The liturgical year is designed to ensure that the Church remembers the key events of Biblical history over the course of its three-year cycle. Of course, Easter Sunday always focuses on the resurrection. The first Sunday of Lent is the temptation of Jesus in the wilderness. Epiphany Day brings the visit of the Magi, and the first Sunday after Epiphany is the wedding at Cana.
The encounter with Jesus on the road to Emmaus (as important to the Sacrament of the Holy Eucharist as Maundy Thursday) is celebrated on Easter night. The first Sunday after Easter is traditionally the story of doubting Thomas.
You know how it goes... The word on the street is that Jesus has risen from the dead. All of the remaining eleven (Judas has committed suicide at this point) have seen Him except Thomas. Who knows, maybe Thomas had taken the weekend for a beach vacation or something...
When told that Jesus had risen from the dead, Thomas said, in effect, “Yeah, right. I be believin’ it when I be seein’ it!” Of course, he does indeed encounter Jesus, places his finger in the nail holes and falls in worship before His Savior. Jesus blesses him, but also says, “Blessed are those who have not seen, yet believe.”
It really is a pretty intense story. After all, most of us can groove on the idea of celebrating the return of spring, or bunnies, eggs, birds, bees, flowers and trees. We can even get into some kind of spiritual renewal that returns our spirits back to the Great Universal Who-Hah in the sky.
That isn’t the story of the Resurrection of Jesus.
The true Easter story is pretty ugly. It is the story of God becoming fully Man, suffering a horrific and torturous death. Really dead ...lungs not breathing, heart not beating, dried blood, rigor mortis.
The resurrection is physical and bodily. The same body that has died lives again. It is appointed to every person once to die, but the promise of God is that death is not the end. There is resurrection to a life that will never end. Without that promise ...not hope, promise! ...the whole business of Christianity is a cruel fraud.
Still, it is hard to believe. I have given my life to the service of this Gospel and I have a hard time believing it. I do believe it with all my mind, heart, soul and spirit, but I cling to it with tired fingers and a fearful and fast-beating heart. It is only through the grace of God that my weak hands can continue to cling to it.
I think Thomas gets a bad rap. I understand his doubt. I think Jesus Himself understood his questions. When Thomas says, “You gotta be kidding, Jesus... is it really You?” Jesus answers, “Yes, here, look at this big hole in my side.”
One of my favorite prayers in the ancient liturgy is, “Dear Lord, I believe. Help me with my unbelief!”
One of the things that helps us sustain our belief is to act out of our belief rather than act out of our doubt.
Sometimes those of us who labor as leaders in the Church -professional or lay- can't seem to get it through our thick heads that the success of our ministry is not up to us. The final words of Jesus' Great Commmission are often the hardest to claim: "...and lo, I am with you always, even to the end of the Age."
In this Season of Resurrection, as we claim God's promises for our eternal life, let us be about His work in this world confident that He will keep His promise to be with us in all of the work that He has given us to do.
Then, we will act out of our faith and not out of our doubt.
Soli Deo Gloria,
Bill
Tuesday, April 26, 2011
Tuesday, April 12, 2011
PREACHER TRICKS
The voice of my young colleague coming through the phone was filled with the same disbelief and amazement that I myself have experienced so many times in my 35 years of service in the church.
“Oh, Bill,” he said incredulously, “I submitted my hymns for Easter Sunday. I had chosen ‘Christ Jesus Lay in Death’s Strong Bands’ or ‘Christ lag in todesbanden’ for the Hymn of the Day.” The next day I got an email from the pastor saying, “On a Sunday like Easter, we need good strong, traditional Lutheran hymns ...not new unfamiliar things like this!”
If 500 years of serving as a recommended hymn of the day for Easter Sunday among Lutheran bodies world-wide isn’t “traditional Lutheran,” then please tell me what is!
I did my best to comfort my frustrated friend. I told him that ministers sometimes say silly things when they don’t personally like a hymn and want to trump up a reason not to use it. “I wish he would just be a man about it,” he replied, “...and say he just doesn’t like it.”
As I hung up the phone my mind went through a litany of experiences with ministers during Holy Week and Christmas that have gravely encumbered and diminished worship events for thousands of congregants while making the entire staff of the parish look bumbling and completely bereft common sense. At best, it appears that many pastors ...actually most in my experience... are so focused on themselves and their homiletic commentaries that they become out of touch with reality.
I will share a couple of the stories that come immediately to my mind. I do this to offer comfort and support to my music ministry colleagues so that you can see that you are not alone in your experiences. I offer them to those of you that serve on lay committees and church boards so that you will take more interest in monitoring the behavior of your pastors, offering needed encouragement, but also offering occasional guidance and correction. And, yes, I offer them to some of you pastors in the hope that you will think about your own priorities in leading God’s people in worship. Perhaps you can be a positive influence when your pastoral friends are tempted to take a ride on the crazy train.
By first hand witness I can affirm that both of these stories is true. The names have been changed to avoid embarrassment, though well deserved, to the guilty.
It was the first year of Bob’s appointment to the Harmony Hill Church, a congregation of some 1200 members. Bob was excited to be in such a large congregation, and he was especially thrilled to learn that many Christmas eve nights saw over 1000 people in the three worship services. He was so filled with excitement over the prospect of preaching to so many people in one night that he was fairly trembling as he walked into the staff meeting to plan worship.
To say he was disappointed to learn that the congregation traditionally celebrated Holy Communion at each of the Christmas eve services would be a grave understatement. With an ashen face he asked the staff, “How long does all of this Communion take with so many people?” When he was told that the sacrament was very precious to the congregation and that the tradition was for a brief message followed by Christmas carols, Communion, and the lighting of candles while singing “Silent Night,” he was determined to find a solution to his dilemma.
He came up with an idea.
Communion would not be celebrated in the services but it would be provided for everyone. He asked the Altar Guild to prepare a large stack of trays with consecrated grape juice, and a large bowl of communion wafers. Before the first service he took the elements into the Chapel and placed them on each side of the altar. He made signs on his computer with the words of institution -one sign for the bread and one sign for the cup- and taped them to the front of the altar. He then cheerfully announced in the services that everyone could stop by the Chapel on their way out, serve themselves communion if they wished to do so, and remain for prayer as long as they wanted. He then launched into his well-rehearsed, anecdote-filled forty minute sermon.
His gambit was not well-received by the congregation and a letter of protest was sent by the Staff Parish Committee to the Bishop. After several meetings by the Council on Ministry, the Bishop recommended a three-month “spiritual sabbatical” -at full salary, of course- for Bob to pray and consider the importance of his role as a spiritual leader and minister of both Word and Sacrament.
Bob returned from his imposed vacation with a new idea for the next Christmas eve: Communion would be celebrated only at the midnight service, but would also be observed at the Sunday between Christmas and New Years Day. Bob joked to the Lay Leader of the congregation, “If I am going to forced to lose preaching time, at least I can move it to a low Sunday when one of the associates will most likely preach anyway.”
Bob remained appointed as Pastor of Harmony Hill for four years. During that time worship attendance dropped by 65%. Combined Christmas eve attendance his last year was about 400, down from over 1000 his first year. The operational budget fell by 55%, resulting in the cutting of several lay staff members and one associate. In his final report to the district superintendent, Bob commented that “people just aren’t as committed to church as they once were...”
Of course, Bob’s six-figure salary was unchanged during his appointment.
+++++++++
At the beginning of Lent, Sally, the new youth minister, and Ron, the long-time music director were considering ways to engender meaningful involvement among the youth of the congregation in worship. Though many of the youth participated in church orchestra, choir and bells, not everyone was musically inclined. The goal was to find a means of participation for those youth who did not participate in musical groups.
It had become the custom of St. Michael’s Church that the choir and ministers processed on the opening hymn each Sunday. Appropriately, the processional did not occur during Lent, but had returned with palms for Palm Sunday.
The staff members decided to expand the procession for the Easter services and use the youth who were not involved in musical ensembles. The young people researched the tradition of the procession in Sunday School, learning the proper order for the cross, torches, banners, Bible, and so forth. Two parents created Easter banners for the occasion and several of the young women helped sew them together as a part of their youth group activities. On the Saturday morning before Easter, a rehearsal was held in the nave of the church as the three teams of teens -one team for each of the three services- rehearsed their processional spacing, carrying their appointments with dignity and reverence, and timing their movement to the altar to fit perfectly with the flow and meter of the hymn.
At the staff planning meeting some twenty days before Holy Week, Ron and Sally told the staff about the plan and related the enthusiasm of the young people. There were many comments about how the prospect of participation in worship had inspired the teens and offered hope of a deepening faith and commitment to the church. Pastor Martha appeared to listen while she checked her Blackberry, but never directly commented on the plan.
Easter Sunday morning came and all of the youth on the first processional team arrived early. With great reverence the cross, Bible, torches, and newly made banners were brought out of the sacristy. As the organ prelude was rising in the nave, the teens stood in the narthex prepared to lead the procession of worship followed by their friends in the youth choir, then the adult choirs and, finally, the pastors.
Pastor Martha entered the narthex and almost shouted, “What is all of this!?” Sally, responded quickly, “...this is the procession for Easter ...we talked about it in staff ...the young people have been preparing.....” Pastor Martha cut her off in mid-sentence: “We can’t do all of this silly pomp on Easter Sunday... it takes too long ...tell them they can hold their things and stand in the chancel ...just go arrange them up there... Ron, tell the choir to find their way to the loft. There will be no processing on high attendance days!”
“But,” Ron protested, “How does it take ‘longer’ to process? The hymn lasts the same amount of time whether we are moving or not...” Pastor Martha responded sharply, “Don’t argue with me ...do as you are told!”
A lot of tears were shed at the youth meeting that Sunday night. The disappointment and sense of betrayal among the young people was thick in the air. At choir rehearsal the following Thursday members wanted to know why the plans for a glorious Easter celebration had been so arbitrarily dismissed. One member said to their music director, “You need to talk to Pastor Martha and tell her....” “No,” replied Ron, “My job is to follow her directions. If you have a concern, you should respectfully meet with her and express your concern.”
Many members of the choirs, along with parents of the youth group, did meet with the Pastor in the coming week. For the most part the meetings were respectful and cordial, but there were deep frustrations strongly expressed as well.
Late on Friday afternoon, Ron and Sally were meeting in the conference room reviewing plans with the church administrator for upcoming summer camps. Pastor Martha’s secretary entered the room and said, “Ron, Sally, Pastor Martha would like to meet with you both for a few minutes.”
“Well, good,” said Sally as they walked together to the Pastor’s study, “Maybe we can talk this out and come up with a better solution for next Easter.” Ron was at first puzzled, then filled with dread as he entered the study to see Pastor Martha and Paul, the chair of the church personnel committee, waiting with long faces.
Pastor Martha spoke: “Today is your last day of employment at St. Michael’s. Several members of the choir and youth parents have paraded through this office complaining to me about Easter Sunday. I am sure that you have put them up to this and I will allow no insubordination. Your severance checks are on your desks according to the Staff-Parish Handbook. You may now retrieve your belongings under supervision of the personnel chair and then you will be escorted from the building. He will take your keys.”
As Paul walked the shell-shocked fired staff members to their cars he said, “You have both served this congregation well, and you have brought many families to our number. This is not fair, and it is not right, but she is our pastor and we must follow her lead.”
I wish these stories I have related were not true. I wish they were exaggerated, but they are not. I wish I could say that they were the only two such examples I knew of families and congregations being ripped apart, and faithful dedicated lay servants put on the street because of the egos and arrogance of ministers violating the trust of their ordination. I am sad to say that I could offer dozens more such stories from my own experiences and from the experience of close friends and colleagues in ministry.
This is certainly not to say that all pastors are corrupt, selfish, and muscle-headed, but the truth must be told that many are. Even worse, the structures of most mainline denominations and the configurations of church boards and committees provide layers of protection for pastors without holding them accountable at any level.
I believe that this issue, as much as any other, has led to the disillusionment of the laity and the loss of literally millions of congregation members from mainline churches.
Consider the families of the youth in our second story. Some of those families left the congregation for other parishes. Some of them stayed and worked through their anger. Some stayed on membership rolls, but become inactive. Others simply dropped out of the life of the Church entirely.
Some years after the incident my friend Ron ran into one of the teens at a computer store. The young man had been scheduled as crucifer that fateful Easter Sunday at the earliest service. Ron asked the now-graduate school man where he was going to church. The young man responded, “I have no use for the Christian religion... the egos, the hypocrisy... I have had enough!”
How many souls have been lost at the hands of pastoral ego and arrogance?
Soli Deo Gloria,
Bill
“Oh, Bill,” he said incredulously, “I submitted my hymns for Easter Sunday. I had chosen ‘Christ Jesus Lay in Death’s Strong Bands’ or ‘Christ lag in todesbanden’ for the Hymn of the Day.” The next day I got an email from the pastor saying, “On a Sunday like Easter, we need good strong, traditional Lutheran hymns ...not new unfamiliar things like this!”
If 500 years of serving as a recommended hymn of the day for Easter Sunday among Lutheran bodies world-wide isn’t “traditional Lutheran,” then please tell me what is!
I did my best to comfort my frustrated friend. I told him that ministers sometimes say silly things when they don’t personally like a hymn and want to trump up a reason not to use it. “I wish he would just be a man about it,” he replied, “...and say he just doesn’t like it.”
As I hung up the phone my mind went through a litany of experiences with ministers during Holy Week and Christmas that have gravely encumbered and diminished worship events for thousands of congregants while making the entire staff of the parish look bumbling and completely bereft common sense. At best, it appears that many pastors ...actually most in my experience... are so focused on themselves and their homiletic commentaries that they become out of touch with reality.
I will share a couple of the stories that come immediately to my mind. I do this to offer comfort and support to my music ministry colleagues so that you can see that you are not alone in your experiences. I offer them to those of you that serve on lay committees and church boards so that you will take more interest in monitoring the behavior of your pastors, offering needed encouragement, but also offering occasional guidance and correction. And, yes, I offer them to some of you pastors in the hope that you will think about your own priorities in leading God’s people in worship. Perhaps you can be a positive influence when your pastoral friends are tempted to take a ride on the crazy train.
By first hand witness I can affirm that both of these stories is true. The names have been changed to avoid embarrassment, though well deserved, to the guilty.
It was the first year of Bob’s appointment to the Harmony Hill Church, a congregation of some 1200 members. Bob was excited to be in such a large congregation, and he was especially thrilled to learn that many Christmas eve nights saw over 1000 people in the three worship services. He was so filled with excitement over the prospect of preaching to so many people in one night that he was fairly trembling as he walked into the staff meeting to plan worship.
To say he was disappointed to learn that the congregation traditionally celebrated Holy Communion at each of the Christmas eve services would be a grave understatement. With an ashen face he asked the staff, “How long does all of this Communion take with so many people?” When he was told that the sacrament was very precious to the congregation and that the tradition was for a brief message followed by Christmas carols, Communion, and the lighting of candles while singing “Silent Night,” he was determined to find a solution to his dilemma.
He came up with an idea.
Communion would not be celebrated in the services but it would be provided for everyone. He asked the Altar Guild to prepare a large stack of trays with consecrated grape juice, and a large bowl of communion wafers. Before the first service he took the elements into the Chapel and placed them on each side of the altar. He made signs on his computer with the words of institution -one sign for the bread and one sign for the cup- and taped them to the front of the altar. He then cheerfully announced in the services that everyone could stop by the Chapel on their way out, serve themselves communion if they wished to do so, and remain for prayer as long as they wanted. He then launched into his well-rehearsed, anecdote-filled forty minute sermon.
His gambit was not well-received by the congregation and a letter of protest was sent by the Staff Parish Committee to the Bishop. After several meetings by the Council on Ministry, the Bishop recommended a three-month “spiritual sabbatical” -at full salary, of course- for Bob to pray and consider the importance of his role as a spiritual leader and minister of both Word and Sacrament.
Bob returned from his imposed vacation with a new idea for the next Christmas eve: Communion would be celebrated only at the midnight service, but would also be observed at the Sunday between Christmas and New Years Day. Bob joked to the Lay Leader of the congregation, “If I am going to forced to lose preaching time, at least I can move it to a low Sunday when one of the associates will most likely preach anyway.”
Bob remained appointed as Pastor of Harmony Hill for four years. During that time worship attendance dropped by 65%. Combined Christmas eve attendance his last year was about 400, down from over 1000 his first year. The operational budget fell by 55%, resulting in the cutting of several lay staff members and one associate. In his final report to the district superintendent, Bob commented that “people just aren’t as committed to church as they once were...”
Of course, Bob’s six-figure salary was unchanged during his appointment.
+++++++++
At the beginning of Lent, Sally, the new youth minister, and Ron, the long-time music director were considering ways to engender meaningful involvement among the youth of the congregation in worship. Though many of the youth participated in church orchestra, choir and bells, not everyone was musically inclined. The goal was to find a means of participation for those youth who did not participate in musical groups.
It had become the custom of St. Michael’s Church that the choir and ministers processed on the opening hymn each Sunday. Appropriately, the processional did not occur during Lent, but had returned with palms for Palm Sunday.
The staff members decided to expand the procession for the Easter services and use the youth who were not involved in musical ensembles. The young people researched the tradition of the procession in Sunday School, learning the proper order for the cross, torches, banners, Bible, and so forth. Two parents created Easter banners for the occasion and several of the young women helped sew them together as a part of their youth group activities. On the Saturday morning before Easter, a rehearsal was held in the nave of the church as the three teams of teens -one team for each of the three services- rehearsed their processional spacing, carrying their appointments with dignity and reverence, and timing their movement to the altar to fit perfectly with the flow and meter of the hymn.
At the staff planning meeting some twenty days before Holy Week, Ron and Sally told the staff about the plan and related the enthusiasm of the young people. There were many comments about how the prospect of participation in worship had inspired the teens and offered hope of a deepening faith and commitment to the church. Pastor Martha appeared to listen while she checked her Blackberry, but never directly commented on the plan.
Easter Sunday morning came and all of the youth on the first processional team arrived early. With great reverence the cross, Bible, torches, and newly made banners were brought out of the sacristy. As the organ prelude was rising in the nave, the teens stood in the narthex prepared to lead the procession of worship followed by their friends in the youth choir, then the adult choirs and, finally, the pastors.
Pastor Martha entered the narthex and almost shouted, “What is all of this!?” Sally, responded quickly, “...this is the procession for Easter ...we talked about it in staff ...the young people have been preparing.....” Pastor Martha cut her off in mid-sentence: “We can’t do all of this silly pomp on Easter Sunday... it takes too long ...tell them they can hold their things and stand in the chancel ...just go arrange them up there... Ron, tell the choir to find their way to the loft. There will be no processing on high attendance days!”
“But,” Ron protested, “How does it take ‘longer’ to process? The hymn lasts the same amount of time whether we are moving or not...” Pastor Martha responded sharply, “Don’t argue with me ...do as you are told!”
A lot of tears were shed at the youth meeting that Sunday night. The disappointment and sense of betrayal among the young people was thick in the air. At choir rehearsal the following Thursday members wanted to know why the plans for a glorious Easter celebration had been so arbitrarily dismissed. One member said to their music director, “You need to talk to Pastor Martha and tell her....” “No,” replied Ron, “My job is to follow her directions. If you have a concern, you should respectfully meet with her and express your concern.”
Many members of the choirs, along with parents of the youth group, did meet with the Pastor in the coming week. For the most part the meetings were respectful and cordial, but there were deep frustrations strongly expressed as well.
Late on Friday afternoon, Ron and Sally were meeting in the conference room reviewing plans with the church administrator for upcoming summer camps. Pastor Martha’s secretary entered the room and said, “Ron, Sally, Pastor Martha would like to meet with you both for a few minutes.”
“Well, good,” said Sally as they walked together to the Pastor’s study, “Maybe we can talk this out and come up with a better solution for next Easter.” Ron was at first puzzled, then filled with dread as he entered the study to see Pastor Martha and Paul, the chair of the church personnel committee, waiting with long faces.
Pastor Martha spoke: “Today is your last day of employment at St. Michael’s. Several members of the choir and youth parents have paraded through this office complaining to me about Easter Sunday. I am sure that you have put them up to this and I will allow no insubordination. Your severance checks are on your desks according to the Staff-Parish Handbook. You may now retrieve your belongings under supervision of the personnel chair and then you will be escorted from the building. He will take your keys.”
As Paul walked the shell-shocked fired staff members to their cars he said, “You have both served this congregation well, and you have brought many families to our number. This is not fair, and it is not right, but she is our pastor and we must follow her lead.”
I wish these stories I have related were not true. I wish they were exaggerated, but they are not. I wish I could say that they were the only two such examples I knew of families and congregations being ripped apart, and faithful dedicated lay servants put on the street because of the egos and arrogance of ministers violating the trust of their ordination. I am sad to say that I could offer dozens more such stories from my own experiences and from the experience of close friends and colleagues in ministry.
This is certainly not to say that all pastors are corrupt, selfish, and muscle-headed, but the truth must be told that many are. Even worse, the structures of most mainline denominations and the configurations of church boards and committees provide layers of protection for pastors without holding them accountable at any level.
I believe that this issue, as much as any other, has led to the disillusionment of the laity and the loss of literally millions of congregation members from mainline churches.
Consider the families of the youth in our second story. Some of those families left the congregation for other parishes. Some of them stayed and worked through their anger. Some stayed on membership rolls, but become inactive. Others simply dropped out of the life of the Church entirely.
Some years after the incident my friend Ron ran into one of the teens at a computer store. The young man had been scheduled as crucifer that fateful Easter Sunday at the earliest service. Ron asked the now-graduate school man where he was going to church. The young man responded, “I have no use for the Christian religion... the egos, the hypocrisy... I have had enough!”
How many souls have been lost at the hands of pastoral ego and arrogance?
Soli Deo Gloria,
Bill
Monday, April 4, 2011
DRY BONES
One of the coolest illustrations in the scriptures is the story of Ezekiel (37:1-14) preaching in the valley of the dry bones. You probably remember the story: The Lord leads Ezekiel to a valley filled with the remains of the dead... bones that were dead so long that they were completely dried out.
The Lord asks Ezekiel if the skeletons could ever live again. The prophet, either as a statement of faith or trying not to say the wrong thing to God, replies, “Sovereign Lord You know!” You can almost hear the wheels turning in Ezekiel’s head, “Uh... uh... I don’t think they can, but I am not going to be the one telling the Lord what He can or can’t do.”
Of course, Ezekiel does indeed prophesy to the dry bones and, lo and behold, they rise (probably dancing) up, flesh returns and they come back to life.
Lots of available themes in the story: 1) God can do anything no matter how impossible it seems to the human mind; 2) Don’t you be telling God what He can’t do; 3) The Word of God is so powerful and sufficient that it can pierce even the shadow of death itself. There are many other interpretations, but these are the most common.
Isn’t it amazing how a bunch of long-faced church bureaucrats
in denominational offices and on parish councils can wring their hands and, in effect, tell God what He cannot do.
I have this vision of the Holy Spirit showing up at a committee meeting talking about a struggling congregation. The Holy Spirit
is nicely arrayed in His Hart, Shaffner and Marx suit, bright tie and custom made shirt. (After all, the Holy Spirit gotta look good!) He fills out His name tag, enters the meeting room and takes a seat.
The topic of conversation is a struggling congregation in an older suburb. The membership fell a bit and, to save money, the local council cut programming drastically, resulting in a more severe loss of membership. There is some debt, but not overwhelming. Fixed costs are rising while giving is not. The roof and nave flooring are wearing out and need to be replaced.
The long faces confer about “best use of limited funds...” They talk about the latest motivational gimmicks from the church marketing industry. At length the painful decision is made that every church is born to one-day die.
Since no one at the meeting thought to include the Holy Spirit in the conversation, He had pulled out His Droid phone, caught up some email and checked out the baseball scores. As the meeting was beginning to close He looked up, “Does anyone have any questions for me?”
“Well, no, Holy Spirit!” said the chair of the committee, “We are always glad when you come to our meetings. Would you stop by and comfort the hearts of those in the congregation that we have decided to close?”
“Sure, I will help clean up your mess,” replied the Holy Spirit, “After 6000 years I am rather good at it.”
“Let’s end our meeting with prayer,” said the chair, turning away from the Holy Spirit and back to the long-faced committee members.
“Yo!” said the Holy Spirit, “Since prayer is talking with God and I am, like, right here, why don’t we revisit this issue about the struggling congregation.”
“Well, its late,” said the committee chair, gathering papers into his briefcase, “We just don’t have resources, and church growth experts tell us that there is not a market for that sort of church in that community anyway.”
“Now, hold off!” said the Holy Spirit, “I think you are missing something here. Remember all of that stuff in the Bible about God having all the cattle on a thousand hills, turning water into wine, and preaching to the valley of dry bones. If I can make those dead, rotting bones come alive, I can certainly handle a roof on an old church and replace a little flooring. You are spending too much time ruminating and fulminating about the things of this earth and not focusing on the Great Commission I gave you to boldy preach God’s Holy Word. You get to the work of ministry and leave the work of provision to Me!”
“...and another thing...” the Holy Spirit was on a roll, “Lay aside this business of closing churches, wringing hands, and singing ‘Woe is Us.’ Most of all, don’t be telling the King of Kings and Lord of Lords what can’t be done. If Paul and Silas can set off on missionary tours across nations with nothing but their teeth in their mouth, you can be assured that I will take care of you if you do My work!”
There was confessional silence in the room as the leaders of God’s earthly church considered restructuring their thinking from failure to faith and from despair to action.
Each member gave the Holy Spirit a hug as they exited the room. The last one to leave kissed Him on the cheek and whispered in His ear, “....now about the Kansas City Royals!”
Soli Deo Gloria,
Bill
The Lord asks Ezekiel if the skeletons could ever live again. The prophet, either as a statement of faith or trying not to say the wrong thing to God, replies, “Sovereign Lord You know!” You can almost hear the wheels turning in Ezekiel’s head, “Uh... uh... I don’t think they can, but I am not going to be the one telling the Lord what He can or can’t do.”
Of course, Ezekiel does indeed prophesy to the dry bones and, lo and behold, they rise (probably dancing) up, flesh returns and they come back to life.
Lots of available themes in the story: 1) God can do anything no matter how impossible it seems to the human mind; 2) Don’t you be telling God what He can’t do; 3) The Word of God is so powerful and sufficient that it can pierce even the shadow of death itself. There are many other interpretations, but these are the most common.
Isn’t it amazing how a bunch of long-faced church bureaucrats
in denominational offices and on parish councils can wring their hands and, in effect, tell God what He cannot do.
I have this vision of the Holy Spirit showing up at a committee meeting talking about a struggling congregation. The Holy Spirit
is nicely arrayed in His Hart, Shaffner and Marx suit, bright tie and custom made shirt. (After all, the Holy Spirit gotta look good!) He fills out His name tag, enters the meeting room and takes a seat.
The topic of conversation is a struggling congregation in an older suburb. The membership fell a bit and, to save money, the local council cut programming drastically, resulting in a more severe loss of membership. There is some debt, but not overwhelming. Fixed costs are rising while giving is not. The roof and nave flooring are wearing out and need to be replaced.
The long faces confer about “best use of limited funds...” They talk about the latest motivational gimmicks from the church marketing industry. At length the painful decision is made that every church is born to one-day die.
Since no one at the meeting thought to include the Holy Spirit in the conversation, He had pulled out His Droid phone, caught up some email and checked out the baseball scores. As the meeting was beginning to close He looked up, “Does anyone have any questions for me?”
“Well, no, Holy Spirit!” said the chair of the committee, “We are always glad when you come to our meetings. Would you stop by and comfort the hearts of those in the congregation that we have decided to close?”
“Sure, I will help clean up your mess,” replied the Holy Spirit, “After 6000 years I am rather good at it.”
“Let’s end our meeting with prayer,” said the chair, turning away from the Holy Spirit and back to the long-faced committee members.
“Yo!” said the Holy Spirit, “Since prayer is talking with God and I am, like, right here, why don’t we revisit this issue about the struggling congregation.”
“Well, its late,” said the committee chair, gathering papers into his briefcase, “We just don’t have resources, and church growth experts tell us that there is not a market for that sort of church in that community anyway.”
“Now, hold off!” said the Holy Spirit, “I think you are missing something here. Remember all of that stuff in the Bible about God having all the cattle on a thousand hills, turning water into wine, and preaching to the valley of dry bones. If I can make those dead, rotting bones come alive, I can certainly handle a roof on an old church and replace a little flooring. You are spending too much time ruminating and fulminating about the things of this earth and not focusing on the Great Commission I gave you to boldy preach God’s Holy Word. You get to the work of ministry and leave the work of provision to Me!”
“...and another thing...” the Holy Spirit was on a roll, “Lay aside this business of closing churches, wringing hands, and singing ‘Woe is Us.’ Most of all, don’t be telling the King of Kings and Lord of Lords what can’t be done. If Paul and Silas can set off on missionary tours across nations with nothing but their teeth in their mouth, you can be assured that I will take care of you if you do My work!”
There was confessional silence in the room as the leaders of God’s earthly church considered restructuring their thinking from failure to faith and from despair to action.
Each member gave the Holy Spirit a hug as they exited the room. The last one to leave kissed Him on the cheek and whispered in His ear, “....now about the Kansas City Royals!”
Soli Deo Gloria,
Bill
Friday, March 25, 2011
TREES
Since my house is three blocks from my office, I usually walk to work. I have, at times, been rather boastful that the only traffic I encounter is when a child leaves his tricycle on the sidewalk or I have to walk around a slow-moving gaggle of high school girls walking to the Catholic school in the neighborhood.
The community is old, comprised of homes built between the great wars. The oldest dates to about 1920, and the newest houses were finished just before the outbreak of World War II. The choke-hold of a harsh winter has finally eased and I am sure that the maple, oak, sycamore and elm trees will soon explode into a canopy of leaves over the street. It is said that a squirrel can get from one edge of town to another, going from tree to tree, without ever touching the ground.
The story goes that the council of our town passed an ordinance in the 1930s that the city would provide a sapling to every homeowner for just $1 each. The young trees were put out on the town square for residents to claim and plant. The idea was to encourage the young families building the neighborhoods to participate in the conversion of the landscape from open prairie to a warm and inviting community.
Hundreds, maybe thousands, of trees were bought and planted during those early years. Many of them are now the majestic oaks and sycamores that magnificently beautify the community.
Imagine the stories those trees could tell. As they have extended their branches sunward they have provided beauty and shelter for workers like me going to their offices. They have held swings for children and lovers to laugh in. They have dropped thousands of acorns on the heads of teenage boys raking up their leaves in the autumn. As years have become decades they have stood under oceans of rain and snow. Still and all, they have grown stronger and mightier with each passing day.
But, we must remember, every one of them began when the city council and the homeowners made a commitment to enrich the quality of life for themselves and for those around them. They made the investment in the saplings. They took the time to carefully and lovingly plant and protect the trees when they were yet fledgling and fragile. They didn’t wait for someone else to “think of something to do...” They opened their wallets and they took their shovels out of the garage and set themselves to work. They also had to know that they would never live to see the trees in all of their splendor, but they had a vision of a better world that would live beyond themselves.
I believe that this is what we are doing right now in our vocation (and avocation) of music and ministry. The saplings you are planting are enjoyable to see, but with each sprouting leaf we can see the promise of immortal music from the heart of God through the pen of great composers to the voices of our choirs to the ears and spirits of many who come to hear.
This is a blessed opportunity. When the rehearsals get long and the notes come hard, let us never forget how good it is to be a part of the struggle. When the logistics seem impossible and when the support is so hard to build, let us never forget our calling as pioneers and prophets.
My mentor, Robert Shaw, once said that at length he came to an understanding of the literal reality that God is Love. Not just that God inspires or creates love, or that He is loving, but that He IS Love in true essence. And if God is the Loving Creator, then just maybe He is still about His work of loving and creating.
When we sing music that is greater than ourselves, we reflect the profound majesty and wondrous love of our Creator. Even more, we become a part of His work of continual creation, and we sing Wondrous Love on behalf of ourselves and everyone who has come before us. We sing not only to everyone who hears us, but to their children, to their children’s children, and to every ear that will live and breath, love and hope, in our community.
May we give thanks for the privilege of being a part of the pattern in the seed.
Soli Deo Gloria,
Bill
The community is old, comprised of homes built between the great wars. The oldest dates to about 1920, and the newest houses were finished just before the outbreak of World War II. The choke-hold of a harsh winter has finally eased and I am sure that the maple, oak, sycamore and elm trees will soon explode into a canopy of leaves over the street. It is said that a squirrel can get from one edge of town to another, going from tree to tree, without ever touching the ground.
The story goes that the council of our town passed an ordinance in the 1930s that the city would provide a sapling to every homeowner for just $1 each. The young trees were put out on the town square for residents to claim and plant. The idea was to encourage the young families building the neighborhoods to participate in the conversion of the landscape from open prairie to a warm and inviting community.
Hundreds, maybe thousands, of trees were bought and planted during those early years. Many of them are now the majestic oaks and sycamores that magnificently beautify the community.
Imagine the stories those trees could tell. As they have extended their branches sunward they have provided beauty and shelter for workers like me going to their offices. They have held swings for children and lovers to laugh in. They have dropped thousands of acorns on the heads of teenage boys raking up their leaves in the autumn. As years have become decades they have stood under oceans of rain and snow. Still and all, they have grown stronger and mightier with each passing day.
But, we must remember, every one of them began when the city council and the homeowners made a commitment to enrich the quality of life for themselves and for those around them. They made the investment in the saplings. They took the time to carefully and lovingly plant and protect the trees when they were yet fledgling and fragile. They didn’t wait for someone else to “think of something to do...” They opened their wallets and they took their shovels out of the garage and set themselves to work. They also had to know that they would never live to see the trees in all of their splendor, but they had a vision of a better world that would live beyond themselves.
I believe that this is what we are doing right now in our vocation (and avocation) of music and ministry. The saplings you are planting are enjoyable to see, but with each sprouting leaf we can see the promise of immortal music from the heart of God through the pen of great composers to the voices of our choirs to the ears and spirits of many who come to hear.
This is a blessed opportunity. When the rehearsals get long and the notes come hard, let us never forget how good it is to be a part of the struggle. When the logistics seem impossible and when the support is so hard to build, let us never forget our calling as pioneers and prophets.
My mentor, Robert Shaw, once said that at length he came to an understanding of the literal reality that God is Love. Not just that God inspires or creates love, or that He is loving, but that He IS Love in true essence. And if God is the Loving Creator, then just maybe He is still about His work of loving and creating.
When we sing music that is greater than ourselves, we reflect the profound majesty and wondrous love of our Creator. Even more, we become a part of His work of continual creation, and we sing Wondrous Love on behalf of ourselves and everyone who has come before us. We sing not only to everyone who hears us, but to their children, to their children’s children, and to every ear that will live and breath, love and hope, in our community.
May we give thanks for the privilege of being a part of the pattern in the seed.
Soli Deo Gloria,
Bill
Friday, March 18, 2011
GIVE IT UP, BABY!
I got a chuckle listening to the radio the other day, hearing the story of how college students have given up Facebook for Lent. While I admire the spiritual commitment of the interviewed young people, I couldn’t help thinking that they sounded like recovering crack addicts in withdrawal!
I heard a story about a minister who is using the discipline of fasting as a Lenten-oriented weight-loss program. In fact, he is bringing a scale into the chancel of his church so that he can be weighed before the congregation during services to be affirmed in his achievement.
I have thought of giving up grilled cheese sandwiches for Lent, but I remembered that I was allergic to cheese anyway. Then I decided to forego praise choruses and contemporary worship, but I remembered that I despise them anyway. I am ashamed to admit it, but I have struggled to find a worthy sacrifice that I am willing to accept for myself.
Where does this idea come from? Does the Bible command us to “give up something” for Lent?
Of course not. Precious as the Church Year is to the spiritual journey of Christians, it is a creation of Man for the purpose of focusing our faith and building our understanding of the story of salvation.
The genesis of Lenten disciple comes from Jesus’ 40 days of fasting in the wilderness as He prepared for His ministry. During our 40 days of Lent, we follow His example of self-denial as a spiritual discipline that can open our minds and hearts to the power of His scriptural word and the working of the Holy Spirit in our hearts.
The part of all this that I think we often miss is the importance of adding something for Lent. You see, we “give it up...” but we forget to add something in its place. The spiritual discipline of Lent should focus our mind, heart, soul and spirit on the redeeming love of our Savior, but that cannot happen by only giving something up.
I hope you will join me during this Lenten season in taking a few minutes every day to exchange (give it up, baby!) a comfort with a spiritual discipline. I think for me it will be my habit of getting a cup of coffee and a cookie in the middle of the afternoon. Maybe I can take that time and spend it reading through the Epistle to the Romans, or the Gospel of St. Matthew. For you it might be a silent walk every evening talking to God and listening for His voice. Your spiritual discipline might be to listen to sacred music quietly for a few minutes every day, or read a good devotional book.
God calls us to live every day in His abundance. When we give something up for Lent, and replace it with something the ushers us into God’s presence, we open the door to a new gift of abundance.
Soli Deo Gloria,
Bill
I heard a story about a minister who is using the discipline of fasting as a Lenten-oriented weight-loss program. In fact, he is bringing a scale into the chancel of his church so that he can be weighed before the congregation during services to be affirmed in his achievement.
I have thought of giving up grilled cheese sandwiches for Lent, but I remembered that I was allergic to cheese anyway. Then I decided to forego praise choruses and contemporary worship, but I remembered that I despise them anyway. I am ashamed to admit it, but I have struggled to find a worthy sacrifice that I am willing to accept for myself.
Where does this idea come from? Does the Bible command us to “give up something” for Lent?
Of course not. Precious as the Church Year is to the spiritual journey of Christians, it is a creation of Man for the purpose of focusing our faith and building our understanding of the story of salvation.
The genesis of Lenten disciple comes from Jesus’ 40 days of fasting in the wilderness as He prepared for His ministry. During our 40 days of Lent, we follow His example of self-denial as a spiritual discipline that can open our minds and hearts to the power of His scriptural word and the working of the Holy Spirit in our hearts.
The part of all this that I think we often miss is the importance of adding something for Lent. You see, we “give it up...” but we forget to add something in its place. The spiritual discipline of Lent should focus our mind, heart, soul and spirit on the redeeming love of our Savior, but that cannot happen by only giving something up.
I hope you will join me during this Lenten season in taking a few minutes every day to exchange (give it up, baby!) a comfort with a spiritual discipline. I think for me it will be my habit of getting a cup of coffee and a cookie in the middle of the afternoon. Maybe I can take that time and spend it reading through the Epistle to the Romans, or the Gospel of St. Matthew. For you it might be a silent walk every evening talking to God and listening for His voice. Your spiritual discipline might be to listen to sacred music quietly for a few minutes every day, or read a good devotional book.
God calls us to live every day in His abundance. When we give something up for Lent, and replace it with something the ushers us into God’s presence, we open the door to a new gift of abundance.
Soli Deo Gloria,
Bill
Tuesday, March 8, 2011
ASHES & DUST
I can’t remember the last time, but I know that I have thought often, and occasionally written, about the natural disconnect between Lent and the beginning of spring. Has it ever seemed weird to you that we focus on “ashes to ashes” and “dust to dust” at about the time baseballs begin flying in Arizona and Florida, and we are once again seeing the ground on a fairly regular basis. Within a few weeks now it will be warm enough to fire up the grill and work in the yard again.
Now, of course, I know that our fathers in faith who laid the outline of the church year did so mindful only of their call to faithfully tell the story of sacrifice and salvation. It is a sure bet that baseball, yard work and barbeque were not on their agenda at all. The forty days (not counting Sundays) beginning Ash Wednesday start with the solemn mark of the cross on our foreheads and the dreadful, but perspective-establishing words, “You are dust, and to dust you shall return.”
In the spirit of honesty I must say that I don’t groove with this whole business of returning to dust. I am having a great time on this earth, and I don’t want to see my fun come to an unexpected conclusion any time soon. What my selfishness really wants is for my church to ignore the whole business of betrayal, sacrifice, scourge, sin and crucifixion so that I can spout a few praise choruses and blithely pretend that every Sunday is Easter.
Not only does life not allow me -or you, or anyone else- to get away with such fantasy, neither does the God of our Bible or the tradition of our faith.
A couple of hours before writing these words, I learned of the death of my best friend in childhood. Eight months older than me and yard neighbors from birth through my teen years, we played trucks together as toddlers, baseball and basketball as grade-schoolers and Steppenwolf and Jethro Tull as young teens. Though I had no contact with him at all in adult years, hearing of the death of anyone at my age -especially someone who was a part of my life for a long time- was quite rattling.
But, you see, this story is the reality of life and the true presence of a real and living God. God is not a vending machine that doles out trite feel-good blessings in response to our token coins of prayer, faithfulness and good works. Neither is God a great juke-box well-stocked to play our favorites upon our whim and request.
God is the God of dust, and He is the God of ashes. He is the God Who calls us to mourn our sins that He might redeem them, not ignore them. He doesn’t allow us to pretend that death is not real, but He gives us the sure and certain hope of resurrection and life eternal. Yes, dust to dust and ashes to ashes, but dust and ashes that live anew, never to die again.
Soli Deo Gloria,
Bill
Now, of course, I know that our fathers in faith who laid the outline of the church year did so mindful only of their call to faithfully tell the story of sacrifice and salvation. It is a sure bet that baseball, yard work and barbeque were not on their agenda at all. The forty days (not counting Sundays) beginning Ash Wednesday start with the solemn mark of the cross on our foreheads and the dreadful, but perspective-establishing words, “You are dust, and to dust you shall return.”
In the spirit of honesty I must say that I don’t groove with this whole business of returning to dust. I am having a great time on this earth, and I don’t want to see my fun come to an unexpected conclusion any time soon. What my selfishness really wants is for my church to ignore the whole business of betrayal, sacrifice, scourge, sin and crucifixion so that I can spout a few praise choruses and blithely pretend that every Sunday is Easter.
Not only does life not allow me -or you, or anyone else- to get away with such fantasy, neither does the God of our Bible or the tradition of our faith.
A couple of hours before writing these words, I learned of the death of my best friend in childhood. Eight months older than me and yard neighbors from birth through my teen years, we played trucks together as toddlers, baseball and basketball as grade-schoolers and Steppenwolf and Jethro Tull as young teens. Though I had no contact with him at all in adult years, hearing of the death of anyone at my age -especially someone who was a part of my life for a long time- was quite rattling.
But, you see, this story is the reality of life and the true presence of a real and living God. God is not a vending machine that doles out trite feel-good blessings in response to our token coins of prayer, faithfulness and good works. Neither is God a great juke-box well-stocked to play our favorites upon our whim and request.
God is the God of dust, and He is the God of ashes. He is the God Who calls us to mourn our sins that He might redeem them, not ignore them. He doesn’t allow us to pretend that death is not real, but He gives us the sure and certain hope of resurrection and life eternal. Yes, dust to dust and ashes to ashes, but dust and ashes that live anew, never to die again.
Soli Deo Gloria,
Bill
Tuesday, February 22, 2011
TEACH ME HOW TO LIVE
For nearly a decade I have walked through the boarding door of an airplane at least two, sometimes four or eight, times in the course of most every single week. I count most of the AirTran terminal staff at KCI as personal friends. I have often joked with them that I could recite the pre-flight briefings from memory with complete accuracy.
My weekly return to Kansas City involves a walk from one end to another of the Atlanta airport. I have done it so often that I can name most of the advertising posters along the walk. There are ads for hotels, airport shuttles, and the King Center, among others.
One of the signs pictures the bright face of a ten-year-old boy wearing a baseball cap with a bat drawn expectantly behind his back. The expression on his face is firm and determined. He could be either of my sons. Four decades ago he could be me.
The large letters say, “He wants to be a baseball player when he grows up.” The smaller copy tells the story of his fight with an immune deficiency that threatens his future. It is obvious that he knows -to the extent any of us do- what he is up against. Still, he responds with courage and determination.
As I walked past the sign to security this morning I remembered the story of another courageous young woman in the Atlanta suburb I lived in during the 1980s and 1990s. Her name was Danielle. She was amazingly gifted as a vocalist, singing recitals of Donizetti and Faure at the age of 13. She was a championship tennis player, a straight-A student and a leader in the youth group of her church.
Danielle’s life seemed as charmed as anyone’s in history until one day she went to the office of the school nurse with a splitting headache. When the pain did not respond to over-the-counter treatment her parents took her to the doctor. Test “just precautionary” were ordered, but the results were the most feared. Brain tumor. Inoperable. Nine to fifteen months. Maybe.
Danielle faced decisions that no human should ever have to face, much less a child. She chose to trust God, give thanks for the life she had been given, and enjoy every remaining day to the fullest. Though her singing and tennis skills faded as the disease progressed, her courage inspired thousands in her church, in her school and in her community.
She died during the wee hours of a Monday night. Her completed homework that she would never submit waited on the breakfast table of her home. Her selected clothes for the school day that would never happen hung on the door of her closet.
I read her story and obituary in the newspaper as the plane lifted into the air. The photo of a smiling Danielle speaking to her youth peers about facing death with hope centered the article. In the dark of my imagination my mind superimposed the face of my own daughter over the one of the fallen child.
I hid my face with the newspaper and wept.
God does not promise us lives free of suffering and death. Not only does faith in God not protect us against suffering, sometimes it becomes the source of our suffering. To the disappointment of those who would seek to bring people to the Church by making them “feel good,” it is Jesus Himself Who commanded “...take up thy cross and follow Me.”
The victory that God gives us over death through the passion and resurrection of our Lord is that He Himself will not only be with us through the valley of the shadow of death, but that He will raise us up to live eternally with Him.
“ I shall not die, but live, and proclaim the works of the Lord!” -Psalm 118:17
Soli Deo Gloria,
Bill
My weekly return to Kansas City involves a walk from one end to another of the Atlanta airport. I have done it so often that I can name most of the advertising posters along the walk. There are ads for hotels, airport shuttles, and the King Center, among others.
One of the signs pictures the bright face of a ten-year-old boy wearing a baseball cap with a bat drawn expectantly behind his back. The expression on his face is firm and determined. He could be either of my sons. Four decades ago he could be me.
The large letters say, “He wants to be a baseball player when he grows up.” The smaller copy tells the story of his fight with an immune deficiency that threatens his future. It is obvious that he knows -to the extent any of us do- what he is up against. Still, he responds with courage and determination.
As I walked past the sign to security this morning I remembered the story of another courageous young woman in the Atlanta suburb I lived in during the 1980s and 1990s. Her name was Danielle. She was amazingly gifted as a vocalist, singing recitals of Donizetti and Faure at the age of 13. She was a championship tennis player, a straight-A student and a leader in the youth group of her church.
Danielle’s life seemed as charmed as anyone’s in history until one day she went to the office of the school nurse with a splitting headache. When the pain did not respond to over-the-counter treatment her parents took her to the doctor. Test “just precautionary” were ordered, but the results were the most feared. Brain tumor. Inoperable. Nine to fifteen months. Maybe.
Danielle faced decisions that no human should ever have to face, much less a child. She chose to trust God, give thanks for the life she had been given, and enjoy every remaining day to the fullest. Though her singing and tennis skills faded as the disease progressed, her courage inspired thousands in her church, in her school and in her community.
She died during the wee hours of a Monday night. Her completed homework that she would never submit waited on the breakfast table of her home. Her selected clothes for the school day that would never happen hung on the door of her closet.
I read her story and obituary in the newspaper as the plane lifted into the air. The photo of a smiling Danielle speaking to her youth peers about facing death with hope centered the article. In the dark of my imagination my mind superimposed the face of my own daughter over the one of the fallen child.
I hid my face with the newspaper and wept.
God does not promise us lives free of suffering and death. Not only does faith in God not protect us against suffering, sometimes it becomes the source of our suffering. To the disappointment of those who would seek to bring people to the Church by making them “feel good,” it is Jesus Himself Who commanded “...take up thy cross and follow Me.”
The victory that God gives us over death through the passion and resurrection of our Lord is that He Himself will not only be with us through the valley of the shadow of death, but that He will raise us up to live eternally with Him.
“ I shall not die, but live, and proclaim the works of the Lord!” -Psalm 118:17
Soli Deo Gloria,
Bill
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