Why I Appreciate Brian McLaren

Because he has a Christ-like passion for people who are "unchurched,"
Because he is more afraid of God than the Christians who want to shred him,
Because he proves you can be edgy on the cusp of 50.

http://blog.christianitytoday.com/outofur/archives/2006/01/brian_mclaren_o.html

Coretta, Wendy, and Oscar

I had three brushes with greatness with Coretta Scott King ranging from the sacred (passing the peace at Ebenezer Baptist Church) to the profane (the ladies room in Ebenezer Baptist Church) to the surreal (brief phone conversation one afternoon in Vermont). Her comportment was always regal. Her voice was always rich. I've always felt a strange uneasiness about her family, though. They -- she and "the kids" -- always seemed jolted in a way that is far different from other families who've endured such violence. The ponderings about God's call to them post-assassination must have been torturous. They weren't good at pretending there was deep peace in their souls.

Never met Wendy Wasserstein but wish I had. She leaves a six year old daughter named Lucy after dying from lymphoma this week. That whole agonizing child-without-a-mother thing kicks in for me and I pray that Lucy is surrounded by lots of people who make her feel safe. And I hope she finds she can work things out through writing. Like her Mom.

Love the Oscars. Pulling for Crash. And I wish David Strathairn could win. Get out the champagne glasses.

Grace for TWPITW?

Keith Olbermann regular identifies The Worst Person in the World on MSNBC. They are often your run-of-the-mill cheaters or executives who cover up for brutes. Or the brutes themselves.

Fred Phelps is my nominee yesterday, today, and tomorrow. I will not link you to his site.

The Washington Post reported today that five states are considering legislation prohibiting protests at funerals after the Phelps team has been protesting at the funerals of Iraq War veterans. They even protested the memorial service of the Sago, WV miners.
http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/article/2006/01/29/AR2006012900927.html

Why? Because they believe such deaths are a result of our nation's "tolerance" toward gays. God's wrath at work.

Yikes.

My own theology teaches me that only God is sovereign. Only God gets to say for sure who is in and who is out. There are lots of people I would not have called to serve in ministry, but the point is that it's not my decision. Only God gets to choose. And God even gets to bestow amazing grace to Fred Phelps if that's God's will.

There are so many beautiful things in the world. But reading about this guy makes me feel ugly, makes the world feel so ugly. May God have mercy.

Terminally Respectable?

The great Marilynne Robinson spoke here yesterday about the decline of the mainline and referred to my beloved Presbyterian denomination as "terminally respectable." She has an excellent point.

Jesus clearly crossed boundaries, broke barriers, and invited the least respectable to follow. We're talking adulterers, tax collectors, and lepers. Today, we might be talking gay pastors, corrupt lobbyists, and Karl Rove.

When we speak of people being "terminal" we imply that their days are numbered. So what might dramatically change this prognosis? A miracle?

Prayer, for sure. But also keeping the doors open to those "the respectable" are slow to respect: the theologically unsophisticated, the ones who don't know Fanny Crosby from Thomas Tallis, the dread-locked/iPod-connected/Animal Collective-loving individuals who wouldn't be caught dead in a traditional worship service on Sunday mornings at 11:00. Maybe they -- and those more like them -- are our future, our only hope. Or at least a piece of that hope.

Otherwise, we might just be terminal. I believe it is more than possible to keep our theology while including the disrespected ones and expanding our worship options beyond our comfort zone. Really, it will be okay.

Check out:
http://www.reformedinstitute.org/news/20060128.html

Mystery Worship

The website Ship of Fools -- sort of a Monty Python for church people -- invites willing volunteers to apply to be a Mystery Worshipper, to be assigned to visit in an unsuspecting church perhaps near you next Sunday. One of my big fears is that some British guy named Clive will take a seat in our sanctuary on a day when the liturgist sounds like Ben Stein and the sermon exudes profoundly more dross than gold. And all the hymns are Kum ba Ya.

Riverside Church in NYC just received a stellar review and Jim Forbes wasn't even preaching. http://ship-of-fools.com/Mystery/2006/1172.html

The group Off the Map also has an interesting idea: pay people off the street $25 to offer insights from a stranger's perspective about your spiritual community. Things like: Did people seem real? Did our rituals make any sense to you? http://www.off-the-map.org/oa/otm_church_survey.pdf

Every Sunday we indeed have Mystery Worshippers in the pews that nobody is paying, nor have they been sent to review us like movie critics. But that's what happens anyway.

Some are being paid a little family peace by coming -- however begrudgingly -- with someone else. And the de facto reviewers might be newcomers who have included us in their church shopping list. Or maybe they are long-time locals who, on a whim, have decided to do church that day. Sometimes -- around here -- they are tourists to our nation's Capital. Sometimes they have literally staggered through the doors hoping against hope that Someone might help them. But honestly, it is a mystery.

We are all mystery worshippers -- looking for mystery, looking for answers to life's mysteries.

Here's a mystery for you: the liturgy is uninspiring, the sermon is lame, the music is shaky but you leave worship still feeling like Something Happened. Two thumbs up for The Holy Spirit.

I definitely prefer those days when everything clicks -- God's Word was heard, the music soared, and a little piece of heaven ensued. This should at least be our expectation. But it's nice to know that God works even when, in the words of Ship of Fools, we insist on being our stiff-upper-lip or happy clappy selves.

Was It Just a Fantasy?

They've canceled what used to be my favorite show: West Wing.

Actually I haven't watched it much post-Aaron Sorkin but I loved those early years with all the snappy dialog and the fantasy presidency. One favorite fantasy involved young "Ainsley Hayes" the Republican hired to serve a Democratic White House as associate White House Counsel. She sparred with the Dems, got the office in the boiler room, and flirted with the Rob Lowe character.

"Ainsley" didn't last long but she had some memorable lines for a while there. I vaguely remember a scene in which she was walking along a street in DC debating with a rival character when she stopped and said something like:

The problem is not that you disagree about the issues.
The problem is that you don't love the people.

I remember that scene everytime our Presbytery debates Big Issues. Today we once again debated removing the constitutional restrictions on ordaining GLTB people. As it's been every time before, each side stood up to repeat the same arguments. The problem is not that we disagree about the issues. The problem is that we can be so disdainful, prickly, sarcastic, and even nasty to each other. Sometimes we draw swords right there in the open standing at a mike. Sometimes we whisper our criticisms under our breath at our seats accusing those on the Other Side of being stupid, naive, heretical, incendiary, or Not Really Christian. The problem is: we don't love the people. We don't see them with the eyes of Christ.

Call me stupid or naive or even Not Really Christian. But I don't believe it's a fantasy to expect Christians to love those with whom we disagree. Really love them. It's the only way we'll get past the Big Issues.

Those who planned today's meeting did a good job trying to make the fantasy a reality.
But it was still a fantasy.

The Elfa System

This is not what my bedroom closet looks like even on a good day.

I share a closet with a person whose clothing collection includes a shirt my father wore during the Korean War and the ripped sweatshirt he bought the weekend my mother died which was not yesterday. I confess that my holdings include several holiday sashes I have worn almost never and a collection of antique pillowcases in a box with my grandmother's painstakingly tiny tatting on the edges -- too fragile to use but too precious to send to Salvation Army.

After realizing that we had not been able to walk into our Walk-In Closet for some time, I decided to take action. I would empty the closet, toss what could be tossed, and paint with a nice latex eggshell. And then, so that our closet and our very lives would be Organized, we would install: The Elfa System.

This would not be our first Elfa experience. At the risk of being confused with Martha Stewart, we have a hall closet devoted to non-Christmas holiday things: Halloween pumpkins, little flags to wave for Independence Day, Easter baskets, gift wrap. This closet, after years of holidays, is still quite organized and we owe this to Elfa. I'm telling you . . . those wire basket drawers are the best. Not quite as helpful as salvation, but close.

Closets are funny, secret things. We speak of people "coming out" of them. (My husband is credited with the phrase, "He's not just in the closet; he's in Narnia" spoken years ago about someone who has perhaps still not come to grips with who he is.)

And that's the thing: our closets tell us who we are, what's important to us, how well we take care of things, whether or not we procrastinate. They can be a treasure trove of historical data, reminding us of our Lilly Pulitzer years, our years living in dramatically different climates (those lined wool pants that weigh at least ten pounds), our childhoods. I still have the Easter bonnet I wore when I was four.

We might be known out in the world as efficient and well-organized. But the disturbing truth is that maybe we are secretly Messy. Our world appears to be as orderly as Elfa but our closets look like a bomb went off in Target.

So, for now, the closet looks tidy and I feel like a better human being. Everybody: come take a look in my closet. You could eat on the floor in there. (But it won't always be like that.)

Playing Favorites

One of my favorite parishioners is on the cusp of eternity.

Perhaps this is the Big Secret of all pastors - just barely more acceptable than having a favorite child among children or a favorite student among all other students.

And I am here to confess -- boldly -- that I indeed have favorites. There, I said it.

In my noblest moments, my favorites are:
- the sickest & the saddest
- the ones with nobody else to visit them

In my more selfish, does-anybody-see-how-hard-this-is? moments, my favorites include:
- the ones with whom I've lost sleep and gained white hairs on behalf of The Church
- the ones with whom I've sat in court, fired people, won battles, and lost innocence, again on behalf of The Church
- the ones who have reached out to my children and given them a break

When I'm desperately looking for an Honest Christian, my favorites are:
- the ones who lay dying and whisper that they kind of look forward to it
- the ones who say, "Actually this is a terrible time to visit." (Most people want to remain polite, even if they feel like their surgical wounds might just burst into flames.)
- the ones who lean across the coffee table and confess that they aren't sure they believe in God anymore and "Could we talk about it?"

We all know who the least favorites would be.

Any day now we will probably lose a sweet one. It's been hard to think about much else.

Another Creative Mom

Marjorie Williams would have been 48 years old this weekend. She wrote often searing profiles of the powerful and newsworthy in and beyond Washington, DC -- required reading for political junkies. And yet she also wrote touching, sometimes heartbreaking essays about her young children. Check out "The Halloween of My Dreams" in The Washington Post archives (November 3, 2004) or even better, read the whole collection of her articles The Woman at the Washington Zoo. Stories of bravery and beauty along with the sharp political pieces.

As I read them, I wondered about her faith. She was well known for telling the truth. But never a mention about The Truth. No comments about heaven and hell while in the throes of liver cancer. No mention of making deals with God during chemo treatments. No stories about a chaplain who happened upon her during one of her many hospital stays. No gorgeous prayers to be found by this woman who could put such gorgeous phrases together.

Maybe she was the Teresa of Avila of her neighborhood and just didn't talk about it. Maybe she was a born again agnostic. Who knows?

Maybe faith talk has been a part of me for so long that I've lost the ability to imagine going through grades of hell without at least once saying, "Help me Jesus." And this would be a problem in that I deal with people every day who don't talk like that, don't think like that.

Marjorie Williams died a year ago this coming Monday. I have an especially soft place in my heart for moms who die young and the children who miss them. Just wondering about her tonight.

Lost?

Reprise: Creative Find #5 from December 28th Post




On most Wednesday nights at 9, a small assembly of theologians, writers, a cartoonist, and a filmmaker gather together in our living room to watch “Lost” on TV. At the risk of looking like someone who also cares about Brangelina’s baby, I am nuts for this show.

Last night’s episode was called “The 23rd Psalm” and there was more theological meat in a single five minute segment than in a potential whole season of The Book of Daniel. The show’s penultimate scene included Nigerian strongman/holy man Mr. Eko (“Yes, I am a priest”) and heroin addict /former hobbit Charlie reciting the 23rd Psalm together.

And that was not even the coolest moment.

As survivors of a plane crash on a very strange island,
maybe these people are lost and maybe they aren’t.



While pondering what church might look like if we could create one for people who don’t generally "do church" aka "the lost" by some, all this is really fascinating. Who is lost? Who is found? Something to ponder.

A Creedal Faith

I stood with a group of strangers tonight and said these words:
I am Civitan: as old as life, as young as the rainbow. Yes I did.
I don’t even know what this means.

Maybe this is how some people feel in worship when we expect them to stand up and say:
“I believe in all things visible and invisible . . .”

or even better:

“Therefore, we condemn the Manichaeans and Marcionites who impiously imagined two substances and natures . . .” *

The ones not paying attention sometimes look hypnotized. And many just don’t say the words.

My tradition is a creedal faith. But I admit that there are some creeds in my own tradition that I rarely if ever use. Call me crazy (or heretical) but there are few places to work in the Barmen Declaration these days.

Having said this, sometimes the simpler the statement the better:

In life and death, we belong to God.
The (Not So) Brief Statement of Faith, PCUSA

We have confidence in Jesus
Who healed the sick, the blind, and the paralyzed . . .
Brian McLaren

When my soul was in the Lost and Found,
You came along to claim it.
Carole King


This I believe.


*Both statements can be found in two of the Creeds of my beloved PCUSA – the Nicene and Second Helvetic Creeds respectively.

Yuck

Re: The Book of Daniel and my previous post . . .

Family came in from out of town and mentioned during dinner that they were looking forward to "that new show with the Episcopal priest" and so we watched it last night. I was looking for something smart, interesting, real, and redemptive. Was it just me, or did it feel like a cartoon?

Even Jesus came across as flippant. Yuck.

Next Week On . . . "Church"

Once again, there's a new TV show with Spiritual Themes. This time it involves an Episcopal priest (Fr. Daniel) who talks to Jesus in the throes of life with his martini-swilling spouse, gay son, and drug-dealing daughter. Yep, your average clergy family.

Of course protests abound about The Book of Daniel which debuts on Epiphany. My personal protest is that another writer beat me to the punch once again.

My friend KB and I have a long-time fantasy about writing a television show called "Church." I can imagine a funny yet stirring show -- preferably on HBO for language and content -- in which the narrator/clergywoman character would conclude each episode with a teaser for the upcoming episode: "Next Week on Church . . . ."


Next week on Church: The Christian Education committee discovers that a homeless man has been living in the craft closet for months now (which explains who's been making all those origami animals) , while one of the deacons accidentally slices her husband open with a power washer during the church car wash.

My friend/co-creator called me once after a particularly colorful funeral and said, "I have three episodes. Listen to this . . ."

Therein lies the problem: We can't be funnier or more poignant than real life. And using real life stories from our congregations clearly violates confidentiality, not to mention the fact that we'd quickly lose all pastoral credibility the first time somebody noticed us jotting down snappy dialog during pre-marital counseling sessions.

Our only hope would be to dream up imaginary parishioner situations while using actual personal situations, like . . .

- the time I was being examined by a medical resident during a routine physical who confessed that he, too, felt called to ministry and wanted to share his personal testimony with me during the ob-gyn exam. Completely true story.

- the time the Volunteer Fire Chief asked me to come to the Annual Firefighters' Roast Beef Banquet to offer grace for that bounty of beef only to realize that this was his lame way of asking me out. And I didn't even get to pray. A Methodist friend bedecked in clergy collar had also been asked to be the designated grace-giver. "Why don't we just let Charlie pray since he's wearing his collar and everything."

- the time the local VFW President (age 78) wrote a self-published autobiography and claimed on page 36 to have wooed me (age 28) under a moonlit sky only to have us both agree it would never work. What with my busy schedule and all.

Frankly, whether your congregation is Big Steeple Bible Fellowship or Our Lady of the Cornfield, real life in God's church resembles more Six Feet Under than Touched by an Angel (although maybe we occasionally have Della Reese moments when freaky things happen.)

So maybe I'll watch The Book of Daniel and maybe I won't. But the truth is that he won't be the first or last priest to have some secrets.

Imagine

Did you see Yoko Ono's full page ad in the New York Times on January 1st?
It simply said: Imagine all the people living life in peace.


Good luck with that.

Here are some other things to imagine while we're being so outrageous:

- Imagine a pastor who is actually expected to spend most of her time "equipping the saints." No really.

- Imagine a church that values the spiritual life of all leaders -- pastors, elders, deacons, teachers, staff -- as one of the most critical aspects of their work. (As regular readers of this blog know, I spend most Mondays as "monastery days" to sit somewhere and read, pray, study scriptures, observe, write. My favorite comment from my recent job review was regarding a concern that the pastor "doesn't work on Mondays anymore.")

- Imagine a congregation whose clearest, highest purpose is making disciples. Not growing churches but growing people. Big difference.

- Imagine a denomination unafraid to close dysfunctional churches. Fighting words in these parts.


I'm blessed to serve the church I serve because, increasingly, I am not the only one who imagines. And on good days we actually catch a real life glimpse of what was once only in our mind's eye. (Or even better, in God's Mind's Eye.)


Oh, and that line in Lennon's Imagine -- Imagine no religion. It's easy if you try. -- It's easier to imagine world peace. Religion, spirituality, whatever we call it -- it stokes the fire of the greatest and best we can possibly be. What we were created to be.

The Year of Our LORD 2006

This is definitely not what it looked like on New Year's Day in worship this morning.





Instead we welcomed "The Designated Drivers" small group
according to our liturgist.
But the diaspora returns this week. And it all begins again.