered to the God of all. We pray for the abused and the abuser. We seek wholeness for our enemies and ourselves. We gather not to claim God as our own, but to be claimed by the one true God of all. In the year of my birth - back in the days of the Apatosaurus, not the Brontosaurus - J. B. Phillips published a book entitled Your God Is Too Small. It remains worth reading as it calls for an adult faith in a God whom no culture, nation, or people can put in a box.

Worship that informs, forms, reforms, and, by the grace of God, transforms us comforts and convicts us. The grieving, abused, frightened, and broken cannot glorify and enjoy God without being pointed to and receiving God's tenderness, steadfastness, and graciousness. Those who hunger and thirst need bread that satisfies and living water. Yet, the God who meets us in worship also sends us out to serve the world. When we come only for what we need, we may have an experience but will not be renewed. The Spirit is our guide, not merely our therapist, and Jesus is our friend but we call him Lord.

I dare to think that we regularly offer God-centered, authentic, comforting, and convicting worship to God. We've done that all summer, while many have taken vacations, watched soccer and baseball games, read the paper, and taken naps. We plan to do that again this weekend.

                        We all are but cold suitours; let us move

                        Where it is warmest. Leave thy six and seven;

                        Pray with the most: for where most pray, is heaven.

See you Sunday!

            Grace and Peace,

            LP

The value of investigations from varying perspectives

During the pursuit of my undergraduate degree in history (in a public university), my professor for two courses on the Protestant Reformation History was a Roman Catholic priest. His perspective broadened my understanding of the events that gave rise to the faith tradition in which I was formed and that sparked renewal in his tradition. When I pursued my Ph.D., I studied the Gospels with an agnostic, who had just published a seminal literary study of the Gospel of Mark. Debating and discussing passages with this gifted exegete forced me to challenge my assumptions and to ground arguments about a text within that text. I also honed my knowledge of Koine (biblical) Greek under the guidance of a devout Jew. Our conversations underscored the fact that every translation is also an interpretation and convinced me to attempt to examine every text from more than one point of view. Those encounters with people outside my faith tradition improved my scholarship and had a positive impact on my spiritual and intellectual development.

Those experiences provide the context for my surprise over the angst that some people seem to have when they learn that Reza Aslan, the author of Zealot: The Life and Times of Jesus of Nazareth, is a Muslim. As Aslan has made the rounds of talk shows and so-called news programs, some of the interviewers have openly questioned why a Muslim would have interest in Jesus.

Before continuing, let me note that I have not read this work. I have already worked through Geza Vermes's Jesus the Jew: A Historian's Reading of the Gospels (1973), Luke Timothy Johnson's The Real Jesus: The Misguided Quest for the Historical Jesus and the Truth of the Traditional Gospels (1996), Bruce Chilton's Rabbi Jesus: An Intimate Biography (2000), Robert Funk's A Credible Jesus: Fragments of a Vision (2002), Amy-Jill Levine's The Misunderstood Jew: The Church and the Scandal of the Jewish Jesus (2006), and Marcus Borg's Jesus: Uncovering the Life, Teachings, and Relevance of a Religious Revolutionary (2006). [Two of those authors, by the way, are not Christian.] I remain curious about the historical Jesus, but for the present my intellectual curiosity leads me in other directions. I have sufficient information to keep my baptismal vow to obey Jesus' word and show his love and my ordination vow to trust and follow him.

Although Aslan's book is not on my nightstand, it astounds me that some find it surprising that a person who studies and teaches world religions would have interest in Jesus. Muslims consider Jesus a prophet. More importantly, Jesus is one of the most important names in world religions. His life and teachings continue to affect the world and his impact extends far beyond those who claim to believe in him. In addition, while books about him rarely make an author rich and famous, there is a substantial market for them.  

Some of the comments about Zealot convey a sense of fear. Even if Aslan has said something insulting or scandalous, why fear his book? Jesus has survived the scandalous and insulting remarks Christians have made about him. He'll survive Zealot as well. In The Crucified God, Jürgen Moltmann argues that faith characterized by fear typically lacks confidence that "God, Christ, doctrine, and morality ... are sufficiently powerful to maintain themselves." What God has done, does, and will do in Jesus have stood, stands, and will stand on their own. Jesus and Christianity have nothing to fear from critical examination and exploration. Whether or not we agree with each other, honest attempts to communicate can help us to understand and accept the covenant God extends to all humanity. If Aslan's book falls short of that, it will fade on its own. If Zealot helps Muslims and Christians (and others) to understand and accept each other, thanks be to God. Time will tell. Until then, may our hope and confidence in God keep our fear at bay. God, Jesus, and the Spirit can take care of themselves. They call us to follow them, not to protect them.

            Grace and Peace,

            LP

I am praying for you.

I composed the following item for our Beacon Lite in June 2009, the day before back surgery. The surgery went fine and I am well, but I have reprinted these words by request.

"I am praying for you." I cannot count the number of times I have heard those words recently. Each one has been and is a blessing. Far more than being a simple formulaic expression, those words form and foster a sense of community, an awareness of the power available even when we feel powerless.

"I am praying for you." I have read scientific studies claiming that prayers can work wonders and scientific studies claiming that prayers have no measurable impact. Both such studies miss the point. The impact of prayer is a mysterious gift - like the warmth in our hearts when we celebrate the Lord's Supper, like the feelings of God's presence during a baptism, like the joy amidst the tears when a memorial service truly celebrates the life of someone who has entered the church triumphant. Who can measure such experiences? Why bother? They are gifts to open, not conundra to explain.

"I am praying for you." Those words often have come with offers to bring food or plant flowers, and even to spread mulch or clean the house. Not every offer to help can be accepted, but each one deepens the feeling of being accepted and loved. The offers embody the prayer.

"I am praying for you." When we can do no more than offer those words sincerely, those words and the prayers that precede and follow them are enough. They shatter the silence when we do not know what to say, bring sparks of light to darkness, and offer companionship even when we must pass through something alone. 

"I'm praying for you" is one of the most wonderfully mysterious ways God works in and through us. Thank you for the blessing of your prayers. I promise that when the anesthesia wears off, I will resume praying for you as well.

Grace and Peace,

LP

Joyful Giving

Several years ago Nancy and I reduced the number of agencies to which we direct our "charitable giving" in order to make larger contributions to a few selected ministries and programs. We had some regret in not sending a small check to a few agencies, but mostly experienced the joy of offering more significant support to programs and ministries close to our hearts. That joy deepens each time I read an annual report, notice the impact of a ministry we support, or hear about an issue in which we are engaged. Unexpectedly, our annual donations have also influenced some basic lifestyle decisions and our use of our free time. Giving joyfully has deepened our overall joy.

Last month the Lake Institute on Faith and Giving released its most recent figures describing charitable giving in the United States. In 2012, charitable giving grew a modest 3.5% (1.5% when adjusted for inflation). The overall total remains lower than when our recent recession began. Individual philanthropic giving in the US in 2012 was 11% lower than in 2007. Last year's figures related to religious giving fell for the third consecutive year. Before 1995, charitable giving related to religious institutions amounted to 50% of the overall total. In the most recent figures, giving to religious institutions was 32%. I do not cite these figures to prompt us to wring our hands and cry, "Woe is me!" I cite them to encourage us to be joyful in our giving. The apostle Paul declares that God loves cheerful givers. That rings true. It also seems true that those who give out of joy are the most generous. Joyful giving leads to deeper happiness and faith regardless of the overall trends.

Joyful giving begins with a holistic approach. Theologically speaking, it begins with consideration of the overall stewardship of our lives. We have three basic gifts to offer: our time; the things that we do well or enjoy doing; and our money and other financial resources. Scripture and tradition tell us that all three of these are gifts from God, who calls us to use them faithfully. Faithfulness looks different in the varied stages of our lives. For example, during the years when Nancy and I had multiple children in college, we had less "disposable income." Yet, we also spent less time attending our children's activities. During those years we spent more time participating in hands-on ministries in ways than we do now. Rather than feeling guilty about what we lacked, we sought the joy of using what we had in ways that reflected what we most valued.

Think about time. All of us spend some time earning a living or managing our resources, enjoying family and friends, and tending to our bodies, minds, and spirits. For most of us that still leaves some of our 168 weekly hours. Using that time in ways that support what we most value leads to joyful giving.

Ponder our abilities. All of us do something well and we all have interests that we have developed. Unless we utterly exhaust ourselves in using those abilities in our vocational pursuits, we have abilities to contribute to the relationships, organizations, and issues that matter most to us. Deciding to make those contributions leads to joyful giving.

Reflect on our money. We all have bills to pay for life's essentials, but unless we are living either in poverty or beyond our means, we have some funds, however modest, to contribute somewhere. Using those funds intentionally to support what we value most leads to joyful giving.

All of this is stated too simplistically, but joyful giving begins with a fundamental decision to live "on purpose": to decide what is most important and to reach for that with the resources we have. That does not mean that we would not like to have more, but joyful givers focus primarily on what they have, not on what they lack. Perhaps that is why Paul believes that God loves cheerful givers. Cheerful givers know they're blessed. God's blessings surround us all, but surely God enjoys folks who recognize and give thanks for them.

           

Praise God from whom all blessings flow!

LP

When adversity comes...

A couple of decades ago, during a time of challenge, I wrote this thought in my journal:

God offers not protection from adversity, but a place to stand when the earth shakes, a glimpse of light when darkness falls, a voice of harmony when the orchestrated world plays out of tune. The key to finding that solid ground, seeing that guiding light, and hearing that redemptive melody lies in faith.

Behind that stands an understanding of faith as trust that all will be well, confidence that a way forward will appear, and conviction that strength from others and beyond will uplift us and allow us to travel the grace-filled path God provides. Sometimes composing such a thought proves easier than living it. Here are a few reflections on living our faith during times of adversity.

When adversity comes, remember that it is not always necessary or wise to travel as quickly as the world and others sometimes want us to travel. When the world seems too much with us and demands rapid decisions, we can identify those decisions that can wait and make them wait. When wading through rapid waters, short and slow steps work best. Similarly, some wounds take time to heal. Just as we can't run a marathon with a broken leg (although we might be able to participate walking with crutches or in a wheelchair), we need to consider carefully what to ask of a broken or burdened heart. Finally, some questions yield their fruit only after lengthy and often painful reflection. When we look back, what we experienced as barren time often seems mysteriously fertile.

When adversity comes, we can identify someone who needs us and find a way to serve them. When practiced with reasonable limits and expectations, sharing the burdens of another usually reduces the load we are carrying. The Christ in us meets the Christ in others and we discover the truth behind the promise, "Come to me, all who are weary and heavy-laden, and I will give you rest." God's mysteries do not always make sense, but they bless nonetheless.

When adversity comes, we can recall the second half of the Great Commandment: Love your neighbor as yourself (emphasis mine). Times of challenge often bring self-doubt and loss of esteem. When hardship attacks our sense of self, we can fight back by doing something good for ourselves. Time spent doing something we enjoy or a small act of self-indulgence can make us more at peace with ourselves. That regularly allows us to believe in and reach for wholeness.

When adversity comes, we can deepen or renew our commitment to prayer. Prayer takes varied forms, but all of us have experienced God's presence or can learn to seek it. Better still in adversity, we can read a psalm and wait for God to speak, gaze at nature and wait for God to appear, listen to music until God whispers within it, or turn our palms up, form a cup, and name the blessings poured into them in the midst of the challenges we face.

Many of the paths we travel as we live our faith are rocky and uphill. Many pass through valleys of shadow. Yet, even in those places goodness and mercy seek us. Spread a welcome mat for them. Set out bread and wine for them. Allow knowing that goodness and mercy will find us to suffice until they appear. They will not eliminate all our troubles, but they will provide a place to stand, a glimpse of light, and a whisper of harmony that will sustain us until the path grows more broad and smooth.

Glad to share ministry with you, MWPC saints,

LP

Take time...for silence

The topic of silence appears regularly in these lines. It emerges again this week because of two poignant encounters with the blessing of wordless time. On one occasion, friends gathered for prayer shared solemn and deeply personal concerns. After that time of sharing, the one assigned the responsibility of leading prayer noted that his words would not suffice. We embraced a period of silent prayer and closed it with the Lord's Prayer. Several folks in that circle experienced God in the silence. The eternal did not need words to enter those moments with presence and peace. On the other occasion, a group had wrestled with a difficult decision for nearly two hours. Then they took some moments for reflection, meditation, and relative silence. That period of silence made their decision no less difficult, but God spoke in the stillness and the group came to consensus shortly after resuming speech. Discerning the guidance of God involves words, but transcends words.

Words abound and often surround us. Sometimes they bind us to what we can control and understand. Silence has the graciously mysterious capacity to liberate us and to connect us with deeper truth and nearness. Here are a few places and situations in which to seek the embrace of silence.

Before worship, especially before Holy Communion, sit quietly, offer God no words, and focus on sensing the divine presence. Cup your hands and hold them out to receive blessings God may pour into those moments. There is nothing wrong and much right with pouring out our hearts to God; but God often refreshes us when we focus not on what's on our minds but on what God gives in the moment. God's gifts, unlike our words, always prove sufficient.

Following a particularly inspiring piece of music, embrace the silence that follows the final note. Let God and the musicians know that the music spoke in ways beyond auditory response. I do not forbid applause, but on many occasions I ache for gathered saints not to break the stillness with their need to make gratitude heard. God hears sighs and reflections too deep for words.

In the presence of something splendidly beautiful or spectacularly true, be still and enter the embrace offered. Our descriptions of and praise for transcendent moments express sincere gratitude, but they rarely add to the beauty or deepen the truth.

Before a difficult decision, amidst the swirling of information and accountability, step aside, breathe deeply, set conscious thoughts aside, and listen. Listen for rhythms beyond our control. Listen to the whispers between breaths. Listen not for a word or particular words but for whatever sound seeks us. Even if the decision becomes no easier, the making of it can offer greater peace.

When life comes so quickly that it seems impossible to manage, disengage with the immediate and sit or walk quietly in anticipation of encountering the eternal. Sometimes the house is on fire, but most of the time no harm will come if we take time to wait for a presence beyond time. To the contrary, however, much harm flows from words that have yet to pass through sacred stillness.

Revelation is not my favorite book of the Bible, but one scene always catches my attention. Following seven chapters of pronouncements, seal opening, singing, and frightening words, the narrator declares: "When the Lamb opened the seventh seal, there was silence in heaven for about half an hour" (Revelation 8:1). The seventh seal symbolizes completion. The message is that even God embraces silence before completing recreation. Does God need silence? Perhaps that goes too far, but God, the Word that needs not words, speaks in silence as powerfully as in speech. Amidst a people so inundated by words, perhaps we hear God speak most clearly apart from all speech. Seek and accept the embrace of silence, friends. It will transform life.

Glad to share ministry with you, MWPC saints,

LP

Discerning where God offers calls

Pastors often talk about their call to ministry. Dag Hammarskjöld, the second Secretary-General of the United Nations, articulates my understanding of call in these words from Markings, his journal: "I don't know who - or what - put the question, I don't know when it was put. I don't even remember answering. But at some moment I did answer Yes to Someone - or Something - and from that hour I was certain that existence is meaningful and that, therefore, my life, in surrender, had a goal." A call entails more mystery than clarity, but that makes surrendering a Yes no less certain. 

I had no childhood dream of becoming a pastor or Teaching Elder. During my twenties, I experienced a tugging, an uneasiness, a longing that did not abate until I quit my full time job and returned to school to prepare for seminary and ordained ministry. Nancy, my bride, had a similar experience. After serving for years as a church musician, she took some seminary classes to learn more about worship and theology. She had no intention of preaching or presiding at Eucharist. Along the way God began to draw and call her and she began a journey toward priesthood that took over a decade. Where and how she would serve remained largely a mystery, but she offered her Yes and followed where it led.

In his Commencement Address in the Princeton University Chapel in May 2003, Thomas Gillespie observed: "When you have a calling, you do not have a career and therefore do not need a plan. You simply answer God's call and let it lead you where it will." Neither Nancy nor I planned the paths of ministry we have traveled. We tried to discern where God offered particular calls that allowed us to answer our general call to ministry.

Clergy are not interchangeable parts. We all have strengths and weaknesses, and above all we have a call. Presbyterians and Anglicans require affirmation of a personal call by a congregation and the denomination. More than once I have felt inadequate for the tasks before me. My call, that initial Yes, and those affirmations of it provided the faith and foolishness to continue.

Nancy's and my sense of call was shaken early this year when the priests serving at Christ Church Cathedral were told unexpectedly that all of them must leave their positions before the arrival of a new dean. Associate pastors often leave after a new head of staff arrives, but neither the priests nor the congregation of Christ Church anticipated their departures before that took place. Nancy did not yet feel released from her call to the congregation, but her call to the priesthood remained strong; so she began to listen. No positions open in this diocese seemed a good fit for her talents and abilities and none stirred her initial Yes; so she began speaking about possibilities for interim ministry with deployment officers in surrounding dioceses and dioceses where we have grandchildren. Several conversations with congregations proved stimulating, but only one felt like a call. When the leadership of the congregation called her, Nancy agreed to serve as Interim Rector of the Episcopal Church of the Epiphany in Guntersville, Alabama, a relatively short drive from our two grandsons. We expect this interim to last twelve to eighteen months.

Nancy and I are as deeply in love as ever, perhaps more. Our marriage covenant has never been stronger. We did not plan to live in separate states for a while, but that is where our calls have led us. My sense of call to this congregation has not diminished. Congregational leaders or presbyterial colleagues have not suggested that I need to move on. Unless that changes, I still plan to be here for a good while yet.

Several years ago a noted Presbyterian pastor quipped, "Nothing is sadder in the eyes of God than a minister who started out with a calling and ended up with a career." My bride has a call. She is a priest. She thinks, acts, and feels like a priest. A call to the Episcopal priesthood seems to be in her DNA. I am a Teaching Elder. I sometimes fight against it, but that's who I am. For a while Nancy and I will answer our calls in different locations, but the same God who calls us to these positions also calls us to life in covenant. When this interim ministry has ended, our covenants with God and each other will be stronger and every hour we spend together will be even sweeter. We do not have a plan for what will follow that, but we have a call and confidence that our initial Yes will guide us still.

Glad to share ministry with you, MWPC saints,

LP

Blessed to be "left overs!"

According to cosmologists, slightly less than fourteen billion years ago, the universe began to cool following the Big Bang. At that point the universe consisted of baryons (things such as protons and neutrons) and antibaryons. These particles and antiparticles destroyed each other in a series of "collisions." Cosmologists hypothesize that only one particle or baryon survived every billion such "collisions." In other words, everything extant that we can verify is a vestige of those "collisions." In the words of biblical scholar and scientist William P. Brown (author of a fascinating exegesis of the biblical creation narratives entitled The Seven Pillars of Creation: The Bible, Science, and the Ecology of Wonder), "Our cosmos evolved from left overs." That comment fills me with spiritual and theological wonder.

Many Hebrew prophets proclaimed that God created a covenantal community from the remnants of defeated nations. The disciples whom Jesus called came from outside the prevailing principalities and powers. Most of the people to whom Jesus offered healing words and touches belonged to the margins. In the same way, the existence of all that we have the capacity to comprehend begins with remnant particles, minority components, "left overs." Even before we ponder the wonder of human life, the existence of anything at all is incomprehensibly precious. Regardless how we define "God," the basic mystery of why there is something rather than nothing deepens to the point of reverence.

We readily easily ignore, neglect, or discount anything outside the mainstream. The witness of scripture and cosmology challenges us to take a closer look. "Left overs" often are priceless. We may find traces of the presence of God in places others expect to see nothing of value.

Many lament the numerical decline in the church in the United States and Western Europe. No Christian should celebrate this, but perhaps we should focus on what God continues to do in, with, and for us and how God calls us to participate in that. Creation and scripture assure us that God can do quite a bit with "left overs."

Pardon the foolishness, but I cannot escape the memory of "must go" night when my daughters were younger. Every now and then our dinner consisted of everything left in the refrigerator that "must go." Those meals included a variety of items rarely chosen for presentation together and the diminished preparation time gave us greater opportunity for conversation and catching up with each other. "Must go" night taught me to embrace those occasions that call for cleaning up and catching up. That rarely ranks high on the list of priorities, but it paves the way to reaching any of them. Is that also woven into the fabric of all that is?

Theology and cosmology affirm that our existence was not a given. Regardless what stands behind the Big Bang, there was no guarantee that we or anything would come to be. If the cosmos had expanded only a little more slowly, the universe probably would have collapsed back into itself. If the cosmos had expanded only a little more rapidly, our carbon-based life probably would not have formed. We may be "left overs," but we exist only because of life/love/God and in our existence we utterly depend on life/love/God. "Thank you" should be a way of life because our existence is sheer gift. We had nothing to do with it. Faithful stewardship of our lives should come naturally. The way we live and use our time, money, abilities, and all other resources most fully express our gratitude and wonder. What a blessing it is to be "left overs!"

            Grace and Peace,

            LP

Discerning God's movement in our lives

"Seek the Lord and the strength of the Lord; seek God's presence continually" (Psalm 105:4). Psalm 105 and many passages of scripture call and challenge us constantly to look for God, to enter each day vigilantly pursuing signs of God's presence. Our tradition assures us that as we knock and ask, doors will open and responses will come.

"Wait for the Lord; be strong and let your heart take courage; wait for the Lord!" (Psalm 27:14). Psalm 27 and many passages of scripture call and challenge us to have confidence that God will appear and to prepare to receive God when those moments of encounter come. Our tradition assures us that God will not disappoint those who wait.

These two streams of guidance do not contradict each other, but they have distinct foci. Seeking stresses our action and intent. Waiting stresses our expectation and dependence. Both emphases contribute to a healthy life of faith, but in recent years I find myself doing a lot more waiting and far less seeking. Desire to discover where God is has diminished, as longing to follow where God leads has intensified. Think of the Hebrew slaves wandering through the wilderness following a pillar of fire by night and a pillar of cloud by day. When those pillars moved, they moved. The pillars found them more than they went looking for them.

During prayers I once offered a list of people and situations to God with specific requests for each. Christians always have made and received blessings from such petitions. Now, however, I find myself more reflective. For example, I utter Nancy's name and pray for God to bless her. Instead of making specific requests, I hold her name and an image of God in thought and wait for words, guidance, or insight. My prayers seem to have fewer words. Instead of more exhaustive prayers for everyone tending to a friend battling disease or heartache, I call to God as I inhale and pray that the one for whom I pray will sense God's presence as I exhale.

This shift in focus has also affected sermon writing. I have always enjoyed the process of juxtaposing a passage of scripture and its context with a contemporary situation and trying to discern where they collide, run parallel, or intersect. For much of my ministry I chose a central idea early in the process and looked for ways to develop it. Now I find myself waiting longer before determining the core of the message. Writing takes as much time as ever, but I spend more of that time pondering and waiting for a message to present itself.

This change reflects where I find myself and where I believe the church is. I cannot claim with certainty that I know where I'm going or where the church next will go. That does not trouble me because of increased confidence that I and we are being led. As we celebrate Pentecost this Sunday, you'll probably hear me declare that we are called to be disciples, followers of Jesus, and that followers may not know where they are going, but they know who leads them.

We each must discern God's movement in our lives. For now, I prefer to wait more than to seek. That means going to places where God often appears: places of need and heartache; places of hope and encouragement; places where people pray and labor together; places with doors open to those often excluded. While waiting there, we can believe that we will "see the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living" (Psalm 27:13).

            Easter Blessings,

            LP

astronomically speaking...

During its 221st meeting, the American Astronomical Society announced the identification of 17,000,000,000 Earth-sized planets in our galaxy. That means that 17% of the stars in our galaxy have a planet up to 1.25 times the size of Earth in an orbit lasting 85 days or less. Ours, of course is not the only galaxy. Since even the most powerful of our instruments can view only a fraction of the universe, no one knows how many galaxies exist. Astronomers and cosmologists estimate that there are 100 to 200 billion galaxies, but a German supercomputer simulation recently posited the existence of 500 billion. There may be a galaxy out there for every star in the Milky Way, and each galaxy contains hundreds of billions of stars.

In other words, we're just a speck of dust in our 13.8 billion years old universe. Yet, what a wonderful speck we are and how precious is the glimmering blue orb we inhabit.  Nothing could be rarer than our planetary home, and each one of its inhabitants is unique. Do we need more motivation to receive the gift of life with gratitude and pursue it with courage? On the worst of days, despite the odds, we exist. None of us knows how long we will live, but whether for a moment or a century, life is miraculous. How can we know that and not feel grateful and not want to revere, protect, sustain, and preserve the miracle that we are and have?

Add this to the pondering. On April 18, NASA announced that its Kepler space telescope had discovered three exoplanets (An exoplanet is a planet outside our solar system.) that may have the capacity to support life. One of them, Kepler-62f, is 1.4 times bigger than Earth and circles a star smaller and dimmer than our sun. The neighboring Kepler-62e is 1.6 times larger than Earth. Both of them orbit their star in the "habitable zone," the appropriate range of distances where liquid water can exist on an exo/planet's surface. William Borucki, Principal Investigator at NASA's Ames Research Center, declared that these orbs "look very good as possibilities for looking for life."

We may never have the ability to meet them face-to-face, but we may have kissing-cousin creatures somewhere in the vastness of all that is. Only 4.9% of all that is consists of ordinary matter. The rest is dark matter and dark energy. Yet, that 4.9% suffices for our extraordinary world and lives and possibly other worlds and lives as well. Far from making us less unique, that makes us more extraordinary and deepens my sense of awe. Despite the odds, life finds a way. Not everyone calls the reason for that God, but we do. God's reach extends far beyond us. As a part of God, our capacity for relationships exceeds our imaginations.

There may be a galaxy out there for every star in the Milky Way, and each galaxy contains hundreds of billions of stars. We inhabit a planet just the right distance from one of those hundreds of billions of stars to make life possible. That ought to make us feel profoundly grateful for our lives and fill us with desire to do something worthwhile with our lives. In Paul's words, "Rejoice always." In the words of our baptismal liturgy, "Obey Jesus' word and show his love."

            Easter Blessings,

            LP