We ARE Together

Words for Gathering on Sunday, November 8, 2020

Here we are again. A significant thing or two have changed in our world in the week since we last gathered for worship. And yet much remains the same.

We long to gather in person, 

To share a hug or handshake,

To raise our voices in harmony,

To feel the energy of our spirits co-mingling,

To laugh with joy,

To weep with compassion.

But here we are, resigned to reach out through the digital network,

Protecting one another,

Honoring health and well-being,

Trusting God’s grace

To keep us connected

In the midst of this unusual season.

We ARE together, 

Bound by the love of Jesus,

Compelled by our common commitment to each other

And our sisters and brothers in humanity.

We ARE together,

Nurtured by the Holy Spirit’s power,

Called to be present,

Free to celebrate who we are.

We ARE together,

Created to live in harmony,

Building new worlds in Christ’s name,

Transforming darkness into light.

We ARE together,

Extending God’s generosity

To ourselves,

To one another,

To the world.

We ARE together,

To worship and rejoice.

Please pray with me.

Bind our hearts, Lord Jesus, 

first to you, 

then to each other and 

ultimately to the world.

We are here to pray vigorously,

To worship earnestly.

Reveal yourself to us 

through common words,

Familiar melodies,

And simple prayers.

We welcome your guiding presence.

 

Amen.

(Written for worship at the Highland Avenue Church of the Brethren, where we continue to meet remotely for the protection of our congregation and community. If these words are useful to your worshiping community, feel free to use them. If you do, I'd appreciate you providing attribution and letting me know.)

The day began with so much promise

 The day began with so much promise.

Coffee steam rising from the cup,

a special cup for reasons unspoken.

Sunshine peered around the curtain’s edge

fattening squirrels skittered about the yard.

Promise, behold the day!

A few errands, tasks left cautiously to the side until they could be abandoned no more.

Pick up. Drop off. Exchange some hard earned credit for this, and that.

The rattle has been incessant, even after long hours of work

to strengthen the suspension of an old Pilot.

Plastic. A cover not secured, resonating with every movement of this massive machine.

Easily set aside. Quiet order is restored.

Paint has been peeling for at least three years. 

First a little, soon a lot.

Wood around the large front picture window is exposed, grainy, raw.

Scrape. Sand. Wash.

Primer soaks, caulk oozes into corners awaiting the chilling rain.

It’s loud in here. 

Noise is reaching a fever pitch. 

Politics seem louder than the screamo festival I attended years ago with my teenage son.

To endure the noise may be love, or it may be our intent to survive.

Is it enough to just survive? The day began with so much promise… 

Positivity used to be a secret power that we unleashed.

Glass cathedrals echoed, “positive thinking is POWER.”

27% is a catastrophic warning.

Positivity: frightening, positively heartbreaking.

Broccoli soup is the evening bowl.

Table thanks flow easily over steam that rises,

but what of the millions that have no heat?

Within the physical depths

there is a lingering pain.

Anxious organs wait to snap.

My soul is enshrouded in a misty, damp chill.

What if we can’t right the ship?

When the reflection is unrecognizable, who have we become?

Who have I become?

Once the switch has been disconnected, flipping it doesn’t mean a thing.

Are we too late? Did we miss the promise of the day?

Hope declares that we are not done yet.

Faith intones a power greater than our own.

Grace compels us to try again.

Steam rises. Tonight's tea.

Decaffeinated. Herbal. Comfort.

Still. 

The day.

So much promise.

No Going Back

 I originally posted this on Facebook on October 5, 2020. 

I keep seeing posts about "getting back" to something that supposedly was "better." Back to an America that was "better." Back to an economy that was "better." Back to a discourse that was "better." Back to .....

The reality is that there is nothing worth going back to. The longing for a return to something that was familiar and that we enjoyed is nostalgia; it doesn't mean it was "better."

The God I serve is a God who calls for a continual unfolding. Things will not ultimately be "better" until God makes it so. And the fact that it has yet to be made so means that nothing that was before is the type of "better" that I want to return to, or am called to return to, or believe in returning to. It doesn't mean it wasn't good; it's just not the ultimate good.

In the meantime, what we must aspire to is a new future in which humanity both intrinsically and extrinsically demonstrates that we recognize the uniquely powerful responsibility that we've been given for one another and for the world which we inhabit.

So far we've done a pretty lousy job with that responsibility. Neither democrat nor republican is the savior we seek. We each must take action toward a more responsible future. We must care for one another and care for our environment. Our care will never be perfect, but we can do better, so much better. We need leaders, too, who care and will empower us to care.

We can start by centering not on ourselves, but on the other.

What will improve the lives of those around me?

What can I do to make life better for someone else?

What is needed from me to care for God's whole creation?

What habits, attitudes, prejudices, insecurities, and fears do I hold that I must confront and repent of in order to serve the well-being of those around me?

Pursue these things. Then perhaps we'll experience those better days that we so long for, not by returning to some nostalgic past but rather by living into our responsible, hopeful future, together.

On Vocation, Gifts, and Calling: Part 1

Recently I've been thinking a lot about vocation, the deepest invitation to participate in God's mission in the world in meaningful and faithful ways.

The pursuit of vocational clarity has actually been lifelong. From the first inklings of a call to ministry while portraying the prodigal son in a fourth grade musical through a change in college major to more recent retooling for nonprofit and nursing home administration, I've sought to align my employment with God's blessing of who I am (vocation). 

Vocation still remains somewhat elusive, and I was compelled to explore the question further during the recent five year ordination renewal process in our denomination. Ordination in our tradition is understood as vocation tied to employment; to be ordained one must be personally called by God, affirmed by the church, and have a functional position through which to live out that call.

For some ministers the requirement to link vocation with employment can prove distressing. At this point in my life, my call to ministry is inherent in my work, but not explicitly linked to ordination. As a development and fundraising officer in a Christian retirement community, my work is about raising money. As a minister, that same work is about tending people's soul journey. It always is. 

The need to once again affirm my calling to ministry, show my continuing education, demonstrate vocation linked to employment, and renew the covenants which I originally made with the church over 27 years ago might have seemed like a no-brainer to many. In fact, many pastors and ministers treat the renewal process as just one more hoop to jump through in order to maintain their status. I know, because in the past I have, too.

This renewal period, however, led to harder discernment on my part. What is my vocation? How is God calling me to be of use in this world? What are the deeper passions of my life? Where might I best live out my faith, and under what circumstances?

In addition to those somewhat esoteric questions, I also was confronted with some more specific, contextual dilemmas. Is the Church of the Brethren as it's currently focused a tradition that I can continue to align with? Given my experiences in and treatment by leadership in the church, is this a body that I can safely continue to be accountable to? Have I failed God and the church in ways which would preclude the continuation of my leadership?

These questions, coupled with ongoing efforts to expand my skill set and employability, compelled me to reflect intensely on the ordination review process. The unsettledness in my spirit needed to be addressed before responding to the rote inquiries of the renewal process. It would have been easier to simply check the boxes, but it wouldn't have been faithful.

After a long period of procrastination and discernment, I did complete the required documents. I also included an unsolicited letter detailing some of my wrestling. Over the next few blog posts, I will share the essence of that letter and further explore questions of vocation, gifts, and calling. 

Faith for me is about surrender and alignment. I surrender to the will of God and seek, to the best of my ability, to align my life with that will. Sometimes I fail completely, or fall short in part. Sometimes those shortcomings are a result of sin. Sometimes those shortcomings are a lack of adequate discernment. Sometimes those shortcomings are simply the hidden mysteries of God, into which I move even without absolute clarity, so not shortcomings as much as faithful stumbles. 

In the end, however, I constantly strive to know the call of God on my life, to recognize and cultivate the gifts God has blessed me with, and to pursue meaningful activities of work and ministry. Whether I can see clearly or not, God remains constant and clear. And so God gives me the faith, courage, and hope to carry on.

Tired.

Facebook wanted to know what's on my mind.

At the moment I'm just sitting here being verbally abused by a 25 yo son who has no genetic ability to reason and refuses to do the things he needs to do to be safe and well (you know, like not go outside in a thunderstorm during a severe heat warning).

Lately, though, I'm feeling an exhaustion like no other exhaustion I've ever felt, and not the good kind.

I'm not sharing this for sympathy. It's nothing new. Tired's been piling up for years. It's the daily life we have.

        But here's the thing.

If you think you "know" what other people's experiences are, like white folks knowing black folks' experiences, or single folks knowing parent-with-children folks' experiences, or urban folks knowing rural folks' experiences, or neurotypical parents knowing what it's like to be a special needs parent, or doctors and nurses caring for Covid patients when you're not even a medical professional, or ..... then you aren't really paying attention.

If your m.o. is to evaluate and judge people whose experiences are vastly different than your own based primarily on your own experiences, then you have a lot of growing up to do. If you think that you "know" something about someone's situation but you've never walked a mile in their shoes, let alone taken a stride nearby, then your privilege is definitely showing.

You may dismiss or mock me and my white male privilege for being tired, and I get it. Really I do. Plenty of people have told me to "get some rest," "take care of yourself," or just "suck it up." But before you do, maybe you could come lace on my shoes.

If your experience or ideas require you to invalidate another's, your understanding is wrong. And if your primary way of moving around in the world is with disdain and dismissiveness toward people and movements and principles that you don't even understand, your memes aren't worth the bytes they're lighting up.

 As for me, I am tired.

Tired.

    ... of Covid-19. Tired of people dying.

        ... of threats. Tired of self-righteous saviors.

            ... of incompetent leaders. Tired of politics.

                ... of self-interest. Tired of broken systems that refuse to go.

        

                    ... of being angry. Tired of being scared.

                           ... of my Christian faith being used as a weapon.

                                ... of patronizing do-gooders.

Tired of being tired.

And yet, my exhaustion pales next to how tired those whose very lives are always at risk must be. I can only imagine, and learn, and show compassion, because I will never know. I can contribute to what changes I can, and refuse to leave those who are weary to just make it on their own.

I may be exhausted, but there's still work to do. It will be easier if we do it together, especially in these days with physical distancing and unclear futures.

What's REALLY on my mind, Facebook? All these things, and more.

But right now I'm too tired to write another word.

It Has Been Far Too Long

JUNETEENTH

It has been far too long

since our soul's been at rest,

since we had peace built on the truth that our God makes us one.

Long the days since we've known

that our lives are entwined,

joined by our breath, fused in our blood, oh, yes, it's been far too long.

There's a pain to share

and a sorrow to carry;

a trust to build

and a love to grow.

How long? How long? How long?

It has been far too long for us all.

~~~~~~~~~~

It has been far too long

since the dignity held deep in our hearts for one another

loosed unafraid;

when our courage would match

the injustice we see,

changing our world, dreaming a dream, oh, yes, it's been far too long.

There's a pain to share

and a sorrow to carry;

a trust to build

and a love to grow.

Too long. Too long. Too long.

It has been far too long...

It has been far too long...

It has been far too long for us all.

You don't understand, and I don't either

Today is day 2 of week 6 of me and our son Benjamin practicing physical distancing. My wife's not far behind, checking in at the start of week 5. Our two other young adult children have had to adjust, too, one moving home for web-based college courses and weekends as an "essential" worker, and our other a full-time "essential" worker. Both are retailers that happen to sell groceries.

This whole Covid-19 thing is hard for everyone. Many of you still have to risk your health and the health of those you love in the workplace. You do this in service to your fellow humanity, and we're grateful. Many of you have suddenly become work-from-home employees. Within your personal family space you're now expected to carve out protected turf and hours for your employer. Many of you are unemployed and are spending your days navigating systems that were not designed for the stress of this time: unemployment, health insurance, debt load, etc.

Many of you have become instant home-school parents. Coupled with the above realities, it's really too much to expect any reasonable human to manage. Some of you are suddenly alone, distanced because you are single, or sequestered because you live as part of a particularly vulnerable community. Too many of you are facing long days with partners who are uncaring at best, hurtful at worst.

Some of you have lost loved ones. We've all lost admired ones. Some have been ill and have recovered. Some are ill now and fighting, struggling. We all have reason to wonder.

We're in these strange and anxious times together. Whether you believe that Covid is "real" (and I still can't conceive of why anyone wouldn't) or are convicted that it's some great political scam being pulled on the globe (check your sources, please), we all share in the frustration, awkwardness, and tension of the time.

Most of us have some mental frameworks to apply to this crisis. Those frameworks may be inadequate. They may be unsatisfactory. They may not be the "right" ones. But as neurotypical folks, we have ways of making uncomfortable sense of what's going on. 

My son with Williams Syndrome does not have those mental frameworks. The foundation for those frameworks is literally missing from his gene array. His gapped-out seventh chromosome mind has nothing to hold these days together with, and the things that typically provide a substitute for that logical shape are essentially taken from him. Physical distancing has eliminated the few "tricks" we have to keep the peace and provide at least a limited amount of focus for each day.

What's that look like? Well, for the last three mornings it looks like 4:30 a.m. attempts to head outside in order to watch the workers renovating a nearby building, followed by repeated battles to keep him safe and redirected throughout the day. The battles are epic: he has a colorful vocabulary and somewhere along the line has learned effective insulting. He's threatening, and there's enough history to know that he's not just bluffing. His head-strong willpower is fueled by a very real inability to understand any logical argument. His frustration leads to anger leads to..... well, lots of things.

Three days ago the police met him on the street. Through a story told by Ben and an interpretation rendered by the officers, he ended up in the back of an ambulance and bay 14 in the local ER. None of it was remotely necessary, and with Covid 19 on the loose, fairly troubling. But this was the result of an anxious and confused adult who doesn't understand what's going on. You decide whether I'm referring to Ben or the officers.

The truth is, I don't understand what's going on either. I'd love to write like so many encouraging blogger-parents of kids with special needs that the joys far outweigh the trauma, that I have learned the intended lessons of grace, and that somehow I have discovered powers that I never would have known I had if it weren't for parenting Ben.

Sure, some days I feel that way. But not today.

Today I see that my mental and spiritual frameworks don't satisfy my need to make sense of our family in the midst of this crisis. I realize that pandemic distancing mostly reflects a daily reality for Ben and me and reflects many points in our family's social history. Uncovered within me is a level of frustration that has the potential for violence. Today my compassion and patience have very real limits.

I am angry. I am sad. I am overwhelmed. I am exhausted. And largely I am, like a lot of parents with developmentally disabled kids, lonely.

I'm not writing for sympathy or for "help." I'm writing so that you who have no idea what it's like to parent a developmentally inhibited adult child can hear the raw and painful truth. I'm writing so that those of you who are facing your own new challenges (and maybe even demons) during these days will have the courage to recognize your (ugly, confused) self and trust the truth of your situation. I'm writing so that we might consider how our own privilege and perspective is never definitive for someone else, but is imperviously representative of the truth we carry in our own lives.

For my fellow sisters and brothers in the Judeo-Christian faith story, this is a Psalm 22 moment. Please don't try to religious jargon it away. Yes, I have faith and a relationship with God through Jesus. It's a real one, and a lifelong one. But it's messy, and today that's the best I got.

Sometimes the hardest thing to admit is that we don't understand, that all the books we've read, lectures we've attended, sermons we've internalized, podcasts we've listened to, classes we've taken, and experiences we've had haven't actually prepared us for the physically distant space we're in. 

Right at this moment, that's exactly where we are.

Ben doesn't understand, and I don't either.  

And that is hard. 

And that's OK. It's all we've got today.

The Rush to Adapt

I don't write on this blog very often these days. More precisely, I should say I don't publish on the blog. I often use it to write out my thoughts and then self-edit from going public. There's enough muck on the interwebs.

Yesterday, however, I posed a question on my Facebook page for which I received many thoughtful responses. It seems only fair that I wrestle with the questions myself and share a bit of the internal turmoil which led to the asking. Here's the post I shared:

With the closures of public gatherings due to Covid 19, I'm just curious about the rush by churches to put things online. 

Have any churches considered taking this time as sabbath rest? What are the psychological forces that are driving this urgency to broadcast services, especially for churches that have never done it? What is within this impulse to "keep going"? What, if anything, does it reveal about our spiritual lives? What, if anything, does it imply about the vitality of the church? 

These are earnest questions; I'm not being critical of the effort, but I am wondering....

First, some truth in disclosure. I work from home probably 90 percent of the time. My public and social patterns basically consist of going to an office once a week, church choir practice and weekly worship (sometimes 2x on Sunday), a regular breakfast with a mentor/friend, an occasional date night with my wife, and errands. Largely this pattern is due to the fact that I am the primary daytime support/caregiver for our 24 year old son with Williams Syndrome. Where I go, he goes, and where he goes I go, with some exceptions. This includes doctor visits, Special Olympics sporting events, and other related activities. So at a very basic level, Covid-19 social distancing simply feels like an extension of my daily life. I image it does for others as well.

Another thing to know before reading on is that I'm an ordained minister and have worked in the church in some capacity for nearly my entire life. I'm a "company man" as it may be. I have a love/hate relationship with the church; I've experienced both the best and the worst. I've also contributed to both the best and the worst, which is a humbling reality.

Currently I am active in two local congregations. I admire, love, and respect the pastors of each congregation. I work closely with both pastors, especially in the area of worship, and have been a support and colleague for the one that's a church plant since its inception. I implicitly trust the leadership and faithfulness of each of these Godly women. In fact, I trust all the leadership in both these congregations. Those in leadership are wise and thoughtful, prayerful and devoted, kind and generous, courageous and just.

Each of these congregations has, necessarily and with intentionality, joined the myriad of churches and other social/civic/religious organizations who are voluntarily suspending group meetings in response to Covid-19. Each has said that some church functions, including worship, will continue online. Neither has regular practices of sharing online worship, although both use videoconferencing on some occasions for church meetings.

So, please understand that my questions are not critical. They are, however, nagging. Here's my list:

1. Is poor-to-moderate use of technology better than taking a few weeks off? 
2. Have we thought about how privilege and online church are related? What about those without internet, or computers, or smart phones, or knowledge of how to use these things? (Shout out to Oakland CoB and Pastor John Sgro where I understand they will be going to members and teaching them how to participate online!)
3. How will people who are always isolated feel when the church mobilizes so many resources to make sure that the never/rarely-isolated don't have to enter that space? What could we who are more able learn by entering the space of those less able for at least a little while?
4. Are we so dependent on the church for our weekly fix that we don't have personal resources for sustainable faith? Has our church gathering become more about each other than about God?
5. Does the institutional church always need to be organizing the Church in order for the Church to fulfill its mission? 
6. Have pastors examined their need to be in front of the "flock," to be interpreting the Word, to be seen? Like I said, I've been a pastor; I know the ego struggle.
7. Since people will be confined more, it's likely that they'll be staring at screens more; should the church also ask them to stare at a screen?
8. If people don't show up to the online sessions, what kind of censuring will there be? You know someone will be counting heads. How will the church respond to those people? If someone doesn't want to join in, how will the church make them feel?  
9. Is the church actually capable of offering the kinds of emotional, spiritual, and physical support that it seeks to provide through this medium? I'm not sure we're ready, although I'm confident God is.

Alternatively, I celebrate many of the things that I know from my two local congregations. Lest you think I'm only a skeptic, here are some of those things:

1. Our local church leaders are acting with the best intentions under extremely stressful and unusual circumstances. They are doing this prayerfully and thoughtfully.
2. God is pleased with the depth of our concern and the earnestness of our efforts, and where our efforts run short, God will make up the difference.
3. We all will have a chance to examine the core of our motivations, strength, humility, and faith.
4. Relatedly to #3, we have a wonderful opportunity to learn and grow spiritually through this time.
5. Churches which have wanted to better utilize video technology will have a reason to try it and refine it, and skeptics won't really be in a position to oppose it (for a few weeks).
6. The church will perhaps be reminded of the depth of isolation that already exists in our culture, and emerge recommitted to acting to address the reality.
7. Our interconnectedness will be reinforced, our need for one another and our desire to be in community will be rekindled, and our actions will be provoked toward openness and embrace.
8. We will continue to care for one another under trying conditions. We will show that God's love cannot be defeated, isolated, or consumed by a virus.

Those are some of my thoughts. I probably also should say that I'm an introvert by nature, so the prospect of being alone is welcome, not frightening. Additionally, this period of social distancing doesn't mean I get any time off work; I work from home most of the time anyway, remember?! And finally, I have three of my five immediate family members who interact with a wider public on a daily basis - my wife works in a daycare and my two youngest kids work in consumer goods retail (Meijer and Dollar Tree - it's been a crazy couple of days! And, no, they don't have any toilet paper and I don't know when the truck is arriving). So any good word and prayer you'd like to lift would be appreciated. 

This was a long post. Thanks for reading. Take care of one another. Comments are welcome; please use your name.