In the Name of the Refugees

A few years ago I was part of a large staff that afforded me a big, cushy office. I had lots of wall space for posters – Jesus Died to Take Away Your Sins, Not Your Minds – and the like.

Beyond the standard fare, I also had a reprint of a poster produced by the Diocese of Ohio from 1938. The poster depicts Mary, with the baby Jesus clutched in her arms, mounted atop a donkey. Joseph looks behind to see if he is being followed. It bears the phrase: “In the Name of These Refugees . . . Aid All Refugees: Through Interest – Friendship – Gifts.” This reprint came from Episcopal Migration Ministries and – while we may not use words like Refugee anymore – I love the sentiment. This is a time of year to treasure the vulnerability of God as the baby Jesus in our hearts.

These days, whenever I see a baby, I marvel. We were all once that size. We were all dependent upon someone to feed us and bathe us and change us and make sure we didn't suffocate or get sick or throw up too much. We were all completely dependent upon others for care and love. We were all that small. . . and through the Mystery of the Incarnation, so was God.

My mind returns to that poster originally printed in 1938: who would have been the Refugees who would have been aided through friendship, interest, and/or gifts in 1938? Who would have been vulnerable in 1938? The world was on the brink of destruction. Humanity was acting pretty far-from-human. As we break through the veil of Advent, we see that Christ comes to us – in the form of the vulnerable – once more.

Do I miss my big, cushy office? Some days, but on those days I like to think about that poster. Christ Jesus did his work in this world in an ordinary body, with ordinary people. God came to dwell with us in the most vulnerable way. When we encounter the vulnerable or when we ourselves are those vulnerable, we have the opportunity to see God, present in that relationship. What a gift to receive.

Merry Christmas.

This post was originally published on the Episcopal Church Foundation's Vital Practices Vital Posts blog on December 25, 2014. It has been reprinted here with permission.

What Am I Thankful For?

A few weeks ago Sarah Weedon, a senior from the School of Theology at Sewanee and the seminarian assigned to Southside Abbey, preached at our Friday evening worship.
By way of reminder, I will share a little of how our preaching works in our community – ­­ one that is two-thirds to three-quarters people who are in transitional housing – motels, cars, camps, abandoned buildings, streets, etc.

The preaching style at Southside Abbey begins by inviting conversation based upon a question or two. After Holy Scripture is proclaimed, the preacher asks a question and our worshipers break into small groups for discussion. We try to be intentional that these groups represent something of the diversity of the community – homeless people and millionaires, PhDs and people who are illiterate, many ethnicities, immigrants from Sudan, Guatemala, Russia, and even folks from the upper Midwest. 

When I preach, I try to be a part of as many of these small groups as possible. When we gather back together as a group, the homilist preaches something of a capstone homily, trying to integrate what he or she has heard with what he or she has prepared for the week – often jettisoning all of that hard work in favor of something someone in the community has shared. My all time favorite is the time an African American man shared this: “I'm a black, homeless, jobless man and I just talked about Jesus with a white, female zoo-keeper. Where else could this happen? That is church to me!” All of this takes place in the holy space as we eat dinner between the bread and wine of Holy Communion.

This particular week, Sarah invited us to reflect upon the things in our life we hold in tension. When she called us back together from our conversations, she asked people to share – as they felt called – with the wider community. That's when Chris nervously stood up. Chris is a big guy, whose hugs cause me to wonder if one of my ribs might snap. A blue teardrop tattoo on his cheek brands him as someone who has paid a debt. He had been a part of our community for only a few weeks when he shared – with shaking in his voice – the things he holds in tension:

“On the one hand, I'm trying to walk the good walk. I'm trying to be a good man. The kind of man that my grandmother would be proud of. I'm trying to follow Jesus and not do some of those bad things I have done in the past. On the other hand, I'm homeless and an ex-con. I spent twenty-five years in the pen. Not that I want to live that kind of life ever again or the kind of life that put me there, but . . . people have these expectations of me – of what kind of man I am – because I'm homeless and I've done time. But I want to be good. I want to do good.”

What can you say to that? What could a seminarian preach after that? Sarah was wiser than I would have been at that point in my career. She said she didn't know what else to say but “Amen.” “Amen” comes to us from our Jewish roots. It is a Hebrew word that means so be it. So be it. So be it, Chris. Keep trying. Keep holding those things in tension. Keep wanting to do and be good, following Jesus.

For me it was another in a seemingly endless (thanks be to God) series of moments where I am hit over the head with the reality that the Holy Spirit can speak through anyone. Anyone. That's what I am thankful for and I am thankful that occasionally the Holy Spirit even speaks through me. And I'm especially thankful that I get to share all of our adventures on the margins with you, the readers.

This post was originally published on the Episcopal Church Foundation's Vital Practices Vital Posts blog on November 26, 2014. It has been reprinted here with permission.

'Tis the Season

No. I don't mean Christmas, though area big box stores have been anticipating for a while now. As little Bobby's fingers are still stained with chocolate from his Halloween haul, out goes the Christmas candy, decorations, and general noelia. 

The season of which I write is the season of stewardship. One of the gifts that worshiping on Friday evenings gives me is the opportunity to fill in for area rectors on Sunday morning. This season of stewardship has seen me preach less on Jesus’ Sermon on the Mount and more on an absent rector’s “Sermon on the Amount.”

Southside Abbey does stewardship a little differently. We certainly do give people opportunities to give of the gifts they have been given, but we do not pass a plate at weekly worship. We are fueled financially on the high-octane mix of gracious partnerships with area Episcopal and Lutheran congregations, a handful of generous individuals and families, and the Rube Goldberg-esque Leopold grant writing machine. It makes for quite the combustible stewardship season that causes funding things like our upcoming food-truck/mobile-chapel/people-mover to be comically Holy Spirit-driven.

I don't write all of this as an appeal for checks to Southside Abbey, but as a confession. I have not asked our congregation - of which three-quarters are homeless or in transitional housing - to give financially. I have asked for gifts of time, energy, presence, skill, et cetera, but not for money. This oversight was brought to me by a homeless man, who happens to be one of the most faithful people I know.

One ordinary afternoon, he showed up at my house and handed me a money order for $250, made out to Southside Abbey. He doesn't have a house. He doesn't have a car. He may not know where his next meal is coming from, but he made a gift of such magnitude ($250 happens to be what we had spent on food that week). I confess now that I tried to stop him. I asked, "Are you sure? Wouldn't you rather spend this money on . . . " Before I could finish, he cut me off: "Don't take this away from me! Don't rob me of this opportunity to give my gift. I want to buy dinner for all my friends at church."

I guess I still have a lot to learn about faithfulness. Thanks be to God I have surrounded myself with the right teachers.

This post was originally published on the Episcopal Church Foundation's Vital Practices Vital Posts blog on November 13, 2014. It has been reprinted here with permission.

Decoding Dinner Church

I'd like to start this post with a joke.

Q: How many Episcopalians does it take to change a light bulb?
A: Change!?! Why should we change? We like the old light bulb. The Edison family donated it in 1886. See the wall plaque beneath the old bulb?

This little humor is to prepare you for the reality that we do the liturgy a little differently at Southside Abbey. Having said that, there is much about our liturgy that will be familiar, even to those who are change-phobic. We follow the four-fold shape of Gathering, Word, Table, and Sending, but we change it up just a little bit.

One of the great gifts we have been given as followers of Jesus is this sacred meal where Christ has promised to be present in, through, and with us. We celebrate this reality with bread, wine, and a meal, but in the Church we have so stylized that meal that many of our guests and sojourners can scarcely recognize the meal aspect of it.

At Southside Abbey, we are trying to reclaim that sense of a true meal in a very real way.

We begin with the Gathering time, which includes conversation, call to worship, collect, prayers of the people, confession, absolution, and the peace. Then we jump right in to the Table where we celebrate communion of the bread. Then . . . we hit the pause button.

During this liturgical pause, we go to the kitchen where everyone gets a plate of whatever we are having for dinner that evening. Sometimes our meal is potluck (that's Southern for “covered-dish”), sometimes it is wonderfully homemade by those in our community, and sometimes it is pizza, sandwiches, or soup. We feed lots of folks in lots of different ways. What might not be my favorite choice might deeply resonate with someone else and vice versa.

After returning to the table with our full plates, we hear the Holy Scriptures. Following the readings, the preacher asks a few questions that catalyze conversation in small groups. Then he or she preaches a capstone “homilette.” From there we are Sent into the world with post-communion prayer, announcements, Nunc Dimittis announcements, blessing, and dismissal.

Aside from the meal and resulting changes in the ministries of Word and Table, this doesn't seem so different, does it? Our Ordo is actually pretty similar to the form for Holy Eucharist from the BCP 1928 or the Penitential Order from the BCP 1979 – who would have thought that?

I know that “change” can be a four-letter word for many of us in the Church, but the Episcopal Church is one that has at our core the idea of local adaptation, overseen by our bishops. Southside Abbey is locally adapting in ways that are as inviting to those without other church homes as they are comfortable to Episcopalians.

As we approach the changes in liturgical season and church and calendar year, I invite you to think about this idea that my former rector, Donald Fishburne, shared with me . . . Think back on your life to everything you would call a blessing. Maybe this was falling in love, the birth of children or grandchildren, reconciliation of a broken relationship, or just anything you can think of that you would call a blessing, even a hard blessing like the death of a loved one who has suffered for far too long. Now, did not all of these blessings carry with them some aspect of change? I'm not saying that all changes are blessings, but . . . if we resist change, we also resist blessings.

I close by wishing, “Blessings,” upon those who read this post - especially if you have made it this far. If you are maybe interested in some change too, Southside Abbey freely shares all of the liturgies we develop on our website under the “Open Source” tab.

This post was originally published on the Episcopal Church Foundation's Vital Practices Vital Posts blog on October 30, 2014. It has been reprinted here with permission.

What I Did on My Summer Vacation

For those of you keeping track, I haven't posted in a while. I have been away on sabbatical. Sabbatical is dedicated time to embrace that seventh day of creation – resting in God's presence – to return recharged and ready for whatever the Holy Spirit has in store next.

Over-functioner that I was, I decided I would have the a superlative sabbatical. I booked leadership conferences at Bexley-Seabury, academic coursework at two universities, a thesis-writing-boot-camp, three full vacations, and several speaking engagements. Those who saw my sabbatical schedule would joke, “Great, but when are you going to rest?” Maybe I thought I didn't need it.

Sabbatical went well enough at the beginning. I got to see my parents and help my mom downsize. Then I got word of some family tragedies and had to return for a funeral. During the one week that I had nothing else booked, I decided to remodel our guest bathroom as a surprise for my wife who was visiting her family. She was “surprised” to return to a half-destroyed bathroom and a very sick husband.

I felt pretty bad pretty quick. I thought this was the standard summer sinus infection and would pass with the usual course of antibiotics. Nope.

To make a very long story short, I was admitted to the Cardiac Care Unit of our local hospital with pneumonia and an infection of the heart lining, where I stayed for four days on heavy-duty intravenous antibiotics. I went down hard. A cardiologist came in and started to talk about options. If the antibiotics didn't work, we would have to talk transplant. Wait. What!?! Heart transplant!?! I'm thirty-five and still in decent shape! This was not part of my sabbatical agenda. Then the cardiologist gave me fodder for preaching, pastoral care and blog posts I will use the rest of my career: “The heart has no defenses of its own.” Don't take this as medical advice, but the heart is covered in a sack that can fend of all kinds of nasty stuff. Once those defenses are beaten, there is nothing else to protect the heart.

God worked through the prayers of many and through my earnest bargaining and the antibiotics did their job. There was no need to talk any further about a transplant. Apparently I do still have work to do on the planet. But, I did have to stay in bed for essentially the next two months; slowly, slowly regaining my strength. I had all these plans for sabbatical and God said, “rest with me.” Guess who won?

I share all of this, because I learned a whole lot by going through a situation I would not wish on anyone. Even before this happened the sabbatical taught me that I was doing too much. Now I am doing less; doing what I can. Proceeding slowly. But this is not one of those “What could you give up?” kind of blog posts. Because here's what I really learned...

Something happened in that hospital. Yes, I was on some heavy drugs but that wasn't it. College wasn't so long ago: I remember what that feeling and that wasn't it at all. Sometime after my wife was asked to leave so I could rest, and my bishop and former rector had come to say prayer with me, I had another visitor. In the middle of the night, I began to feel the overwhelming presence of love in the room. I became aware that I was being bathed in the love of Christ. What else could it be? I experienced healing, like a miracle. I turned a corner that night physically, but the real transformation was spiritual. The whole thing made my very Episcopal self quite uncomfortable. Maybe that love of Jesus that we talk so much about had finally penetrated all the defenses that I had put up. In that moment, when my heart was most vulnerable, I knew the love of Jesus. My heart was defenseless to God's love.

This post was originally published on the Episcopal Church Foundation's Vital Practices Vital Posts blog on September 30, 2014. It has been reprinted here with permission.

Table Talk - The Way, the Truth, & the Life

The Good News of Jesus Christ according to the Evangelist, John (14:1-14):


Jesus said, "Do not let your hearts be troubled. Believe in God, believe also in me. In my Father's house there are many dwelling places. If it were not so, would I have told you that I go to prepare a place for you? And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come again and will take you to myself, so that where I am, there you may be also. And you know the way to the place where I am going." Thomas said to him, "Lord, we do not know where you are going. How can we know the way?" Jesus said to him, "I am the way, and the truth, and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me. If you know me, you will know my Father also. From now on you do know him and have seen him."

Philip said to him, "Lord, show us the Father, and we will be satisfied." Jesus said to him, "Have I been with you all this time, Philip, and you still do not know me? Whoever has seen me has seen the Father. How can you say, `Show us the Father'? Do you not believe that I am in the Father and the Father is in me? The words that I say to you I do not speak on my own; but the Father who dwells in me does his works. Believe me that I am in the Father and the Father is in me; but if you do not, then believe me because of the works themselves. Very truly, I tell you, the one who believes in me will also do the works that I do and, in fact, will do greater works than these, because I am going to the Father. I will do whatever you ask in my name, so that the Father may be glorified in the Son. If in my name you ask me for anything, I will do it."

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The Questions for Discussion over Dinner Were:

In your personal life, in this community, or in another community - 

where have you experienced Jesus as the Way?

Where have you experienced Jesus as the Truth?

Where have you experienced Jesus as Life?

One person answered that they experience Jesus as Life in the gathering of family. 

Another said that they hear Jesus as Truth in music. 

A few of our youngest members said that they experience Jesus as the Way in Church – which got an “amen” from some of the adults.

Concluding Reflection:

People these days often come across this verse in which Jesus says that he is the Way, the Truth, and the Life, and they tend to interpret it in one of two ways.  People who tend to hold more “conservative” views, on the one hand, will say that this verse means that Christianity is the only true religion – this verse means that Christianity is the only Way; Christianity is the only Truth; Christianity alone offers real Life.  And “liberals” on the other hand react to that saying, “No, no, you’ve got it wrong; that can’t be right.”  They say that this verse means that Christianity is a Way – a way to the Truth, a way to abundant Life.

A plague on both your houses! 

Both interpretations overlook one simple point.  In this verse, Jesus doesn’t say that Christianity is the Way, the Truth, and the Life.  Rather, Jesus says, “I am the Way, the Truth, and the Life.”  This verse isn’t talking about your “religion.”  It’s not talking about your personal beliefs.  It’s not talking about your opinions on spirituality. 

In this verse, Jesus is saying that when you encounter the Truth, you encounter him.  When you really encounter Truth – the kind of truth that draws you to it, that transforms the way you see, that convicts you of the life you’ve been living, and sets you free – you encounter Jesus.  And where Jesus is, there the Father is also.

Jesus is saying that when you participate in Life in all its abundance, you participate in him.  When you realize that your own life is not your property but a gracious gift from God freely given in Christ, then you realize that Jesus is as close to you as the air your breathe and the thoughts you think.  And when you live more fully into the gift of abundant Life, then you find that you’re participating in the very life of Jesus.  And where Jesus is, there the Father is also.

Jesus is not saying that Christianity is the Way.  Jesus is telling us that he is the Way.  He is the Way because he and the Father are one.  He is the Way because he is the love of God made manifest in a person.  He is the Way because we participate in his life when we live into the gift of abundant life God has graciously given to us.  He is the Way because we encounter him whenever we encounter the Truth.  He is the Way because he is the Father’s way of showing us how much he loves and cares for us.  

 

In Christ the Bottom Holds

This is the week that Christ dies for us, which can obscure the reality that Jesus lives for us. This life is made holy by Jesus' presence. Through Christ, God has sung songs, danced at weddings, wept at a friend's grave, been put on trial, and prayed for deliverance. Through Christ, God knows the cool wetness of rivers like the Jordan and the warmth of his mother's loving embrace.

This Holy Week, through Christ, God knows what it is to be betrayed, abandoned, arrested, imprisoned, beaten, and what it is to suffer and be murdered. Christ is there with us, sharing our joys and sorrows along with us and nothing is too great for Christ's shoulders to bear, because these shoulders have already borne the Sin of the world. Christ is with us in our highs, lows, and every place in between.

I don't know where the bottom is for you. Maybe early in your life, when your father died unexpectedly. Maybe yet to come, losing a battle to cancer. Maybe a terrible divorce, a failure of nerve, or betrayal of a friend. Maybe a life of extended hardships and brokenness, never being able to make things better. I don't know where the bottom is for you, but I know this: Christ is there. In pain, in sorrow, in loss, in betrayal, and even in death: Christ is there. Even at the bottom, Christ is there redeeming the seemingly irredeemable and reconciling the seemingly irreconcilable.

In these posts, I usually tell stories about Southside Abbey. Today I share someone else's story. Time, geography, and Dean Trotter's great-niece have given me permission to share it.

Jess Trotter was Dean of the Virginia Seminary in the 1950s & 1960s, beloved by students and faculty. He, his wife and their teenage son lived in a house on the Seminary grounds, near the chapel, where Dean Trotter was always present at “Good Ol' Morning Prayer.”

Battling depression, the Trotters' son succumbed to the terminal symptom of that disease and took his own life in the house so near the seminary chapel. For days following, Dean Trotter came to chapel services and said nothing. Days turned into weeks. He was present for chapel services, and still he said nothing – participating in the service as much as his heart would allow – hearing the healing words, even if unable to utter them. Dean Trotter lost weight and his health declined.

Weeks turned into months and still no words from Dean Trotter. One day at the end of Good Ol' Morning Prayer, Dean Trotter stood up, climbed the steps into the pulpit and addressed his congregation. The chapel knew sheer silence as he spoke . . .

“I have seen the bottom and Christ is there and in Christ the bottom holds.”

I don't know where you bottom is – maybe early in your life; maybe yet to come; or maybe right now – know that Christ has been there, is there now, and will be there, making even the depths of our lives holy with his very presence. This Holy Week we see the bottom and we are not surprised to find that Christ is there and in Christ the bottom holds.

This post was originally published on the Episcopal Church Foundation'sVital Practices Vital Posts blog on April 16, 2014. It has been reprinted here with permission.

Servant Ministry II

My previous post on servant ministry generated some discussion on Facebook. Thanks for that! Maybe we can go a little deeper on the topic of servant ministry.

First, I would concede that “servant ministry” and “ministry” are probably just synonyms. I like to use the phrase “servant ministry” because it keeps me honest. By intentionally using the word “servant,” I can keep that aspect of ministry always in my mind.

Second, I was asked to give examples of servant ministers. First and foremost, Jesus is an example of a servant minister who people followed. Often Jesus' ministry leads Jesus to give something of himself away. Sometimes Jesus gives himself away figuratively, as he does when he honors those society deems least. Sometimes Jesus gives himself away more literally, as he does when he heals. Sometimes Jesus gives himself away quite literally, as he does on the cross or when he says to his disciples, “Take, eat. This is my body.” Even in this eucharistic action, Jesus is serving.

Beyond Jesus, any servant-ministers I could tell you about would be tied to our context at Southside Abbey. The activities to which the Spirit calls us give able opportunity for servant ministry. Following the last church year, we have had:

• Advent: parade-float-decorators, candy-makers, baggie-stuffers, carol-singers, cider-makers, treat-suppliers, Advent-spiral-arrangers, compline-prayers, community-collaborators, partnership-makers

• Christmas: Lutheran-liasons, present-wrappers, omelette-makers, Christmas-storytellers, basketball-pumpers, cookie-bakers, food-sharers

• Epiphany: Pickle-picklers, pickle-sharers, neighborhood-walkers, theology-on-tube[television]-discussers, sunday-supperer

• Lent: Spanish-speakers, soup-crafters, soup-sharers, bible-studiers, yard-salers, shoe-drivers, relationship-builders

• Holy Week: palm-weavers, vow-renewers, confirmands, shoe-deliverers, sock-wranglers, online-vigil-keepers

• Easter: lamb-roasters, jubilee-bag-stuffers

• Pentecost: tongues-of-fire-chili-cookers, chili-tasters, chili-judgers, neighborhood-sharers, motel-bridge-builders

• Ordinary Time: extraOrdinary-jam-makers, parish-bridge-builders, neighborhood-cleaners, apartment-painters, road-show-music-makers, breakfast-coordinators, book-studiers, language-instituters, Spanish-speakers, Arabic-speakers, motel-birthday-partiers, Oktoberfesters, pub-theologizers, Education-for-Ministriers

And the list could go on and on – as it could in many places – not just ours. If the Church can provide space for people to serve well, there is room for everyone: whatever their gifts, passions, or abilities. I would never have dreamed up that we would have or need pickle-picklers (or that I would ask people to pickle pickles with me), but because that is where we were called, that is where we engaged in servant ministry . . .

But that is our context. Yours is probably going to look different. Whatever the context, servant ministers are people who do what they do not for accolades, but because Jesus asks them to. And Jesus doesn't just ask us to serve, he shows us how. Servant ministers lead by example, by serving. Jesus bids us follow him in the same way. We, as that Body of Christ that is so freely given away, are called to give ourselves away too.

This post was originally published on the Episcopal Church Foundation's Vital Practices Vital Posts blog on February 19, 2014. It has been reprinted here with permission.

Valentine's Day Dinner

From this week's Newsletter:

Beloved Community,

Our worship this Friday happens to fall on Valentine’s Day – also known as the Feast of St Valentine. 

So, who was St Valentine? 

Well, the short answer is, we don’t really know.  Sure – there are a few facts that have made their way down to us through the centuries.  Valentine was a priest . . . or a bishop (or there was a priest named Valentine and a bishop named Valentine whose stories got combined).  And he probably lived in the in 3^rd or 4^th Century.  And he was martyred.  But that’s all that history preserves about the mysterious saint.

Still, the story of a human life yearns to be told, and so St Valentine’s life grew in the telling, becoming legend.  Especially told and retold is the story of that part of a martyr’s life leading up to their death, which is called their passion – (from the Latin word for suffering).  St Valentine’s passion includes the legend of his friendship with his jailor’s daughter, a friendship that led to her conversion to the way of Jesus.  And according to the legend, the condemned priest signed his final note to his friend as “Your Valentine.”

Now, I’m not sure what all of that has to do with flowers, chocolates, and secret admirers, but as Bob likes to say, “What better way to memorialize the life of a celibate priest than to celebrate romantic love?” 

So, definitely make Valentine’s Day plans, definitely take your special-someone out this Friday evening . . . but start the night off with Southside Abbey dinner, prayer, and fellowship first.  It’s what St Valentine would have done.  And what can be more romantic than that?

The wrong kind of Shoes.....

Jim told me that’s Neil’s shoes were tattered and full of holes. To be honest, I was embarrassed that I didn’t notice myself. It’s winter and raining a lot. How could I not notice? A few days later we went to see Neil with a pair of new shoes.

read the rest here!

Servant Ministry

In a world where freedom is often touted as the ultimate ideal, as Christians, we come before that same world to serve in the name of Jesus. That's right, we are servants; not terribly glamorous, is it?

To be brutally honest, servant ministry is a tough sell to our consumerist culture. Nevertheless, it’s been something I’ve been spending a lot of time with in light of recent lectionary readings: Peter, Andrew, James, and John leave everything to follow Jesus. They freely leave their family, their stuff, and even their freedom, to serve. What a friend and model for servant ministry we have in Jesus! Notice how often Jesus tries to keep the attention on those he is serving and off of himself.

When I reflect on servant ministry, shadows of my past can creep in. I used to make my living (such as it was) playing the string and electric bass. Why in the world might I mention this fact? Well, here is the secret you don't know about most of the music you love: it is led by the bass (or whatever instrument functioning in the bass role). The bass is the harmonic time-keeper, responsible for outlining the chord-changes and holding a tempo. And exactly how many bass-players can you name? Probably not too many. Bass-players are servant leaders. The do the heavy lifting and get little of the credit.

If there is a match to freedom as an ideal in our world, it is celebrity. Too often the call of celebrity can overshadow our call to serve. But . . . we are called to serve, and moreover, we often serve in anonymity. The community following Jesus is just that, a community. Our true leaders act like servants and they only do so through the support of the community.

As one who has a platform such as this blog to reach servant leaders who may be toiling in obscurity, I want to take this opportunity to say thanks. So, thanks. Thank you for all that you do. Thank you for freely choosing a life of servitude. You may not hear it enough, but the Church would not be the Church without you. Your work does not go unnoticed and your work is important.

Now might be an excellent time for you to grab one of your favorite records (in my case, Herbie Hancock's Flood, featuring Paul Jackson on the bass), listen for the bass, and know that in that pulsating undercurrent of rhythm and harmony you are right there, represented. You go, servant leader! Know that you are the one making everyone dance.

This post was originally published on the Episcopal Church Foundation's Vital Practices Vital Posts blog, on February 5, 2014. It has been reprinted here with permission.

What is Table Talk, Anyway?

I would not have preachers torment their hearers, and detain them with long and tedious preaching, for the delight of hearing vanishes therewith, and the preachers hurt themselves.

-Martin Luther

At one of my first Friday evenings with Southside Abbey last July, I overheard a conversation between a Friday regular and a gentleman from the neighborhood who was joining us for worship and dinner for the very first time.  After the initial introductions and welcoming sentiments, the SA regular described our worship and our work and our relationships in the community.

            “Well, I’m looking for a church to join,” the gentleman said.

            “Every Friday evening,” she explained, “we gather here at the hArt Gallery around 6:11 for fellowship and prayer and dinner.”

            “So, this is a church?”

            “Yeah – we’re a worshiping community.”

            “Like a real church . . . with preaching?”

For this gentleman, a mark of a real worshiping community is preaching.  And he wasn’t wrong about that.  The proclamation of the good news about Jesus and his peaceable kingdom has always been present when and where followers of Jesus have gathered for worship, fellowship, and a shared meal.  But this proclamation – sometimes called preaching – has taken as many different forms as the worship and fellowship of the many different communities of Jesus followers. 

In some worshiping communities, the preaching is a forty-five minute sermon delivered by the pastor as the central piece of the worship. 

In some worshiping communities, the preaching is a ten-to-twelve minute homily that is more of a meditative reflection as only one part of the first half of the worship.

In our worshiping community at Southside Abbey, the preaching is a little different than in other worshiping communities . . . .

One of the distinguishing marks of our worship is that we look to the Holy Spirit’s movement among each and every one of us gathered in leading our common prayers.  I call this the one-and-all principle of worship.  The Spirit may and does call on anyone gathered to lead the different prayers of common worship . . . or on all gathered to pray together.  So also, we try to remain open to the Spirit in our proclamation by applying the one-and-all principle to our preaching at Southside Abbey.  Therefore, we ask everyone gathered, as we eat our common meal (nestled within the prayers of our worship), to reflect on the Good News in conversation with one another.  We believe that it is in the relationships we cultivate and in the conversations we share that we hear what the Spirit is saying to us through each other’s words and lives.

Because our preaching takes the form of discussions around the dinner table – (usually wrapped up with a short summation of the themes uncovered through our conversation) – we have taken to calling it “table talk.”  History buffs - especially church history buffs - might recognize this name that we’ve affectionately given to the preaching at Southside Abbey.  The sixteenth-century Jesus follower and church reformer, Martin Luther was known for his lively discussions at the dinner table in his home.  Students, travelers, and other guests in his home often jotted down Luther’s conversations and witticisms, and these notes were eventually collected after his death and published as Table Talk.  Luther’s guests felt the need to take note of his words because they heard the proclamation of the good news of Jesus and his peaceable kingdom in Luther’s dinner table discussions.  Similarly, because we at Southside Abbey hear the proclamation of the good news of Jesus and his peaceable kingdom in our own preaching as one-and-all discussion at the dinner table of our Friday evening worship, we are now noting, collecting, and posting those conversations as our own Table Talk.  Like a real church . . . with preaching.       

Miracles

I love my family. I love the church. I love my job. I love my friends. Lately I have really been loving the Holy Spirit's capacity to surprise me in the most wonderful ways. I use the word “surprise” as that is what it is to me every time. You would think I might have learned something. You would think I might get a clue. I am a little like the children who are “surprised” every night at bath- or bedtime. Our community recently had a great surprise.

Like many, I had rationalized away miracles. Miracles are something that happen over time and with the gift of time and experience we can see the mending of a broken relationship or the healing of an illness as the miracles that they are, and they are, but . . . Big, immediate miracles were something that happened mostly during the time of Jesus. That is what I thought just a few weeks ago. Then it happened . . . surprise!

About seven years ago, Suzanne lost her only child, Brandon. Brandon and I were born in the same year, so I continue to think of him as young. He had Type I Diabetes and didn't take the best care of himself. One horrific day he didn't return Suzanne's phone calls, so she went over to his apartment and found him, collapsed on the floor. Brandon died . . . and with him many of Suzanne's dreams. She would never again get to share a meal or a conversation with her son. Suzanne would never get to experience the joy of watching Brandon have a family of his own. She would never be a grandmother. She would never see her son again. She would never hear his laugh.

But the Holy Spirit couldn't leave it at that. On a crisp morning two weeks ago, Suzanne received a message on facebook that began, “you don't know me, but I used to date your son, Brandon.” She continued reading to find that Brandon had fathered a child with this young lady and Suzanne was now the grandmother of an eleven-year-old-boy. Surprise! Suzanne has gotten together with the boy and in him she is able to see something of her son again. She has heard his laugh that reminded her so much of Brandon's. She is getting to know the immense joy of being a grandmother. Can you imagine how much love this child will receive? We have been calling it a miracle, because we don't have any other words for it.

These things happen. They really do. The Season of Epiphany is a season when we celebrate having our eyes opened to the presence of God in our midst. Where is God performing miracles in your community? What surprises does the Holy Spirit have in store for you?


This blog post was originally published on the Episcopal Church Foundation's Vital Practices Vital Posts blog, on January 22, 2013. It has been reprinted here with permission.

Table Talk - Surprised by God

The Good News of Jesus Christ according to the evangelist John, chapter 1, verses 29 to 42.

John saw Jesus coming toward him and declared, "Here is the Lamb of God who takes away the sin of the world! This is he of whom I said, `After me comes a man who ranks ahead of me because he was before me.' I myself did not know him; but I came baptizing with water for this reason, that he might be revealed to Israel." And John testified, "I saw the Spirit descending from heaven like a dove, and it remained on him. I myself did not know him, but the one who sent me to baptize with water said to me, `He on whom you see the Spirit descend and remain is the one who baptizes with the Holy Spirit.' And I myself have seen and have testified that this is the Son of God."

The next day John again was standing with two of his disciples, and as he watched Jesus walk by, he exclaimed, "Look, here is the Lamb of God!" The two disciples heard him say this, and they followed Jesus. When Jesus turned and saw them following, he said to them, "What are you looking for?" They said to him, "Rabbi" (which translated means Teacher), "where are you staying?" He said to them, "Come and see." They came and saw where he was staying, and they remained with him that day. It was about four o'clock in the afternoon. One of the two who heard John speak and followed him was Andrew, Simon Peter's brother. He first found his brother Simon and said to him, "We have found the Messiah" (which is translated Anointed). He brought Simon to Jesus, who looked at him and said, "You are Simon son of John. You are to be called Cephas" (which is translated Peter).

The discussion over dinner reflected on these questions:

1.  How has God surprised you?

2.  How is God surprising you now?

Sunday Supper, Prayer, Theology-on-Tube

Bob wrapped up the conversation with these thoughts:

The overarching theme that I got from what I heard [in the discussions around the table] is God’s ability to surprise.  So many of us are locked into – or feel that we’re locked into – this schedule of ‘this is what I have to do today’ and ‘I have to get this next thing done because of this other thing.’  My eyes were really open to this at Thanksgiving.  [Lisa and I] had eleven guys from Sudan sharing Thanksgiving with us, and one of them said to me, “You Americans, all you do is work, eat, and sleep.”  Work, eat, sleep.  

Work.  

         Eat. 

              Sleep . . . .  

                               And I thought, wait - what else is there?  

I was surprised that he saw that so clearly . . . and reflected that back to me.  We can get locked into that, can’t we?  Work, eat, sleep.  But there’s really so much more to this life.  

And if we just have the eyes to see it, God has the capacity and the ability [to surprise us], and he’s surprising us all the time – 

all of the time.

Even if we have an expectation and things don’t go well or the way we expected, God has the ability to surprise us.  And God often surprises us in way that our expectations are blown away.  We had a great gathering last Sunday evening for our first Sunday supper, prayer, and theology-on-tube dry run.  And I had expected that we’d have a few folks and it would go well, but we had whole lot of folks and it went incredibly well.  The discussion was really deep and wonderful.  What a surprise!  Even though we were expecting good, it was great. 

So the question I think I’ll leave you with to ponder as we leave this place is, where might you be surprised?  If you’re feeling sort of locked into that schedule of work-eat-sleep, work-eat-sleep, where are some places for to pick your head up, open your eyes, and be open to those surprises – to God’s surprises?  This is the season of Epiphany, so where might you have an epiphany – or, as the Greeks say, a theophany?  Where is God opening your eyes in this season of Epiphany?     

Table Talk - The Baptism of Jesus

The Good News of Jesus Christ according to the evangelist Matthew, chapter 3, verses 13 to 17:

Jesus came from Galilee to John at the Jordan, to be baptized by him. John would have prevented him, saying, "I need to be baptized by you, and do you come to me?" But Jesus answered him, "Let it be so now; for it is proper for us in this way to fulfill all righteousness." Then he consented. And when Jesus had been baptized, just as he came up from the water, suddenly the heavens were opened to him and he saw the Spirit of God descending like a dove and alighting on him. And a voice from heaven said, "This is my Son, the Beloved, with whom I am well pleased."

The discussion over dinner reflected on these questions:

1.  Why did Jesus go to John the baptizer at the Jordan River to be baptized?

2.  By asking John to baptize him, Jesus overturned John’s expectations for him.  What expectations do we have for Jesus, and how has he overturned them?

When Jesus, and folks from Galilee, Judea, and all the region along the Jordan made their way out to the river, they weren’t making the pilgrimage to take a ritual bath or have a spiritual pool party with John the baptizer.  John was calling God’s chosen people, Israel, back into the wilderness – the wilderness that formed them over forty-years of wandering after God raised them from slavery in Egypt.  And then John was sending them back across the Jordan River – just as their forefathers had crossed the Jordan River after their wilderness wandering – back into the Promised Land.  Back to Judea and Galilee.  Back to their homes and their day-to-day lives.  But sent back different – now sent back prepared.  By leading God’s chosen people through the baptismal waters of the River Jordan as an embodied retelling of their formative, foundational story as a Covenant people, John the baptizer was preparing them to recognize God’s coming Kingdom – a kingdom embodied in the Jewish peasant from Nazareth, Jesus.  John was preparing them to recognize Jesus as the Kingdom come, as the Christ, the messiah, the anointed.

You see, John the baptizer had been especially set aside for the task of recognizing the Christ.  The evangelist Luke tells the story of when Jesus’ mother, Mary, early in her pregnancy, visited her cousin, Elizabeth, who was pregnant with John.  And Elizabeth said that as soon as Mary approached and greeted her, her unborn baby leapt for joy.  This is because John had been set apart by the grace of God to proclaim and recognize the coming of God’s Kingdom in the person of Jesus Christ.  So, when Jesus finally came out to John at the River Jordan, John recognized him right away.  So, also, each of us who have passed through the baptismal waters, whether we did so as infants or adults, have been prepared to recognize the coming of God’s Kingdom in Jesus of Nazareth.  This is because baptism is a gift from God and not a work of our own, individual faith.  By baptism, God’s grace begins to work within us to prepare us to see and recognize Christ and his kingdom – in the person in need; in a meal shared; in the helping hand of a friend; in the still small voice within that assures us that though it appears that violence, sin, and death still reign, the truth is that peace, justice, and resurrection are far more real and abiding.  By God’s grace we have been prepared, through the waters of baptism, to recognize a Christ who overturns expectations – John’s expectation that Jesus should baptize him, the word’s expectation that in the end power must be violent, and our own fearful expectation that death is the final word.