The Christmas Light

In a speech which JRR Tolkien gave at Oxford University in 1955, he apologized for its tardiness, saying that what had hindered him was “the long delayed appearance of a large ‘work,’ if it can be called that which contains … much of what I personally have received from the study of things Celtic.” This large work was, as you might expect, The Lord of the Rings. In this Christmas posting of Celtic Crossings, I offer what has been for me a defining, symbolic moment from this epic work. This small band of distinctly different compatriots who comprise the fellowship of the ring are set to leave the land of Lothlorien to continue their journey. It is then that the elfen Queen Galadriel gives gifts to each man, and to Frodo she gives a phial of light. With this gift she says, “Let this light be for you a light in dark places; let it be a light for you when all other lights fail.” It was a gift, a light which he would need before the journey was over. I think about this episode in The Lord of the Rings frequently, particularly in this season of gift-giving. It reminds me of the importance of giving the things that others need rather than giving only those things they tell us they want.

So what then is this Christmas Light? It is generally considered that bright star that guided the wise men to the place where Jesus had been born. In reality, it is more of an Epiphany symbol than a Christmas symbol, but nonetheless one of the things we associate with the Christ event. As John Henry Hopkins wrote as the refrain for We Three Kings of Orient Are:

O star of wonder, star of night. Star of royal beauty bright; Westward leading, still proceeding, Guide us to thy perfect light.

It seems to me that the Christmas light is not so much celestial as it is spiritual. We come to church on Christmas because the Christ-light shows us the way, guiding us to his perfect light. While a light is to be seen, it’s purpose is to point beyond itself; a beacon in service to those who need to see where they are going; an indicator of where the safe passage exists. As children of God, we are children of the light; we obtain our light from the one who is the light of the world, and then we are instructed to share that light with those who need to find their way through the doom and gloom of a darkening world.

In one of Robert Fulghum’s earlier books, he tells the story of a man from Crete who through patience and forebearance was a light for the healing of the wounds which war had etched into the people of his country. Talking to the author, he says:
“One day, on the road,” the man began, “I found a piece of mirror from a wrecked German motorcycle … By scratching in on a stone I made it round. I began to play with it as a toy and became fascinated by the fact that I could reflect light into dark places where the sun would never shine … it became a game for me to get light into the most inaccessible places I could find …
As I became a man, I grew to understand that this was not a child’s game, but a metaphor for what I might do with my life. I am a fragment of a mirror who whole design and shape I do not know. Nonetheless, with what I have I reflect light into the dark places of the world – into the black spaces in the hearts of men – and change some things in some people. Perhaps others will see and do likewise …”

And then he took that small mirror, and holding it carefully, caught the bright rays of daylight streaming through the window … and reflected them onto my face.

In this Christmas/Ephphany time, I pray for you the gift of the Christmas light; a light that shines not so much upon you, but as a light that shines through you. Had Frodo not had that light which Galadriel in her wisdom had given him, he would never have completed his journey nor accomplished his mission. Sometimes it is the simplest of objects which reveal the most profound truths, like the mirror in the story above. At this Christmas time, it is not so much that we see the light of that Christmas star, but that we receive that light into our very being. Remember that though the wisemen followed the light of that star to Bethlehem, it was a different light that led them back a different way, that inner light of God's grace. So, as I post this blog on Christmas Eve, may that light be received as a gift to live this life to the fullest; a gift of light for when all the other lights of this world dim and darkness threatens.

Telling the Story

Throughout Ireland, and to a more limited degree in Scotland and Wales, a traveler will often see what are called “high crosses,” a picture of one is included in this blog. Most high crosses contain runes and/or pictographs on each side of the cross which help tell the story of the covenant God effected with his people. In a land of few books, a high cross was often seen as “a Bible in stone” or “a Sermon in Stone” as Celtic artists chiseled out the symbols where the people could understand the gospel of their salvation. These crosses were erected in villages and fields; near monasteries or in wooded glades; wherever people could gather for the reading and/or the telling of the story.

As we move into the season of Advent, that time of preparation of the Christmas event, I wonder about the telling of the Nativity story in our world today. How do you tell the story of the already, but not yet revelation of the Incarnation? How do you build expectancy for someone who has already come? Do you just put theology on the shelf once you have put out your crèche characters on the mantle or the hall table? Do you just let the story tell itself, assuming that since this is the Christmas story, everybody gets it because it has been so prevalent in our Christian culture for generations?

I have a friend who, when she lived in Houston, would host a really great party early in the Christmas season, and in attendance were a number of Presbyterian clergy. Of course, like so many of us when we decorate for our families and guests, there is often the “Nativity Scene” with all the principals of the Christmas story being present from shepherds to magi to angels to sometimes (gasp!) even a little drummer boy! And there is little baby Jesus asleep in the hay of the tiny manger. Well, true to form, as part of the festive decorations around her home was her own personal Nativity Scene. The day after this one particular party, my friend realized that baby Jesus was missing! Thinking through her guest list from the night before, she narrowed the culprit list down to one or two possibilities. “Where is baby Jesus?” she demanded. “I confess,” one of her clergy friends admitted, “I took Jesus out of the manger, and put him out of sight up on a shelf in your bookcase. There you will find him. But I took him so you can do a better job of telling the story of the birth of God’s son. This is Advent – this is not the time for him to be in the manger …”

For those of you who have a Nativity Scene; a crèche, a manger tableau, however you may describe it, and are planning on putting it out as part of your Christmas decorations this season, consider this possibility: think about this as an opportunity to use these three dimensional characters to be a “high cross” for telling a more authentic story of the Christ-event. Make it a true Advent experience for those who live in your home or for those who will visit. Start with an empty stable (if you have one) if you don’t, just start with an empty space, but one which is designated to be “where it all happens.” In the parlance of Celticcrossings, this is a “thin place” where the sacred and the profane brush up against each other. Here is the place where hope shall blossom where before there had been no hope; there was no story to be told; no eyes to see, nor ears to hear the story God would soon announce to the nations. When the time is right, add the animals which are at home in this place, and add the manger from which they feed. A few days later, Joseph and Mary might be seen in close proximity to the animals, and although it cannot be seen, the story is that Mary is pregnant by the power of God at work within her, and she waits, as do the rest of us to be delivered of this child. When family or guests in your home ask about the emptiness of the crèche, or wonder why this or that piece is missing, tell the story that this world is empty when the presence of God's grace revealed in Jesus is missing, but be patient, let God's Spirit sustain you, for by faith, we all wait for the hope of righteousness which is surely coming.

And, in the fullness of time, Mary was delivered of this child whose name shall be called Emmanuel – God With Us. NOW, the baby Jesus lies in the manger, and the donkey, and the cow, and the other animals begin to have a proprietary interest in this interloper in the stable. The next day, perhaps, you bring the shepherds in to make their appearance on the scene, and you tell their story as well; how they came, ragged, impoverished herdsmen, to see that which had come to pass. And now, perhaps an angel hovers near by, and if angels are there, now is the time to tell their story as well. Like scarlet ribbons, angels are woven throughout the nativity narrative, a plot device whereby they bear the glad tidings which is the message from God to all those of us who have dwelled in a land of great darkness of despair or depression or loneliness or hopelessness, upon us now a grace-filled light has shone forth; to poor, lonely people like you and like I, a seed of hope has been planted.

The story is almost told – but not quite. What of the magi, the wise men from the East? Well, they don’t belong at the stable, truth be told. They did not arrive on the day of his birth, but came along some time later. Theirs is a story of persistence and patience and also one of obedience and expectancy. Theirs is also a story of non-Jews who come to play a prominent place in the story of salvation which unwinds in the life of this young child. As Simeon said in the Temple when Jesus was presented eight days after his birth, and before the wise men showed up astride their camels, “my eyes have seen your salvation which you have prepared in the presence of all peoples, a light for revelation to the Gentiles and for glory to your people Israel.” There is a place for the wise men, but it is a place when the frenzy of the nativity night has given way to making a home for the young child and his mother. It is to this place that the men bearing gifts arrive. And it is in that context that we tell their story as Matthew meant for it to be told, for the gifts that they bring are not just any gifts, but connote the symbolism of a life of sacrifice, and of service, and, ultimately, of death, The gifts of gold, frankincense, and myrrh point to the offices of king, priest, and savior: gold speaks of His kingship; frankincense was a spice used in the priestly duties; and myrrh was an embalming ointment anticipating His death.

So now, on the cusp of Advent, you are ready to tell not just one story, but the multiple stories which emerge from the incarnation of God in Jesus Christ. And somewhere in the midst of it all, is your own story of how you came to believe; and in the midst of it all, is my story of how I came to believe. And as we tell our natal stories of new life and new hope we continue to hold on to a fresh anticipation of what this Advent will bring both in us and through us. Perhaps others will hear our stories and may also come to believe that there is indeed someone coming who can bring light into their darkness, hope into their despair, presence into their loneliness. But how will they hear lest someone tell them?

Do you truly believe that they will get the point –or know the true story - just by admiring that crèche that you so proudly display throughout the month of December?

Can I get a word of Thanksgiving?

Given the increasingly dour news about our economy and the need to cut back (expenses) and to cut up (credit cards), I wondered as we move into this season of Thanksgiving, how and why people would feel a sense of thanksgiving. There are so many people caught up not only in a foreclosure crisis, but also caught up in job layoffs. There are so many people who have seen their savings dwindle or completely disappear; who have watched retirement funds telegraph the message to keep working – retirement is not in your future for some time to come. There are people who cannot get credit, or if they can, pay a high premium for it. Will there be people attending church on Thanksgiving Eve, as was our custom throughout our 20 Thanksgivings at Southminster Presbyterian Church, or will they think “why bother; there is so little left in my life for which to offer thanksgiving?” I haven’t gotten completely cynical about human nature, but as a Christian, I have been awed at the spiritual ennui that is gripping the hearts of so many people I see and hear around me.

After departing in recent blogs from the basic premise of Celticcrossings, I return to that concept that gave birth to this blog and which in so many ways gives focus and direction to my sense of what we should be about within our Christian faith. In the worship services that I attended in both Scotland and Northern Ireland, and those which were part of our worship ministry at Southminster from time to time, the celtic worship liturgy has a free-flowing quality which embraces all of life as both sacred and sacramental. So, at this time of Thanksgiving, even when things seem dark and getting darker, I wanted to share some liturgical prayers drawn from the Celtic traditions upon which you might choose to reflect at this season. The following prayer comes out of the oral, gaelic traditions of the Scottish Highlands:

Thanksgiving

Thanks to Thee, O God, that I have risen today,
To the rising of this life itself;
May it be to Thine own glory, O God of every gift,
And to the glory of my soul likewise.

O great God, aid Thou my soul
With the same aiding of Thine own mercy;
Even as I clothe my body with wool,
Cover Thou my soul with the shadow of Thy wing.

Help me to avoid every sin,
And the source of every sin to forsake;
And as the mist scatters on the crest of the hills,
May each ill haze clear from my soul, O God.

You may not have heard of a Scottish civil servant by the name of Alexander Carmichael, but he did a great service for his native country by collecting and preserving the oral traditions that abounded in the Highlands and the Hebrides in the late 19th century. His work was published in a volume known as the Carmina Gadelica; it is a Latin phrase which means “Gaelic songs, hymns, and incantations.” Carmichael says this about his work:

Whatever the value of this work, it is genuine folklore, taken down from the lips of men and women, no part being copied from books. It is the product of faraway thinking, come down on the long streams of time. Who the thinkers and whence the stream, who can tell? …These poems were composed by the learned, but they have not come down through the learned, but through the unlearned – not through the lettered few, but through the unlettered many – through the crofters and cottars, the herdsmen and shepherds of the Highlands and Islands.

Out of more recent liturgical traditions in the Ionian Community of Iona, Scotland, I offer two more Thanksgiving prayers. For me, they seem so timely and appropriate for those who need both a sense of community and a sense of hope.

Thanksgiving for Community

Thank you for our time in community,
For deep, if fleeting, friendships.
For those conversations late at night,
For the vulnerable intensity lubricated by laughter,
For the freedom to serve others,
And to affirm ourselves
In the face of all that you know and we know of our lives.
And we thank you for all the signs that the churches
With which so many are disaffected
Can yet be your body on earth in the community of creation.

All Shall Be Well

For the greening of the trees
And the gentling of friends,
We thank you, O God.

For the brightness of field
And the warmth of the sun,
We thank you, O God.

For work to be done
And laughter to share,
We thank you, O God,

We thank you, and know
That through struggle and pain,
In the slippery path of new birth,
Hope will be born

And all shall be well.

And it shall all be well, for those of us who keep our eye on prize of the upward call of God in Christ Jesus our Lord. There is always an opportunity to give thanks, even if it is only for the freedom to think on these things with a degree of ... gratitude.

To each of you, may this season of Thanksgiving be for you and yours a time of thanksgiving as well…

Being Elected

On the day after the election, I found myself thinking about what just happened in this country of ours. I supported Barack Obama, but that should not surprise most of you who read this blog. I admired and still admire John McCain, and, under different circumstances, could have supported his candidacy. But the direction of this posting has little to do with the individuals and more to do with the process and the significance of being elected. In our Reformed tradition there is a lot of investment in our doctrine of election, and on these first days of a new administration on a national level, and the newly elected officials wherever you live, let’s give some thought to what it means to be among the elect.

My Reformed Theology professor at seminary John Leith wrote these words: “The doctrine of election establishes a community that is not constituted by race, nationality, ethnic origin, gender, or even history. Election takes precedence over every other activity.” In our political process, we Americans use our free will to cast a ballot, and the collective wisdom(?) of that free exercise of will brings about a winner. In the doctrinal idea of election our will does not enter into the picture at all. Out of God’s sovereignty, there is an election the results of which come to us by grace - not by vote nor by an electoral college.

The doctrine of election can have a galvanizing appeal to stir people out of their inherent political apathy to a new or renewed sense of awareness of what God is doing, and, in fact, what God has already done. On Tuesday night, Senator McCain closed his concession speech with “… God bless America,” and President-elect Obama closed his address with the words “… and may God bless the United States of America.” It is standard practice for politicians to invoke God’s blessing on the nation. But what if they, and we, had a strong sense that God is involved in the what, when, why, and who of our political process. Suddenly we are jarred by the radical God-centeredness of the Scriptures and the frightening ego-centrality of our own hearts. Suddenly we are put on a quest to build a way of thinking biblically about God and the world that we haven’t attempted before. In this postmodern era within which many of us have come of age, we have allowed our leaders, both locally and nationally, to let the power of God become relegated to the power of ideology, and we have allowed the basic scriptural mandate that we have been blessed that we might be a blessing to all nations to be sacrificed upon the altars of fear mongering and political expediency. As a Christian community who holds onto, however tenuously, a doctrine of election, how tragically ironic it would be if we continue to embrace this postmodern illusion just when the broader culture has figured out it's a dead end.

A theological understanding of election enables us to better embrace our political understanding of election. What are the issues involved in the doctrine of election? If the issues of a political candidate are important to us, then the issues that God lays out for you and me need also to be important. For us, the issues that confront us in the doctrine of election have to do with aligning our agendas with Christ. And what does that mean? Scripturally, there are numerous answers, but I will draw on this one from Colossians 3: 12-14:
As God’s elect, holy and beloved, clothe yourselves with compassion, kindness, humility, meekness and patience. Bear with one another … forgive, just as you have been forgiven …
You are called, justified, and glorified so that all things do work for your good so that you may be conformed to Christ. God is at work within us, writes Paul to the Philippian church, to will and to work his good pleasure.

It is my belief that a grasp of the doctrine of election helps produce a thoughtful, resourceful, and informed Christian electorate who are not swept away by trendy, politically-centered ideas. Rather, it tends to press onto our minds and hearts a God-centered worldview built on the Truth that has been revealed to us, not by the media but by the wind and flames of God’s Spirit.
I believe that God does indeed bless our country, not because politicians ask him to, but because it is in his nature to bless. I further believe that it is in his nature to chastise, to rebuke, and to restore. That is also part of the doctrine of election.

Being elected, in a political sense or a theological sense, carries with it a sense of accountability. It is my hope and my prayer that we as Americans – Democrats, Republicans, Libertarians, etc. - expect that accountability from our elected leaders. Because, in the final analysis of who and what we stand for as a nation, we have to understand that the phrase “being elected” says more about the sovereign grace of God than it does about the vote totals on Election Day.

A visit to The Shack

When I was in seminary back in the 70s there was a joke that circulated through the students. The gist of the joke revolved around a dream or a vision wherein the person experiences God and when the vision has passed, the person tells his roommate, “I have just seen God … and she is black!” What most of us sloughed off as a jibe at the cultural battles going on in the 70s has come home to be a satisfying characterization in William Young’s novel The Shack.

There have been charges from some church leaders that this book is “dangerous;” that it is “heretical.” I have been a theologically conservative Presbyterian pastor most of my adult life, and I have seen more heresy in the prosperity gospel movement than I find in this novel. Sure, it is not systematically theological in its narrative, and sure, there are inaccuracies in how it correlates scripture to the real life situations depicted in this story, but the Bible itself is not systematic. The doctrines we have learned and taught over the years also contain inaccuracies and misconceptions of the truth of scripture.

There is a certain allegorical quality to Young’s novel and given the premise of the anguish, guilt and anger that Mackenzie Philips, the central character, experiences over the brutal death of his young daughter, “the shack” becomes an outpost, a safe house, to which he has been invited to confront the conflicts he is experiencing. It is a place where, like Jeremiah, he is able to shake his fist at God; it is a place, like Eden, where he has a chance to make choices that can align his will with the will of God or a place where he is free to continue to function autonomously. Here he has the chance to learn to walk by faith, not by sight; here he can hang on to his Great Sadness or here … he can let it go.

There are those who criticize the scope and content of the words which are placed in the mouth of Papa (God). Although the Old Testament is rife with “God-talk,” I think the dialogue between God and Satan at the beginning of the book of Job is a cogent example from our own inspired scriptures to counter such a criticism. The writer of this wonderful Biblical book puts words in the mouths of God and Satan to lay the foundation for the faithfulness of God’s servant Job. It is different than how God speaks through the Genesis narratives and through the prophets. The modern reader should be able to accept at face value the literary technique of how God and Jesus and Sarayu convey the plot through their narrative engagement with Mackenzie. If we can accept the fact that God talks to us today in the great joys and deep sadnesses we face, then let us not be put off by the content of what God says in this story and the manner in which he says it.

I was talking with a colleague the other night as we shared a meal prior to going to a meeting. I reflected that one of the teaching points for me in the novel is how we are introduced to the Godhead – the three persons of the Trinity. When any one of us prays and we listen for God’s response, how do we hear that response? As a white, older male clergy, do I always hear God responding to me as if I were hearing another white colleague responding to my prayers? Probably, although I have become so acculturated to my mainstream religion, I never gave it much thought until I read The Shack. I asked my friend, who is female, how she hears God speak to her? Do you hear a woman’s voice? And if not, have you become as acculturated as me that God, in his relationship with you, can only be a male figure? As I have talked with evangelicals that have read this book, I have found them overwhelmingly supportive of the characterizations of the Trinity, which include a petite Asian woman, an Arabic handyman, and, as we have pointed out, a black woman. Perhaps Mackenzie needed God to be a large compassionate black woman given the abuse he endured from his own father; I don’t think the author was making a categorical imperative about God. I think he frees up young people – and perhaps many of us senior adults – to engage God in a way that draws us into a loving, caring relationship. If God can only be a “father figure” in keeping with the scriptural references, how many sexually abused persons would not find that image of God comforting or relational?

As a pastor for over 30 years, I believe that the issue of forgiveness is the most difficult for Christian men and women to embrace. When we have been hurt – spiritually, morally, physically – we typically want retribution; we want the other person to be hurt as we have been hurt. Regardless of what the Lord’s Prayer says, we by and large do not “forgive those who have sinned against us.” But we should, and the encounters we share through the thoughts and emotions as expressed by Mackenzie allow us to see our flaws against the backlight of our own self-righteousness. What the author guides us through in this matter is not unlike what we witnessed following the shooting of Amish children in Georgetown, Pa. by Charles Carl Roberts. The Amish families forgave the man who killed or wounded ten young girls; they attended his funeral to be supportive of the shooter’s own family. So God prevails upon Mackenzie to forgive his abusive father and to forgive the killer of his precious daughter. This is painful and difficult reading, and not without a goodly number of empathic tears on the readers part. Yet we learn that we can forgive because of God’s promised presence in us – “that is the only way true forgiveness is possible,” Papa says to Mackenzie. I could not help but be drawn to the ascription found in Ephesians 3:20: "Now to him who by the power at work within us is able to accomplish abundantly far more than all we can ask or even imagine ... to him be glory in the church and in Christ Jesus to all generations ..."

I don’t believe that The Shack is a classic in the manner of Pilgrim’s Progress as some scholars have posited, but I do think it is a valuable tool for ministry in much the same way that C.S. Lewis’ Mere Christianity was and is a tool for ministry. Lewis’ book has stood the test of time and is still an excellent resource for those who are new to the Christian faith or who are attempting to return after a long and painful time away. It remains to be seen if The Shack has that kind of shelf life. For now, it has a permanent place on my desk as a reminder to me and to those who visit that our own "shack" is not that far away, but we can only get there by invitation.

The Narrow Gate

It has just turned to become October, and in a couple of weeks, Pam and I will fly to Charlotte, North Carolina, rent a car and drive up into the mountains of that lovely state. It should be breathtakingly beautiful, and we hope that our timing is good for catching the fall colors. We will visit my mother who resides in an assisted living facility in Morganton, N.C., and I will be attending a conference in Montreat, about 30 miles from there.

I have written in the past about the Celtic notion of “thin places” in the world where the spiritual and the material brush against each other. For me, Montreat is one of those places, and has been since I first went there in the late 50’s. Montreat is a conference center in the Presbyterian Church, USA; it was the Assembly Grounds/Conference Center for the old PCUS, or the southern Presbyterian Church up until 1983. My friend and classmate the Rev. Dr. Pete Peery has recently been called to head up the conference center. There is much that could be written about this special place, and many people have done so, but I want to tell you something about the unique entrance into Montreat which you see pictured here, and offer some theological reflections on this gate which has stood basically unchanged for decades. For many years, all traffic flowed in and out of these stone arches; later a bypass around the gate was created for trucks and heavy equipment to enter into the township. I am sure that there have been many overtures to tear the gate down and build a more utilitarian entrance into Montreat. Thankfully the gate still stands; it’s dimensions are narrow, and as you drive through, you want to be careful not to leave paint on the stone structure. What I appreciate about this gate, beyond just the nostalgia it evokes, is the narrow-ness – that to enter into this wonderful mountain paradise requires due diligence. In Matthew 7:13-14, Jesus’ instruction to his disciples and the folks there on that Galilean mountainside was to “enter through the narrow gate;” it is the narrow gate that leads to life. The broad and easy way leads to destruction. Right now Congress is trying to rally across party lines to shore up a financial crisis of monumental proportions because lending institutions and politicians and stock traders and even home buyers saw a broad and easy path to increase their net worth, and all this greed created a perfect storm for a financial crisis. But beyond the meltdown of banks and investment firms, our society, our culture, has not practiced due diligence in defining what are the acceptable borders and parameters within which a society can thrive. We teach our children to do what is necessary to get ahead, but we have not instilled the values of accountablility and taking responsibility for what happens along the way. We live by the axiom that it is "easier to ask for forgiveness, than to ask for permission." We turn a deaf ear to lies or fabrication of facts, and we turn a blind eye, to those who cheat in order to raise their GPA and gain admittance to the right law school or the better medical school. I like the idea of “narrow gates” – I like the idea of a gatekeeper who understands the underlying principles of integrity and accountability with one’s own life and with the lives of others. Had there been better gatekeepers on Wall Street and in government, we would not be in the fiscal mess we as a country are in today. My fear is that this is not the last cultural crisis we shall see. So long as we keep widening the ways and easing the paths for what we do and how we do it, crisis will eventually engulf us. Due diligence as we enter into any relationship, any contract, any negotiation is going to tell us where the true boundaries are to this gateway we are entering; due diligence seeks to determine what the true cost of this decision will be. Sometimes getting a scratch on the paintjob is a reminder that we might want to think this matter through one more time.

posted by Jerry Hurst

In Memoriam

In his eulogistic poem In Memoriam, Alfred, Lord Tennyson shares both his faith and his grief in writing about the death of his friend Arthur Hallam. Here are but a sampling of the poet’s thoughts taken from this epic poem:

We have but faith: we cannot know,
For knowledge is of things we see;
And yet we trust it comes from thee,
A beam in darkness; let it grow.
...
Forgive my grief for one removed,
Thy creature, whom I found so fair,
I trust he lives in thee, and there
I find him worthier to be loved.
...
Whereof the man that with me trod
This planet was a nobler type
Appearing ere the times were ripe,
That friend of mine who lives in God.
...
That God, which ever lives and loves
One God, one law, one element,
And one far off divine event,
To which the whole creation moves.

I have a friend who asked me to do a reflection on the subject of memorial services in general and within the Presbyterian tradition in particular. In opening up this subject, I think I would begin by saying that memorial services are – or can be – a tremendous help to the deceased person’s family. And family includes both the nuclear and the faith family. It is important for the nuclear family to have an opportunity to express their grief and their closure in a private manner, but it is also important for the faith family to have that opportunity as well. Oftentimes, sons and daughters, even spouses, have no clue as to how the one who has died touched the lives of people around them, both within their faith community but also the larger community as well. All of us need the opportunity to share grief, love, thanksgiving, and memories in some form of corporate memorial service. If you read one of my earlier blogs, you will see where I wrote of the Celtic understanding of “thin places” where the spiritual and material brush up against each other. A memorial service, properly done, can be one of those kind of experiences. As I re-read Tennyson’s In Memoriam in preparation for this posting, I felt the resonance between the spiritual and the material; between the grief of loss and the gladness of renewal and spiritual fulfillment.

The pastor's job at the memorial service is not merely to expound the Word, but also to express the feelings and thoughts of people who are too numb or too afraid to name them—to express the swirling hopes and fears of grieving hearts. The preacher needs to be both the voice of God and the voice of the people, and this is an exceedingly demanding and delicate task.

Like all Christian worship, the memorial service has both a vertical and a horizontal dimension. We come to a memorial service, or a funeral, to pay our respects to a loved one, a colleague, a friend. At the same time we come to give thanks to God through whom all blessings flow. Memorial services are public rituals in which profound grief is expressed, precious memories are rehearsed, and lifetimes are thankfully remembered.

But at the memorial service we also want and need to believe. When someone we love dies, our response as Christians emerges, at least in part, out of our faith. We believe that God is the creator and giver of all life, and that death is, in some sense, an intrusion into the goodness of God's creation. We also believe that Christ redeems us from sin and death by his cross and resurrection, and that therefore death ushers us into fuller life. The memorial service affirms and celebrates these bracing realities of faith even under the shadow of death. Here we listen to the death-defying words of Scripture, we sing of God's grace and of Christ's victory, and we place our loved one's life in God's loving arms.

David Adam, a vicar at Lindisfarne, and another keeper of the Celtic flame, has a poem that could easily be a part of a Reformed (Presbyterian) memorial service for one who has tried to walk by faith and not by sight, and I close this posting with his words:

The Weaver
I weave unto my life this day, the presence of God upon my way,
I weave into my life this hour the mighty God and all his power.
I weave into my sore distress his peace and calm and no less.
I weave into my step so lame healing and helping in his name.
I weave into the darkest night strands of God shining bright.
I weave into each deed done joy and hope to the Risen Son.

Celebrating the Possibilities

Celebrating the Possibilities

Christianity came to the British Isles through the military conquests of the Roman empire. When Caesar’s soldiers left in the 4th and 5th centuries to deal with other threats and incursions into the empire, it left the church to continue without the influence of Rome. What developed in that nearly 200 years was the foundation of what we know as Celtic Christianity. It followed a different tack than the highly structured Christianity of Rome; women and men served in church leadership roles on more or less equal status; doctrine was not as important as relationships; symbols, images, metaphors, both graphic and poetic, were more appropriate for communicating the gospel than theological abstractions.

Two figures emerged out of this period which helped articulate the course that the Christian movement would take. One was Augustine of Hippo, a bishop in northern Africa. A man who came late to the Christian faith in his own life, but whose scholarship led him to craft a doctrine of original sin which would be a linchpin for the church –both Catholic and Protestant – for centuries to come. This “taint” would guide church dogmatics and the evangelism which arose from it. The other personality was Patrick. Born in Britain, he was sent to Ireland to convert the pagan tribes, commonly known as the Celts. Patrick’s approach was to stress the goodness that he saw in human nature; to emphasize the possibilities that were dormant inside each heart. Helping the Irish to imagine what they could become may have been Patrick’s most profound rhetorical achievement. Augustine saw the dark side of the human soul; Patrick saw the possibilities of what could happen if a person had a personal relationship with the Christ of the gospels. To his mission and evangelization work, Patrick utilized an indigenization of the gospel, putting it into the words and images with which these pagan peoples were familiar, and then guiding them to see the Lord Jesus Christ in those images. For Augustine, salvation comes through Christ rescuing us from sin and atoning for the consequences of the fall from grace. Patrick sees salvation as Jesus Christ completing the good work that God began in us.

In this particular Celtic Crossing, I wanted to provide some background to some of the work I am doing here in California. One of my responsibilities is to help congregations work through their mission study prior to seeking a new pastor or a new associate pastor. Such a mission study is mandated by our polity. One of the resources which I was given was a book written by Mark Branson which focuses on a study model called “Appreciative Inquiry.” Adapted from a business model that was highly successful, Branson shows how this model can work because its intent is to look, not at what is wrong with this congregation, but rather to identify what is right and to appreciate, to celebrate, that righteousness. The focus on many, if not most, mission studies is to identify what is broken in the church, and figure out a way to fix it. Oftentimes, what is wrong – or broken – in a church has to do with attitudes and platitudes. As you enable people to appreciate what is right and purposeful and stimulate their imagination as to where this congregation might be heading when the Holy Spirit is at the helm, you find that the attitudes and the platitudes start diminishing.

And now let me carry this to an even more personal level in relationships with family or with spouse. When problems arise, and they will, how should you respond? Initially, you probably find yourself projecting self-righteous attitudes which are supported by self-serving platitudes. Then you get around to trying “to fix the problem.” I would offer the alternative of appreciative inquiry into these compromised relationships. Articulate what you truly appreciate in that person first of all to yourself, and then later to the other person. It is not a matter of determining fault or right-ness or wrong-ness; it is a matter of seeing the possibilities in this relationship – and appreciating what those possibilities could lead to.

Last fall, I was at a retreat up at Zephyr Point, a conference center on Lake Tahoe, to hear Dewitt Jones, a former photographer for National Geographic magazine and now a speaker in great demand around the country. Dewitt uses his imagination and the images which come from his camera to celebrate what is right with this world. Even amidst the storms and darkness and the pain of life, his camera catches images which he is able to celebrate as possibilities for hope and justice.

This is a cruel and unjust world in which we live. We are a sin-sick and sorrow-worn people, justly deserving God’s displeasure. But in the midst of it all – both in church and in culture - falls the shadow of someone like Patrick who sees the possibilities for goodness, and life, and hope; who gives us a sense of mission to celebrate the possibilities rather than cursing the darkness.

Do This ...

I write this during Holy Week and it will probably be posted on Maundy Thursday. Since I no longer preach on a regular basis, I find myself sitting in the pew observing the worship leaders, the choirs, the celebrants of holy communion, and others who are a part of the worship ministry on any given Sunday.

And so it was on that non-communion Sunday I found myself reflecting on those words engraved on so many communion tables: DO THIS IN REMEMBRANCE OF ME. Now I could ask a question which you might consider profoundly stupid, and that question would be “what does this mean?” I think each of you would say it means take this bread and eat it remembering Jesus; it means take this cup and drink it remembering the Lord’s death until he returns. And you would be right … as far as that righteousness goes. But in this article and in this holy week, I challenge you to hear these words in a different way. When I ask the question, “what does this mean?” I am not asking the meaning of what happens at the table, rather I am asking the ontological question of to what does the word this refer. It is not just an imperative to eat or to drink remembering the past; rather it is also an imperative from the lips of Christ himself to participate in the present reality of his life and of his ministry.

Given what was said at the table that night, and the power of that moment with the disciples, there is a profound sense of irony to Jesus’ encounter with Peter there at the seashore in the gospel of John. Instead of remembering Jesus on the night of his betrayal, Peter denied even knowing who Jesus was, hiding under a cloak of shame and fear. So Jesus addresses the issue of remembrance for Peter, this time in the context of a loving relationship: “Peter, do you love me” … “Yes, Lord, you know I love you” …”Then feed my sheep.” Three times these words are spoken, or words very similar, and again there is the call to remembrance: “Feed my lambs…do this, in remembrance of me”
“Tend my sheep …do this, in remembrance of me”
“Feed my sheep …do this, in remembrance of me”

Coming to the table is an opportunity for the community to remember this atoning love. But it is not just remembering what he did, it is not just remembering the “misty watercolor memories of the way we were,” but rather it is to remember what we have been saved to do.

There was another time in the life and ministry of Jesus where this phrase “do this” was spoken, and I believe if you juxtapose this other example with the sacramental language which is before us, you will see that one helps interpret the other. A question was raised by an attorney regarding what must he do to inherit eternal life. And in a bit of dialogue between the two, the attorney answers, “you shall love the lord thy God with all thy heart, and with all thy soul, and with all thy strength, and with all thy mind, and you shall love your neighbor as yourself.” And Jesus’ response was what? … Do this and you will live. Jesus brings the focus away from self-justification to concept of sanctification. Do “this” – love the Lord thy God; and love the neighbor you hardly know – and live. Do this and you will live abundantly the life that has been granted you as a gift.

Do “this” in remembrance of me. When the “this” is demonstrating your love of God; when the “this” is demonstrating your love and concern for humankind, then you are participating sacramentally in the life Jesus purchased for you.

What is the “this” in your own life that you need to come to terms with? What is Christ calling you to do for the love of God and love of humanity when he says “Do this in remembrance of me?” So consider well whatever the “this” is that God has placed before you. Jesus raises before you in these pre-Easter days the same issues he raised before Peter in that post-resurrection appearance: Feed my lambs …tend my sheep …feed my sheep. DO THIS …in remembrance of me.

Have a most blessed Easter experience, and live in the light of Christ’s love

Church Membership and Faithfulness

Church Membership and Faithfulness

A couple of years ago, I learned that a Presbyterian church in the Austin, Texas area had admitted an avowed atheist into membership. The atheist, a professor at the University of Texas, wanted to check out his belief system, or perhaps better said, his un-belief system, from the inside and the only way he could do that it seemed to him was to join a church. With a sympathetic pastor and an accommodating session, he did just that.

I realize that we live in a culture, both sacred and profane, which challenges authority; people doing their own thing; marching to different drummers; eschewing discipline to allow for free expression of one’s actions. So, though I may have been dismayed and offended that this church and its pastor did not follow the polity of our denomination’s faith and practice, many others just shrugged the matter off with a dismissive “so what’s the big deal anyway; isn’t it the church’s responsibility to receive lost sinners?” And the answer is “Yes, but …” Yes, we have that responsibility, but it comes with an invitation to acknowledge one’s sinful state, and that this person has no hope, in life or in death, without the sovereign grace of God manifested through a savior, Jesus the Christ. The big deal is that the church – the pastor and the session – negated by its actions the very purpose of church membership. In an old ad for the American Express credit card, there is that elitistic phrase: "membership has its privileges." I believe that is what the atheist wanted, and the leadership of that church acquiesced. But church membership, at least in the Reformed tradition, is not about privilege, rather it is about obligation and responsibility. In short, it is about faithfulness.

One of the joys of parish ministry was in watching a person grow in his or her faithfulness. I tended to serve in churches for several years at a time – from ten to twenty years – so I was afforded that opportunity of seeing God work his good pleasure in the hearts and minds of people who came through the doors of the church. I well remember a Jewish woman, married to a Christian man at the time, coming up the long sidewalk to the temporary buildings were our offices were located as we finished construction on our church. She was looking for a church to raise her family, and wondered if this is where they should be. I think I told her to visit with us for a few Sundays and see if she couldn’t answer that question for herself. Eighteen years later,she stood before that congregation, having presented herself for baptism and to profess her faith in God and in Jesus her messiah. There was not a dry eye in the house, including my own. Over those eighteen years, she engaged herself in the mission ministry of the church. She helped in educating our congregation on the meaning of the seder meal; she helped in preparing this meal and in leading our people in the celebration of Passover. What became so obvious to so many was this woman’s faithfulness and love of God, even though she had never crossed the threshold of membership. But for her the church she chose, or was chosen for her and her family through God’s beneficence, was never a laboratory experiment to test the various compounds of belief systems and ecclesiastical doctrine. Rather, without the pressure to join up or be left behind, the church provided for her a place to be herself; to raise questions and to seek answers, to take as much time as it takes to turn her life over to him who is the redeemer of lost sinners. At the conclusion of one of his parables, Jesus counseled, “I tell you, there will be more joy in heaven over one sinner who repents than over ninety-nine righteous persons who need no repentance.”

I have argued for several years that we need another category for defining participation in the local church. “Active Member” no longer means much as far as our church rolls go; in fact being an active member in that church in Austin means you don’t necessary have to believe in Jesus Christ as Lord and Savior. Active Members just have to show up; they just need to be visible from time to time. Granted the great majority do far more than that, but the requirements to remain in that category per our polity are pretty lame. Yet how do we account for the “faithful” who serve without becoming “active members?" Maybe we don’t need to. Maybe we, like Jesus, just need to appreciate how they model the gospel message and give thanks for that. And maybe we just need to give thanks to God for that irksome episode down in Austin, Texas for providing us with the opportunity to look at church membership in a new light. For when it comes right down to it, when last trumpet sounds, God is not going to ask us what church we joined on earth. Rather, he is going to ask us if we were faithful to the work of his church which he, through his Son, entrusted to us.