The Flags in the Sanctuary

Yesterday I met some new friends.
These four people, all from Korea, have come to the United States to pursue theological education. They have recently been introduced to my theological tribe, the Church of the Nazarene, and have decided to unite with us. They are mature, passionate, and gifted. I am looking forward to working with them and seeing how God will use them. But that is not why I am telling you about them.

Each of these four young people said something marvelous and eye-opening, and so relevant to what I am thinking and feeling these days that I need to ask you to think about it too. All four of them left Korea, and none of them plan to go back. Two plan to go to China as missionaries, and two plan to remain in the United States and work among diverse groups of Asians living here. As they were sharing the story of their call from God, each one made a prophetic statement that was the last thing I thought about last night, and the first thing I thought about this morning.

They each said, "In order to be a missionary, we must give up our culture for the culture of the kingdom of God. We gave up the culture of Korea, so that we could embrace kingdom culture." They each said it, and they said it with such honesty and transparency that it was clear they did not realize how revolutionary the statement was. There was no sense that they were disrespecting their own nationalistic and tribal culture. They were simply proclaiming the primacy of kingdom culture, and recognizing the need to place everything about themselves under the authority of Christ.

Now you may be thinking, "Mike, what's the big deal? They are missionaries. Of course they have to give up their own culture. That's what missionaries do."

Well, let me try to explain why I found it so radical, and why the 20 or so other pastors who sat around the table with me also found it so radical.

1. It was such a clear statement of priority. We all know how much of our personal identity is tied up in our culture. We are products and children of our culture. The conscious decision, and the verbalization of it, that we are giving up our culture is a straight forward testimony that we are new creations in Christ Jesus.

2. It was such a clear statement of initiative. Christianity, at its best, has always found a way to bring the teachings of Christ into a relationship with culture that both prophetically challenges and embraces every culture. When we are willing to say - "I set aside my culture, the culture of my birth, for the culture of my new birth" - we are then able to embrace and speak to and alongside every culture, not in judgment but in love and grace.

3. It was such a prophetic statement to the American church. These folks left their culture, not to embrace the culture of another country or tribe, but to embrace the culture of the kingdom of God. Yet it is so difficult for us as Americans to understand the difference between American culture and kingdom culture. We have such a difficult time placing our culture under the authority of Jesus and the kingdom. We are not able to bring our culture to God and give it up for the sake of the call.

So today, as I thought about my new friends, I walked into our church. At the front of our sanctuary there are two flags. On one side is an American flag, and on the other side is a flag that has been designed to represent the Christian church. Most of the folks who come into our sanctuary probably never see, much less ponder, the inherent tension in that symbolism.

For me today, the tension is palpable.

A Sense of Place

I think it was William Knoke who called this the "age of everything-everywhere." If that is an accurate description, then what do we do with what seems to be our hard-wired need for a sense of place?

I think about this a lot. For example, I wonder how closely my identity is tied to where I think of when I think of "home." I was born in Baltimore, and lived the first 18 years of my life in that area. My parents, and many of my other relatives still live there. But I stopped thinking of it as home a long time ago.

I went to college in the Boston area, and after grad school moved back there. I was married there, my kids were born there, and I lived 26 years of my adult life there. When people ask me where I'm from, I say New England. Yet no one from New England would consider me from there. (You need at least 3-4 generations to really fit in, at least according to New Englanders.) More importantly, when I go back there, I realize it is no longer home.

For the last almost 10 years I have lived outside Philadelphia. My wife is here, my kids come back here from time to time, and my work is here. Yet this is not home. I wonder if it will ever be home.

I believe we need places in our lives, yet it seems those places must be integrated,  not only with our relationships, but with our most intimate sense of self. Can we truly be ourselves - dare I use the word "grounded," if we don't belong to a specific place?

I suppose it is naive to expect that I could ever be as connected to a specific place as some other people seem to be. I know a family who just lost their farm, which had been in the family for generations. The grieving was intense, and it wasn't just about the finances. Some of their identity was gone. When you have always understood yourself as being connected to a place - and that place is gone - then who are you, really?

I wonder if some social scientist will look at the relationship between our sense of place and the sports teams we root for. I used to cheer for Baltimore teams - Orioles, Colts, Bullets. But then the Colts and Bullets left, and so did I. I began to cheer for Boston teams - Red Sox, Patriots, Celtics, Bruins. I wonder if I will ever become a fan of Philadelphia teams? Will that mean that I am home here? I know people who cheer for Boston teams, even though they only spent a few years in New England, and now live far away from Boston. What does that say about us?

Which brings me back to our "age of everything-everywhere." If my friendships are no longer tied to where I live, but are available to me anywhere I am via my computer screen and my social networks, that is a wonderful thing. But what does it say about my identity? What does it say about how important those relationships are to who I am, really?

And do I really need a group of people that I regularly see and touch and do life with? Is virtual community enough? Is there still a need for "church?"

If I don't have a sense of place - then who am I, really?

I Don't Curse

I am tragically uncool.

And I have recently discovered yet another way in which I am not hip.

I don’t curse. 

Now, before you consign me to the trash heap of Christians who cannot possibly reach a generation of folks who are looking for authenticity, relevance, and who are not interested in nice, neat, easy answers - and who find cursing a way to express their existential angst - let me explain why I don’t curse.

It has nothing to do with my faith.

Okay, yes it does. It has everything to do with my faith, but not for the reason you may think. It has to do with my faith because everything in my life is connected to my faith, or I want it to be. That, and when I first became a follower of Jesus, I was convicted by God to allow the Spirit to tame my tongue, and that involved cursing.

But the real reason why I don’t curse, and find myself uncomfortable with cursing among those who are called to lead God’s people, is for another reason. I was raised to believe that cursing was the language of sloppy, uneducated, immature people - and I wanted to grow out of that. I was taught that cursing was for those folks who lacked a strong grasp of the language, and simply couldn’t think of better ways to express themselves. And since communicating is not only what I do, but  how I serve God and people, and language is the tool to do it, I should do it well. And most times cursing just seems sloppy and immature. Sorry, but it does. And I was taught all this by a mother who had never heard of the “holiness” tradition. She was not teaching me legalistic religion, she was teaching me how to be an educated adult.

Later on, I received graduate education in psychology, and this education challenged the folk psychology that every feeling should be expressed, and that the need to say what you feel at all times was the sign of, you guessed it, an immature person.

With this history, I find myself choosing not to curse, and encouraging those who are my ministry colleagues to find better words to express their strong ideas, emotions, and discomfort at the pain of life. I understand why some folks disagree with me. I really do. Just don’t ask me to join you. And try not to put me in a box as someone who sees life and faith as a Hallmark card, because I am really working hard not to put you in a box - the box I was told is the place where folks who curse belong - the box of folks who simply don’t know any better.

And, in my attempt to just be a little cool, I have scruffy facial hair and black-rimmed glasses. 

Doesn’t that count for something?

STOP TALKING!

I really don’t care why the computer in the sound/video room at church keeps crashing. I just wish it would stop crashing in the middle of the service, or when I am trying late on Saturday night to finish up the PowerPoint for Sunday morning.

I have little interest in the science of acoustics, but I am tired of getting feedback from the monitors on the platform. 

I’m happy that some folks find the functioning of a furnace so fascinating. I just hope they understand why my eyes glaze over when I ask them if we can make the Sunday school rooms a little less cold and they start telling me the details of the heating system. 

It’s an occupational hazard. We assume that because we care enough about something to study it, and even become a bit of an expert, others will care about it too. Whether our field is cars or computers or audio or heating, we like to talk about it - and sometimes we talk more than we listen. We give answers to questions people aren’t asking.

Even if our field of expertise is religion.

I get paid to talk about faith, and the Bible, and Jesus, and the church. One of the tasks I have within our faith community is “theologian-in-residence,” and preaching and teaching are two of my favorite things to do. 

I talk.  A lot. 

And sometimes I forget to listen. 

These days I’m preaching through the Old Testament. In 21 weeks. The entire Old Testament. (Imagine Abraham, Isaac and Jacob, all in one week.) Our Sunday school classes and adult conversations and small groups are joining in and covering the same texts. After we are done we will spend 10 weeks going through the entire New Testament.

The entire Bible in 31 weeks.

So, in my concern to cover all the material, tell all the important stories, and make sure we see the big picture, it is easy for me to answer questions no one is asking - to focus on issues and controversies that are of interest only to me. 

The only way I can avoid this occupational hazard is to stop talking and start listening. 

I need to listen to what is going on in the lives of the folks who are listening to me. If I hope to make relevant this past Sunday’s text from 1 Kings 12-16 (Rehoboam, Jeroboam -  the northern and southern kingdom “bad kings” stories), then I cannot focus my attention on what the experts say about the history of Israel and Judah. I also have to listen to what is going on in southern Chester County, PA in 2012. And in order to do that, I have to stop talking and start listening.

Oh, one other thing. 

I think the same problem of talking and listening doesn’t only apply to pastors and computer geeks and sound system experts and and HVAC technicians. 

I think the problem of talking and listening also applies to parents.

What are you learning when you stop talking and start listening?

Reflections on an Evening at Occupy Boston

Note: The purpose of this blog is not political debate. I have no desire to argue the merits of the Occupy movement. I am attempting to look at the movement in the same way I attempt to look at everything else - in light of the teachings of Christ. Let’s talk about that.

I am not an expert on the Occupy movement. I am not an expert on economic theory or practice. I am a pastor, and it was with a pastor’s heart and mind that I spent several hours on the weekend after Thanksgiving at the site of Occupy Boston. My son Luke, who had visited the encampment several times, was my guide. What I am writing here is my first attempt at theological reflection of that experience. That it has taken me ten days in order to get to this point is indicative of how significant this experience was to me. I needed time to ruminate on all I saw, heard, and learned.

First, for those who have not been to an Occupy site, there are several things you need to know. While I was only at Occupy Boston, my understanding is that there are similarities to other sites.

* Folks are there for a variety of reasons. As one person who is supportive of the cause told me, “There are some people here just to camp out and smoke pot.” That did not surprise me. When I was involved with anti-Vietnam War protests, there were some there for similar reasons. And when I was involved in anti-abortion protests, I knew one young man who was there to meet women. 

* There is age and educational diversity at the Occupy sites. I saw young adults, middle-aged, senior adults, and folks who, due to their homeless situation, made guessing their age difficult. We heard folks who could barely put sentences together - some likely due to the above-mentioned consumption of marijuana, but also because of a lack of education. I also heard literate, reflective, nuanced commentary by highly educated people with considerable experience in academics and monetary policy. Of course, this is Boston, where I have known people with doctorates working behind lunch counters.

* Occupy is far greater than simply those at the encampment. Most of the people who are supportive of the movement are staying at home, going to work and school, and connecting  through social media and Occupy events. The size of this support will become more obvious as Occupy transitions from the encampments to rallies and other protest events.

* It is understandable that the Occupy movement has not translated well when interpreted through traditional media. Their practice of “horizontal democracy” means there is not a single voice, a leader to offer soundbites for TV. Into this vacuum the news media grabs whatever it can, such as the video of the college student who wants his loans forgiven, or the scenes of inappropriate violence when the camps have been forcibly moved by the authorities. This no more fully represents the totality of the Occupy movement than was Penn State University accurately represented by the students who protested the firing of Paterno, or sports fans well represented by violence after a championship, or all police officers represented by a few who have treated Occupy participants with too much force.

For me, there were several valuable insights gained from spending time at the encampment. 

It seems the one thing that all those present in the camp had in common was a sense of disenfranchisement. They feel disconnected from the political and economic powers that seem to control their lives. They believe that the opportunities they were told are available to Americans are, in reality, available to only a few.  They believe the teaching that we can trust in corporations and institutions to make life better is a lie. I heard a conversation concerning the relationship between big business and government. “Remember, corporations are only responsible to make money for share-holders, not to do what’s best for the country. That’s the government’s job. But the government is only doing what’s best for the corporations!” While there is certainly room for disagreement, that statement gives you a sense of the perspective of many involved with Occupy. They are angry with the large corporations, but they feel betrayed by the government.

When we were at Occupy Boston, we listened to a time of “open mic,” when anyone could come up and speak. There were some literate and thoughtful statements, some folks sharing their personal stories, and some comments that were barely coherent. 

I thought to myself - what if I went up and took my turn at the mic, and told them who I am and what I do? What if I told them that I want to pray for them? What if I told them that I care about them, and that my church cares about them? My sense was - I would be rejected out of hand. As I listened to the speakers, I came to the realization that the church, or at least how the folks there understand the church, is part of the problem. Many of those involved with the Occupy movement believe that the church has hypocritically spoken the language of love and then lived it out in ways that only reached a few. We have spoken out with boldness about the evil of some sins, while being silent and even supportive - in their minds - of other sins. We have declared some people, even and especially some within the encampment, to be the enemy of God and the church - due to sexual identity and political perspective. We have given up our prophetic role that was beautifully spoken during the civil rights movement (albeit by only a minority of churches) and have become simply a voting bloc within the political process. It was my sense, as I stood there listening to the voices of the Occupy campers, that in my role as a pastor - as a person connected to the church - I am the enemy. I am part of the problem.

But what about my other role - my more important role? What about my life as a simple follower of Jesus? I not only think Jesus would be accepted and welcomed at Occupy; I think it is where Jesus would choose to be.

Those of us familiar with the life of Christ know that Jesus found acceptance with those in his society who were disenfranchised. They responded to his love and teachings in ways that the power brokers and comfortable of his day did not. They did not fit in with those who claimed to be connected to God, yet they found grace and acceptance at the feet of the One who is God. And they enjoyed the moments when Jesus spoke out against the political, economic and religious leaders who relegated them to the trash heap of society. 

So - if Jesus would be accepted in this place, and I would not be accepted as a leader of the church, what is the problem? Is the problem with them? Or is the problem with me?

Laughter and Sadness on the Second Monday in October

Every year, on the second Monday in October, I laugh. It is the celebration of Thanksgiving in Canada.

This is why I laugh.

For many years I had the privilege of serving at a Christian college. It was truly a blessing. And one of the most interesting, humorous and exasperating aspects of that job was attending the monthly  meetings of the faculty. (If you have ever been in such meetings, you know exactly what I am talking about.) 

Every year, the faculty would discuss the academic calendar. The conversation would involve when semesters should begin, end, and when breaks should take place. Some faculty would pull out their calculators, making sure that classes on some days had the same number of classroom minutes as classes on other days. It was all taken very seriously  - except by some folks, like me, who had no real interest in the topic and could sit back and enjoy the show. The debate illustrated the old joke that “academic fights are so bloody, because the stakes are so small.” 

Inevitably, at some point in the conversation, someone would raise the problem of the proximity between Thanksgiving break and the end of the semester. There simply was not enough classroom time between the two. This would lead - every year - to one of my esteemed colleagues (a person I greatly loved and respected) standing to address the faculty. She would make an impassioned plea that the answer to this problem is obvious: move Thanksgiving to October. “By celebrating Thanksgiving at the same time as the Canadians, it would solve this problem.”  There it was! My single favorite statement of the year. My single favorite statement of over 20 years of attending faculty meetings. And I could not help but laugh.

I loved that statement because it so clearly communicated the perspective that the college was not in the real world. We should be able to move holidays.  It never occurred to my dear colleague that this would be inconvenient to students, their families, and to the families of all of her colleagues. It never occurred to her that students, while enjoying the break on the second Monday in October, would still want the break on the fourth Thursday in November. We should be able to tell these students and their families when to celebrate a holiday because, after all, we were in the business of telling students how to think and what they didn’t know but needed to know. Connection to the real world simply is not our responsibility as a true liberal arts college. 

To be fair, the college never tried to change Thanksgiving to October. However, that is only because of the absurdity of the suggestion. But that absurdity hid the truth of the premise - we really do believe that we are an entity unto ourselves. We have a perspective on life and truth, and it is the responsibility of students to conform. We build the boxes of academic life, and it is up to students to fit into them or be tossed aside. We are the elite, and we are the arbiters of admission into our world. The real world of the student - from which they come, and to which they will return - is not the concern of the academic institution because those who live in the academic world are not really connected to that world at all. 

This perspective doesn’t fit with the teachings of Jesus Christ. Even if a college, or any other institution, calls itself  “Christian,” if it does not have room for those who are different, and who are trying to figure out how to make a difference in the “real world,” then it is not following Christ. Christ called us to go into that world - to be salt and light. Christ called us to touch the least and the outcasts, even those who could not possibly understand the value of a liberal arts education. 

I still see the value in Christian higher education. I still love and support the college I served for all those years. And it still angers me that some students - smart, gifted students - are not valued in such places because they do not fit into the boxes created by those who have lost touch with the radical ways of thinking and being that it takes to show people the grace, peace and love of God in the real world.

And I still laugh on the second Monday of October. 

Monday Morning Hypocrite

I have been overcome this week by the difference between the way I live and the way I want to live.  I listen to stories of friends who have lost their homes due to flood waters, who have lost family members due to disease and war, who have lost love due to sin. I nod, I pray, I say words of comfort - as is befitting someone assigned to this role. I believe all the words I say.

Yet in my life, I am paralyzed by fear over lesser things. My mind is filled with questions and doubts: "Will we have enough? Are they okay? What if I fail? What is next?"

Everyday I watch those who do not make claims of great faith live lives that demonstrate great faith. And I am humbled. I watch those whose lives have given them an emotional kick in the stomach that would leave me broken and huddled in the corner of some dark room, and yet they get up and go on and pour their lives out for others.

I do not doubt the love of God, or my salvation, or my calling, although I understand why folks doubt those things. Instead, I live every day with a sense of nagging disappointment in myself. By this point I thought I would be further along on the journey. I thought the insecurities of my adolescence would be a distant memory by now.

I know that in one sense this is a spiritual issue. There is an Enemy who desires to distract me from the work I am called to do. And I know that if I would only spend less time thinking about myself, and more about the God who loves me, it would be better. I know that.

And I know that God uses broken people to reach broken people.

Lord, forgive me for trying to pretend that I am greater than I really am. Forgive me for twisting and turning and perverting the faith so that it seems okay to hide our true selves from those with whom we are called to live in community. Lord, forgive me for making it seem, in words and actions, that I am anything other than a man still in need of a savior.

Lord, forgive me, a sinner.