You Pastor? You Pastor!

Several nights ago, I was startled by a knock at the door. While we are used to a steady stream of visitors at our house, this knock was startling as it came at nearly one o'clock in the morning. As I drew back the curtain to see my visitor, I knew who it would be. Sure enough, it was him.

I met him two days earlier when a well-spoken, well-meaning, over-churched neighbor brought him to my door. This neighbor had encountered the man on our diverse street and engaged him in conversation. In the fifty or so words of English he knows, the man – I can't use his name – told my neighbor that he had been brought to this country from Darfur, Sudan. He told my neighbor that Muslims had killed his whole family and that Christians brought him here and because of this . . . he wanted to become a Christian. My neighbor, well spoken and well meaning as he is, is done with just about all things Church (though he did make an appearance at last year's Easter Brunch and Lamb-B-Q), so he brought the man to me.

At the time, we talked briefly and I told him I would follow up with an Episcopal priest in our area who speaks Arabic. I’d be in touch.

It was one o'clock in the morning and he was at my door! I invited him in. What else could I do? Using the few English words he knew, the man explained to me that I had to come to his house right then. I was reassured that there was no emergency, but he insisted I had to come or he would never come to my house again. I don't respond well to ultimatums – my contrarian nature prevents that – but knowing what a huge deal hospitality is in his culture, I made an exception. What really got me moving what when the man said, “You pastor? You pastor!” He reminded me – as his language would allow – if I am a pastor, then I had better act like it.

I know. All the self-care-proponents just gasped. I know. Thankfully, I live in a small intentional community and I was able to take my brother in Christ and Southside Abbey's Theologian-in-Residence, Nik Forti, with me. We approached the man's house, with a gold plastic Christmas wreath on the door. When we entered, the decorations continued with festive teddy bears, flowers, and, displayed in a place of prominence, an American flag. It was surreal to think about this man - who had lived through unimaginable violence - decorating his apartment with wreaths, flowers, and bears. Oh my.

The man welcomed us in and commanded us: “Sit down!” This may be a cultural thing, but he seems to shout everything he says. He disappeared into the kitchen, returning with glasses and a tray full of Fanta, guava nectar, and some sort of cola with Spanish writing on the side. I could feel my blood sugar rising, but again, there was that cultural thing of accepting hospitality.

As the man returned to the kitchen, Nik and I began to drink the offered beverages. The place reeked of cigarette smoke. When the man re-entered the room, he was bearing bowls and plates of incredibly good smelling food. It was starting not to matter that it was nearly two o'clock in the morning.

He disappeared again, this time into a different room. When he emerged, another man, who he introduced as his brother, was with him. Wait!?! Didn't he tell my neighbor that his whole family was killed back in Sudan? That is what he said, because that is what he thought until that evening, when his brother just showed up at his house. That's when it hit me: This was a welcome home party for a brother who was thought dead. The man didn't have anyone else to invite. Nik and I were the guests dragged in off the street for the celebratory banquet. Suddenly, the hour didn't matter, the cigarette smoke didn't matter, my blood sugar didn't matter. What else could we do but keep the feast?

In the days since that visit and that realization, I have been haunted by the man's words, “You pastor? You pastor!” All of us are called to care for one another, right? Through our baptismal covenant, aren't we called to pastor to one another? Then let's pastor!

This blog post was originally posted on the Episcopal Church Foundation's Vital Practices Vital Posts blog on December 11, 2013, and is reprinted here with permission.

Thanksgiving Means Giving-Thanks!

My wife is a band director at a public middle school. A few years ago the principal of the school led the teachers through a process of how to apologize (loosely based upon the process outlined by Randy Pausch). This way students can buy-in to why they are apologizing and take steps toward reconciliation. The process is three-fold. First, say and mean the words, “I am sorry.” Next, say and mean the words, “I take full responsibility.” Finally, ask and mean the question, “How can I make it up to you?”

These words might yield thoughtful introspection on the nature of contrition, confession, and penance. For the purposes of this piece, I wish to jettison the meaning of the words in favor of the process – say how you feel, acknowledge the imbalance in the situation, take action (or at least offer to take action) – as it relates to thanksgiving.

Many of those who give of their time to the Church toil in thankless positions. Who remembers the flower arrangers? Who honors the acolytes? Who heaps accolades on the church secretary? What about office volunteers? Or sextons? Money counters? The altar guild? Lay ministers of nearly every description? Who says, “thank you” to any of these people? Often these ministers are addressed only when there is a problem and then not always in the most helpful ways.

This is a season when the culture gives lip-service to being thankful, but part of thanksgiving means actually giving thanks. Perhaps the Church could model that according to the formula above and we could start with those who give so much of themselves to the Church. So, here's the challenge . . .

1. Say how you feel. 
2. Acknowledge the imbalance in the situation. 
3. Take action (or at least offer to take action). 

A potential exchange might look something like this: 

1. I appreciate you and all that you do for our parish. 
2. This place would not be the same without your ministries here. 
3. What can I do for you to help you in these ministries?

Try it. Try going deeper in this way. Live into the cultural season of thanksgiving, returning to the eucharistic roots of the holiday. What better time could there be?

This blog post was originally posted on the Episcopal Church Foundation's Vital Practices Vital Posts Blog on November 27, 2013, and is reprinted with permission.

The Season of the Saints

Photo by Kim Bodenhamer Smith

Three Fridays ago, we – as a worshiping community – celebrated All Saints' Day.  I say that we celebrated All Saints' Day that Friday, November 1, but if you were with us, you probably didn’t notice much that was different than any other Friday as Southside Abbey.  We celebrated in the way we always celebrate – by gather in fellowship and prayer around a meal of Thanksgiving, and with a reading and discussion of scripture.  But, then again, perhaps you did notice a few of the little things that made that Friday different from the ones that had come before.

On that Friday three weeks ago, we sang a new song as the consecrated bread and (nonalcoholic) wine were passed before and after the meal, respectively.  We sang that old, gospel hymn, “When the Saints Go Marching In.”  And more than that, our liturgy was different.  Now, liturgy is church-word that comes from the Greek meaning “work of the people,” and it refers to that good work God has given us to do – the praise and worship of Him, the celebration of the grace and blessings he gives us through Jesus, and the prayers by which our restless desires and common toils find rest in Him.  At Southside Abbey, we often have much of our liturgy scripted out, and that script changed that All Saints' Day.

Our liturgy for the Lord’s Supper from that Friday on through the following three Fridays, that is to today, has been based on a combination of the two most ancient Eucharistic (“Thanksgiving”) prayers of the Church.  The most ancient form is recounted by St Paul in a letter to the Church in Corinth (I Cor 11:23-25), from which we get the Words of Institution.  The rest of our prayer has come from combining the two Eucharistic rites found in the Didache – a first or early, second century manual of instruction for following Jesus and common prayer.

This Friday evening we’ll continue to use this liturgy as we celebrate another important day in the Church’s liturgical calendar – the Feast of Christ the King.  In celebrating with the same song and liturgy from All Saints Day to the Feast of Christ the King is our way of acknowledging that this period of time in the Church’s calendar is of a piece.  We remember the saints – that cloud of witnesses who have come before us and been raised to the resurrected life – because they pledged their ultimate allegiance to Jesus Christ rather than to a nation or a flag or an ideology or the pursuit of wealth, power, and fame.

It's All Real! Resurrection is All Around Us!

Driving home from a meeting of church professionals last week, I was pretty down. I don't know how common this knowledge is, but a fair number who serve the church are pretty down, pessimistic, or otherwise worn out. This assembly was no exception. It was full of “can'ts,” “nos,” and “that's impossibles.” As church professionals, isn't that our business? What is resurrection if not a “that's possible,” a “can,” or a “yes?”

I processed my feelings about this meeting with a friend during the hour-long drive home. He could tell that I was on that same negative trajectory that I had just lamented seeing in others. Rather than call me on it, he let me vent. I dropped him off and headed to my next meeting: Holy Communion. We have a saying in East Tennessee: “God knows how to call a meeting.” Is that ever true.

Later, on the ride home from the feasting on God's Word and at God's Table, I wasn't finished processing. I wasn't finished venting. I turned to my common conversational partner, God. What started as more complaining turned a corner as I turned a corner, pulling the truck into the neighborhood where I live and serve . . .

I was overwhelmed with peace and joy. I saw the motel where Southside Abbey celebrated our first birthday. I saw the chicken processing plant that employs hundreds in our neighborhood. I saw children playing basketball in the street. That's when tears began to stream down my face. At the same time I began to laugh. Then I heard myself say out loud – in words that could only have been the Holy Spirit's – “It's all real. Resurrection is everywhere.”

 That's when I knew I was snared. The laughing continued. I felt like I was in on the joke. Submitting, I got out of the truck and started to walk along the sidewalk beside my house. In words that were once again mine, I said, “Okay Holy Spirit. I get it. What's next?” In an answer to that question, I turned my head towards the lawn on my left and there – walking right beside me – was the first dove I have seen since last season. Okay Holy Spirit. I get it. What's next? It's all real. Resurrection is all around us.

This blog post was originally posted on the Episcopal Church Foundation's Vital Practices Vital Posts Blog on October 17, 2013, and is reprinted with permission.

Believe in the Resurrection? Heck - We've seen it!

If you haven't heard about it, there's recently been a blog battle waged between two of the big, popular Christian thinkers of the day.  The first shot was fired - apparently without any attempt to offend - by author and Theologian-in-Residence at Solomon's Porch, Tony Jones.  On his blog, responding to the question of a reader, Jones casually characterized the view of Christ's resurrection held by Marcus Borg as a feeling that "only happens in the believer's heart," rather than an event that occurred in objective reality.  Borg - the well-known historical Jesus scholar and Canon Theologian at Trinity Episcopal Cathedral - countered by claiming that Jones has misrepresented his take on the Resurrection of Jesus.  Jones allowed that perhaps his original characterization was off the mark, but that Borg's perspective, even with all the nuance it demands, amounts to a denial of the resurrection as a real event.  Finally, Borg followed up with a post in which he further explained his perspective and reiterated the question at the end of his previous post: "does [this] disagreement matter?"

Not a few bloggers have weighed in on this whole debate.  And I certainly have my own thoughts on that matter (some of which can be read in this Easter sermon about zombies and vampires).  But I'd rather talk about another reflection on the resurrection I've heard recently.

Photo by Ben Thomas

The other day, our merry missioner, Bob and I were riding back from a meeting that included some of our fellow clergy in the area.  During our conversation on the drive, it became clear that the negativity of a few of the clergy about their ministries had diminished Bob's usual joviality.  Later in the day, Bob was back in high spirits.  So, I asked him what could have lifted the cloud of gloominess that followed us from the meeting.
He answered, "The Holy Spirit, man."

Bob explained that he had been driving back after presiding at the Eucharist at a nearby church for a rector who was away.  As he was returning to the Southside, the Spirit filled him with her sighs too deep for words.  He saw that old chicken factory that employs so many in and around the Southside.  He saw that motel that doubles as the most affordable housing for those folks and families who otherwise wouldn't have a home - the same motel where Southside Abbey put up a bouncy-castle, some tables-and-chairs, and a grill a few weeks ago, throwing a party to celebrate one year of striving to be the beloved community in this neighborhood.  He saw this neighborhood we call home, for which Southside Abbey has declared a Jubilee Year and begun collecting the funds to make it so.  He saw that the tomb was indeed empty, and - between laughing and crying - he said out loud:  "The Resurrection is real!  There's resurrection all around us!"

In their blog debate, neither Jones nor Borg have addressed why some saw the risen Christ while others did not, and why some at first only saw a gardener or stranger but later recognized him as their resurrected Lord.  But an Anglican priest and theologian, Sarah Coakley has explored those very questions.  Coakley has looked to the teachings of the early Church fathers and mothers on the development of the spiritual senses for recognizing the resurrected Christ and the new creation begun in him.  In the word proclaimed, we learn to hear and receive the voice of the risen one.  Through the liturgy - our common prayer - our deepest desire is reoriented to its true object, the risen Christ, and we come to recognize him in the Eucharistic meal that we share.  But Coakley points out that the development of these spiritual senses brings with it an awareness of real absence, of the cross, of the empty tomb.

This is no less true when we develop our spiritual senses morally, to see the resurrection in the world around us. "By the same token," Coakley writes, "in my moral life, in my intended acts of mercy, though it is Jesus I seek to obey and emulate, it is always in the erasure of expectation that Jesus truly presents himself to me - in the entirely unromantic other, in the exhausting and defeating poverty of my neighbor . . . ."  And it's this real absence, this erasure of expectation, this recognition of the empty tomb as an empty tomb that empties us, dispossesses us, opens us to the Holy Spirit.  For, finally, the development of our spiritual senses only creates the possibility for recognizing the risen Jesus.  To truly see him - in the Eucharist and in the face of those we serve - is to have received him as a gift given "in the incarnational physicality of" the meal we share and the neighbors we serve, through the Holy Spirit.

"The Resurrection is real!  There's resurrection all around us!"
               

        

Giving Consent

“You did not choose me, but I chose you and appointed you to go and bear fruit…” John 15:16

The “you” chosen and appointed to go in John 15:16 is plural (i.e. “all of you” or “community” - not individual religious rock stars). Of course I like the idea of missional community, of being part of the God’s kingdom as it emerges in new places. But I am not yet comfortable being missional, because the kingdom often appears in places I would rather not go. I eventually witness things I would rather not see. It is a difficult path to follow and not one I would readily choose.

...read the rest here

Jesus Was Right There, in the Bounce House

Until last week, I'd never been involved in a worshipping community's celebration of the completion of its first year; Southside Abbey's one year anniversary changed that.

Think about all that takes place throughout the church year. Ordinary Time becomes the watchfulness of Advent. Incarnation is realized in Epiphany. Lenten fasts are broken by Easter joy. The Great Fifty Days culminate in the gift of the Holy Spirit at Pentecost, until once again, time becomes ordinary.

While every parish shares in this rich rhythm, it is different with a new worshiping community. Everything is new. There is no, “we've always done it that way.” At Epiphany, no one thought it odd that we went door-to-door sharing “Episcopal Epiphany Pickles” . . . three hundred pounds of pickles. By Lent, no one batted an eye when soup-making consumed every Sunday . . . so that we could share 400 cups with our neighborhood. 

Our 21st Century interpretation of caring for the feet of the poor became 240 brand new shoes (and the socks to go with them) delivered to the local elementary school . . . no front-page scoop followed. The Pentecost “Tongues of Fire Chili Cook-Off” fed a multitude with close to forty gallons of homemade liquid heat . . . and by now, people were starting to catch on. 

Now, as we look forward to another year, we are also able to tell the story of over 2,000 meals served as a part of worship. It has been a great year. This is what happens when Jesus shows up.

We wanted to celebrate the completion of a year well-lived with a party in true Southside Abbey style. So we decided to worship in the parking lot of a local motel that houses many of the working poor in our neighborhood. We had a grill with hot dogs and veggie burgers, a makeshift altar (complete with flowers picked from a nearby front yard and a piece of barbed-wire found in the parking lot), and a race-car-shaped bounce-house. Nearly 150 people were in attendance for the celebration.

As the celebration was winding down, I noticed a young girl leaving the bounce-house with some determination. I realized that she was headed straight for me. She made her way through the crowd, marched up to me, and hugged me. Her dirt-smudged cheeks had the random tinge of orange frosting. Her hair was matted from little-kid bounce-house sweat. Her clothes were brightly-colored with rainbows and unicorns dancing across the shoulders. This was the most uncomfortable hug of my life . . .

Then, just as soon as she had found me, she pushed her way back through the crowd. I lost her. I still do not know where this child came from, but I know who she really is. I like to think that she was Jesus – right there in the bounce-house – hugging me for what Southside Abbey stepped out in faith to do.

Thank you Southside Abbey for a wonderful year and thank you Jesus for all the hugs. 

This blog post was originally posted on the Episcopal Church Foundation's Vital Practices Vital Posts Blog on October 3, 2013, and is reprinted with permission.