Ministry Musings: Transitions and Death, Part I: The Conundrum

As I left Small Church in the Country two weeks ago, one of the patriarchs of the church lay dying in hospice.  I've spent a lot of time with him and his wife over the past two years, and she was frantic at the thought of my not being there for the funeral. Our denomination, like most, has clear rules about pastors concluding their relationships with former congregations when we leave.  I had explained those rules, and my plans to follow them, before I left.  We did leave the matter of the funeral hanging, with me telling my parishioner that I was sure the new pastor would be a great help to her and that, if her husband lived for another couple of weeks, she would probably be more comfortable with my successor, who would no doubt be spending a great deal of time with her ~ but also indicating my willingness to participate in the funeral in some way, if that was acceptable to the new pastor.

The husband did die a couple of days ago, and eventually I received an email from the interim pastor, saying that the new widow would appreciate my sharing my memories at the funeral.  As it happened, I thought that I had a conflict, so the matter was out of my hands.  I also read between the lines ~ and in the lines themselves ~ and understood that the invitation was from the widow, and not from the pastor herself.

The situation generated a great deal of discussion, both among pastors and in my own family.  The pastors, on the whole, emphasize the importance of boundaries set to respect both new and former pastors, while often recognizing the need for flexibility, especially where only a short time has passed between the pastor's departure and the death of a congregant. My children found the "rules" baffling and, in my daughter's words, "cruel." Trained in social work, she is well aware of boundary issues, but told me in no uncertain terms that in this situation pastors are more concerned about ourselves and our colleagues than we are about our parishoners.

As for me, I see the need for clear boundaries, and recognize that my own gut response emphasizes their purpose.  As someone actively grieving, and apparently facing a lifetime of same, I know that my own immediate responses for myself, to seek out people who know me well, are mirrored in my desire to care for others in the same boat.  And having been so often disappointed by loved ones ~ which I now understand to be nearly a universal experience shared by the bereaved, one which shocks us all at first and then gradually becomes one more part of the process we have to accept ~ I am very deeply and personally horrified to have become one of those who disappoint. 

 

But I have come to terms with it, in an ambiguous kind of way ~ next post.

You Call This An Invitation? (Sermon - Advent 2)

Have any of you been invited to someone’s home for a Christmas celebration?  Or are any of you hosting this year, perhaps a pre-Christmas party, or a Christmas dinner?

 

You know what to expect, right?  A home decorated with poinsettias and greens, a colorfully decorated and lighted tree, people dressed to the nines, and a delicious meal, right? 

 

How about Christmas Eve services?  You have expectations about those, too, don’t you?  A beautiful sanctuary, candlelight and sacred music, a message of hope and joy?  If you invite someone to join you for Christmas Eve here at Boulevard – and I hope that you all will – you will do so at least in part because you have some confidence in what to expect.

 

Well, here we are, preparing for Christmas, paying attention to the invitation of Scripture to be alert to the coming of Christ, and what happens?  We are invited to prepare ourselves by heading into the wilderness.  We are invited to prepare ourselves by changing our lives.  We are invited to prepare ourselves – not for more of the same old stuff, but for something new! 

 

Let’s listen to what the Gospel of Matthew has to tell us in 3:1-12:

 

3:1 In those days John the Baptist appeared in the wilderness of Judea, proclaiming, 3:2 "Repent, for the kingdom of heaven has come near." 3:3 This is the one of whom the prophet Isaiah spoke when he said, "The voice of one crying out in the wilderness: 'Prepare the way of the Lord, make his paths straight.'" 3:4 Now John wore clothing of camel's hair with a leather belt around his waist, and his food was locusts and wild honey. 3:5 Then the people of Jerusalem and all Judea were going out to him, and all the region along the Jordan, 3:6 and they were baptized by him in the river Jordan, confessing their sins. 3:7 But when he saw many Pharisees and Sadducees coming for baptism, he said to them, "You brood of vipers! Who warned you to flee from the wrath to come? 3:8 Bear fruit worthy of repentance. 3:9 Do not presume to say to yourselves, 'We have Abraham as our ancestor'; for I tell you, God is able from these stones to raise up children to Abraham. 3:10 Even now the ax is lying at the root of the trees; every tree therefore that does not bear good fruit is cut down and thrown into the fire. 3:11 "I baptize you with water for repentance, but one who is more powerful than I is coming after me; I am not worthy to carry his sandals. He will baptize you with the Holy Spirit and fire. 3:12 His winnowing fork is in his hand, and he will clear his threshing floor and will gather his wheat into the granary; but the chaff he will burn with unquenchable fire."

 

John the Baptist was Jesus’s cousin, the son of Elizabeth and Zechariah.  One day, as a man growing into his calling, he recognized that he was the one designated to prepare his people for the imminent coming of the messiah.  And so off to the wilderness he trudged, and that is where we are invited to follow.

 

What kind of an invitation is this?  The wilderness?  The Jordanian wilderness was a bleak and barren place, indeed.  Wilderness in Scripture is synonymous with desert, and desert it is – dry and dusty, little in the way of plant life, hot in the daytime and cold at night.  Nothing pleasant about it.  Why would we go to the wilderness?  What happened to the welcoming front door bearing a wreath, the beautifully decorated family room, the tree with the star on top?  How did we end up in the desert wilderness?

 

And the clothing!  You thought you were supposed to dress up, right?  But John is decked out in a camel’s hair tunic.  What kind of a host is this?

 

And if all that weren’t enough – the food!  What about the food?  Locusts and wild honey?  Locusts?  That sounds disgusting.  Holiday time is supposed to mean tray after tray of sumptuous  . . . well, everything, right?  That’s how we celebrate the coming of the Lord! 

 

John the Baptist seems to have different preparations in mind than the ones we’re accustomed to. He calls us into the desert, into the wilderness, to prepare for the coming of Christ.  Why do you suppose that is?  Could it be because the deserts of life are where Jesus is found?  Could it be because the deserts of life are where we come to know who God is, and who we are?

 

What are your own deserts this holiday season?  Where do you find yourself pulled, like it or not?  To a hospital waiting room?  Into a decades-long family argument?  To an empty apartment?  To a broken relationship?  To a period of unemployment?  To the challenges of the aging process, or of illness?

 

And what about the deserts that surround us?  Have you visited a nursing home lately?  A jail?  A hospice room?  A homeless shelter?

 

There was a drug-related fatal shooting in Euclid this past week.  A desert place, right here.  South African leader Nelson Mandela died on Thursday, reminding us all that South Africa was not so long ago a desert place in which the culture and the restrictions of apartheid reigned.

 

Where are the deserts in our lives?  And why are we being called to those deserts? 

 

We are called to the desert so that we might prepare the way of the Lord, and we prepare the way of the Lord by repenting.    When we begin to know the God of the desert, and when we begin to know who we are in the starkness of the desert, we hear the call to repent.  “Repent!” roars John the Baptist, our wilderness host.  

 

Repent!  – which means:  Change!  In  Hebrew, that language John the Baptist would have spoken, the words for repent mean to turn – to turn in a new direction.  In Greek, the language in which the Gospel of Matthew was written, the word for repent is metanoia – which means a change of heart or, perhaps originally, a change of mind.  To repent does not mean merely to say that we are sorry and to seek forgiveness.  To repent means to change -- by turning from the wrongheaded ways in which we have been directed and to turn toward a new and life-giving way, the way of Jesus Christ,

 

And if we change, what happens?  If we change, our families and our neighborhoods change.  If we change, our cities and our nations change.  If we change, our world changes. 

 

This past week, the world lost a towering figure and a master, a great leader of change: Nelson Mandela.  This was a man who emerged from the horrors of apartheid in South Africa to lead a major resistance movement, one of the most successful movements the world has ever seen.  He was already leading that movement from prison, where for twenty-seven years, held in the desert of the confines of an 8’ by  8’, prison cell, he earned the respect of a nation and was transformed into the man who, after his release,  would lead that nation as it became Africa’s first genuinely multiracial democracy.

 

In one of the news reports I heard this past week, another leader of resistance against oppression, the Myanmar woman Aung San Suu Kyi  said of Nelson Mandela, “ He made us understand that we can change the world -- we can change the world by changing attitudes, by changing perceptions.”  And we start changing attitudes and perceptions, of course, by changing our own.

 

I want you to listen to what former President Bill Clinton said this past week in his tribute to Nelson Mandela:

 

"In his 27 years of imprisonment, Mandela endured physical and emotional abuse, isolation and degradation. His trials purified his spirit and clarified his vision, giving him the strength to be a free man even behind bars, and to remain free of anger and hatred when he was at last released. Mandela's enduring legacy is that, under a crushing burden of oppression he saw through differences, discrimination and destruction to embrace our common humanity. "

 

Isn’t this exactly the sort of experience that John the Baptist is talking about?  Repent – be changed – and then bear fruit worthy of repentance.  Repent – proceed into the desert and know that the chaff of your life, the extraneous burdens to which you cling, the old baggage you carry, the unnecessary and useless husks of brokenness, of resentment, and of self-centeredness that trap you in lives that do not bear fruit, those will all be be winnowed away and cast into the wind.

 

In the desert, that barren place of transformation, that place in which we repent, in which we embrace change, in which we turn toward new directions, we become people capable of bearing good fruit. 

 

Fruit which the prophet Isaiah describes in terms of a world in which “[t]he wolf shall live with the lamb, the leopard shall lie down with the kid, the calf and the lion and the fatling together, and a little child shall lead them. “ A world in which “[t]hey will not hurt or destroy on all my holy mountain; for the earth will be full of the knowledge of the LORD as the waters cover the sea. “  Fruit in the form of a world of reconciliation, of community, of peace among all of creation.

 

We saw one version, one image of this kind of a world in one of the famous Edward Hicks paintings that appeared on the screen during the Isaiah reading this morning.  A world in which all animals and all peoples live in peace.

We see another version of the same thing in the work of Nelson Mandela who, like John the Baptist, was a prophet of the desert.

And we heard it yet again, a description of the fruit we are called to bear, in the words of Paul to the Romans when he said, “May the God of steadfastness and encouragement grant you to live in harmony with one another, in accordance with Christ Jesus, that together you may with one voice glorify the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ. Welcome one another, therefore, just as Christ has welcomed you, for the glory of God. “

The world as we know it is not the world with which God is satisfied.  The deserts of the world – its wildernesses of warfare, its pockets of poverty, its worn down neighborhoods and broken streets, its bastions of hunger and despair – these are not God’s goals for creation.  But they are places to which we are called in order to be transformed and to generate transformation.

The church as we know it is not the church with which God is satisfied.  John the Baptist does not call us into the wilderness in order to applaud us.  John the Baptist tells us:  Do not rest on your laurels.  Do not say, “We are the children of Abraham and Sarah; thanks to our heritage, we are safe.”  Do not say, “We go to church, we support the church; we are fine.”  You are always, always, always beloved in the sight of God.  But you are also called into the wilderness to change, to be transformed: to repent. 

Our Advent readings are not always comfortable ones.  They don’t point us right to the department store shelves of ornaments, to the gift-wrapping department, to the holiday specialties at the grocery.  I got a laugh out of one of the commentators I read as I prepared this sermon, who pointed out that John the Baptist plays no role in commercial holiday celebrations.  And no – we don’t get to wear sparkly dresses and new jackets to the wilderness.

But these readings are crucial to our understanding of Advent.  These readings tells us what the world of big box stores leaves out: We are preparing for transformation.    We are preparing to be changed, and to create change.  We are called to come face-to-face with ourselves in preparation for coming face-to-face with the newborn Christ.    John the Baptist extends to us the most profound, the most astonishing, the most hopeful of all invitations:  Come out to the desert and repent!  Co.me out to the desert and be changed!  Prepare the way of the Lord!

Amen.

Green

My new church is . . . complicated. It will be awhile before I am able to sort out just what it is that I'm called to do there.  But . . . I am doing it, whatever it is, from  my own home base, which means that last night I got to see Philomena (inCREDible movie) with friends, tonight I was able to go to a holiday event in my church community without its requiring an overnight away from home (and to hear one of the local pastors sing ~ she is also incredible), and tomorrow night, a SATURDAY night, I can go out to dinner with family and to Wicked with my daughter (third time for us).  It's a remarkable thing to live at home and spend three nights in a row out with family and friends.

Go, Francis Xavier! - Advent Photo-a-Day

From my FB page:

 

I was going to do the Advent Photo-a-Day, and I guess if I hurry up I'll still be only two days behind. So: for "Go," Francis Xavier, first of the great missionaries, whose feast day is celebrated today in the Catholic Church. Image from St. Francis Chapel at John Carroll University.

Weirdness

This in-between locale is . .  weird.

 

I have a new church in which I barely know anyone. I will, but I don't yet.

 

It's not a situation fraught with the intensity of my first call two years ago, when I was being ordained and dealing with impending breast cancer surgery.  And also when I had no real understanding of small church communities.

 

Absent that combination of intensity and ignorance, I am beginning to understand how very much I am changed since Josh's death.  I feel removed from my life, in the sense that my capacity for wholehearted openness has vanished.  I don't think it's coming back.

 

You know how people with brain damage can experience a healthy portion of the brain beginning to take over for the area of loss?  Somehow the neurons fire themselves up in different ways than they have before.  They stretch to learn something new and, if luck is on their side, they get the job done, but it's not the same.

 

Yeah.  It's a weird sensation.

Greetings! (First Sermon for New Church)

Greetings!  Greetings, Favored Ones! 

Does it seem a bit presumptuous, to greet you with the same words that the angel Gabriel used to greet Mary?  “Greetings, favored one!  The Lord is with you!”  Perhaps  . . . Or, perhaps not. 

What might our lives be like if we recognized that our God is always greeting us, every morning and at every junction in our days, greeting us and calling us into new life with God, as God was doing with Mary all those years ago?

Today the angel’s exclamation of greeting, and Mary’s response, seem particularly appropriate for us to consider, as we meet one another, most of us, for the first time.  

Let’s ponder Mary for a moment.  Mary is a young woman, going about her business, probably helping her mother in the household, and perhaps wondering and daydreaming about her upcoming marriage, when – an angel appears!  I’m always a bit surprised that she isn’t more astonished by the arrival of a messenger from God – that, to me, would be quite something to take in.    Although, in one of my favorite children’s books about this particular event, which we know as the Annunciation, the angel Gabriel accidentally lands in a tree, his robes and his wings are pulled apart by the branches, and he pulls to a final stop in front of Mary in a rather tattered condition, seemingly as surprised by his arrival as she is.  So maybe there’s a certain mutuality of bewilderment in their encounter.

That might apply to us, yes?  I’m not the angel Gabriel, and you all aren’t Mary – but here we are, brought together by God, and perhaps we are a little surprised?  Who is this pastor?” you must be wondering.  “Who are these people?” I am asking.  “Who is this church, and who are we called to become together?” is the question on all of our minds.  “To what unknown future are we being invited to give birth?” 

Mary, we are told, is perplexed.  Much perplexed.  Baffled, bewildered, confused – by the angel’s greeting.  What does it mean to be told that you are God’s favored one, that God is with you?  And then, when she finds out – when she finds out that she, a woman as yet not living with the man she is to marry, is to bear a child, the Son of God, she is startled, and she has a big question.  “How can this be?” she demands? 

There must be so many levels to that question.  How can this be, since I have never had relations with a man?  How can this be, since it is going to embarrass my parents and ruin my life?  How can this be, since no one told me until just now?  How can this be, since I am an ordinary woman with no special line to God?  How can this be, that God would have a son?  How can this be, that the messiah, the anointed one, of our people, should be born in our little village?  How can any of this be at all?  

Do you sense any camaraderie with Mary this morning?   Are her questions your own?  Do you wonder, What is God doing here in BPC?    Do you wonder: How can this be?  How can it be that God comes to us, that God comes to ordinary people in an ordinary city, to tell us that we are favored by God’s presence and called into partnership with God?  How can that be?

Well . . . what does the angel Gabriel say to Mary?  Three things:

First: Do not be afraid.

Secondly: The Spirit of God will overshadow you.

And, finally: Nothing is impossible with God.  

First, Do not be afraid.  A tall order – we are fearful and anxious and apprehensive about so many things – and yet that phrase, or some version of it – Do not fear, Be strong in the Lord – is repeated hundreds of times in the Bible.  Do not be afraid of what lies ahead!  Do not be fearful of God’s call in your life.  Mary, do not be afraid!  Boulevard Church, do not be afraid!

Second: The Spirit of God will overshadow you.  We are accustomed to hearing those words in connection with Mary.  They provide a sort of vague explanation of the biology and genetics of the way in which God has engaged in her life so that she will give birth to the messiah. 

But don’t they apply to all of us?  The Spirit of God will overshadow you.  Doesn’t the Holy Spirit envelop and protect and encourage and enliven each of us when we are called into God’s great project for the universe?  Isn’t the Holy Spirit overshadowing our lives when we and our community are called into God’s loving and healing plan for all peoples?  When we are called to serve meals to the community?  When we are called to walk through our city in prayer?  When we are called to consider new ways of being church?  What is all that, other than the movement of the Holy Spirit in our lives, calling us to give birth to something as of yet unknown? 

And finally: Nothing is impossible with God.  Now there’s a sweeping statement if we ever heard one. There are some folks who say it all the time: Nothing is impossible with God.  But how many of us really believe it?  How many of us behave as if it is true?  How many of us say, instead, Oh, we’d better not try that.  Oh, we’ve always done it this other way.  Oh, we don’t have the money or time for that.  Oh, this will never work.  Oh, no one will ever like that.  Have you heard any of those words?  Have you said any of those words?  I surely have.  But maybe it’s time to catch ourselves and to say instead, when God is asking us to help to bring about a new thing,  that indeed, Nothing is impossible with God.  That we are called to the art of possibility!

And so, BPC, how do we respond? 

What do we say as we embark upon the Advent season, as we begin a new church year, as we find ourselves drawn into relationship together, as we know ourselves called to give birth to something new and uncertain? 

Are we perplexed?  I should think so!  Do we have questions?  I hope that we do!

But let's also be fearless.  Let's also acknowledge that we, like Mary, are being overshadowed by the Spirit of God.  And let's remember, as we prepare to share in a mysterious and joyful meal together, that we are called into a season of birth of hope and confidence in possibility.

As we walk into the light of Advent, let us say with Mary, "Here are we, your servants - let it be with us according to your word.

Greetings, favored ones!  The Lord is with you!

Amen. 

Walk in a Relaxed Manner

I am in the midst of reading Joyce Rupp's book by the same title as that of this post for a book group. I am a big fan of Joyce Rupp's prayer and retreat writings and have used them in several contexts.  I can't honestly claim the same enthusiasm for her narrative approach to her Camino de Santiago pilgrimage, the subject of this book.  But I love the title - words of advice offered her by a fellow pilgrim; I am often drawn into pilgrimage language by Ignatius of Loyola, who often described himself as a pilgrim; and I am in need of a metaphor for my next venture: new (to me) Small City Church, newly re-unified life in all dimensions, new long-term commitment. I think that "walk in a relaxed manner" will do well.