Circling

Yesterday I spent most of the evening reading articles and research for a paper studying healing from sexual abuse. To even begin to grasp the depth of pain after reading these stats is unimaginable. My roommate came home from a lecture with Kathy Kelly, bubbling over with stories of the violence our nation commits against innocent families and children in the Middle East. Every day I remember stories of children and families I have worked with, victims of injustice and suffering. Within the last two weeks we have learned of a boy sneaking into the seminary chapel at night to sleep, and another man pleading for money from students. I hear sirens wailing past my house countless times every day. All around us we find people grieving loss and pain, suffering violence, and just trying to find a place to survive in our broken world.

When I hear these stories, it seems utterly hopeless to find peace and hope in a world that is so deeply shattered. In a world where security is powered by violence and happiness is bought with money, how are we to even begin to build change? I sit in classes all day discussing theories and idealistic plans that would instantly turn the world around, wishing and waiting for our political and social structures to "see the light", or for Jesus to come back and take us all away. If Jesus came to give us "life, and life abundantly", where is it? If Jesus came to build the kingdom of heaven, what's taking so long?

This semester I've been taking a Theology & Ethics of the Gospels class, taking a magnifying-glass look at who Jesus was for the Gospel writers and the message they were trying to convey. I've noticed something in all four books. The image of Jesus that the writers paint is powerful, yet entirely unexpected. In the Gospels the promised Messiah comes as a baby born to a peasant family. He then rejects opportunities to gain power and fame and political freedom for his people, while teaching his disciples to love their enemies and offer grace to the outcast. Jesus touches the untouchables. He walks across a stormy sea as if it is firm ground, and what was firm ground is made to shake and tremble. Jesus brings a world and a life that is turned upside down and full of surprises. The old is made new, the weak are made strong, the dead live again, the first are last, and the last become first. The lowly and oppressed are blessed and raised up.

There's something wrong with this picture. How was the Son of David going to overturn the Roman government if he loved them? How was Judaism supposed to become the religion of the world if the Messiah admonished all the law of the Pharisees and Scribes, and tore apart the Temple? It doesn't make sense. Jesus was to bring the kingdom of heaven in which God and Israel would once again be united. However, the way in which Jesus introduces this kingdom is far different from what Israel was expecting. Jesus completely inverts the systems and laws that have so strongly shaped the Jewish community.

This then produces quite the upside-down code of ethics in the Gospels. One of the key texts that teaches the ethics of Jesus is the Sermon on the Mount in Matthew and the Sermon on the Plain in Luke. Here Jesus teaches not only the Beatitudes, but also an image of the kingdom in which enemies are loved, violence is met with peace, strangers are cared for, and sin is judged with mercy. Just as Jesus walks on the stormy waters, he continually finds ways to turn things around and inside out. (I could insert here numerous illustrations from the Gospels, but I think you'll get a clearer picture if you read them yourselves. Some of my favorites are the stories of the Garesene demoniac, raising Lazarus, healing the leper, Jesus' anointing at Bethany, and the Syrophoenician woman.) So, too, are the disciples of Jesus called to live out the ethics of the kingdom in such a way, even to follow Jesus in his suffering. Jesus continually called his disciples and those who witnessed the transformation of the kingdom to turn away from the things that once ruled their lives, and to turn towards true life in God, which is lived out in love for one another, relying on God rather than their own perceived strength, and meeting violence and judgment with peace and mercy. This is made possible by the ultimate inversion of power, the breaking forth of new life out of death, in the crucifixion and resurrection of Jesus.

But that was over 2,000 years ago, and the world is still the same broken, violent, oppressive, suffering world it was then. How are we supposed to be followers of Jesus in such a world? It can be easy to become wrapped up in thinking about Jesus and talking about Jesus. Over the past several months I've immersed myself in the seminary academics and community, learning theology and doctrine, and how to make sure everyone else has the correct theology as well. Yet, while I spend so much time talking and thinking and writing papers about what it means to be a Christian, I don't even know the names of my next-door neighbors. Before I came here I was wrapped up in figuring out how to "do" church right, and making kids fit into the systems of our schools and be good children in our society. We pass a homeless person on the street and feel sad, or glad that we are not them, as we hurry off to earn ourselves more money so that we can be happier. We allow ourselves to be ruled by fear, until somehow it is okay to kill another human being if it makes us feel safer. We ostracize and judge those who are different from us so that we don't have to be uncomfortable. Is this starting to sound familiar? Somehow I think if Jesus had come in 2009 he would not see the world much differently, and the world would not see him much differently either.

So perhaps God is acting in expected ways. In the very life, teachings, ministry, death, and resurrection of Jesus, the structures and norms of life were overturned, just as Jesus overturned the tables in the temple. Jesus made the impossible possible, just as he walked on the waves of the sea. Jesus broke the bonds of evil on the world by dying, and then raising from the grave. Yet this is the only way true transformation is able to begin, only through the breaking down of the barriers humanity has built up. I read in a recent newsletter from the local Habitat for Humanity chapter that the number of skilled carpenters volunteering to build homes has increased dramatically since so many of those workers have lost their jobs. I've heard several other stories of communities coming together now in times of need. Recycling and "green" programs are on the rise as people become aware of how our culture is destroying our very life-source. One of the stories Kathy Kelly shared was of an Iraqi boy she met in a hospital who had lost both arms and his entire family after the US bombed his home. He has now grown to be an artist, using his feet to paint. God acts in unexpected ways.

The Gospels each call us as readers to join in Jesus' mission for the world. This, then, means that we must live out the Sermon on the Mount, to live in loving relationship with our community and the world, and to serve our neighbors in humility, grace, and mercy. It means living radically and upside-down in a world that will think us crazy and might even want to throw us in prison. It means people of all colors walking along a street that once divided a town with hatred. It means standing up to protest the violence committed in the name of justice. It means walking across the street to give a plate of cookies to our neighbors. It means opening our doors to the homosexuals, the drug addicts, the homeless. It means giving a voice to those silenced by abuse and shame.

Living the Gospels in our world takes shape in many different forms of practice, service, relating, and being. The Gospels turn our world as we know it upside down, and show us life that we never imagined possible. But most of all, living the Gospels means living in the resurrection of Christ, the new life and freedom from the binds of evil. Just as Jesus stood on the stormy sea and invited Peter to come and walk with him, so too Jesus invites us to come. He calls us to step out of the boats of our religiosity, politics, and socialism, to walk on the solid waters of the kingdom of heaven.

(If you have seen ways, or have heard stories, of how God is working in the unexpected, or how the ethics of Jesus are being lived out, I would love to hear about it. I would like to compile a collection of these stories. You can leave a comment here or send me a message.)

With the Easter holidays come and gone, I've been spending a lot of time thinking about Christ's resurrection and what that means for us. Today in one of my classes we were discussing the book of Luke and how the author handles the delayed return of Christ. Luke-Acts is written as a continuation of the narrative of the Old Testament, showing how Jesus and the Church fulfill the promise of God's covenant with Israel. Jesus came to bring salvation, good news for the poor and oppressed, and the promised Kingdom of God. Yet, when the author of Luke-Acts was writing, at least 30 or 40 years had passed since Jesus left the disciples. Having believed the Lord would return very soon (as in any moment), the growing church was becoming impatient and questioning the validity of Christ's promise.

It is easy to imagine their anxiety. After all, after 2,000 years do we not also question the truth in Christ's promise to return? It would seem that this would be more than enough time for the promise of the Bible to be fulfilled. And if this promise is false, can we trust the words of Scripture at all? Do we really believe that Christ will one day return? Many of us claim that we do. I do. Yet do we really live as though we believe it? And if we do not live it, do we really believe it? It seems like a house of cards. If one card is pulled out, the entire structure falls.

In Acts 1:11, two angels speak to the disciples after Jesus' ascension saying "Men of Galilee, why do you stand looking up toward heaven? This Jesus, who has been taken up from you into heaven, will come in the same way as you saw him go into heaven." The author of Luke-Acts writes the second book to tell of the miracles and works the Spirit had accomplished through the church. Christians were giving all they had to share with their fellow believers, they were healing and doing miracles, lives were being changed, the message of The Way was being taken even to officials in Rome, and their numbers were growing by leaps and bounds. The kingdom of God was being built all around them. Christ, through his Spirit, was still present among them.

Richard B. Hays, the author of one of our texts for class today, The Moral Vision of the New Testament, writes "But where the Spirit is poured out on the church, it sweeps the believers along as though in a great river of obedience, praise, and mighty works. Empowered by the Spirit, the community can dare and hope great things, seeing visions, dreaming dreams, turning the world upside down." Luke-Acts reminds us that we cannot always be looking to the future or always to the past. We must look to the present, because Christ's Spirit is here with us now. We must be seeking to see how he is at work in our lives and in our world. And we must be ready to obey in bringing good news to the poor and freeing the oppressed, building the kingdom. Perhaps it is not so much believing that Christ will one day come, but believing that Christ is present now. Those in my discussion group shared stories of testimony we heard over Easter, revealing how Christ is present in our lives. Christ is present in the testimonies of a couple obeying the call to a mission in South America. Christ is present in the testimony of a young man who came to know Him as Truth after wrestling with skepticism and doubt. Christ is present in the testimony of a woman who nearly lost a battle with anorexia, and has now been eating for ten days. Christ is present in the resurrection of creation as spring blooms, in the smile of a friend, in a song, in the peace of His assurance, in a hope fulfilled, and in the unsteady patience of waiting.

Christ is alive, present, and working in our midst. How is Christ present in your life?

How does what I read/listen to/look at/say/do reflect my theology/ethics? How do I connect theology and ethics? How does what I read/listen to/look at/say/do reflect my love for God and love for others? Are my eyes truly open to see others the way Christ would see them, as created in the image of God? How do I embody and live as one created in the image of God and beloved in Christ? What does it mean to be created in the image of God and created as a sexual being? What does it mean to be a white American single female pastor in this world? How can we talk about sexuality and ethics genuinely and authentically in the church? What does it mean to be a missional Christian? a missional leader? a missional Church? How does my personality affect how I relate to others? how I think about the world? how I learn? how I lead? how I pray? how I worship? How does the Church authentically re-member Christ and our faith in worship? What is the theology portrayed in the Gospels, and how has that shaped my own theology? How can the Church hold up Scripture to be Spirit-inspired and authoritative, and challenge an age-old tradition to stretch and grow in new directions? 

I'm realizing something about myself- I am a sponge. I have a tendency/habit of absorbing everything I see, speak, do, hear and learn, but I don't necessarily think about it. I just let it sit there, without being very critical and discerning about what might not fit. As I squeeze the sponge a little, these are the questions that have arisen. Perhaps you also are wrestling, or have wrestled, with these same questions. Perhaps you have other questions. Perhaps you too are a sponge. Perhaps you are seeking ways to work through these questions in conversation. I would challenge you all to continue wrestling. Continue to "squeeze the sponge", so to speak, and be discerning about what you are absorbing. Continue to ask the questions. Continue to be in conversation with others along the way. Life is a journey. Walk with me. 

I just finished reading a chapter from the book Your Sexual Self by Fran Ferder and John Heagle entitled "I Call You Friends", an assignment for my Human Sexuality & Christian Ethics class. The authors correlate the intimacy between Jesus and his disciples expressed in the Gospel of John with our own call to love and intimacy with others. Here are a few quotes from the chapter that I found helpful.

I shall not call you servants any more, because a servant does not know his master's business; I call you friends, because I have made known to you everything I have learnt from my Father. -John 15:15

Friendship doesn't happen simply because we share a common vision, engage in a mutual project, or spend time together. It is not an automatic by-product of living together, working with each other, playing golf, or taking a tour. Friendship happens because someone begins the arduous and sometimes painful, sometimes exhilarating work of self-disclosure, and invites the other to do the same.

What happens when we see intimacy in the context of human experience and committed faith? Genuine intimacy, in its most profound sense, may be likened to philos- the friendship described in John's gospel. Intimacy involves making known our everything to a dear one. It is experienced gradually and deepens slowly as mutual self-disclosure increases.

It is a haunting question. Have you shared your everything yet? Have you told your life stories to someone and listened as they told theirs? Have you let your guard down with anyone yet? Have you taken off your masks and gently peeled away the many layers of protection that hide your true self with someone, somewhere, sometime?

The word "intimacy" is derived from two Latin words- intimus (inside of) and intimidare (to fear or be in awe)....Being close enough to be inside of another- or to let another inside us- is at once awesome and fearsome. It both draws and repels, pulls us in and pushes us back. It fills us with wonder and scares us at the same time. The very thing we all seek- human connection- can also be very intimidating. It demands we let go of control and give up the safety of our solitariness. It requires a journey into the often unchartered waters of relationship- where there are no maps, no guarantees, and even less certainty about the ultimate destination. It is a journey that can be at once exhilarating and terrifying, exhausting and nourishing. The more we enter "inside of" the life of another and allow that person to do the same with us, the more we are in the space where strength and fragility live alongside each other. Nowhere can pain burn so deeply or joy penetrate so totally as in a relationship where intimus and intimidare are etching their portraits into our hearts.

It is in telling all the stories our life holds- gradually, mutually- that true intimacy happens. Soul nakedness unfolds. Then, as in a well-orchestrated liturgy, our stories mingle with celebration.

All believers are called to make love. For those of us who claim to follow the God who gave us the great commandment, intimacy is not an option, it's a necessity. Engaging in self-disclosure, making known my everything, are not choices in the smorgasbord of Christian living.

Each time we interpenetrate our hearts, each time we say what we honestly think and feel in a way that honors and respects the beloved, each time we exchange some part of our everything with a dear one, we are making love.

Making love. Experiencing intimacy. We do it whenever we stay awake long into the night sharing stories with a friend while time stands still. We do it when we laugh until our sides hurt with someone close. We do it when we cry in one another's arms, because the conflict that always comes with intimacy can hurt so much. And we do it whenever we say to someone who holds our heart: I call you friend because I have made known to you everything.

This afternoon a beloved but soon to retire professor at AMBS, Alan Kreider, lectured in my Formation in Ministry class to share his bubbling enthusiasm and stories of mission in the church. During the lecture he gave us ten characteristics of missional leaders. These characteristics are not bound to pastors or missionaries, but would be applicable to all individuals and congregations who seek to further the kingdom of God.

The Missional Leader:

1. Prays- to ask God to open our eyes to see God at work and that His will be done (Lord's Prayer), then notices God working through an examen, records God's works and offers praise, or confession for missing it.

2. Doesn't try to reinvent Christendom- accept that we are not in the center of Christendom and imagine new ways to move forward.

3. Articulate and embody hope- recognize negative hope, and see and name positive hope.

4. Tell the stories of how God has been at work in our lives, in our communities, in the world, in history.

5. Encourages people to see significance in their work- all work has a purpose and a mission.

6. Encourages congregations to recover testimony and praise- to keep us remembering that God is at work.

7. Expects to see God at work- outside the Church and Christianity, and outside traditional church structures, in new forms.

8. Encourages hospitality- to give hospitality to each other, to offer hospitality to those on the outside, and to receive hospitality.

9. Equips people to be articulate about their faith- if we don't know how to talk about our faith then we can't share it with others.

10. Equips people to pray- to be able to notice God at work and seek God's will (as in #1).

Alan left the class with the thought "The problem with Christians is that we don't do nutty enough stuff."

Perhaps we don't see God working in our lives, our congregations, our communities, or our world because we aren't looking. And maybe we're not being "nutty" enough to step out of our comfort zones, attempt the impossible, and join in God's work in new ways.

This morning's Sunday school class was the third session in a series focused on the story of the Christian church. The leader, a fellow seminary student, shared with us the process of becoming a Christian and being welcomed into the early church. It was a long journey beginning with the example and evangelism of a Christian in the streets, workplace, home, community, etc. Someone who was interested in Christianity would begin asking questions of another Christian. If this person was sincere they would be sponsored, or mentored, by the Christian who introduced them to Christianity and they would be allowed to enter the church community to begin instruction. This process could take as long as three years and the candidates would not be allowed to take part in the celebration of the Lord's Supper, or even be present for the entire church service, until they were baptized. During this time they were instructed in the Scriptures and the Way of Jesus and taught the story and practices of Christianity. They were also exorcised daily of demons and evil spirits that had been binding the believer. The catechesis of the early church was extremely vigorous and not to be taken lightly. Yet, the church grew and grew as those who began with questions yearned to be transformed in baptism. When that day finally came, and the mentor affirmed that the candidate was truly prepared to enter the community and follow the Way, he/she would receive a final exorcism, anointed, be de-robed, and then enter the baptismal where they would be immersed in the cleansing waters of baptism. Afterwards the candidate would be re-robed in white, anointed again, and then the congregation would lay hands on them while the bishop invited the Holy Spirit to enter the newly baptized Christian.

A question that was raised in the discussion was why would a religion that was so difficult to become a part of and often led to, even guaranteed, severe persecution and death, draw so many so rapidly? People saw in the lives of Christians that they worked with, lived with, shopped with, a hope and meaning that was absent from all other religions or philosophies. Christians didn't just invite their lost neighbors to church to hear the sermon and hopefully get "saved". They lived, breathed, and preached what they believed to everyone they met as often as they could. The Holy Spirit was breaking out and transforming people in ways they couldn't stop talking about. In his sermon this morning, the pastor shared a story of a time when he met a famous football star. That was all he talked about for weeks. If we get so excited about shaking hands with someone famous, why are we not ecstatic after being in the presence of Christ and being transformed by the Holy Spirit?

I left church this morning wondering what would happen to the church today if we literally modeled the life of the first church. What would happen if we actually asked (sincerely) that the Spirit of Christ would enter our congregations and transform us? What would happen if baptism was viewed not as a ritual or rite of passage into the membership of the church, but an actual cleansing of the strongholds of evil and an opening to the Holy Spirit? What would happen if we were taught the Scriptures and the Way of Christ with such intensity and depth that it took three years to complete a catechesis? What would happen if we had to know that we know that we know and believe it so strongly that not even pain and death would cause us to recant? What would happen if each member of the community was mentored and held accountable so closely as in that first community? What would happen if we allowed the full meaning of the resurrection of Christ to envelope us and take hold of us, so much so that joy in Truth and healing and freedom of all that binds this world was happening all over the place? What would happen if we truly claimed Christ as our Lord, over all government and institutions and cultural values? What would happen if the Church was actually what Christ meant for the Church to be?

Diana Butler Bass was the keynote speaker at the annual Pastor's Week here at AMBS last week. She is author of Christianity for the Rest of Us and The Practicing Congregation. In her project she found that vital mainline Protestant congregations all shared three common characteristics: practices, tradition, and wisdom. All of the congregations she and her colleagues studied held a high value on remembering their tradition, not as the habitual ways that they do things, but tradition as the story of what they believe and why the practices of their congregation are so valued. Diana pointed out that the religious groups who pay attention to their tradition in history actually have a more vital spirituality and are more influential in the current culture. This shows that people are seeking to be rooted in the wisdom, tradition, and practices that have formed Christianity and are so meaningful. A church that has so watered down its beliefs and convictions in order to be more appealing to the seeker culture achieves nothing but convincing people even more that Christians are hypocritical, phony, and irrelevant.

All this is to say that I believe the Church is being called to return to its roots, or rather to scrape away the fake, feel good niceness of what the Church has become and grow its roots once again in the deep nourishing soil of Christ. I believe we are called not only to imitate the life of Jesus, but to live wholly in the Spirit of the resurrection and claim Christ as our only Lord and Savior. I believe we are called to ground ourselves in the Truth of Scripture, rather than merely accepting the cliches we've been taught as truth. I believe that we are called to hold up our tradition and our story, and teach our children the practices of our faith. I believe that we are called to move our beliefs to convictions and to allow the Holy Spirit to once again transform our lives, our communities, and our world.

Here I am on my knees

and I see

Your hand reaching out to me,

Asking me to dance.

Will I dance?

 

I see the love

burning in your eyes,

And I cannot escape

Tenderly you grasp

my hand

So close, we are one.

Your passion carries me,

Moves me,

Whirling, turning,

Floating.

 

You set me free,

Spinning, twirling.

I dance for you.

And I smile that

self-assured grin.

Tripping, falling,

The steps once so graceful

Now forgotten.

On my knees,

Your hand reaches me.

Will I dance?

 

Whirling Turning

Floating

Spinning Twirling

Tripping Reaching

Floating

 

This is the dance.