Zechariah and His Silence

In the assigned scripture this morning in my devotional guide was the story of Zechariah the priest being told by the angel Gabriel that, in their old age, and in spite of Elizabeth being barren, there were to have a child. Zechariah expresses his doubt about the situation, and in response, Zechariah was struck dumb. He did not speak again until after John's birth, on John's circumcision day. When everyone thought the baby would be named after his father. Elizabeth spoke up and told them that he was to be named John and Zechariah confirms it by writing it out...and Zechariah finds his voice. He was not able to speak for 9 months, the whole time while Elizabeth was pregnant. I was reminded of that Progressive Insurance commercial where Flo is talking with the monks:




I identify with with Flo the Progressive girl here. It is very hard for me not to talk when there are people around to talk to. Very hard. And when I thought about this this morning, it seemed to me to be too harsh a punishment for Zechariah. This will be the only child he ever has and he won't be able to speak about it. He can't sing praises in the temple; he won't be able to say out loud to Elizabeth how much he loves her; he won't be able to say words of comfort to her when she has morning sickness (which was probably okay with Elizabeth); he can't tell the vendor it's a PICKLE that he wants, not just a cucumber; he didn't get to speak all of the words he had in his heart for young cousin Mary when she came to visit; he couldn't sat "coochy-coochy-coo" to John on the day of his birth.


What did he think about all that time when he was unable to speak, and only use sign language or his slate to give the barest of his thoughts? I guess one thought he might of had was when Elizabeth told him that she was pregnant "why did I doubt that Gabriel guy?" But he was able to communicate in other ways, I am sure. His eyes spoke his love for his dear Elizabeth; he chuckled, perhaps with her when they went to their Lamaze classes and realized that they could have been the grandparents of any of the to-be parents there; he sat by Elizabeth's side as she knitted booties; and he made a happy sound, not really a word, when the neighbors came with their gifts.

Leaning to communicate without talking all the time can be a challenge for lots of preachers, I've noticed when they are not preaching. It is hard to practice Listening, really listening, not just waiting for the next time you can say your next elucidating if not clever thought. Waiting in silence when someone stops by the church to tell you something so important that it is hard for them to say it. That can be very hard. Letting someone else set the agenda and plan a new ministry with a only bit of verbal shaping on your point, but mostly again, listening is a challenge too.

Zechariah heard many things during those months. And heard them without getting to make or having to make a statement about it. A bane and a blessing. I think I'll try it a little more this Advent.

Advent in a Minor Key

It's Advent! I have resolved not to bah humbug when I hear a Christmas hymn the first Sunday of Advent in worship , instead of sticking to only Advent hymns at least for the first two weeks. Our children will never learn those Christmas carols unless they hear them in church since in many schools these songs are no longer sung. I also just go ahead and put up the Christmas decorations right after Thanksgiving as I have done in my home this weekend. I have two Christmas parties this week, and I get to wear my cheery sweaters and jackets and put on my ornament earrings with the little clappers in them that make sound every time I move my head. Yippee!!

But oops. Try as I might to celebrate Christmas with everybody else, in my heart I still know it is Advent. It is the season of the Christian year that I feel like I need to most. Waiting is not my best thing. I too often buy into the instant gratification (literally) and read the last few pages of a book just as I start, which ruins everything. So my waiting is too often marred by my doing those things which I really don't want to do in order to get what I thought I wanted which really is not what I wanted at all. Maybe you do not resonate with this sullied sort of waiting. Maybe you do. Knowing this about us, still God gives us a chance to wait with integrity again, not jumping to the end, even though and especially though, we already know what the end of the Advent wait will be.

I really don't think the point of Advent is about the fact we already know what will happen at Christmas. I think it is about learning how to wait, examining our own messing up that waiting by putting our emPHASis on the wrong sylLAble. Which makes Advent not always happy clappy time. Advent has its moments of facing the fact we who like to be in control of the timing of our lives even though we really aren't. That's not fun. And we so often remember our times of forced waiting in the past. Waiting for that phone call after the job interview, waiting to see that car come down the street that carries our children and their families as they arrive for the holiday, waiting in the hospital waiting room after surgery on our loved one, wanting the doctor to come out and talk, but so worried what he might say.

This morning, I was at North Spring UMC to preach. The first thing that happened in the service, with no introduction or words spoken, was that a young boy, probably ten or eleven, came up to the music stand on the chancel with his violin and played I Have Decided to Follow Jesus. He did a fine job, and I thought this song really appropriate for the first Sunday of a new Christian year which starts us on another cycle of Christ's birth, teaching, death, resurrection and the celebration of the Holy Spirit. And yes, we must decide to follow Jesus, once again. But when Trent, our young man, got to the chorus and the last two lines, "no turning back, no turning back," I was a bit startled to hear that last "turning back" to be played in the ominous minor key, not the bouncy major key that you always hear. I thought at first that he had just accidentally played it that way, but over and over again, when he came to that last "turning back" he went to the minor key.

Waiting we are, and there is no turning back. In that waiting, we again come smack up against ourselves and our imperfections, our need to rush things, our need to be at the helm of everything we do, our need to control ours and others lives around us. It is a bit of a minor key season, yes. And no amount of almond bark or tinsel can turn the minor key into a major one.

In the end, though, we do not merely wait. We really anticipate. We look forward to. We yearn. We asked the watchman to tell us when the night will be over; we ask Emmanuel, God with us to come. We see a rose blooming in the desert. We hear the Baptist cry, and we know there will be an end to our waiting, an end to our anxiety about the ruts of sin we have lived in, and in fact, Love will come down at Christmas, Paradise will be opened, and through the bounty of God's grace, He comes again.

Rushing the season...

Today I rushed the season...the season of Advent that is. From the picture you can see me wearing all purple (I know, I know, I might be more up to date if it were cerulean blue) and you can't see it but I am also wearing the beautiful pendant that Nancye Dunlap gave me a few years ago, with the outline of Bethlehem on it. It was fun. Wearing purple and the necklace, I mean. Okay, and I also put up the Christmas tree....so I guess I was rushing another season, too.

I also started today Robert Webber's book Ancient-Future Time: Forming Spirituality through the Christian Year. How I came into possession of this book is itself a bit of a story. About four years I was sitting in Hal Knight's office at Saint Paul. Hal has more books than anybody I know. He has them categorized. When you take any class of his, be prepared to bring a tote sack for the large bibliographies he is known to give you. On this particular day, I was there (for a reason I have forgotten) and I gazed up and saw Webber's Ancient Future Faith with which I was then and am now very familiar, and right next to it was Ancient Future Time. I believe I must have said a time or two that I really wish I had that book, when after I had said it the third time, Hal simply got up, went to his bookcase, and gave me the book. Anyway, I have never read it. It is, to say the least, my kind of book. This picture was just me acting silly so I could get a blog pic (Cana took it)...most of my reading today took place in the snack bar at Target in Ward Parkway, where Cana felt called to go this afternoon (not the snack bar, the sale clothing area in juniors)

The focus of the book isn't just to teach about the Christian year, but it is to help the reader to focus her life in the life of Christ, which the Christian year celebrates and to live in the events of Christ's life, so that all time is ordered by it. The Christian year is not a rote order to use, that soon becomes only repetitious each year, and deadens our senses to the spirit. Instead, Webber states, and I certainly agree, that to hold to the celebrations and seasons of the liturgical year, means that we can live WITH Christ in a way that we cannot without it.

My belief is that Advent invites us to wait. To wait in hope. And to wait already fully aware that what we are waiting for has already come. It is the time, early in the season when we face the grandly mysterious promises that Christ will come again. It is the time when days grow shorter and we yearn for light. It is the time when winter comes and holds us in its grip, and the pink candle among the purple winks at us and says, yes, wait, but with anticipation and joy. It is the time of asking Christ, the long expected one to come, and to dress the house and to wait, and to not hurry to the end, for its in the yearning forward that our spirit lives are lit with passion and hope.

Have a blessed Advent, friends.

Tribulation Christmas!

I am currently reading a very interesting and helpful book Following Jesus in a Culture of Fear by Scott Bader-Saye. Early in the book, he discusses how our current social climate, spurred on by marketing and media creates a culture of fear. He talks about the fear that some churches create, encouraging the members to be fearful of the world, opting only to engage with Christian believers, Bader-Saye writies "some people would rather retreat to a Christian subculture (labelling anything outside that as unsafe) than live in a complex gray-shaded world." I was reminded of my son complaining about the music at a church where he recently worshiped with his girlfriend, where current rock songs tunes were put to "Christianish" words. It kind of weakens both....I understand what he was talking about, not sure I described it here well. I was reminded of what my son said when I read this in the book, "We pretend to risk engagement with the world by mimicking the culture's trends in music, fashion and technology, when all we are really doing is covering the rough edges of real life with a smooth coat of Jesus>" (p. 21).

I have been seeing advertisement for the Sheffield Family Life Center's presentation of Tribulation Christmas. I thought I knew what it must be about, and unfortunately I was right when I checked out the website. I found a blog by a member of the cast which states:

This is the 25th year for Tribulation Christmas.Experience the Christmas story in a way that you have never before seen. This is one of the most powerful dramas you will ever see. It depicts the last days with the Christmas story actually woven thru it. The production is on par with a professional Las Vegas show. Experience the rapture, angels flying above the audience, the pits of hell, those who have been left behind, and Jesus Christ arriving as King of Kings and Lord of Lords. Busloads come from as far away as Nebraska and Arkansas to see this annual event.

Where have I been all these years not to know about this? Now, I believe with all my soul that Jesus will come again in a glory that we cannot even imagine. I do not know what that will look like, which Biblical account is closer to what will actually happen. I also know that when I go making fun of things like Tribulation Christmas I feel really creepy because the truth is, who really knows what will happen? But I do know that on Christmas Day the Prince of Peace, the very Lamb of God came to life and to each of us. I know that "Peace be with you" was one of Jesus's favorite things to say. I don't think I will be going to see Tribulation Christmas this year, or any year. My God who brought to life Jesus his son in a stable who later invited us to take up our crosses, and told us that the last will be first, who did not fight back when the soldiers came to arrest him, who listened to outsiders and cuddled children is the one I will see this Christmas, not in a conflict and war, but in a God come to earth to save and serve. Not a mamby pamby Jesus though, but a man of strength and certain of his mission. Someone who inspired fishermen to become disciples and a tax collector his profits. My Jesus is triumphant, but only through a dark and excruciating death. My Jesus has risen, his spirit surrounds me now, and I really don't have to go to see a play that tries to scare religion into me. I believe, not cheap grace, but grace born of pain, grace that finds its deepest resonance in us when we realize how much we need it, how sinful we can be. That's my Jesus and I am stickin' to him.

Trusting the Hoop

Today was another day of pastoral evaluations. One of those with whom I met was Kathleen Schmidtke, our new senior pastor at First UMC in Marshall. At each evaluation, I check in with the pastor about the method by which he or she is practicing the spiritual disciplines. I really like talking about this with Kathleen, since she has a real interest in new and evolving prayer practices. Today she told me about the wonderful experience she and her husband Scott had last summer at the SoulFeast gathering at Lake Junaluska. One of the workshops she attended there was on hooping--hula, not cough---there is no prayer practice that I am aware of that involves whooping cough, except that of parents praying that the steam of the shower will work.

Kathleen shared with me that when she went into the workshop, she had thought she would learn about hooping, not actually do it. She did not believe that she could still hula hoop, believing that her limberness for such a thing had fallen away as she aged (she is not really that old...;-)) The teacher of the workshop, though, convinced her that she should try it. And what her teacher said was that when hooping, always let the hoop come to you. Don't try to make it go around....it won't work that way. You cannot do it that way. What you have to do is to let the hoop come to you and go with it. Let the hoop come to you. Don't make it stay up and go around by your own coordination or lack thereof. Let the hoop come to you. Hooping, with its rhythm and repetitiveness, reminds us that God is in the rhythm of our lives, that even when the hoop does not touch you for that teeny nanosecond as it revolves around your waist, it will come back again....let the hoop come to you.

I am a person who too often has not let that hoop come to me. I have wanted something to happen so very much in my life that I try like heck, sometimes to my own detriment that I try to MAKE it happen. I have a feeling those reading this may have had the same experience. I imagine that I know what is best for my life and that it is up to me to make "it" work, whatever the "it" is. What is happening then is that I fail to let the hoop come to me---I do not trust enough, I fail to be obedient and my hoop-hope falls down to the ground ---kerrplatt.

It's about trust, all of this faith thing---about trusting our God to come to us and realizing that while we can practice being open to his coming, it's up to God to enclose us with his grace. As we think this Sunday about Christ the King and two weeks from now as Advent dawns, God calls us again to trust in the promises he has made us---he will not leave us orphans; he will give us others with whom to walk the way of faith, and at Golgotha, we are promised that all the sin, the hurt, the places of lostness that we feel, God came to us in his Son, and through him, we know that truly God is always moving toward us. He moves toward us even as we are trying so very hard to make our lives work by ourselves. Soon his walk to us becomes a dance, and as God leads, we follow, one with him, trusting that as he encircles us with his arms, our trust in him will free us to move with grace and freedom as he holds us near forever.

Unforgiven?

This is my least favorite of several signs Ih ave ground my teeth at over the years in front of Broadway (formerly Baptist) Church which is at about 40th and Broadway in Kansas City. I think you can tell by the sign's message why the church is no longer Baptist. It's like they put up these signs just to annoy me or something. And so my diatribe follows:

First of all, who are we to say we were never unforgiven?

Secondly, what about original sin (no matter how you theologize about it)?

Third, what does the cross mean then? Any which way you turn the term "atonement", it still spells forgiveness.

Fourth, it's not so much that my sins weren't forgiven, it's that I didn't even know I needed forgiveness until I was face to face with unmerited grace...

Fifth, maybe it's just me, but I sure know that I am in need of grace, so that those things that I know I ought not to have done, and those things I ought to have done do not so much weigh me down with my own guilt.

I just am glad that Roger Williams and/or John Wesley don't live in Westport. They might have conniption fits. And I am so glad that in my consternation and my imperfection, that by grace I am saved through faith.

If you have other interpretations of this sign, please comment....

Yes, this is a photo of Shane Claiborne talking with a guy and it was taken tonight at the back of Englewood Christian Church in Indianapolis by me. More about this later.


First, a good old gospel hymn text:

Wonderful grace of Jesus greater than all my sin
How shall my tongue describe it, where shall its praise begin
Taking away my burden, setting my spirit free
For the wonderful grace of Jesus reaches me.

Wonderful the matchless the grace of Jesus
Deeper than the mighty rolling sea
Higher than the mountain, sparkling like a fountain.
All sufficient grace for me for even me
Broader than the scope of my transgressions
Greater far than all my sin and shame.
Oh magnify the precious name of Jesus, praise His name.

If this day had a name, it would have been "wonderful grace."

It began with me waking up ten minutes before my alarm went off-unfortunately I mis-set my alarm last night for an hour later than I needed to get up since I am in the Eastern time zone. Why am I in the Eastern time zone? you might ask. Because I flew to Indianapolis yesterday to be a part of the emergingumc 2 conference (if you can call 30 people a conference) held at Lockerbie Central UMC here. Since I realized that I didn't have to be there and I sort of got the gist last night when we met that some of what we were to be doing probably wasn't that big of a priority for me, I decided to play hookie. One of the things I did was pray and studi the Matthew version of the Transfiguration... Ask me if you want to know more about a new thought I had about this. I also was led during prayer to pursue an idea that would be a much needed creative outlet for me and for Grace Philip. And there may be a possibility of it working out. More later about that when know more.

Then I decided to see if there was a bookstore nearby here in the heart of Indy. There was/is. The biggest Borders I have EVER seen and I spent about three hours today. It was a beautiful day here--I ate lunch out--I shopped for sale jewelry at Carson Perry Scot (wrongly spelled I'm sure). One of the books I purchased at Borders is The Ragamuffin Gospel which some of you might have read--I think it's been out since 1990. I have read only about 30 pages but it startles me with grace. Amazing grace.

And then this evening, I went to hear Shane Claiborne, speaking (really preaching) at another event being held here in Indianapolis. Man, o man, is he ever the real deal. I have heard about him for many years, but never had really intersected totally with what he is about and who he is. We watched Ordinary Radicals last night at Lockerbie and then this evening, I was so blessed to hear this Christ-gifted young man share with us about consumerism and the idol it has become in the U.S. Many of the persons at the conference which sponsored him were Mennonites and Church of the Brethren as well as some other traditionally called Anabaptist groups. And I thought how very rich the fellowship was this evening, and for me to be beside persons who already lived much of what Shane's message was. A challenging word to the United Methodist Church.

After the service was over, I introduced myself to Shane--he told me he has a United Methodist background--he's from Eastern Tennessee. He signed the book that I purchased at the book table tonight entitled Becoming the Answer to our Prayers and this is what he wrote on my book's title page: "To Susan: May we continue to become the Church we dream of. Shane" Yes, let's.

Be Still, My Soul

As I drove up Wornall just now from the grocery store down south where I like to shop. I listened to Bernard Helms solo piano cd---when I reached Waldo, I realized that Be Still, My Soul was the cut that was playing. The beauty of that music and my remembrance of phrases came to my mind--"be still my soul, the Lord is on thy side"; "bear patiently the cross of grief and pain"; "thy soul with courage wait"; "God faithful will remain." I am now listening to the five different piano arrangements of the hymn I have on my ITunes library. The one I am currently listening to is a medley of this hymn and Beneath the Cross of Jesus. As I drove through Waldo, through Brookside, through the Plaza and home, my heart made a strange turning toward each of the people I saw as I drove. This is a gorgeous day and so many persons were out in their yards working, persons of all shapes and sizes walking in Loose Park, the guy with his Ipod earbuds walking down the hill onto the Plaza, the myriads of groups of mostly women with shopping bags from Pottery Barn and Betsey Johnson, and Barnes and Noble with a cup of Starbuck's in their hands. As my heart turned to these people, listening through the piano music to my remembrance of the words "bear patiently the cross of grief or pain" and leave it to God "to order and provide", I was overwhelmed with a sense of that each of these persons carry their own cross in some way or form. Some of their lives might be free of crisis, but none is truly free of pain, from remembrances of the past, and anticipation of what is to come. Some may be deeply aware of a particular loss of something or someone missing from their lives; others blissful in the fact that their lives are so much richer and full of meaning for their lives now instead as they were, but the "as they were" still is in them, but now they are most joyful because they were most lost.

Each of those persons have their own stories that I can not and will not ever know. But I do know a bit about the human condition and here is what I thought: "Be Still our Souls", be still and know that there is one that does order and provide. Being still in our world is counter cultural, to be still amongst the cacophony that invades us from the "fightings and fears, within without" as another hymn sings.

God led me into several transcendent minutes as I drove, reminding me that each person I saw was a unique and precious person, with their individual moments of happiness, moments of mundanity and unique highs and lows, with worries and hopes, with chaos and calm, all in need somehow. I pray for each of them now, knowing that the grace I was given in order to experience all of this this day, is the grace that is alive in each of these men and women, some already recognizing it, some not, and that out of the places of sadness, seeds may be being planted for that joy that comes in the morning, we know not how. Often we know not why, and then this hymn yearns to be sung, even and perhaps most profoundly when loss or grief or pain lives so very close.

Be still, my soul; the Lord is on thy side;

Bear patiently the cross of grief or pain;

Leave to thy God to order and provide;

In every change He faithful will remain.

Be still, my soul;

thy best, thy heavenly, Friend

Through thorny ways leads to a joyful end.

Be still, my soul; thy God doth undertake

To guide the future as He has the past.

Thy hope, thy confidence, let nothing shake;

All now mysterious shall be bright at last.

Be still, my soul;

the waves and winds still know

His voice who ruled them while He dwelt below.

Be still, my soul, though dearest friends depart

And all is darkened in the vale of tears;

Then shalt thou better know His love, His heart,

Who comes to soothe thy sorrows and thy fears.

Be still, my soul;

thy Jesus can repay

From His own fulness all He takes away.

Be still, my soul; the hour is hastening on

When we shall be forever with the Lord,

When disappointment, grief, and fear are gone,

Sorrow forgot, love's purest joys restored.

Be still, my soul;

when change and tears are past,

All safe and blessed we shall meet at last.

An Encounter of the Westport Kind

Just a few minutes ago, I was at Sun Fresh in Westport where I stood at the customer service desk waiting to check out a package of Starbuck's coffee and a gallon of 2% milk (after encountering my self-check out line's light blinking because the woman before me did not pay her bill completely). I gave my money to the Santa Claus-looking man who is always there standing behind the cs counter in his green shirt ready to give service to customers. Just at that moment, I heard a drunken man's voice (and experienced his breath) very close behind me saying "they stopped me but I gotta receipt, I really do," the "they being the security guards who have their own little stand by the doors there. The Santa Claus man said, "Okay Joe, I know you do-just wait a second" and Joe replied, "It's 'cause I'm gay, right?" to which I said, "Yeah, you and three quarters of the people in this store right now"---a tiny bit of an exaggeration. The SC man said with a laugh "That has nothing to do with it--wait here and I'll take care of it." The SC man and I continued with our transaction and I stepped back to get my wallet out of my purse and as I did, I stepped on Joe--on his foot actually--not realizing that he was quite that close. I apologized profusely and he said, "no really, sweetheart--that was pleasant" and I think he meant it. For the first time in the transaction I looked at Joe. I had seen him elsewhere in the store, and I saw that he had that look of someone who was living a hard life, but actually was very handsome--blue eyed, slight, curly haired, slight, he looked more like a college instructor than a thief. When he said the "pleasant" remark, that flustered me a bit. And then I asked SC man if I was through. He said yes, but Joe said very quickly, "O honey, please, never, never be through" to which I said,"Believe me honey, I am NOT through" and Joe said, "just make sure you never are." And I walked away cackling.

Living near Westport has its strangely transcendent moments.

Today has been busy and good. I had the pleasure of being at our new church start's launch service in Parkville--the name of our new church is Northland UMC. Good band, good preaching, good crowd. Then a fast trip to the district office, then back to Lawson for a three church cluster charge conference. Home and baked cookies to take to the four church charge conference at Faith in Grain Valley tonight. And home to clean up the kitchen mess and watch the 4th game in the World Series. And blog.

Twas nearly enough to distract me from the liturgical fact that today is All Saints. This evening as I drove to Faith, I remembered what day it is, and I remembered a story that I shared in a time of centering at the beginning of the conference.

I have written here several times about the post-Christmas winter of 1998, and I do not need to describe it again. Separation, a pending divorce, announcing it, my sister's death. I have been thinking a lot about those months lately. And I remembered and shared the following shared tonight.

It was my first Sunday back at Community UMC in Columbia after my sister's memorial service. I had been off two weeks, and it was time for me to return. There is something very therapeutic for pastors, in the midst of sadness or tragedy, to be able to have good work to do, and others to care for even in the midst of our own grief. The appointed Epistle lesson for that Sunday was First Corinthians 13---which describes the agape love of brothers and sisters in Christ. I felt as if I was really doing well emotionally throughout all of the service in terms of the the music, through the sermon, through the liturgy for Holy Communion. Then it came time to serve the congregation. We had a large communion rail that encircled the chancel, and the first group came forward to be served. I have always said, when I give the bread to those who come for communion "The body of Christ, broken for you." But that Sunday, the Sunday when I felt as if I had it under control despite my grief, when I bent down to serve the first of the congregation, the Troyer family, first Mike the dad, I simply could not speak. I could not remember the words I had said hundreds of times before. They would not come. So Mike, understanding what was happening, said them for me, "The body of Christ, broken for you, Susan" as I handed him the bread. That act of transcendent love was enough to bring me back to my role and my real knowledge that that beautiful body of Christ, broken for me, was also the beautiful body of Christ, called Community United Methodist Church, where as I continued to pastor and care and preach, would be the buoying, gently powerful presence of the real love of the faithful, which is not loud like a clanging symbol, nor does it come from our own skills of speaking like angels or doing great works of mercy. It is the gift that flows from the wounds of Christ on the cross. How beautiful is the body of Christ.