Ordinary Saints

Growing up I knew only one of my grandfathers, and he died when I was a teenager. It was then that I began developing a wise habit—I started adopting grandpas. Whenever I met an old man who impressed me in some way, I made him my adoptive grandpa.

One of the most recent ones was Studs Terkel, who taught me a lot about the people of the United States after I arrived here in the mid-90’s. Studs Terkel died on Friday, he was 96 years old.

Terkel was a radio man and a master interviewer; he knew how to listen so people would talk. He once recalled a moment that was typical:

There was this black woman one time, I saw her standing in the street with two or three of her kids round her and she was looking in a shopwindow. And as I’m walking by, I look to see what it is she’s looking at—and you know what? There’s nothing in the window, she’s looking in an empty shopwindow—looking at nothing. So naturally I’m curious—naturally I’m curious—so I say “Excuse me ma’am—but what are you looking at?” She doesn’t seem to mind being spoken to by a stranger, and she doesn’t turn her head around to see who’s asking her or anything, and after a moment or so she says “Oh” she says, “Oh, dreams, I’m just looking at dreams.” So I’ve got my tape recorder and I switch it on and I say “Good dreams, bad dreams . . . .?” And she starts to talk. Then she talks a little bit more, and a little bit more. And her kids are playing around her, and they can see I’m tape-recording what their mom is saying, and when she stops talking after eight, maybe ten minutes or so, one of them says “Heh mom, can we listen to what you said?” And I ask her if it’s OK with her and she says yes, so I play it back and she listens to it too. And when it’s over, she gives a little shake of her head and she looks at me, and she says “Well until I heard that, I never knew I felt that way.”

After a brief moment Terkel added,

“I never knew I felt that way.” Isn’t that incredible? The way I look at it, it’s like being a gold prospector. You find this precious metal in people when you least expect it [see Tony Parker, Studs Terkel: A Life in Words (New York: Henry Holt, 1996), pp. 167-168].

Terkel found plenty of gold; for nearly half a century, he crisscrossed the country interviewing people, both the prominent and the uncelebrated. Many of his conversations were published in books such as Working, Hard Times and The Good War for which he received the Pulitzer Prize—the stories of ordinary people about their daily work, their memories of the Depression and of World War II.

Terkel often referred to the United States as the United States of Alzheimer’s, and he recorded these conversations to help jog the nation’s memory. He wrote a dozen or so of these interview collections, chronicling much of the history of the 20th century—always interested in the lives of ordinary people, always asking “What is it like to be a certain kind of person, at a certain circumstance, at a certain time?” He could also see the irony in becoming celebrated for celebrating the uncelebrated people of the world, building himself a world reputation for giving voice to the voices of those we never hear.

Studs Terkel died on All Hollows’ Eve, the day before the church honors the saints. I wonder if he knew that the church had two days to celebrate the memory of the dead, first All Saints, when we remember those who have gone before us and who already see God face to face, and a day later, All Souls, when we remember all who have died. Without a doubt, he would have found it telling that the church saw a need to imagine heaven like boarding an airplane: early boarding for the saints who enjoy the comforts of wider seats, extra leg room, and free cocktails, while the rest are still sitting on their luggage, waiting for their rows to be called.

Some of the earliest books written and published in the church, were the lives of martyrs and saints, short biographies of men and women who lived what many considered exemplary lives of faith. But no one ever sat down to collect the stories of ordinary Christians, stories about what it was like to be a follower of Jesus at a certain circumstance, at a certain time.

Do you remember asking your parents or grandparents “What was it like when you were little?” Do you remember their stories about one-room schools, or the first family car, and watching baseball on the radio? Do you remember how wonderful it was to hear and suddenly realize that your parents—these all-powerful, all-knowing giants—once were little too? Nobody does better interviews than little girls taking a walk with their grandpa or little boys spending the night with grandma.

I have long hoped that the church would make interviews part of our discipleship training. First I imagined 12-year-olds armed with tape recorders invading homes and nursing homes and asking our oldest members “What was it like when you were baptized?” Then the prices for digital cameras began to drop – can you imagine the interview Clare would do with Risley , or Thompson with Mary Helen , and you could watch it on DVD?

And there’s no reason to limit this to just two generations. Every new Deacon should grab a camera, meet with a seasoned Elder, and ask “Can you tell me about a time when you failed as a leader and what you learned from it?” The Deacons would have a year’s worth of conversation starters about Christian leadership, and believe me, some of these interviews would become classics.

Studs Terkel mastered the journalistic art of interviewing ordinary people, and we can learn from him how to look for gold in the gravel of their daily life and sometimes daily struggle.

All Saints is not the church equivalent to the Oscars or the CMA Awards where superior performance is recognized and honored, nor is it the heavenly reflection of human societies where some always travel first class and the rest sit in coach or handle the luggage. All Saints is a day to remember that heaven is not a Discipleship Hall of Fame for the top athletes of the game; heaven is full of ordinary people. All Saints is a reminder that in the kingdom, every story, every life matters and no one is ever forgotten.

At the beginning of the Sermon on the Mount, Jesus sets the tone for all his teachings with nine beatitudes. Before a single instruction is given, before there has been time for obedience or disobedience, success or failure, Jesus declares God’s favor for the poor in spirit, those who mourn, the meek and the hungry, the merciful and the peacemakers, the pure in heart and those persecuted for the sake of righteousness.

He doesn’t list conditions those who would enter would have to fulfill, making poverty of spirit a requirement and meekness a precondition. Instead he assures us that God’s favor precedes all our efforts of doing God’s will, and that his path of meekness and mercy is indeed God’s path of peace. We walk in this path under the blessing of God and we struggle to remain true to this path under the blessing of God.

What Jesus declares here are not nine basic observations about life that others had simply overlooked. You know that meekness is not a recipe for worldly success, and that those who hunger and thirst for righteousness often go to bed hungry. Jesus reminds his followers that those who live in anticipation of God’s kingdom and who struggle daily with embodying that reign in their work and their relationships, are indeed God’s own people. Like their king, they are gentle and humble in heart (Matthew 11:19), and the powers that be will not always deal gently with them. They may look like fools in a world that plays by its own rules, but Jesus declares them blessed because the path they are on leads to God’s future. And on that day it will be the meek who inherit the earth, not the ruthless.

Blessed are those who mourn, who do not resign themselves to the present condition of the world as final, but lament the fact that God’s kingdom has not yet come and God’s will is not yet done—they will be comforted.

Blessed are ordinary people who get up in the morning and go to work in a dog-eat-dog world looking for opportunities to disrupt bad patterns with random acts of mercy, for they are God’s own people.

Blessed are ordinary people who do what they can to make peace at home, in the hallways of their school, and in the break room at work, for they will be called sons and daughters of God.

Blessed are ordinary people for whom faith is not one more thing to do, but the one thing that helps them put everything else in perspective, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.

Blessed are ordinary people who refuse to be defined by how much they earn or how little, how much they have accumulated or accomplished or how little, or how much power they wield or how little, ordinary people who are solely defined by how much they are loved by God—they will see God face to face.

Heaven is full of ordinary people with extraordinary stories.

Community Ministry

In recent conversations among church members many celebrated the strong involvement of our youth in community ministry. Often that note of gratitude was followed by a sigh: the adult church members don't do nearly as much.

Allow me to raise my hand and ask, "How would we know that?"

Do we know how many of our adult members volunteer in schools or local non-profit organizations?

Do we know how many of them give time, expertise, and money serving on the board of various agencies?

And most importantly, do we know how many of them have a deep commitment to their daily work as ministry?

I can't think of a single work environment where the presence of a Christian couldn't make a world of difference. The other day I read this statement:

"It is a powerful way to be a witness for Christ by demonstrating your capacity not to judge the way everybody else is judging and to serve unconditionally.”

-- Lt. Cmdr. William C. Kuebler, a Navy lawyer who is representing a detainee of the U.S. military prison at Guantanamo Bay, Cuba. He was quoted by The New York Times (June 19).

I want to caution against the notion that our community ministry is limited to group work projects etc. organized by the church. We gather to worship and study, and then we go to serve. Perhaps we need to be more intentional about sharing how our faith shapes our daily ministry at school, in the workplace, and wherever we are called upon to give witness to the love and grace of God. At least some of those sighs may turn into cheers!

Your Reign Is An Everlasting Reign

The Disciples are very much the result of the deep desire among our founders to be God’s church in faithful response to God’s will revealed in scripture, and not in submission to “traditions of men.” [1] But that desire was nourished in the soil of a young, newly independent America, and in that respect our founders’ call to restoration of the New Testament church was closely tied to the American revolution. So allow me to speak about independence for a moment.

On May 27, 1776, the town of Malden, Massachusetts, responding to a request from the Massachusetts House of Representatives that all towns in the state declare their views on independence, had met in town meeting and unanimously declared,

The time was (…) when we loved the king and the people of Great Britain with an affection truly filial; we felt ourselves interested in their glory; we shared in their joys and sorrows; we cheerfully poured the fruit of all our labours into the lap of our mother country, and without reluctance expended our blood and our treasure in their cause. These were our sentiments toward Great Britain while she continued to act the part of a parent state; we felt ourselves happy in our connection with her, nor wished it to be dissolved; but our sentiments are altered, it is now the ardent wish of our soul that America may become a free and independent state.(…) We long entertained hope that the spirit of the British nation would once more induce them to assert their own and our rights, and bring to condign punishment the elevated villains who have trampled upon the sacred rights of men and affronted the majesty of the people. We hoped in vain; (…) we therefore renounce with disdain our connexion with a kingdom of slaves; we bid a final adieu to Britain. [2]

Several weeks later, John Adams wrote in a letter to his dear Abigail,

The Second Day of July 1776, will be the most memorable Epocha, in the History of America. I am apt to believe that it will be celebrated, by succeeding Generations, as the great anniversary Festival. It ought to be commemorated, as the Day of Deliverance by solemn Acts of Devotion to God Almighty. It ought to be solemnized with Pomp and Parade, with Shews, Games, Sports, Guns, Bells, Bonfires and Illuminations from one End of this Continent to the other from this Time forward forever more. [3]

John Adams was off only by a couple of days because the Continental Congress declared the united colonies free and independent states two days before the debate on the exact wording of the Declaration of Independence had ended; but his description of our celebrations remains accurate to this day: the only things missing from his list are flags, hot-dogs and ice-cream. On July 4, 1776, the Declaration of Independence was publicly proclaimed, and that day became a milestone in the long struggle for freedom, justice, and the rule of law. Tyrants and their minions who trample upon the sacred rights of men [and women] and affront the majesty of the people can no longer sleep comfortably in their king-size beds and dream imperial dreams because in the summer of 1776, free citizens renounced their connexion with a kingdom of slaves and threw off the yoke of oppression.

For the generation shaped by the experience of the Revolutionary War, throwing off the yoke of oppression also redefined their notion of religious freedom. Before the war, religious freedom was simply exercised by attending the church of one’s choice. After the war, “it came to mean that individuals possessed the right to ignore traditional and institutional authority in religious matters. (…) Religious freedom came to mean ‘power should be surrendered to the people.’” [4]

Mark Toulouse tells the story of Lucy Mack Smith, the mother of Joseph Smith, founder of the Mormons, to illustrate the powerful cultural trend toward individualism following the Revolutionary War.

[She] attended numerous churches of various denominations and finally concluded that none of them taught the truth. She sought and found a minister who would baptize her as a solitary Christian with no connection to any established church. [5]

Lucy Mack Smith embraced the spirit of independence so fervently and threw off the yoke of authority so completely that she ended up the sole member of the Church of Lucy.

As Disciples we affirm that reading and interpreting scripture is every believer’s right and responsibility, but we also affirm that in order to read scripture rightly we must read it together.

Within the universal church,
we receive the gift of ministry
and the light of scripture.

Our ministry is not the sum-total of our individual ministries, but rather our sharing in the common ministry of the whole church – the shared ministry which we together offer to God, to the world, and to one another. [6] Our response to God’s call is always personal, profoundly personal, but never private. Likewise, the Bible is not a book placed in our hands to be read solitarily and interpreted privately.

The Bible is the church’s book, and to read it is to enter a conversation that began long before we first opened its pages, and that extends far beyond our particular place and culture. The Bible is an ecumenical book, and to read it rightly we must read it ecumenically: before we make up our own individual minds, we need to listen to those who have gone before us and those who read scripture in contexts different from our own. [7] We must master the art of listening for the Word of God among the voices of God’s many witnesses.

The Bible is the church’s book, but because the primary mode of receiving the light of scripture is listening, the Bible is also not the church’s book: scripture will always stand as a witness overagainst the church and all its traditions, including our own. To receive the light of scripture means to read and be read, to interpret and be interpreted, to make judgments about the meaning of a text and to be judged by it.

On July 4 Americans celebrate our independence from the dominion of King George III and all tyrants. Freedom is the battle cry; some, but not all chains are broken; some, but not all shackels have been thrown into the deepest sea; and the yoke has been removed from the shoulders of many. Yet on this very day, we hear Jesus who calls out, “Take my yoke upon you.” Our ears still ringing with the music of John Phillip Sousa, we hear an affirmation that speaks of bonds, of yielding, and of servanthood in a kingdom.

In the bonds of Christian faith
we yield ourselves to God
that we may serve the One
whose kingdom has no end.

Those who accept the yoke of Christ yield themselves to God alone; they put off the yoke of earthly rulers and the yoke of worldly care. Yoked together with Christ, they are free and subject to none, and at the same time they are servants of all and subject to every one. [8] As those who strive first for the kingdom of God and don’t worry about food and drink and clothes for tomorrow, disciples are free and independent. [9] As those who submit to one another in love and dedicate themselves to Christ’s mission, disciples are free and mutually dependent – bound together by God’s love and mercy.

Jesus sharply criticizes religious leaders who turn the yoke of freedom into yet another burdensome system of oppression, “They tie up heavy burdens, hard to bear, and lay them on the shoulders of others; but they themselves are unwilling to lift a finger to move them.” [10] Jesus sharply criticizes such leaders, little tyrants building their own little kingdoms, and he brings freedom to the oppressed: “Come to me, all you that are weary and carrying heavy burdens, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me; for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light.” [11]

The yoke of the kingdom is easy because it is the law of God fulfilled in love. [12] The yoke of the kingdom is light because it is shared among God’s servants. “Take my yoke, learn from me,” Jesus calls all who are weary and burdened. You who carry more than you can handle, come to me. You who are worn out by too many demands and overwhelmed by ever growing expectations, come to me. You who are trapped in the unending cycles of work-and-spend, come to me. You who long for freedom and hunger for justice, come to me. I will give you rest.

Rest, he says, not respite. Rest is not just a break for those traveling down life’s weary road, it’s the end of that weary road. Rest is the word that speaks of creation’s completion.

And on the seventh day God finished the work that he had done, and he rested on the seventh day from all the work that he had done. [13]

Rest is the kingdom without end.
Rest is the peace of God permeating all of creation.
Rest is the music of heaven filling every nook and cranny of the earth: Blessing, glory, and honor to God, forever.

In the end, our affirmation is not a text of some 170 words.
In the end, our affirmation is our whole being translated into praise:
Blessing, glory, and honor be to God forever. Amen.

[1] See Mark 7:8
[2] Instructions from the Town of Malden, Massachusetts, for a Declaration of Independence http://teachingamericanhistory.org/library/index.asp?document=238
[3] Letter from John Adams to Abigail Adams, 3 July 1776, “Had a Declaration...” [electronic edition]. Adams Family Papers: An Electronic Archive. Massachusetts Historical Society. http://www.masshist.org/digitaladams/
[4] See Toulouse, Joined in Discipleship, p. 37
[5] Ibd., pp. 37-38
[6] See Osborn, Faith We Affirm, p. 75
[7] Ibd., p. 21
[8] “A Christian man is the most free lord of all, and subject to none; a Christian man is the most dutiful servant of all, and subject to every one.” Martin Luther, Concerning Christian Liberty
[9] Matthew 6:25-34
[10] Matthew 23:4
[11] Matthew 11:28-30
[12] See Romans 13:8-10
[13] Genesis 2:2

This Fellow Welcomes Sinners

The film begins with somber scenes from Depression-era, small-town Texas. Somewhere, a congregation is singing “Blessed Assurance,” and as the hymn ends, we see a family at the dinner table saying grace – mom, dad, and their two children. The peace of the Spalding family’s Sunday supper won’t last though.

Mr. Spalding is the sheriff, and he is called to talk some sense into Wiley, a young man who had a couple of drinks too many and is down by the train tracks playing with a gun. Soon, both men are dead: Sheriff Spalding is accidentally shot, and Wiley, who is black, is lynched.

The name of the film is Places in the Heart and it tells the story of Edna Spalding’s struggle to not lose her farm and keep her family together. Times are hard, and lovelessness and prejudice battle relentlessly against decency and friendship: Edna’s brother-in-law, Wayne is unfaithful to Margaret, her sister and best friend. Mr. Denby, the banker, shows no mercy as the date of her mortgage payment draws near and foreclosure looms on the horizon. A group of Klansmen is barely prevented from killing Moze, the black man who has helped her bring in a good crop of cotton. The film depicts a world in the grip of sin, that ungodly power that threatens to destroy whatever love creates and builds.

In the final scene, it is Sunday again and a congregation is gathered for worship. The preacher rises to read the lesson from 1 Corinthians 13, “Love is patient; love is kind, love is not envious or boastful, arrogant or rude. Love never ends.” We watch Margaret quietly putting her hand in Wayne’s, and we see forgiveness at work against unfaithfulness. They celebrate the Lord’s Supper, and Wayne passes the bread and the tray of cups to his wife. The bread and wine continue from hand to hand through the congregation to Mr. Denby, the banker and to Moze, and to some men whose faces we don’t recognize – perhaps because in previous scenes they kept them hidden behind white hoods – and finally to Edna Spalding. She turnes and serves her husband, the sheriff, who is now seated beside her, and he then serves Wiley. “Peace of God,” they say, “Peace of God.” And all is well.

There is hope for us because the love of God is stronger than sin. God’s faithfulness and mercy restore the sabbath peace, and all is well.

At the table of the Lord
we celebrate with thanksgiving
the saving acts and presence of Christ.

We call it the Lord’s Supper, Mass, Holy Communion, Eucharist, or the breaking of the bread, but the first thing we affirm as Disciples is that the table is the Lord’s, not our’s. The supper is the Lord’s, not the church’s. Christ is the host, and we are all guests. Christ is the gift, and we are all beggars. That may well be the hardest thing for us to remember.

When it comes to tables, we have rules. Not just rules about where to put the napkin and what fork to use for the salad. We have family rules about who gets to sit at the dining room table and who has to eat in the kitchen. We have “good society” rules about whom to invite to the dinner party and how to graciously decline an invitation from the wrong kind of people. We have house rules about who gets to eat first and who has to wait. The rich man feasts with his friends, and Lazarus sits outside with the dogs – we know the rules.

Food is much more than just the stuff we need to fuel our bodies. Food is our chance to choose our company. Sharing food is about belonging, about power and privilege. At the table of the Lord, it is Jesus who chooses his company. Some of Jesus’ contemporaries noticed what they considered a significant lack of judgment on his part in choosing the people he ate with.

Jesus was notorious for his table manners. He knew the food rules of his culture; he knew the laws of ritual purity as well as the laws of social status. He didn’t ignore these rules, he broke and obliterated them. He was indeed very careful in choosing the people he ate with, and the absence of judgment some people noticed was intentional.

Jesus proclaimed, “The kingdom of God has come near,” and he healed the sick, cast out demons, fed the hungry, and forgave sins. Jesus proclaimed the nearness of God’s sovereign reign, and wherever he went, it arrived. Eating with people he befriended them and they tasted the grace of God. Breaking bread with sinners, Jesus ended their exclusion from the company of the righteous and they became members of the household of God. Eating and drinking with sinners and tax collectors, Jesus demonstrated “in his own person what acceptance by the merciful God and the forgiveness of sins means: it means being invited to the great festal supper in the kingdom of God. Forgiveness of sins, and eating and drinking in the kingdom of God are two sides of the same thing.”[1]

Not all who witnessed his actions were happy. “This fellow welcomes sinners and eats with them,” they grumbled.[2] From their lips, it was an expression of pious outrage, but even in their anger they proclaimed the hope of our salvation: Jesus Christ welcomes sinners and eats with them.

On the night before he died, Jesus had a meal with his disciples, one more link in a chain of meals connecting his ministry from Galilee to Jerusalem. During that meal he did what the host was expected to do: he took bread, gave thanks to God, broke it, and gave it to his friends. It was the common way of beginning a dinner. But then he said the words identifying himself with the bread, “This is my body, which is given for you. Do this in remembrance of me.”[3]

At the end of the meal he raised the cup and gave thanks to God; it was the common way of ending a dinner. But then he gave it to the disciples and said, “Drink from it, all of you; for this is my blood of the covenant, which is poured out for many for the forgiveness of sins.”[4]

He had a meal with his friends – Judas who would betray him, Peter who would deny him, and the others who would abandon him and flee.[5] That night, knowing that the disciples would not come through, Jesus made the supper at his table the visible, tangible, and edible sign of reconciliation. Foreseeing their fear, their helplessness, and their lostness – and we know that their fear is ours, that we are just as helpless and lost as they were; we know that neither friendship nor discipleship are dependable – foreseeing their despair over their failure, he gave them, he gave us the gift of communion with him.

When we break the bread and share the cup in remembrance of his birth, his words and deeds, his death and resurrection, he is with us to strengthen and encourage us, to help us up and to help us through, and to send us anew on our mission of witness and service.

He is also with us to open our eyes. Some have read the gospels and concluded that it was the Jews who are responsible for Jesus’ death. Others read the same gospels and concluded that it was the Romans who are responsible for Jesus’ death. We ask, “Were you there when they crucified my Lord?” but we need to ask, “Who wasn’t there when we crucified our Lord?” As those who, as often as we eat this bread and drink the cup, proclaim the Lord’s death, we know that we are all responsible.[6] We can’t point fingers at Judas and Peter, Caiaphas and Pontius Pilate, the priests and elders and soldiers and the crowd, because we are them. It was religion, law, politics, and public opinion that worked hand in hand to get rid of him. Sin corrupts our institutions and our best intentions, and we can do our worst when we think we are only doing what is right.

At the table we look at bread and wine, representing God’s gifts of creation and human culture, but we also see creation’s brokenness and the human destruction of relationship to God. We come face to face with God’s peace and human violence. We celebrate with open eyes, knowing that we are sinners, the saving acts and presence of Christ: God does not abandon us to the destructiveness of sin, the destructiveness of our wanting to be human without God. In communion with Christ we are delivered from the night of God-forsakenness and from the triumph of sin and death.

At the table, the past becomes present but no longer to imprison us in the memory of our failures and our broken promises, but to free us with the knowledge of God’s mercy. The future also becomes present, the sabbath of fulfillment and complete joy lights up the present moment, drives away the shadows of fear and doubt, and we are ready once again to be God’s people in the world.

At the table of the Lord we receive and proclaim God’s unconditional acceptance of human beings who have fallen under the power of sin, and in Christ’s name we invite the whole world to this celebration of what it is to become – one reconciled humanity in God’s new creation.
Times are hard, lovelessness and selfishness battle as mercilessly as ever against neighborliness and friendship. But the Supper is a living memory of God’s power to create and redeem, and among those who gather and serve each other in the name of Christ it announces the new day.

“Peace of God,” they say, “Peace of God.”

And there’s a seat at the table for every last one of us.

[1] Moltmann, The Way of Jesus Christ, p. 115
[2] Luke 15:2
[3] Luke 22:19
[4] Matthew 26:27-28
[5] See Welker, What Happens in Holy Communion, p. 71
[6] See 1 Corinthians 11:26

Joined in Discipleship

There’s a story attributed to the late George McLeod about a small Scottish town in which there were five churches. Each church was located in just the right place in terms of its social and cultural characteristics. The Baptist church was near the river, the Salvation Army was by the fire station, the Methodist church was next to the gas station, the Episcopal church was by the drapery store, and the Presbyterian church was halfway between the ice house and the bank.[1]

We may as well laugh at the tragedy of our division.

The survivor of a ship wreck was washed up on the beach of a small and what he thought, deserted island. To his surprise, he was welcomed by a man with a nice, leathery tan and sun-bleached dreadlocks.
“I came here a long time ago, after the crash of Oceanic flight 5614. Let me show you my village,” the man said, pointing to three huts under the palm trees. “This is my house. This is where I sleep and find shelter when it rains.” They walked over to the next hut, and he said with considerable pride, “And this, this is my church; here I come every Sunday morning to worship God.” His visitor nodded and pointed to the third building, “What’s that?”
“Oh, that’s the church I used to attend; but two years ago I got mad and I left.”

We may as well laugh at the scandal of our division.

Christian faith cannot thrive in religious solitariness, and our salvation lies in our being made part of the household of God. Our faith cannot be reduced to select commitments based on pure private judgment, freed from authority and the company of others. However, the history of the churches of the reformation paints a different picture: generally speaking, we like to define freedom in terms of personal preference; we are quick to split and slow to bear one another with patience.

Mark Toulouse, professor of American Religious History at Brite Divinity School in Fort Worth, TX wrote an excellent study on Disciples identity, and he named the book Joined in Discipleship. In the introduction he writes,

In a very real sense, we are ‘joined in discipleship’ with our denominational ancestors. Our stories carry on the narratives of their stories. What they began resides in us and moves unsteadily toward the future, even as it did in their own time. From out of their future and our past, we still find inspiration to proclaim the essence of the church’s unity and to expresss our despair over the reality of the church’s fragmentation.[2]

We are joined in discipleship in a very real sense, not just with our denominational ancestors but with Presbyterians across the street, Methodists up the street, Episcopalians down the street, Churches of Christ, Catholics, Baptists, you name it, Christians in North America, Asia, Africa, in every time and place. We are joined in discipleship because church was never our idea. We are joined together because on our own we are not able to overcome the forces that alienate and divide us – selfishness, prejudice, envy, laziness, you name it. We are joined together in obedience to Christ because the church is God’s initiative, not ours.

God created humankind for communion with God and each other, but we are not content being God’s creatures. We want to be gods ourselves and we turn away from God in disobedience and rebellion. Sin is many things, but at its core it is nothing but the absence of what God intends. It is the deep alienation that spreads where trust in God is broken.

We are created for communion with God and each other, but our lives reflect and continue the story of Adam and Eve, of Cain and Abel. Like our first parents, we question the trustworthiness of God’s word and follow voices that seem to suggest what’s in our own best interest or, in these days of rampant consumerism, just more to our liking. Like the first siblings, we seek God’s blessing for our work, but envy and resentment are never far away: sin is lurking at the door, and we cannot master it.[3]

Sin breaks the communion of life which God intends for us. It turns the blessed conviviality of creation into the fractured madness of warring siblings, clans, tribes, and nations seeking fullness of life in self-absorption against God, against one another, and against God’s other creatures.
There is a perverse unity in our universal refusal to trust God’s word, to be each other’s brothers and sisters, and to till and keep God’s garden. “There is no one who is righteous, not even one!” the apostle Paul cries out. “Their feet are swift to shed blood; ruin and misery are in their paths, and the way of peace they have not known.”[4]

But God is faithful. God does not abandon the good creation and the marvelous creatures made in God’s image. God calls and sends witnesses, God chooses and redeems a people, God forgives sin and upholds the covenant of love.

We affirm that Jesus Christ is God’s definitive answer to our sin; he is and does what God intended all people to be and do. He embodies God’s faithfulness to humankind and humanity’s faithful response. In him, in his life and teachings, his death and resurrection, divine love overcomes sin. We follow him, and our feet are guided into the way of peace.[5]

Christ has made us his own, and in a very real sense, we are no longer defined by who and what we have become following our own paths, but by him and by the way he chose in freedom and in love. We are no longer the results of our sinful, fractured past, but God’s own people.

Through faith, we are drawn into the fullness of life God intended in the beginning, and we are called to be God’s instrument for the mending of the world. To be a disciple of Jesus is to be given a place and part, and it is to take one’s place and part in the most demanding and rewarding enterprise of the world: the ministry of reconciliation, the proclamation of peace.[6] And to be given a place and part in that mission always means to take the place and part of one’s calling, and not necessarily one’s choosing. It means to be given a new life smack in the middle of God’s own people.

In the communion of the Holy Spirit
we are joined together in discipleship
and in obedience to Christ.

The church is God’s idea, God’s initiative, not ours. God seeks and, overcoming sin, creates communion with humans. God loves. God loves without condition and therefore without consideration of human worthiness. God loves completely alienated people who barely have a Yes left in them. God’s love is poured into our hearts through the Holy Spirit, and faithfulness is wakened.[7] God loves and reconciles the resistant, rebellious, self-absorbed and lost human beings and creates communion. The communion of the Holy Spirit is God’s initiative, not ours. God reaches out and we respond. God speaks and we answer. God gives and we receive.

The Holy Spirit is given to us, but not as some kind of personal religious possession, nor in a succession of moments of intense religious enthusiasm. The Holy Spirit never becomes something we have, but remains a gift for good, a gift we enjoy as long as we receive it. The Spirit is the presence of God working in the depth of the human heart transforming and renewing us. The Spirit permeates the world of death with new life and the breath of resurrection. The Spirit is the Lord who in freedom and faithfulness becomes present to the creature, creating and sustaining the communion of life. We stop receiving, our faithfulness withers. We stop receiving, our life withers.

There are several words the English speaking traditions of the church have adopted straight from the Greek New Testament, words like baptism and eucharist, or deacon. Another one I wish had made it into common church usage is the word koinonia. It is a beautiful word, and it is translated into English, depending on context and often the translator’s preference, as fellowship, communion, sharing or participation.

Koinonia speaks of our fellowship with God and with each other, of our sharing the sufferings of Christ, of our participation in ministry through mission funding, of the sharing of our resources to alleviate the needs of others, and of our common enjoyment of the gifts of God.[8] Koinonia speaks of our being joined together in discipleship and in obedience to Christ, not by our various and fickle personal preferences, but by the Holy Spirit.

On the day of Pentecost, those who welcomed Peter’s message were baptized, and they devoted themselves to the apostles’ teaching and koinonia, to the breaking of bread and the prayers.[9]

Every Sunday at the end of our worship service we hear the benediction,
The grace of the Lord Jesus Christ, the love of God, and the koinonia of the Holy Spirit be with all of you.[10]

The church is God’s initiative, and not what we make of it. Because we have been brought into the koinonia of the Holy Spirit, we belong to one another and are responsible to one another as brothers and sisters of Christ. The story of the church is the continuing story of the love of God at work in the world, drawing people together by the Holy Spirit – into koinonia with God and each other, into “the blessed conviviality that sang Creation’s seventh sunrise.”[11]

[1] Wallace Alston, The Church of the Living God, p. 51
[2] Mark Toulouse, Joined in Discipleship, p. 2
[3] See Genesis 3:1 and 4:1-7
[4] Romans 3:10, 15-17
[5] See Luke 1:79
[6] See 2 Corinthians 5; Ephesians 2:17
[7] See Romans 5:5ff.
[8] See 1 John 1:3-7; Phil 3:10; 2 Cor 8:4; Hebr 13:16; 1 Cor 10:16
[9] Acts 2:42 see also the description of that koinonia in the following verses
[10] 2 Corinthians 13:13
[11] Wendell Berry, Sabbaths, p. 9

New Life

On Pentecost, Jews and Jewish converts from around the world were in Jerusalem. It was a great day: just about every language spoken under heaven could be heard in the streets, in restaurants, markets, and the courtyards of the temple. Translators were in high demand, and those who couldn’t find one used gestures and facial expressions to communicate, some even drew pictures in the dust or on wax tablets. It was like the whole world had come to Jerusalem, and the noise and the chatter were exhilarating to some, exhausting to others.

On that day something amazing and perplexing happened: the disciples of Jesus, filled with the Holy Spirit, began to speak in other languages. The whole world was gathered in Jerusalem, and they heard, each in their own native language, the disciples speaking about God’s deeds of power.

Something new and unheard of was on the loose, something that transcended cultural differences and language barriers. “What does this mean?” people asked, and the apostle Peter preached the good news:

Jesus of Nazareth, a man through whom God had done deeds of power, wonders and signs, a man who had been crucified and killed – this Jesus God raised up, making him both Lord and Messiah.

Now when they heard this, they said to Peter and to the other apostles, “Brothers, what should we do?” How does one live in this new world where Jesus is Lord? What is the proper response to what God has done in Jesus Christ? Peter said to them, “Repent, and be baptized every one of you in the name of Jesus Christ so that your sins may be forgiven; and you will receive the gift of the Holy Spirit. For the promise is for you, for your children, and for all who are far away, everyone whom the Lord our God calls to him.”[1]
Repent and be baptized, for on the cross our sin is judged and forgiven.
Repent and be baptized, for God bears the deadly consequences of our alienation from God and from one another and gives us new life.
Repent and be baptized, for in Jesus’ death all that must die has died: everything old has passed away; everything has become new!
The message that transcends cultural differences and language barriers is the good news of Jesus Christ: he is God’s gift of new life for Israel and the nations and all of creation. In response to that good word we turn away from the old ways of the old world and let ourselves be immersed in the life of Christ.

Through baptism into Christ
we enter into newness of life
and are made one with the whole people of God.

Baptism is nothing less than the whole story of God and the people of God condensed into one moment:
It is the sea through which God’s people escape to freedom and in which the powers that oppress and enslave them drown;
It is the river God’s people cross to enter the promised land;
It is the flood from which a renewed creation emerges;
It is the call of John in the wilderness and the obedience of Jesus;
It is the water that breaks at the birth of a new humanity;
It is the washing of feet at the end of a long journey and the bath on the eve of the great sabbath;
It is the river of life that runs from the throne of God.

We discover the whole story of God and God’s people in the sacrament of baptism – not because water ties it all together so beautifully, but because Jesus does. In his life and teachings, his death and resurrection we find God’s purposes revealed and God’s promises fulfilled. In baptism we give thanks to God for choosing us in Christ and drawing us into the divine life, and we praise God by living no longer for ourselves but in Christ.

When we answer Christ’s call to discipleship and kingdom mission, our old life comes to an end and our new life begins. The apostle Paul, in his letter to the Romans speaks of baptism as a burial:
“Do you not know that all of us who have been baptized into Christ Jesus were baptized into his death? Therefore we have been buried with him by baptism into death, so that, just as Christ was raised from the dead by the glory of the Father, so we too might walk in newness of life.”[2]

We affirm that through Christ everything has become new, and in baptism we embrace that newness.
In Christ our sins are forgiven – wash them away, O God.
In Christ our old self has died – bury our selfishness, every last remnant of it, O God.
In Christ death is overcome – raise us up, O God, raise us up.

In the ancient church, new disciples would take off their clothes and enter the water of baptism naked, leaving their old life behind like a pile of old clothes; when they emerged from the waters, a deacon would dress them in a white robe.

“As many of you as were baptized into Christ have clothed yourselves with Christ,” Paul writes in his letter to the Galatians, “There is no longer Jew or Greek, there is no longer slave or free, there is no longer male and female; for all of you are one in Christ Jesus.”[3]

The white robe speaks of purity and heavenly citizenship and it declares that distinctions of ethnicity, class, status, and gender no longer apply.

But Christ is not a new outfit we put on and take off as we please. Baptism incorporates us in the body of Christ, and by being made one with him we are also made one with all for whom he died, one with the whole people of God.

Baptism is deeply personal: to the believer it is the tangible and memorable assurance of God’s love and forgiveness as well as the tangible and memorable expression of God’s claim on his or her life.

But baptism is also deeply communal: newness of life is not a private adventure but life as a member of God’s covenant community, life with the brothers and sisters of Christ.

In baptism the whole story of God and the people of God is condensed in one moment.
God acts by embracing us as God’s own, incorporating us into the body of Christ, and giving us the Holy Spirit. The church acts by obeying the command of Christ and welcoming new disciples as brothers and sisters and equipping them for ministry. And the individual believer acts by responding to God’s call in Christ, renouncing the false gods of this world, and committing to a life of discipleship.

As Disciples we are part of a church tradition that affirms that ordinarily people old enough to speak for themselves are the appropriate candidates for baptism. For decades in the 19th century, according to Ronald Osborn, one of the main topics Disciples preachers discussed in their sermons was baptism. “They delighted to tell the story about Alexander Campbell’s perplexity after the birth of his first child. Should the little girl be baptized or not?” Osborn writes. Campbell had a Presbyterian background but had begun examining closely every doctrine and tradition of the church against the witness of the New Testament.

What he was debating with himself was whether or not infant baptism has any sanction in the scriptures. (…) Campbell studied every passage which refers to baptism. After days of pondering this matter, he reached three conclusions: First, baptism is for responsible believers only, not for infants. Second, baptism means immersion. Third, he himself, though christened in infancy, had not been baptized. So not only did he not baptize his infant daughter, but he and his father [Thomas] and their wives went down to Buffalo Creek to be immersed, with a Baptist preacher officiating. [4]

Campbell’s conclusions determined Disciples practice for generations, far into the 20th century. Disciples congregations baptized believers by immersion and rebaptized people who had been baptized as infants or who had not been immersed.

But then some of our leaders began to realize that by immersing people who had already been baptized, be it by pouring or sprinkling or christening, we were not only calling into question the validity of other church traditions but God’s own action in their rites of Christian initiation. As a consequence, we became a little less certain of our own certainty and more interested in the theological reasoning supporting baptismal practices we had dismissed before. Through ecumenical dialogues with other churches we began to see the truth and beauty of their witness.

When the church baptizes infants it celebrates the grace of God who claims us in Christ as God’s own without condition: when we are little more than bundles of need and utter dependence we are already surrounded and held by God’s yes.

When the church baptizes believers it celebrates the grace of God who calls us to live in faithfulness: we are honored covenant partners whose free response God invites and awaits.

By studying the apostolic tradition together we learned to affirm our faith together: through baptism with water in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit we become members of the universal church, the body of Christ.

On Pentecost, the whole world was gathered in Jerusalem, and for a moment cultural differences and language barriers didn’t disappear, but became fully transparent, and all ears could hear clearly the one story beneath, behind, and between all the stories: the story of Jesus, the good news of God’s salvation. For a moment, God’s future lit up the present, and the New Jerusalem, the City of God became manifest among the nations.

“Brothers, what should we do?” the people asked. And the apostles answered, “Repent, and be baptized every one of you in the name of Jesus Christ so that your sins may be forgiven; and you will receive the gift of the Holy Spirit. For the promise is for you, for your children, and for all who are far away, everyone whom the Lord our God calls to him.”

[1] Acts 2:4-39
[2] Romans 6:3-4
[3] Galatians 3:27-28
[4] Ronald Osborn, The Faith We Affirm, p. 59

The Fabric of Creation

We rejoice in God,
maker of heaven and earth,
and in the covenant of love
which binds us to God and one another.
The Preamble to the Design is as close as Disciples of Christ have yet come to developing something like a denominational statement of faith. Historically we have avoided creedal statements; we happily confess with believers of all times and places that Jesus is “the Messiah, the Son of the living God.”[1] But once that is said, we pause and take a deep breath, somewhat reluctant to press on: this is the essential statement of Christian faith, the only affirmation necessary for membership in the church.
We are reluctant because once we start unfolding that good confession – and unfold it we must in order to know how to be faithful followers of Jesus Christ in our time and place – once we start unfolding what this confession entails, we get into passionate debates. And in debates – there’s plenty of historical evidence for this – we have a tendency to end the conversation prematurely, draw lines, and build fences that define our side of the divide as the camp of true belief.
Sometimes, as in the case of apartheid in South Africa or the conflict between church and state in Nazi Germany, drawing those lines is not only necessary but the only faithful thing to do. But far too often in the history of the church, this tendency has led to stubborn division and a false sense of righteousness and holiness on either side of the fence: We know the truth about God and the world and the church, and you don’t.
When it comes to standing together and declaring, “This we believe,” Disciples are quick to affirm our faith in Jesus Christ and equally quick to invite fellow believers and non-believers to discuss the meaning and the implications of that confession. You could say that from a Disciples perspective the passionate pursuit of the truth is important; but equally important is the responsibility on the part of every participant in the debate to pay attention to the conversation itself: are we listening with the same fervor that fuels our speaking? Are we creating and maintaining dialogues that allow all voices to be heard and considered? When we say, “We believe” we don’t say it to end the discussion – “This is how it is; end of debate.” – but to invite, encourage, and facilitate further conversation.
Believe is a tricky word. We say, “I believe in God, maker of heaven and earth,” and it sounds just like somebody saying, “I believe in UFO’s” or asking, “Do you believe in ghosts?” It sounds like we declare that there’s something ‘out there’ whose existence is doubtful, and where the evidence is still hotly disputed.[2]
But when a mother says to her child the night before the TCAP’s or some final exam, “I believe in you” it is obvious that she is not making a statement about the child’s existence or non-existence. The mother affirms her confidence in his ability to keep his anxiety in check and apply what he has learned in weeks and months of study. Her words affirm and strengthen the relationship of deep trust between them, a relationship that doesn’t depend on a high score because it isn’t defined by success or failure. When we say, “We believe in God,” that’s the neighborhood we’re in.
We speak of a relationship of deep trust around which we build our lives. We speak of a reality that envelops our days and nights, our beginnings and our endings, our fears, our doubts, our hopes. We speak of One who has said to us, “I believe in you.” We have become so accustomed to thinking of God in arguments or rational proofs, listing a series of concepts in systematic order,[3] when what we are really saying is a simple response, “We believe in you too.”
Interestingly, we don’t literally say “we believe” anywhere in this affirmation. Instead we say, we confess, we proclaim, we accept, we rejoice, we celebrate, we receive, we serve – lest we forget that our belief is not a set of statements we subscribe to but a life lived in response to the One who gives life. We confess that Jesus is the Christ, we proclaim him Lord and Savior of the world, and the first thing we say about God is, “We rejoice.”
I could think of a whole host of other verbs we could insert here: We worship God, maker of heaven and earth. We live in gratitude to God. We bow before the mystery of God, we love God, we seek to obey God. All of these are good, right and true, and we could easily add tens or even hundreds more. Instead we say, “We rejoice in God, maker of heaven and earth.” Affirming our faith in God the creator is first and foremost an affirmation of joy.
What do people do when they rejoice? They smile, they laugh, they clap their hands and sing, they dance, they celebrate, they live life in fullness – we affirm that the chief end of God’s creation is joy, the rejoicing of God’s creatures in their creator.
The Lord who made heaven and earth, the sea, and everything in them; the Lord who continues to give life to each new generation of living things, looks at the world with delight.[4] Now some view God as a mechanic who has designed and built a fabulous machine which, once it’s been turned on, pretty much runs on its own. Creation, they say, is something that happened a long, long time ago, and the creator is watching from a distance as things unfold in the universe. The biblical witness points in a different direction: God is not only interested in seeing how things unfold but deeply and intimately involved in the life of God’s creatures.[5] God’s relationship to the world is not exhausted by flipping a switch to set things in motion – and it doesn’t matter at all whether you prefer to call that switch the Big Bang or Seven Days.
Life is a gift given to the world at every moment, and God, delighting in the goodness of creation, desires and awaits our response: our rejoicing in the goodness of the gift, our wonder and gratitude, our joyful Yes.
Life flourishes in a cosmic economy of gifts given and received. The fabric of creation is life given with generosity and delight and life received and shared with rejoicing. The fabric of creation is the word of life spoken and a symphony of joyful praise echoing between earth and heaven. The fabric of creation is the covenant of love which binds God to God’s creatures and all living things to their creator.
Now some view the world as “unclaimed property”[6] – a wilderness to be subdued and colonized, exploited, sucked empty, and eventually left behind. But those actions don’t reflect the will and desire of God. The world is not unclaimed property, but God’s creation, and the God who calls us and all things into being awaits our faithful response. The maker of heaven and earth desires that we live our lives in a manner that is good for us and all living things.
Of all God’s creatures, human beings alone are capable of choosing not to receive and return the gift of life. Of all God’s creatures, human beings alone are capable of claiming to be self-made men and women, solitary masters of their fate. But likewise, of all God’ creatures, human beings alone are capable of responding in freedom to God’s self-giving love. God says to us, “I will be your God and you will be my people,” and we affirm in response, “You are our God and we are your people.”[7] God freely gives the gift of life and we receive and return it in freedom, in wonder, in gratitude and joy.
Creation is not a well-designed and skillfully crafted clockwork amongst whose gears and wheels we have been assigned our proper place like parts in a machine. Nor is creation the work of a distant divine master mechanic with whom we compete for control.
Creation is the fabric of relationships in which life flourishes as it is freely given and received. Creation is the embodiment of God’s covenant of love, and its chief end is the delight of the creator and the joy of all creatures.
This is not the last word on the matter; it’s how I understand what we affirm as members of the Christian church.

[1] Matthew 16:16
[2] Rowan Williams, Tokens of Trust, p. 5
[3] Osborn, The Faith We Affirm, p. 42
[4] Acts 4:24; Ps 104:28ff; Gen 1:31
[5] E.g. Ps 139:13-18; Jer 1:5
[6] Jürgen Moltmann, God in Creation (San Francisco: Harper&Row, 1985) p. 3
[7] See e.g. Ex 6:7; Dtn 29:13; Heb 8:10; Rev 21:7

Who do you say that I am?

I remember the room we were in, but I don’t recall what day it was or what time of day. Richard and I were sitting across from each other in comfortable chairs, a small table between us. We had made the appointment to get to know each other – we had been introduced only a week earlier, and we would be working together for a local non-profit organization.
How do you get to know somebody? Think about the chit-chat that develops at parties where we take turns asking questions, “So, what do you do for a living? Are you married? Do you have kids?” If we don’t end up talking about our kids, we talk about our dogs or the play-offs.
The conversation that day was different, though. Richard didn’t ask a single question; all he said was, “Tell me your story,” and for the next hour he listened.
Of course I didn’t know at first where to start, but it didn’t take long and I was talking about the people and things I care most about – my family, my faith, my passions and struggles, my fears and hopes. Whenever there were a few seconds of silence, Richard didn’t jump in but simply waited for me to pick up another thread I wanted to follow.
We met again a few days later, and now it was his turn to tell me his story – the neighborhood on the southside of Chicago where he grew up, his two little sisters who adored their big brother, his love of music, his passion for learning and teaching. We spent only two hours together that week, but we got to know each other at a deep and meaningful level because we gave each other the space to tell our story. I came away from that experience knowing that one of the greatest gifts we can give another person is our presence and the invitation, “Tell me your story.”
In the 1960s, the opportunity arose for our church to tell our story. During that decade many Disciples congregations in North America arrived at a historic conclusion: in order to remain faithful to their calling as Christian churches they had to balance their cherished congregational freedom with structures of mutual responsibility and accountability. After years of prayerful study and discernment the congregations recognized regional and larger geographical expressions of the church and decided to let the organizational structure of the Disciples of Christ reflect that reality. In those years, the Christian Churches (Disciples of Christ) became the Christian Church (Disciples of Christ).
Decades of ecumenical dialogue with churches from around the world had played a key role in these developments, and now these same churches were eager to meet their newly restructured friends. “Tell us your story,” they said, giving us the opportunity to tell the whole world who we are. And of course we didn’t know at first where to start:
When we tell the story of the Christian Church (Disciples of Christ) do we talk about the “founding fathers” of the Restoration Movement, Thomas and Alexander Campbell, Barton Stone and Walter Scott? Or do we talk about the social realities of the American frontier after the Revolutionary War, or the spiritual fervor of the Second Great Awakening?
No, we tell our story by talking about the things that are most important to us, and we begin at the beginning:
As members of the Christian Church,
We confess that Jesus is the Christ,
the Son of the living God,
and proclaim him Lord and Savior of the world.
This is the opening line of the Disciples Affirmation, also known as the Preamble to the Design.
The very first line, innocent and introductory as it may sound, is a profound statement.
“As members of the Christian Church, we confess…” A confession is a deeply personal thing, but it is not private. We don’t get up, one after another, stating, ‘As a member of the Christian Church, I confess…’ listing our beliefs in order of personal preference. This is our confession, not the sum-total of our various individual theological opinions, nor the confession of one or of a small group that all the others have to subscribe to in order to belong. When we say this, we speak with the discipline of a church that is one and with the freedom of those who never stop exploring the meaning of the gospel for our time (that exploration implies debate, disagreement, and wrestling to arrive at a common understanding).
The “we” who speak here do not claim to be the church nor do we emphasize our particularity by saying, As Disciples of Christ, we confess… The “we” who make this affirmation speak with Christian boldness and with denominational humility. We refer to ourselves as the Christian Church, and in brackets, Disciples of Christ. The way we write our name speaks of our hope that one day all churches will affirm our faith as members of the Christian Church – and in brackets, Presbyterian, United Methodist, Assembly of God, Baptist or Anglican. The “we” who affirm our faith with this statement do not wish to create an “us” over against “them,” a community of true believers over against heretic outsiders, or an avantgarde ahead of God’s slower people. We do speak from a particular perspective, but with this affirmation we attempt to express what all who confess Christ can affirm together.
“We confess that Jesus is the Christ, the Son of the living God.”
We say who we are by saying who Jesus is. When invited to tell our story, we talk about Jesus, because without him there would be no “we” beyond our narrow familial, tribal, or national allegiances. We talk about Jesus, because we cannot imagine our lives without him, but we don’t stand up and declare, “This is how it is and you better believe it or else.” We confess, and our confession is both bold and humble:
Responding to Jesus’ question, “Who do you say that I am?” we boldly stand side by side with Peter saying, “You are the Messiah, the Son of the living God,” affirming that in Jesus God’s purposes are revealed and fulfilled; and at the same time we stand humbly with generations of disciples because we know that our lives limp far behind what we confess with our lips and believe in our hearts. We make our confession with the boldness of God’s sons and daughters and with the joyful humility of those who know that we are loved despite our denials and betrayals.
When we confess Jesus to be the Christ, God’s Anointed One, we don’t claim to know what it takes to be God’s Messiah; we don’t claim to have a detailed job description for this position and that after a careful interview process we have established that this candidate has all the necessary qualifications – no, we stutter and sing in wonder because in Jesus’ life and teachings, his death and resurrection we find life in fullness and we see the glory of God. We confess that Jesus is the Christ, because God raised him from the dead, inaugurating the kingdom of heaven on earth, and because in all our conversations about God and the world, sin and forgiveness, about the meaning of life and the demands of love we find ourselves again and again turning to Jesus.
We proclaim him Lord and Savior of the world. This Jesus whom God raised from the dead sits on the throne as ruler of the universe and judge of the nations – again we stutter and sing in wonder. What we proclaim is that after sin and death, fear and violence, political maneuvering and religious rectitude have had their way with the world, love is Lord of heaven and earth, Jesus is Lord – and all the other contenders for the throne are not.
Proclaiming him Savior of the world we affirm three things: the world needs saving; the world is worth saving; and Jesus is the Savior.
To say that the world needs saving is almost stating the obvious; anybody can see that life is not what it could be and should be, that things are not the way they’re supposed to be. But to declare that the world is worth saving still suprises many. We affirm that this world is God’s good creation and that God desires for life to flourish in peace. Earth and the creatures that inhabit it are not just the backdrop for the drama of saving the souls of human beings, but are themselves objects of God’s delight. The world is worth saving because God loves it.
The church has always affirmed that Jesus is the Savior, but it has never developed one definitive position on just how Jesus accomplishes that salvation. The New Testament offers a variety of answers, and that had to be expected since we relate to Jesus in a variety of ways.
We look to Jesus and we see the beauty of creation and its brokenness healed; we see sin and suffering and we see wholeness restored; we see oppression and torture and the power of violence overcome; we look at the cross and we see all that is wrong with the world and we see the love of God who will not abandon the world. We look at the life and teachings, the death and resurrection of Jesus, and in that story we see the story of God and the world. We relate to Jesus in a variety of ways, but Jesus relates to us and all things as Savior.
When invited to tell our story, we say who we are by saying who Jesus is, and through affirming who Jesus is we discover and affirm who we are:
In Christ’s name and by his grace
we accept our mission of witness
and service to all people.
Our confession that Jesus is the Christ, the Son of the living God unfolds not in words, be they spoken, written, sung or shouted, but in lives lived. To proclaim Jesus as Lord and Savior of the world is to say with our lives our small Yes in response to God’s great Yes. Because of Jesus we live no longer for ourselves but for others, and through our lives of witness and service the love of God touches, heals, and restores the world. That doesn’t make of us co-saviors, but witnesses: our life together points to the One in whose name and by whose grace we found life. Our story, by the grace of God points to the story of Jesus.

Sermon Series

Beginning June 1, I will preach a series of six sermons on what's known as the Disciples Affirmation or the Preamble.

We use this text in worship as an affirmation of faith, and I have wanted to spend a little more time with it for quite a while: I love how it breaks open the often misunderstood "I believe" into a colorful, multi-facetted "we confess, proclaim, accept, rejoice, celebrate, receive..." Every time I read it, I hear an invitation to join a conversation and a particular way of life.

This is not a statement of beliefs that declares, "This is how things are, and here is where you sign." It sounds a lot more like, "Allow us to introduce ourselves."

When we think about who we are, or talk about who we are to be, we find ourselves returning again and again to the practices and conversations outlined in these 171 words. This is how we strive to live in relationship with God, with other people, and with the world.

Summer Nights

Summer nights - here's to some dark ones! Hope you won't have to burn a barrel of oil to find a spot where you can actually see the stars.
http://www.newyorker.com/reporting/2007/08/20/070820fa_fact_owen?currentPage=all

The Journey - Phase II

May 16-18, 2008
The Journey – Our Second Weekend

Vine Street's second Journey weekend with George Bullard will be defined by two major events:

On Saturday, May 17, we will receive the report of the results of our April weekend. George has collected and evaluated all our input and his notes, and now it’s time for us to look at the emerging picture. We will meet 9am-4pm in the Fellowship Hall. Everyone is invited to participate, and even if you didn’t attend the first weekend, you will enjoy this workshop. We will have a continental breakfast, lunch, and snacks. Childcare will be available.

To sign up for the Saturday workshop complete this online form.

On Sunday, May 18, following the 10:45 am worship service and the celebration of our graduates, we will gather for a catered lunch in the Fellowship Hall. After lunch, George will introduce us to the Prayer Triplets you may have heard or read about, and talk about the significance of the Summer of Prayer for our continuing Journey. All members and friends are invited, since we want the greatest number possible of Vine Streeters to be a part of the Summer of Prayer. Childcare will be available.

To sign up for the Sunday workshop complete this online form.

Are you still wondering if the Prayer Triplets are something you might want to do? We encourage you to attend the Sunday lunch and meeting, and any questions you might still have will be answered. Here are the basics:

• Vine Street members and friends will meet in groups of three, ten times between Memorial Day and Labor Day (hence the name, Summer of Prayer).


• Each triplet will be responsible for scheduling and facilitating their ten meetings, and there will be a detailed outline for each of the ten approximately 90-minute sessions.


• Prayer is a significant part of each meeting, but the prayer time is informed by open dialogue about our dreams and visions for Vine Street.


• The groups are arranged to reflect different age generations, tenure in the participants’ connection with Vine Street, church backgrounds, and theological perspectives.


• Participants commit to enter into a no-exit relationship with two other Vine Streeters, i.e., each person in a triplet will agree to stay actively connected with their partners for this phase of The Journey.

To sign up for a prayer triplet, complete this online form.

Sing Us A Parable

This is the "Honey, I shrunk the poster" ad for next Sunday's Children's Musical at Vine Street.

Grown in the Sun, written and directed by Andra Moran.

They'll be singing us a parable during worship, and it will be fabulous.

Wanna come?

We'll save you a seat until 10:30 AM.

Worship begins at 10:45 AM.

Darfur Olympics

It's good and right to ask the President of the United States not to attend the opening ceremony of the Olympic Games in Beijing - but what if we all told the Chinese government that we won't be watching?

We have watched the violence in Darfur for so long, we have asked, we have protested, we have pleaded - only to notice that the Chinese government didn't use its significant influence in Khartoum to end the atrocities.

Will you send President Hu of China a letter to let him know that you won't be watching?

Will you tell NBC that you won't be watching?

NBC has paid a lot of money for the exclusive broadcasting rights for the United States - you have the power to turn off your TV on the day of the opening ceremony. Use the time to be with friends, pray for peace, or play with your kids.

The Journey - A Spiritual Strategic Adventure

None of us can recall the days when Vine Street Christian Church began, but we remember.

It was in 1828, about one year after Alexander Campbell’s first visit to Nashville that members of the Nashville Baptist Church nullified their founding charter and reconstituted themselves as the Nashville Church of the Disciples of Christ.

This year, we remember 180 years of ministry in Nashville – from our doorsteps to the ends of the earth. We can look back on 180 years of Christian witness, because generation after generation, this congregation has faced the challenges of the time with courage and responded faithfully.

Throughout the years, Vine Street has been attentive to the changing demands of the changing times, and obedient to God’s call to embody and proclaim the kingdom. I cannot imagine a more appropriate way to observe an anniversary than to take time to listen for God’s call; to do in our time what generations before us have done in theirs.

• What does God call us to be and do?
• Who does God call us to become?
• What is the future into which God calls us to live?

Beginning the weekend of April 4-7, we will embark on a journey of discovery; a journey that consists of careful listening, disciplined prayer, imaginative story telling, and stepping out on faith. We have found an experienced coach to assist us in setting the course for Vine Street’s future. George Bullard is a Christian leadership coach and a ministry partner with The Columbia Partnership. He will be at Vine Street on April 4-7, the first of four weekends that will mark stations on the way.

On Friday evening, April 4, he will introduce us to the Spiritual Strategic Journey; on Saturday, April 5, he will meet with several focus groups; on Sunday, April 6, he will worship with us and watch how we’re “being Vine Street” on Sunday mornings. There will be other meetings with key leaders, but those details are neither urgent nor important at this point.

Remembering 180 years of our mission and witness is both humbling and empowering. Envisioning the next 10 years of our ministry could be intimidating – but not for those who listen to God’s call and trust the Spirit’s movement. Let The Journey begin!

Good Friday at Vine Street

In many ways, Good Friday is just another Friday. For most of us it's a regular work day; for many students, it's part of Spring break. If you're one of the working people, perhaps you'll have a chance to go to a church during lunch break (Vine Street participates in a community Good Friday service every year; this year it is at 12noon at Hillwood Presbyterian Church); prayer is still the best way to enter the somber reality of a day when we remember the execution of Jesus by Roman authorities, and we wonder why in the world we call that day good.

I think we should wonder a long time before we adopt that name too readily, so eager to wash away with quick answers the horror at what we human beings are capable of doing to each other. The depth of human rebellion against a merciful God is what I see in the cross, and there's nothing good about that. Institutions of government and religion that were established to uphold justice and practice righteousness, exposed as systems of brutal power, that is what I see in the cross. Perhaps we call that Friday good because it helps us see the truth about ourselves?

Out of the depth of that death, God called forth new life, a new creation, a world in which Christ is alive and the mercy and love of God are known and proclaimed to the ends of the earth.
This year, we will have our baptism retreat on Good Friday. The candidates who wish to be baptized on Easter morning, gather at 2pm for an evening of fellowship, study, and worship. Since in baptism we are immersed in Christ's death and resurrection so that we might live in newness of life as members of his church, Good Friday offers itself as a day to reflect on the endings and beginnings we associate with our baptism.

The conclusion of our baptism preparation is a worship pilgrimage modeled after the stations of the cross. We walk in the way of Christ as those who have been called to follow and sent to serve, and our pilgrimage through the rooms and halls of the church is a symbol of our life of discipleship. In past years, that worship was attended only by the baptismal candidates, their parents, the Elders, and the ministerial staff. This year, we open it to the entire congregation as part our Good Friday observance. The way of the cross begins at 7pm in the fellowship hall, we travel in groups, and we all arrive in the sanctuary shortly after 8pm for a time of prayer. I believe this will be very meaningful to our baptismal candidates as they conclude their preparation for baptism and church membership, and I know that it will be equally meaningful for the rest of us who seek to know the depth from which the joy of Easter rises.

The Journey of Lent

It has become commonplace to speak of the “faith journey.” The phrase reflects the truth that faith is a dimension of life: not merely a set of rules and teachings, but a dynamic process of immersions, encounters, quests, and surprises.

Faith, like life itself, is not for tourists who are looking for the quickest and cheapest way to get to their dream destination; faith is for adventure travelers who appreciate being reshaped by the twists and turns, the ups and downs of getting there. Disciples of Christ – a.k.a. the people of “the Way” (Acts 9:20) – are pilgrims with a vision of the holy city in their hearts, traveling light and trusting that God will provide all that is needed.

Lent is an opportunity to travel together without leaving town. The journey takes us to Jerusalem, to the cross, and to the gates of Easter. For forty days, we travel in the company of Hebrew slaves on their way from Egypt to the promised land; in the company of Noah and his family and all the animals who were saved from the flood; in the company of Moses who received God’s holy law for God’s holy people; in the company of Elijah who was zealous for the Lord – and in the company of Jesus who walked our road all the way to the end so that we too might step through the gates of Easter.

Every time we gather for worship, we repeat and rehearse the great journey: we leave the house in response to God’s call and we make our way to the Table where God’s people eat and drink with Christ – and we leave God’s house strengthened for the road ahead, the great journey to the holy city. At Vine Street this year, our worship services during Lent will reveal this journey motif more clearly: every Sunday, we will come to the Table in festive procession to present our gifts and celebrate the Lord’s Supper; we will walk together before we feast together at the heavenly banquet (and we will fast: several hundred disposable communion cups will not end up in a landfill because we share one chalice. You might say we take a few steps from convenience to responsible stewardship).

During Lent, we encourage one another to abstain from the things and habits that keep us from traveling light and fully trusting God: we live more simply so that others can simply live; we discover Lenten disciplines we decide to make year-round practices; we spend less time letting ourselves be distracted, and more time being attentive - all of these things are about fasting, yet none are just about giving up something. They are practices that open us up to living together with justice, compassion, and faithfulness. Every Sunday during Lent, we will include some very specific items in our offering (and these are items we ask all who come to worship to bring).

• On February 10, we bring canned and boxed food items for Second Harvest and our daily “Something to Eat” ministry (we give out bags with peanut butter, crackers, canned fruit, and canned meats to anyone who comes to the door hungry) - because we long to live in a world without hunger.
• On February 17, we bring all kinds of things for babies, like formula, diapers, or clothes; we will give those to families in need - because we long to live in a world where all families are honored and all children are our children.
• On February 24, we bring candles for worship and CFL’s (compact fluorescent lamps) for the light fixtures around the church - because we long to live in a world where both our prayers and our actions for the world are enlightened.
• On March 9, we bring art supplies for Sunday school, camp, and Nashville schools - because we long to live in a world where human creativity is nurtured and celebrated.
• On March 16, we bring white polo shirts for children (school uniforms), as well as white t-shirts and children’s underwear - because we long to live in a world where all of God's children got shoes for the road and a robe for the banquet.

You don’t have to write all these down right away (unless you want to get your shopping list done); there will be a weekly reminder in the newsletter and the Sunday bulletin.

May God bless our Lenten journey!

A Book for Lent

I invite you to read a book with me during Lent. Rowan Williams, the Archbishop of Canterbury and a gifted theologian and writer, has published a series of talks he gave during Holy Week in 2005. The book, Tokens of Trust: An Introduction to Christian Belief, is a lovely little Lenten companion. Following the outline and some of the statements of the ancient Nicene and Apostles’ Creed, Williams guides the reader through some of the central elements of our faith.

• What does it mean to believe in God?
• Can God possibly be almighty in the midst of so much evil and disaster?
• How am I to understand the meaning of Jesus Christ’s ministry and resurrection?
• To what purpose is the church called?
• And what does it really mean to follow Christ in today’s broken world?

Williams addresses these questions in a conversational tone, and his reflections invite further discussion. His goal is to show that each of the basic tenets of Christian faith flows from one fundamental belief: that God is completely worthy of our trust.

The book is conveniently organized in six chapters, and each is approximately thirty pages long – just right for some slow ruminating during Lent!

You can read the entire first chapter here, in case you want to get a taste. Or perhaps a couple of quotes will be enough to make you want to journey through Lent with this book (and a small group of fellow readers):

Only three human individuals are mentioned in the Creed, Jesus, Mary and Pontius Pilate: that is Jesus; the one who says ‘yes’ to him; and the one who says ‘no’ to him. You could say that those three names map out the territory in which we all live. Through our lives, we wing towards one pole or the other, towards a deeper ‘yes’ or towards a deeper ‘no’. And in the middle of it all stands the one who makes sense of it all. Jesus – the one into whose life we must all try to grow, who can work with our ‘yes’ and can even overcome our ‘no’. [p. 76]

A well-functioning Christian community is going to be one in which everyone is working steadily to release the gifts of others. And this is not for the sake of some abstract self-fulfilment: the Christian community is not a place where everyone is crying out, 'Get out of my way so that I can exercise my gift' (though the phenomenon is not unknown...). In the context of the 'Body', the gift of each is inseparable from the need of each. The giver has to understand both how the gift is to be given into the common life, and has to be aware of what the common life and the obstinate reality of others must give for one's own life to be real and solid. [p.108-109]

If you are interested in reading and discussing this book with me during Lent (we'd meet six times between February 6 and March 22), just leave a comment or send me an email. There is no registration deadline, since every participant will be responsible for purchasing (or borrowing) their own copy of the book. From the perspective of the church calendar and my own schedule, it looks like Wednesdays at 7pm might be a good time for this small group to meet.

Vine Street in NOLA

It was good to be back in New Orleans again after Christmas. This year, thirty-nine of us made the trip by van, train, or plane. And like before, our youngest workers were elementary school students, and our oldest were retirees; the biggest numbers (and most of the energy) came from our teenagers and young adults – it was, again, a wonderful experience!
We noticed that overall traffic in and around New Orleans had picked up significantly since last year, more businesses were open, more homes looked inhabited, and almost all the debris piles by the side of the roads had been removed.
Driving through the colorful Musicians' Village (built with the support of Wynton Marsalis and Harry Konnick, Jr.) was a delightful and uplifting moment, and looking at Brad Pitt's house kits covered with bright pink tarp - a little camp right beside the rebuilt levee on the edge of the Lower 9th Ward - was equally inspiring and encouraging.
Things have changed in New Orleans in remarkable ways, but some things haven’t. There are still thousands of unused FEMA trailers parked on fields near Purvis, Mississippi, many slowly sinking into muddy oblivion, others housing termites. Areas of New Orleans where people have struggled before the levees broke continue to make painfully slow progress. Overall, the contrast between neighborhoods like Lakeshore and Gerttown remains sharp, but even in the most depressed areas, the signs of recovery and new life are strong: there’s a house with new windows and a new door, and it is painted bright yellow like a beacon of hope and defiance; there’s a little restaurant on the corner, freshly painted in boldest fuchsia, and the yellow signs advertise soul food for the neighborhood.
We will remember Mr. Willie, whose house we helped to rebuild. We will think about those who will move into the low-income apartments where we installed doors. The youth of the church will reflect on their experiences during worship on February 24, when we lift up the ministry of Week of Compassion.
If you want to experience first-hand how helping to rebuild homes in New Orleans is changing the lives of workers and their ideas about church and discipleship, start making plans for joining us on our next trip – because we’ll go back to the Mission Center at West Side Christian Church, we’ll go back to Mr. Willie’s house to see how he likes his new home, we’ll go back to the places where the love of God is doing remarkable things through the generous work of ordinary people.

The Fox in the Creche

Lo, in the silent night
A child to God is born
And all is brought again
That e’er was lost or lorn.

Could but thy soul, O man,
Become a silent night!
God would be born in thee
And set all things aright.

I love the wonder of this night. Surrounded by deep darkness we gather to welcome the light of Christ, we know in our hearts that all is well, and we want to hold on to that knowledge – but how?
The mystics insist that the heart must be the very place where Christ is born. Silesius, whose verses I just quoted, longs for the human soul to become a silent night. Another mystic compared the human heart to a smelly stable where we keep the manger well-filled to feed the ox of selfishness and the ass of prejudice. Christ must be born in that stable, between ox and ass, so that our selfishness and prejudice finally surrender to divine love.
I’m not much of a mystic, but I love to imagine the newborn Jesus surrounded not only by poor shepherds, a handful of wealthy foreigners, and all kinds of other people, but also by animals. They help me remember that the whole creation is longing for redemption; that salvation is not a private human enterprise, but God’s will for all God has created.
So to me, the stable on Christmas looks like a combination of Noah’s ark and O’Hare airport when all flights have been cancelled. It’s crowded, smelly, and noisy – but all is calm. No frantic travelers, no irritated airline representatives, no fussing, no fighting, no complaining. There is peace, a peace the world hadn’t known since the seventh day of creation – and it’s because of this child. The ox and ass are there; camels and sheep; over in the corner you can see the wolf and the lamb, the leopard lying down with the kid, and you notice the lion standing next to the ox, both eating sweet, fragrant hay. Doves and hawks are chatting with each other, and the bald eagle is taking a nap, safe and secure from all alarms.
Last Wednesday night, Carolyn gave her annual Christmas concert, and during one of her songs she suddenly stopped and apologized. We didn’t know if she couldn’t read the words to her song due to the dimmed light, or if it was just a slip of the tongue, but instead of ox she had sung, fox.
She was probably the only one who noticed, but I’m glad she pointed it out to us. The fox really belongs in the picture, and someone should write a song about the fox in the stable.
In Luke 13, about half-way between the birth of Christ in Bethlehem and his arrival in Jerusalem, some Pharisees come to Jesus to warn him, “Get away from here, for Herod wants to kill you.”
And you know what Jesus tells them?
“Go and tell that fox that I’m on my way!”
The fox is in the stable. It’s like somebody just hung a crucifix right above the manger. The fox is the ominous messenger from Jerusalem. He connects the beautiful silence of this night with the darkness of Good Friday. We may feel tempted to tell him to get lost, but that’s the difference between our ways and God’s.
The fox isn’t here to ruin our holiday cheer. All his life, the little fox has dreamed of being the big, bad wolf, but now he lies stretched out on his back next to the manger, and Mary is rubbing his belly. The peace of the kingdom that is ushered in this night is complete – it includes all the enemies of God. The love of God has brought to an end the reign of sin, and all creation will know the peace of the seventh day. We know in our heart that all will be well as often as we break the bread and drink the cup in remembrance of Jesus Christ.

Lo, in the silent night
A child to God is born
And all is brought again
That e’er was lost or lorn.

Among the defining ministry moments at Vine Street over the past year one stands out: forty-eight of us – children as young as six and adults as old as eighty-two, male and female, individuals and families of five – went to New Orleans for a week after Christmas. We went there to help rebuild a church and to build a parsonage; we went there to see for ourselves the damage caused by broken levees in the aftermath of hurricane Katrina; we went there to help rebuild with our own hands a broken community.

For an entire week, we lived together in a bunkhouse still under construction; we tore things down and cleaned up; we installed shower walls and framed out a sanctuary with steel studs; we shared all our meals in the big kitchen/living room that had just been tiled; we looked for God together, and every night we shared where we had seen God; we prayed, we cried, we were speechless at the amount of destruction in the lower wards; we worshiped with members of West Side Christian Church and their pastor, Brother Vance.

Our work trip to New Orleans after Christmas was an amazing experience, and we have already scheduled a follow-up trip for this winter. On December 30, almost fifty of us will again travel to the gulf coast to help rebuild a broken community – and to return with our own hearts profoundly transformed.

When we say “Community Ministry” we think about our work in the community, we think about going out through these doors and serving Christ in the people we encounter. We also think about Room In The Inn, a ministry of hospitality to men who have no place to sleep safely for the night during the winter months; they come through these doors and find friendly hosts, a good, hot meal, and a warm and safe place to spend the night.

When we say “Community Ministry” we also think about the community grants we give to several local organizations, including Campus for Human Development, Hope Camp, Disciples Village, Interfaith Dental Clinic, and many others (read a detailed report here).

We engage in various forms of community ministry and we are discovering that it is much more than we thought: not only do we offer support and help to others in the community, or help rebuild communities that are hurting; we ourselves as a community of faith are shaped profoundly by those mission experiences. And the greatest gift is this: as we reach out to others, our roles as givers and receivers soon begin to dissolve as God makes of us all one community. Perhaps that’s why we call it “Community Ministry” in the first place.