My mom and dad were seated at the kitchen table discussing something very serious. Then he went to the chalkboard on the back of the kitchen door and wrote the longest word I ever saw. Years later, I realize it was amyotrophic lateral sclerosis. I don’t know if that’s the way it really happened or not, but that’s the way I remember it. That story has become a part of the myth of my father.
When you lose your father at the age of six, memories are fuzzy. My brother Ken recently talked to me about how saddened he was by the fact that the people in our family (cousins, nieces and nephews) who knew our father, for the most part, remember him being sick. I have a lot of those memories, too. They are indelibly etched in my brain. But I don’t really think of them as memories of my father so much as memories of a terrible disease that took him from us. That disease was not my father.
I remember dancing with him in the living room when I was probably no more than three or four. I was wearing a red plaid pleated skirt with shoulder straps. When one of the straps fell down, I pulled it back up and said, “Damn it!” My father couldn't help himself and laughed out loud. This is one of those stories I cling to because it reveals to me something important about who my father was. He was a man who enjoyed having a good time, but even more significantly for me, he was a man who took delight in me. (I wonder if this memory explains why two things that bring me great joy, to this day, are dancing and swearing.)
Most of what I remember about my dad was related to sports. That shouldn’t be all that surprising since he and my Uncle Gordon owned a sporting goods store. Our family life revolved around ball diamonds, bowling alleys, and fishing lakes. I can see him tossing a baseball in the front yard with my brother, inspecting bowling lanes with level in hand, turning off the lights at a softball field after an evening game. He seemed to be surrounded by friends with funky nicknames like Bones and Sparky. There was always a party going on when my dad was around. That’s the way I remember it.
The last time my father saw me I was standing in a hospital parking lot looking up at a hand waving at me from a window four stories up. It seemed to be an appropriate way for him to exit my life. Not only was I waving goodbye to him, but I was waving goodbye to life as I had known it. It felt a bit like being booted out of Camelot and into the wilderness. There was this void in my life that I couldn’t begin to understand as a little girl. My younger sister was just a baby and my older brother was a troubled adolescent who was acting out after losing the most important connection in his life. They required a lot of attention. That left me… nowhere. Every day I came home from school to an empty house and a black cocker spaniel named Inky. I was on my own. From that time on I don’t ever remember anybody laying out my clothes for me in the morning, or telling me to take a bath or go to bed at night. I was living in a void. In some ways I felt like I myself was a void.
A few years after my father died, my mother remarried. I’m not sure why. I suspect she thought we needed a father, or maybe she was afraid that she wouldn’t be able to make it on her own. But it wasn’t a real marriage and in my book it did more harm than good to our family. I never accepted that man as anything that even remotely resembled a father in my life and I never let him forget it. He crossed the line with me on a few occasions and gave me ample material to pick apart with a therapist when I was in my early thirties. Suffice it to say that his presence in my life was not helpful. And I never confused him with a person I would call my father.
Through the years I created a myth for who my father was. Some parts of the story may be factual, but when a person becomes a myth, their story transcends the facts. In recent years, I learned that my father was a racist. I also learned that back in the days before I was born he moved his family repeatedly from place to place because he didn’t have money to pay the rent. So, my father was human after all. I'm not so sure now what's true about him and what isn't. The only thing I know for sure was that my mother adored him until the day she died. It’s not much, but I suppose it’s something.
They say that there’s a strong correlation between the relationship a woman has with her father while she’s growing up and her ability to have healthy relationships with men as an adult. Ugh. I don’t know what that means for me. How can I ever stop hoping deep down inside that some man will come along and fill the void I’ve been carrying my whole life? I know that’s absurd; no man can ever do that. But this six-year-old little girl still lives inside me and she will always long for that. I’ve learned to stop doing battle with that little girl and embrace her as a part of who I am. That helps. Overall, it keeps her from getting the best of me.
From time to time, God has helped me heal some of the damaging effects of the void in my life by bringing an extraordinary man to walk with me for a while. I think of three in particular. They are all pastors I’ve worked with at different times and I felt myself connecting to them as I would a father. They are not perfect by any means, but they are good guys. It was the way that I felt about myself when I was with them that made such a difference in my life. Like the father I remember dancing with in my living room, they took delight in me. I also felt protected by them, although it wasn’t like they were my knights in shining armor who fought my battles for me. It was more like they supported me in my struggles and I always trusted that they had my back. I could count on them for that. I felt safe and secure with them. Isn’t that what the love of a father looks like? A father delights in you. He has your back. You know you're safe and secure with him. I like to believe that God sent these men into my life because he knew how much I needed to experience that.
On Father's Day I can’t help but think about the dad I lost 50+ years ago. But I also think of Bob, Jan and Dick. They truly were God-sent gifts to help me along the way. And through them, I have come to recognize how, when all is said and done, God is the one who fills the void in my life. Had I never experienced the void, I might never know that. Although it has seemed so real to me, I know it is an illusion. God fills the void, and it ceases to exist. And God always fills it.
Thursday, June 16, 2011
Monday, June 13, 2011
What keeps me from flying through the windshield
Was she wearing a seatbelt? How often is this question asked when we learn of someone who was injured or killed in a car accident. I’m not sure why we ask it. I suppose it’s to confirm what we already know. Seatbelts save lives.
I remember sitting through those terrifying driver training movies during high school and being indelibly convinced that I would never turn the key in the ignition of a car without first fastening my seatbelt. Since then, buckling up has become second nature to me. I fasten myself in without thinking about it. Even if I’m sitting in a parked car with the engine turned off, I feel naked without my seatbelt.
Do you remember when it became the law that we would all have to wear seatbelts and some people groused about how this was an infringement on their freedom? I never understood that way of thinking. It seems to me that if you have to be forced not to be a fool, then you’re an even bigger fool!
During this wild ride of a life that I’ve been traveling, I'm thankful that I've been wearing a spiritual seatbelt. Being connected to someone greater than myself, someone who sees me exactly as I am, flaws and all, and yet loves me more than I can ever love myself, is what holds me together. Without that, I feel like I could just as easily end up in a bazillion pieces, scattered over a guard rail on the side of some obscure, God forsaken road. Wearing this seatbelt has become second nature to me. It’s always there; I don’t have to think about putting it on. But when I know that I’m in for an especially treacherous ride, I need an extra measure of security.
Last week I decided it was time for me to go public with some physical challenges I’m facing in my life. (see blog post, “Note to body: stop ruining all my fun”) That wasn’t easy for me. I hate whiners! But beyond that, I’m a very private person and have kept this problem to myself for a long time, hoping that it would all resolve itself and no one would ever have to know. (Yes, perhaps I was in denial.) As it became apparent to me that this disease wasn’t going to go away without considerable effort, I realized that the time had come for me to buckle up for a bumpy ride.
God’s love doesn’t come to us in a vacuum. We experience it through community, through the people God places in our lives. We were not created to travel “that long, lonesome highway." We were created to journey together, supporting, encouraging and challenging one another along the way. This is how God’s love comes to us; we’re channels of his love to one another. So, when we need help, it’s okay to ask for it. In fact, to keep things to ourselves, and think we can brave it alone, like strong little soldiers, is to deny God’s love access to us. It’s taken me a long time to realize that, but I think I get it now.
So, I’m telling people who have been accompanying me on my life journey about my struggle. You need to know. Not because I’m hoping someone out there can fix me, but simply because we're in this together and I trust that you care. I covet your prayers and your support and I long to know that you’re walking beside me, even if only for a single step along the way. I turn to you because I need assurance that the love of God is securely fastened, like a seatbelt, around me. (Just as I hope you turn to me, when you need to check to see if your seatbelt is securely fastened, as well.) That’s why God has given us to one another through the gift of community. For me not to share my troubles with you would be to turn my back on God. And turning my back on God would be as foolish as driving in rush-hour traffic without a seatbelt.
Is this going to protect me from anything harmful coming my way? Of course not. No more than wearing a seatbelt prevents traffic accidents. But it will keep me from flying through the windshield.
I remember sitting through those terrifying driver training movies during high school and being indelibly convinced that I would never turn the key in the ignition of a car without first fastening my seatbelt. Since then, buckling up has become second nature to me. I fasten myself in without thinking about it. Even if I’m sitting in a parked car with the engine turned off, I feel naked without my seatbelt.
Do you remember when it became the law that we would all have to wear seatbelts and some people groused about how this was an infringement on their freedom? I never understood that way of thinking. It seems to me that if you have to be forced not to be a fool, then you’re an even bigger fool!
During this wild ride of a life that I’ve been traveling, I'm thankful that I've been wearing a spiritual seatbelt. Being connected to someone greater than myself, someone who sees me exactly as I am, flaws and all, and yet loves me more than I can ever love myself, is what holds me together. Without that, I feel like I could just as easily end up in a bazillion pieces, scattered over a guard rail on the side of some obscure, God forsaken road. Wearing this seatbelt has become second nature to me. It’s always there; I don’t have to think about putting it on. But when I know that I’m in for an especially treacherous ride, I need an extra measure of security.
Last week I decided it was time for me to go public with some physical challenges I’m facing in my life. (see blog post, “Note to body: stop ruining all my fun”) That wasn’t easy for me. I hate whiners! But beyond that, I’m a very private person and have kept this problem to myself for a long time, hoping that it would all resolve itself and no one would ever have to know. (Yes, perhaps I was in denial.) As it became apparent to me that this disease wasn’t going to go away without considerable effort, I realized that the time had come for me to buckle up for a bumpy ride.
God’s love doesn’t come to us in a vacuum. We experience it through community, through the people God places in our lives. We were not created to travel “that long, lonesome highway." We were created to journey together, supporting, encouraging and challenging one another along the way. This is how God’s love comes to us; we’re channels of his love to one another. So, when we need help, it’s okay to ask for it. In fact, to keep things to ourselves, and think we can brave it alone, like strong little soldiers, is to deny God’s love access to us. It’s taken me a long time to realize that, but I think I get it now.
So, I’m telling people who have been accompanying me on my life journey about my struggle. You need to know. Not because I’m hoping someone out there can fix me, but simply because we're in this together and I trust that you care. I covet your prayers and your support and I long to know that you’re walking beside me, even if only for a single step along the way. I turn to you because I need assurance that the love of God is securely fastened, like a seatbelt, around me. (Just as I hope you turn to me, when you need to check to see if your seatbelt is securely fastened, as well.) That’s why God has given us to one another through the gift of community. For me not to share my troubles with you would be to turn my back on God. And turning my back on God would be as foolish as driving in rush-hour traffic without a seatbelt.
Is this going to protect me from anything harmful coming my way? Of course not. No more than wearing a seatbelt prevents traffic accidents. But it will keep me from flying through the windshield.
Sunday, June 12, 2011
Why quoting Bible verses doesn't work for me
Sometimes I get into misunderstandings with other Christians that are hard to resolve because we have such differing views on the Bible. From their perspective, I suspect they can’t fathom how someone like me, someone who calls herself a Christian, can say the things I do when they so blatantly contradict what the Bible says. I’m not always sure what to do about this because it seems like we’re speaking a different language when it comes to the Bible. When they quote Bible verses to convince me of the error in my thinking, I’m sure it seldom occurs to them that this is meaningless to me. I just don’t read the Bible like that.
What separates us is the way we allow the Bible to inform our lives. For many Christians, quoting the Bible is an effective way to make a point. This is the way it is, they’ll tell me, because it says so right here in the Bible. You know the bumper sticker approach to Scripture: “The Bible says it. I believe it. That settles it.” Sometimes I wish it were that simple. Instead, for me, it’s more like: “One version of the Bible that is commonly accepted today says it. While trying to find my way in this world, it is among the voices that inform me. I’m open to its truth for me as my journey continues to unfold.” I know, it’s not as catchy as “The Bible says it. I believe it. That settles it.” And it sure won’t fit onto a bumper sticker.
I could tell you some of the reasons why I’m not a Biblical literalist, but then, I’m not sure there is such a thing as a Biblical literalist. Even those who might be labeled as such are selective about which parts of the Bible they will take literally. What most of us probably would call a Biblical literalist is someone who looks to the Bible for definitive answers. But you don’t have to turn very many pages in your Bible to see that it was never intended to be read that way. If it were, we would have one version of the creation story. We’d be able to point to it and say, “There, that’s how it happened.” But in the first chapters of Genesis we have two contradictory stories of how it all transpired. And if the Bible were written to give us definitive answers, we would have one story about Jesus. Instead, we have four. When Matthew, Mark, Luke and John can’t agree about the way the story unfolded, how can we say that the Bible was ever intended to give us definitive answers? Which answers would those be? (Actually, I’m thankful we don’t have definite answers in the Bible. Definite answers are highly over-rated. Who can grow when there are definite answers?)
I’m also not comfortable using the Bible as a rule book because I don’t think that’s its purpose. Jesus certainly didn’t use the Scriptures as a rule book. He often turned the law upside down and reversed what once had been accepted as truth. In the same way, in the early church, laws that once seemed to be ironclad were suddenly changed or discarded altogether. It seems that one of the things we learn from the witness of the Scriptures is that part of what it means to be God’s people is to be open to changes in the way we understand God working in the world. Maybe God changes, or maybe it’s just our understanding of God that changes, but clearly God is a God of transformation. When the laws of Scripture are changed within Scripture, how can we think that those laws would suddenly become etched in stone once someone decided the Bible had been completed? Isn’t the Spirit still alive and active in the world today? (I really wish they would stop putting back covers on Bibles!)
For me, the Bible is not a set of instructions that tells me how to live. It’s not prescriptive, but descriptive. It is a collection of writings from people through the centuries who have been in relationship with God. They have written about their experiences as people of faith and the meaning they have gleaned from those experiences. Because I am also a person of faith, I treasure their witness. They enrich me, encourage me and often challenge me. But I feel free to disagree with them. I think that’s how we were meant to read the scriptures.
When I sit down with the adult Sunday school class at Holy Trinity we get into deep discussions about what it means to live out our faith in the world today. We share with one another about how it’s working for us, what meaning we're finding along the way, how we struggle. We don’t always agree, but the Spirit speaks to us in those open discussions. I’m thankful to be a part of a community of faith where that happens.
In the same way, the authors of the scriptures are also a faith community for me and they speak to me. I may not always agree with what they have to say, but I trust that the Spirit is at work as they inform me along the way. Their witness has stood the test of time. They have spoken to millions of Christians throughout the centuries, and that gives them a level of credibility that makes them hard to dismiss. They are a treasure to me. I can’t imagine how I would negotiate the life of faith without them. I suspect I would be lost.
Does that make me a heretic? I don’t think so. It just means that when I read the Bible I’m not expecting answers. I’m expecting a conversation.
What separates us is the way we allow the Bible to inform our lives. For many Christians, quoting the Bible is an effective way to make a point. This is the way it is, they’ll tell me, because it says so right here in the Bible. You know the bumper sticker approach to Scripture: “The Bible says it. I believe it. That settles it.” Sometimes I wish it were that simple. Instead, for me, it’s more like: “One version of the Bible that is commonly accepted today says it. While trying to find my way in this world, it is among the voices that inform me. I’m open to its truth for me as my journey continues to unfold.” I know, it’s not as catchy as “The Bible says it. I believe it. That settles it.” And it sure won’t fit onto a bumper sticker.
I could tell you some of the reasons why I’m not a Biblical literalist, but then, I’m not sure there is such a thing as a Biblical literalist. Even those who might be labeled as such are selective about which parts of the Bible they will take literally. What most of us probably would call a Biblical literalist is someone who looks to the Bible for definitive answers. But you don’t have to turn very many pages in your Bible to see that it was never intended to be read that way. If it were, we would have one version of the creation story. We’d be able to point to it and say, “There, that’s how it happened.” But in the first chapters of Genesis we have two contradictory stories of how it all transpired. And if the Bible were written to give us definitive answers, we would have one story about Jesus. Instead, we have four. When Matthew, Mark, Luke and John can’t agree about the way the story unfolded, how can we say that the Bible was ever intended to give us definitive answers? Which answers would those be? (Actually, I’m thankful we don’t have definite answers in the Bible. Definite answers are highly over-rated. Who can grow when there are definite answers?)
I’m also not comfortable using the Bible as a rule book because I don’t think that’s its purpose. Jesus certainly didn’t use the Scriptures as a rule book. He often turned the law upside down and reversed what once had been accepted as truth. In the same way, in the early church, laws that once seemed to be ironclad were suddenly changed or discarded altogether. It seems that one of the things we learn from the witness of the Scriptures is that part of what it means to be God’s people is to be open to changes in the way we understand God working in the world. Maybe God changes, or maybe it’s just our understanding of God that changes, but clearly God is a God of transformation. When the laws of Scripture are changed within Scripture, how can we think that those laws would suddenly become etched in stone once someone decided the Bible had been completed? Isn’t the Spirit still alive and active in the world today? (I really wish they would stop putting back covers on Bibles!)
For me, the Bible is not a set of instructions that tells me how to live. It’s not prescriptive, but descriptive. It is a collection of writings from people through the centuries who have been in relationship with God. They have written about their experiences as people of faith and the meaning they have gleaned from those experiences. Because I am also a person of faith, I treasure their witness. They enrich me, encourage me and often challenge me. But I feel free to disagree with them. I think that’s how we were meant to read the scriptures.
When I sit down with the adult Sunday school class at Holy Trinity we get into deep discussions about what it means to live out our faith in the world today. We share with one another about how it’s working for us, what meaning we're finding along the way, how we struggle. We don’t always agree, but the Spirit speaks to us in those open discussions. I’m thankful to be a part of a community of faith where that happens.
In the same way, the authors of the scriptures are also a faith community for me and they speak to me. I may not always agree with what they have to say, but I trust that the Spirit is at work as they inform me along the way. Their witness has stood the test of time. They have spoken to millions of Christians throughout the centuries, and that gives them a level of credibility that makes them hard to dismiss. They are a treasure to me. I can’t imagine how I would negotiate the life of faith without them. I suspect I would be lost.
Does that make me a heretic? I don’t think so. It just means that when I read the Bible I’m not expecting answers. I’m expecting a conversation.
Saturday, June 11, 2011
Kicking and Screaming into the Kingdom of God
Imagine gathering together with people from every nation under the sun and they’re all talking at once. That’s the way the Christian church began, in a demonstration of diversity, like the Tower of Babel after people became divided over language and culture. But the day of Pentecost reversed the division of diversity. The cacophony of voices talking past one another was transcended and suddenly God’s people were communicating and connecting with one another. A bunch of uneducated guys from Galilee spoke so each person could understand what they were saying, each in their own native tongue. No one had gone to language classes and there were no interpreters on hand. How was this possible? It was a God moment for sure. The Holy Spirit that Jesus had promised them had arrived and it spread through their ranks like a wildfire.
We learned something about God that day. The story reveals to us the very nature of how God is active and alive in the world. God isn’t trapped in the musty old pages of a holy book. God is on the move. And from the very beginning we can see the direction God is headed. God is pulling us toward a place that includes all people. That place knows no boundaries just as the love of God knows no boundaries. Jesus called it the Kingdom of God.
It’s such a profound truth that you’d think Jesus’ followers would have welcomed it with open arms and embraced it as the only way to be in the world. But, from the get-go, the opposite has been the case. God’s people have always been pulled, kicking and screaming, into the Kingdom of God.
Just a chapter before the Pentecost story in the book of Acts, Jesus is with his disciples for the very last time. They’ve spent years with this man. They’ve heard him teaching about the Kingdom of God. They’ve witnessed what it looks like for a person to live within that reality through his actions. And yet, when the risen Christ tries one last time to explain it to them, they have just one more question for him. “Master, are you going to restore the kingdom of Israel now? Is this the time?” Can you imagine? I would have wanted to pop them one and say, “How is it that you still don’t get it?” But I guess Jesus realized at that point that they were never going to get it. Not without a serious intervention.
So, he tells them, “You don’t get to know the time. Timing is the Father’s business. What you’ll get is the Holy Spirit. And when the Holy Spirit comes over you, you will be able to be my witnesses in Jerusalem, all over Judea and Samaria, even to the ends of the world” (The Message). Jesus makes it clear that the direction of the Spirit was not inward, but outward. And right out of the starting block, on the Day of Pentecost, his words are fulfilled as people of all nations hear about what God is doing in the world.
The disciples are transformed. Even Peter, the one who always had such a knack for saying the wrong thing at the wrong time, suddenly becomes eloquent. When folks who are watching all this want to know what’s going on, he quotes from the prophet Joel. I don’t know if he realized what he was saying, but the Spirit got it right in the selection of a sermon text that day. Through this passage Peter explains the significance of what’s happening by laying out God’s intention of diversity and inclusion for his people.
“In the Last Days,” God says, “I will pour out my Spirit on every kind of people.” Every kind of people. That’s pretty clear, isn’t it? No exceptions. No exclusions. And he gives some examples of that, lest anyone miss the point. Sons and daughters will prophesy. Apparently gender differences aren’t an issue for the Spirit. Young men will see visions, old men will see dreams. So age doesn’t seem to be an issue either. The Spirit is poured out on all. It’s not like an eye dropper that very carefully and selectively chooses a few lucky recipients; it’s a cloudburst that soaks every last one of us to the bone.
The dynamic movement of the Spirit toward inclusion didn’t end on the Day of Pentecost. You’ll notice that even though the people who were gathered in Jerusalem that day were from a multitude of nations, they were all Jews. This became the first big challenge for the church as the Spirit pulled them along into the Kingdom, kicking and screaming. It was a huge controversy. There were angry meetings, and heated letters flying back and forth. But, if those early church leaders knew anything about how the Spirit of God works in the world, they had to know the direction it was all headed. Sooner or later, God’s love was going to break open their hardened hearts and minds and they were going to welcome Gentiles into their family. That’s the way God’s Spirit works. She’s always about the business of challenging our fear-driven need to exclude people and leading us into a community that reflects the grace of God.
You know, we’re all are a part of God’s realm, whether we recognize that or not. But the Spirit pushes, pulls, and prods us to expand our understanding of God’s Kingdom so that we get closer and closer to realizing it as it really is, that is, the way it is from God’s perspective, so we can enjoy being a part of it.
You may have heard me say in the past that I like the definition of God that says, “God is a circle whose center is everywhere and whose circumference is nowhere.” It’s hard for us to get our heads around that. It seems that we’re more comfortable saying that there is a definite center, and that would be where our own personal truth is located, and there is a definite circumference, which would bump right up against the limits of our imagination. Based upon the circles we create for our understanding of God, we like to believe we can determine who’s in and who’s out. But the Spirit won’t let us do that. She constantly challenges us to expand our circle as it moves closer and closer toward that circle whose center is everywhere and whose circumference is nowhere.
This is the story of God’s Spirit alive and working in the world through the church. Historically, we’ve struggled to figure out how to include men and women, rich and poor, slaves and free, gay and straight. Personally we may struggle to include folks who didn’t vote the way we did in the last presidential election, people who have a foul odor because they don’t have a place to shower, or people who are just plain annoying. I think we all struggle with how to include people who don’t believe what we do about God. Are Muslims, Scientologists, atheists a part of the Kingdom of God? I can assure you that just when we think we have it all settled about who’s in and who’s out, the Spirit is going to come along and mess everything up for us. You may have noticed that we seem to make believing the litmus test for who’s in and who’s out. After all, the Bible says you have to believe in Jesus, right? Well, if we know anything about the way the Spirit works, I wouldn’t be so sure about that.
On the day of Pentecost we’re reminded of how it all started for us as a Christian church. Within that story of our beginning, our mission was set in motion. Like a pebble dropped into a quiet lake, the Spirit created a ring in the water. If you've ever tossed a pebble into the water, you know what happens after that first tiny ring appears. It grows into a larger ring, and then a larger one after that, again and again. That’s the direction it takes. So, it begins, and so it continues. And that’s the way God is working through his people in the world. We’re being pulled toward living into God’s Kingdom. It’s what Jesus kept talking about when he taught us about the Kingdom of God as a reality, right here, right now. The Holy Spirit is moving us toward realizing it in our midst by the ways we include all in God’s circle of love. We can cooperate with that movement of the Spirit, or we can be pulled into God's Kingdom kicking and screaming. But make no mistake about how the story of God's relationship with his people unfolds. God's Kingdom comes. It's happening.
We learned something about God that day. The story reveals to us the very nature of how God is active and alive in the world. God isn’t trapped in the musty old pages of a holy book. God is on the move. And from the very beginning we can see the direction God is headed. God is pulling us toward a place that includes all people. That place knows no boundaries just as the love of God knows no boundaries. Jesus called it the Kingdom of God.
It’s such a profound truth that you’d think Jesus’ followers would have welcomed it with open arms and embraced it as the only way to be in the world. But, from the get-go, the opposite has been the case. God’s people have always been pulled, kicking and screaming, into the Kingdom of God.
Just a chapter before the Pentecost story in the book of Acts, Jesus is with his disciples for the very last time. They’ve spent years with this man. They’ve heard him teaching about the Kingdom of God. They’ve witnessed what it looks like for a person to live within that reality through his actions. And yet, when the risen Christ tries one last time to explain it to them, they have just one more question for him. “Master, are you going to restore the kingdom of Israel now? Is this the time?” Can you imagine? I would have wanted to pop them one and say, “How is it that you still don’t get it?” But I guess Jesus realized at that point that they were never going to get it. Not without a serious intervention.
So, he tells them, “You don’t get to know the time. Timing is the Father’s business. What you’ll get is the Holy Spirit. And when the Holy Spirit comes over you, you will be able to be my witnesses in Jerusalem, all over Judea and Samaria, even to the ends of the world” (The Message). Jesus makes it clear that the direction of the Spirit was not inward, but outward. And right out of the starting block, on the Day of Pentecost, his words are fulfilled as people of all nations hear about what God is doing in the world.
The disciples are transformed. Even Peter, the one who always had such a knack for saying the wrong thing at the wrong time, suddenly becomes eloquent. When folks who are watching all this want to know what’s going on, he quotes from the prophet Joel. I don’t know if he realized what he was saying, but the Spirit got it right in the selection of a sermon text that day. Through this passage Peter explains the significance of what’s happening by laying out God’s intention of diversity and inclusion for his people.
“In the Last Days,” God says, “I will pour out my Spirit on every kind of people.” Every kind of people. That’s pretty clear, isn’t it? No exceptions. No exclusions. And he gives some examples of that, lest anyone miss the point. Sons and daughters will prophesy. Apparently gender differences aren’t an issue for the Spirit. Young men will see visions, old men will see dreams. So age doesn’t seem to be an issue either. The Spirit is poured out on all. It’s not like an eye dropper that very carefully and selectively chooses a few lucky recipients; it’s a cloudburst that soaks every last one of us to the bone.
The dynamic movement of the Spirit toward inclusion didn’t end on the Day of Pentecost. You’ll notice that even though the people who were gathered in Jerusalem that day were from a multitude of nations, they were all Jews. This became the first big challenge for the church as the Spirit pulled them along into the Kingdom, kicking and screaming. It was a huge controversy. There were angry meetings, and heated letters flying back and forth. But, if those early church leaders knew anything about how the Spirit of God works in the world, they had to know the direction it was all headed. Sooner or later, God’s love was going to break open their hardened hearts and minds and they were going to welcome Gentiles into their family. That’s the way God’s Spirit works. She’s always about the business of challenging our fear-driven need to exclude people and leading us into a community that reflects the grace of God.
You know, we’re all are a part of God’s realm, whether we recognize that or not. But the Spirit pushes, pulls, and prods us to expand our understanding of God’s Kingdom so that we get closer and closer to realizing it as it really is, that is, the way it is from God’s perspective, so we can enjoy being a part of it.
You may have heard me say in the past that I like the definition of God that says, “God is a circle whose center is everywhere and whose circumference is nowhere.” It’s hard for us to get our heads around that. It seems that we’re more comfortable saying that there is a definite center, and that would be where our own personal truth is located, and there is a definite circumference, which would bump right up against the limits of our imagination. Based upon the circles we create for our understanding of God, we like to believe we can determine who’s in and who’s out. But the Spirit won’t let us do that. She constantly challenges us to expand our circle as it moves closer and closer toward that circle whose center is everywhere and whose circumference is nowhere.
This is the story of God’s Spirit alive and working in the world through the church. Historically, we’ve struggled to figure out how to include men and women, rich and poor, slaves and free, gay and straight. Personally we may struggle to include folks who didn’t vote the way we did in the last presidential election, people who have a foul odor because they don’t have a place to shower, or people who are just plain annoying. I think we all struggle with how to include people who don’t believe what we do about God. Are Muslims, Scientologists, atheists a part of the Kingdom of God? I can assure you that just when we think we have it all settled about who’s in and who’s out, the Spirit is going to come along and mess everything up for us. You may have noticed that we seem to make believing the litmus test for who’s in and who’s out. After all, the Bible says you have to believe in Jesus, right? Well, if we know anything about the way the Spirit works, I wouldn’t be so sure about that.
On the day of Pentecost we’re reminded of how it all started for us as a Christian church. Within that story of our beginning, our mission was set in motion. Like a pebble dropped into a quiet lake, the Spirit created a ring in the water. If you've ever tossed a pebble into the water, you know what happens after that first tiny ring appears. It grows into a larger ring, and then a larger one after that, again and again. That’s the direction it takes. So, it begins, and so it continues. And that’s the way God is working through his people in the world. We’re being pulled toward living into God’s Kingdom. It’s what Jesus kept talking about when he taught us about the Kingdom of God as a reality, right here, right now. The Holy Spirit is moving us toward realizing it in our midst by the ways we include all in God’s circle of love. We can cooperate with that movement of the Spirit, or we can be pulled into God's Kingdom kicking and screaming. But make no mistake about how the story of God's relationship with his people unfolds. God's Kingdom comes. It's happening.
Wednesday, June 8, 2011
Note to body: Stop ruining all my fun!
One of my favorite trails is the one on the Blue Ridge Parkway that goes up to Mt. Pisgah. It’s been a few years, but, in my mind, I frequently re-visit the last time I hiked it because of a man and woman I encountered along the way. I would guess that they were in their 80s and the picture of health. While my hiking buddy and I were struggling up the mountain, they sailed past us. And while we were still struggling up the mountain, they met us again as they were headed back down. I have no idea who they were or what their story was, but of all the older people I have known, they are the ones who have inspired me the most. That morning on the trail up the mountain I vowed to myself that someday I was going to be just like them. Lately, I’ve been thinking about them a lot because I can barely walk around the block without becoming exhausted.
What is going on? A year ago the only challenge I faced in the morning was waking up early enough to run before it got too hot. Now the slightest exercise is an effort for me. There’s this crazy weakness in my arms and legs that I first noticed last October while I was contra-dancing at LEAF. It’s really been cramping my style and I want it to stop! But despite what I may want, it’s getting worse. I hate it hate it hate it.
The last thing I want to become is one of those people whose whole life revolves around their illness. And yet, that’s what’s happening. As I’ve come to realize that this affliction isn’t going to disappear just as mysteriously as it first appeared, I’ve been going after it with a vengeance. I’m spending a lot of time searching the internet for answers. My primary care physician has been running every test known to medical science on me, some at her suggestion and others per my request. Altogether, I would guess that 40 some vials of blood have been taken and tested. And just about every square inch of my body has been imaged in one way or another. Now I’m also seeing a rheumatologist and he’s running more tests. In the meanwhile, I haven’t been sitting around twiddling my thumbs. I’ve been trying all kinds of things. I went off all my medications to see if that was causing it. Nothing. I’ve gone without dairy, gluten, wheat. Each time, nothing. Recently I started seeing a woman who practices alternative medicine and I have to say that I feel better than I have in many years. I love this woman and what she’s doing for me. But, so far, the heaviness in my arms and legs continues to get worse.
This makes no sense to me. In my spirit, I’ve got the energy to climb mountains and dance all night, but in my body it just ain’t gonna happen. I’ve been making plans for myself that don’t allow for this crap and thought that surely I would be well by now. This week I had to cancel my registration to a dance weekend in Asheville that I was so looking forward to. It broke my heart to face the reality that I just wouldn’t be able to do it. Now, the next big thing I have planned is my trip to the Grand Canyon at the beginning of August and I’m thinking that I just have to be well by then. We’ll find out what’s causing this, deal with it, and I’ll be good to go. But there is a fine line between optimistic thinking and facing reality and I’m starting to wonder if I’ve been living in denial.
Whenever I am struggling in my life, I try to find meaning in my experience. That way it’s never for nothing. Certainly, through all of this, I’ve become more empathetic toward people who deal with ongoing illnesses. Confronting physical limitations is never something we anticipate when we’re healthy. We have to be smacked in the face with a physical limitation before we’ll even acknowledge it as a possibility for us, and then, once we do, it’s hard not to let our minds go wild. I don’t suspect this is going to be the death of me, and I have every hope that it can be cured, but still, I’ve allowed myself to think the worst from time to time. I know that sometimes the worst happens; that’s part of the deal. And it sucks. These days I have a better understanding of what it feels like to go through that, as many of those who are near and dear to me have.
I’ve also learned not to take my body for granted as I have in the past. I know that I’ve abused it in many ways over the years and like any victim of abuse, eventually my body couldn’t take it anymore and said, “enough is enough.” I need to be kinder to my body and listen to what it’s telling me. And so, I promise that when I get better I will take my health more seriously. I know that’s the only way I’ll be able to climb Mt. Pisgah on my 80th birthday. But wait a minute. Does this mean that I’ve gone from denial to bargaining?
What is going on? A year ago the only challenge I faced in the morning was waking up early enough to run before it got too hot. Now the slightest exercise is an effort for me. There’s this crazy weakness in my arms and legs that I first noticed last October while I was contra-dancing at LEAF. It’s really been cramping my style and I want it to stop! But despite what I may want, it’s getting worse. I hate it hate it hate it.
The last thing I want to become is one of those people whose whole life revolves around their illness. And yet, that’s what’s happening. As I’ve come to realize that this affliction isn’t going to disappear just as mysteriously as it first appeared, I’ve been going after it with a vengeance. I’m spending a lot of time searching the internet for answers. My primary care physician has been running every test known to medical science on me, some at her suggestion and others per my request. Altogether, I would guess that 40 some vials of blood have been taken and tested. And just about every square inch of my body has been imaged in one way or another. Now I’m also seeing a rheumatologist and he’s running more tests. In the meanwhile, I haven’t been sitting around twiddling my thumbs. I’ve been trying all kinds of things. I went off all my medications to see if that was causing it. Nothing. I’ve gone without dairy, gluten, wheat. Each time, nothing. Recently I started seeing a woman who practices alternative medicine and I have to say that I feel better than I have in many years. I love this woman and what she’s doing for me. But, so far, the heaviness in my arms and legs continues to get worse.
This makes no sense to me. In my spirit, I’ve got the energy to climb mountains and dance all night, but in my body it just ain’t gonna happen. I’ve been making plans for myself that don’t allow for this crap and thought that surely I would be well by now. This week I had to cancel my registration to a dance weekend in Asheville that I was so looking forward to. It broke my heart to face the reality that I just wouldn’t be able to do it. Now, the next big thing I have planned is my trip to the Grand Canyon at the beginning of August and I’m thinking that I just have to be well by then. We’ll find out what’s causing this, deal with it, and I’ll be good to go. But there is a fine line between optimistic thinking and facing reality and I’m starting to wonder if I’ve been living in denial.
Whenever I am struggling in my life, I try to find meaning in my experience. That way it’s never for nothing. Certainly, through all of this, I’ve become more empathetic toward people who deal with ongoing illnesses. Confronting physical limitations is never something we anticipate when we’re healthy. We have to be smacked in the face with a physical limitation before we’ll even acknowledge it as a possibility for us, and then, once we do, it’s hard not to let our minds go wild. I don’t suspect this is going to be the death of me, and I have every hope that it can be cured, but still, I’ve allowed myself to think the worst from time to time. I know that sometimes the worst happens; that’s part of the deal. And it sucks. These days I have a better understanding of what it feels like to go through that, as many of those who are near and dear to me have.
I’ve also learned not to take my body for granted as I have in the past. I know that I’ve abused it in many ways over the years and like any victim of abuse, eventually my body couldn’t take it anymore and said, “enough is enough.” I need to be kinder to my body and listen to what it’s telling me. And so, I promise that when I get better I will take my health more seriously. I know that’s the only way I’ll be able to climb Mt. Pisgah on my 80th birthday. But wait a minute. Does this mean that I’ve gone from denial to bargaining?
Tuesday, June 7, 2011
Holy Erotica!
If you’re looking for a great erotic read, check out Song of Solomon. Have you ever read it? At its core, Song of Solomon is a celebration of erotic love. It’s about the longing two lovers have for one another and the bold celebration of their passion. It’s racy stuff! I wonder, if Christians today were given the task of deciding which books would be included in the Bible, would Song of Solomon make the cut?
Through the years Christians haven’t known quite what to do with this little book in the Old Testament. Many have interpreted it as an allegory about the love between God and his people. Some have suggested that it be thrown out altogether, that it has no place in the Bible, as if its inclusion was some kind of mistake. But Song of Solomon is actually a treasure for us because these few highly erotic pages in the Holy Book celebrate God’s profound gift of sexual intimacy.
The fact that we don't read from Song of Solomon in public worship, and preachers choose not to preach about it, is the result of a larger problem we have in our culture that comes to us from Greek philosophy. It’s the belief that everything that has to do with the physical world will never be anything but impure and only in the spiritual realm can true purity be found. So we get this dualistic viewpoint where the body is bad and the spirit is good. This is a gross distortion of the world God created.
Dr. Phyllis Trible, a Biblical scholar at Wake Forest, sees the garden imagery of Song of Solomon as a recreation of garden imagery in the Garden of Eden, before the fall. In the Garden of Eden, after the fall, we find sexuality entangled with guilt, judgment and shameful nudity. In Song of Solomon, we find love woven with play and imagination and delight; there is no guilt found anywhere. In Genesis we find pain in childbirth and unequal power between lovers. In Song of Solomon childbirth is eagerly anticipated, the Rose of Sharon invites her beloved into her mother’s chamber for the consummation of their love, and their relationship is a rich mutuality of power and passion. Although God is never mentioned in Song of Solomon, there is something very sacred going on.
So, what happened? Why has our understanding of sexuality become so twisted? That’s a complex question that deserves more than a simple explanation in a blog post. But, beyond the way a dualistic view of body and spirit has permeated our western thought, there is also the matter of how sexuality is so often abused in the world that it’s hard for us to see it as a gift.
This was true in New Testament times, too. The new religion of Christianity was being introduced into a world where promiscuity, temple prostitutes, and pedophilia were not only commonplace, but they were also socially acceptable. Paul addressed these issues head-on in his letters.
We can never make sense of the writings of Paul without learning something about the culture in which he lived. When he refers to fornication, he’s talking about temple prostitution, something that doesn’t make a whole lot of sense to us today. In the 21st century, our context for sexual ethics is different. 80% of college students have sex together regularly – many of them with the people they will eventually marry. 9 out of 10 heterosexual couples married in most of our churches have been living together before the wedding. (I can't remember the last time I married a couple that wasn't already living together.) When Paul refers to homosexuality, he’s talking about pedophilia, which was an accepted practice in his day. There was no understanding of committed relationships between two adults of the same gender. To say that sexual behaviors practiced today are different than they were in Paul’s day is an understatement to the Nth degree.
As Christians, we have a challenge when it comes to sexuality. We need to do what Paul did by offering guidance to one another about healthy sexual behavior in our time and place. We can’t base our behaviors upon the context of the first century Middle Eastern world. We need to establish a sexual ethic for our contemporary context.
Rowan Williams, the Archbishop of Canterbury, has written what one commentator has called, “the best ten pages written about sexuality in the 20th century.” His view of sexuality has been very helpful for me, and you may find it helpful as well.
Williams affirms the sacred space of erotic love, but he also underscores an ethical imperative. He does this by grounding his ideas in covenant theology – in the faithful and exclusive covenant that God has with us – and the faithful and exclusive covenant that we’re called to have with God. Because we’re created in the image of God, Williams suggests that we are called to embody the creative ethic of God. To use Williams own words: “to desire my joy is to desire the joy of the one I desire… it is to ask the moral question, ‘How much do we want our sexual activity to heal and enlarge the life of others?’” I really like that: a sexual ethic that heals and enlarges the life of the other.
A reciprocal and mutual covenant ethic suggests that asymmetrical – unbalanced – sexual relationships are simply not part of God’s vision: sexual behavior that exhibits power over the other, sexual behavior that focuses on me instead of the beloved, sexual behavior that hides in the shadows of shame. None of that behavior heals and enlarges the life of the other. That means that it’s not “anything goes” when it comes to sexual behavior. Some things are wrong, like prostitution, promiscuity, adultery, pedophilia, clergy sexual misconduct, “hooking up” for casual sex. Those practices are wrong, not just because they break some antiquated rules, but because they don't heal and enlarge the other.
So, why are Christians so afraid to talk about sex? We’re still very much people of the garden after the fall, aren’t we? When it comes to our sexuality we're filled with guilt and judgment and shame. But that’s not what God wants for us.
Song of Solomon reminds us of the amazing gift God has given us through our sexuality. Through our sexual relationships we have the opportunity to reflect the image of God within us by seeking the joy of the one we desire. I’m so glad Song of Solomon survived all the sorting and cutting that resulted in the Bible we have today. Lest there be any doubt about God’s intention for his people, we were created to enjoy sex. In fact, every time we engage in the act, we’re honoring our Creator. Now, if that doesn’t motivate you to go to bed a little early tonight, I don’t know what will.
Through the years Christians haven’t known quite what to do with this little book in the Old Testament. Many have interpreted it as an allegory about the love between God and his people. Some have suggested that it be thrown out altogether, that it has no place in the Bible, as if its inclusion was some kind of mistake. But Song of Solomon is actually a treasure for us because these few highly erotic pages in the Holy Book celebrate God’s profound gift of sexual intimacy.
The fact that we don't read from Song of Solomon in public worship, and preachers choose not to preach about it, is the result of a larger problem we have in our culture that comes to us from Greek philosophy. It’s the belief that everything that has to do with the physical world will never be anything but impure and only in the spiritual realm can true purity be found. So we get this dualistic viewpoint where the body is bad and the spirit is good. This is a gross distortion of the world God created.
Dr. Phyllis Trible, a Biblical scholar at Wake Forest, sees the garden imagery of Song of Solomon as a recreation of garden imagery in the Garden of Eden, before the fall. In the Garden of Eden, after the fall, we find sexuality entangled with guilt, judgment and shameful nudity. In Song of Solomon, we find love woven with play and imagination and delight; there is no guilt found anywhere. In Genesis we find pain in childbirth and unequal power between lovers. In Song of Solomon childbirth is eagerly anticipated, the Rose of Sharon invites her beloved into her mother’s chamber for the consummation of their love, and their relationship is a rich mutuality of power and passion. Although God is never mentioned in Song of Solomon, there is something very sacred going on.
So, what happened? Why has our understanding of sexuality become so twisted? That’s a complex question that deserves more than a simple explanation in a blog post. But, beyond the way a dualistic view of body and spirit has permeated our western thought, there is also the matter of how sexuality is so often abused in the world that it’s hard for us to see it as a gift.
This was true in New Testament times, too. The new religion of Christianity was being introduced into a world where promiscuity, temple prostitutes, and pedophilia were not only commonplace, but they were also socially acceptable. Paul addressed these issues head-on in his letters.
We can never make sense of the writings of Paul without learning something about the culture in which he lived. When he refers to fornication, he’s talking about temple prostitution, something that doesn’t make a whole lot of sense to us today. In the 21st century, our context for sexual ethics is different. 80% of college students have sex together regularly – many of them with the people they will eventually marry. 9 out of 10 heterosexual couples married in most of our churches have been living together before the wedding. (I can't remember the last time I married a couple that wasn't already living together.) When Paul refers to homosexuality, he’s talking about pedophilia, which was an accepted practice in his day. There was no understanding of committed relationships between two adults of the same gender. To say that sexual behaviors practiced today are different than they were in Paul’s day is an understatement to the Nth degree.
As Christians, we have a challenge when it comes to sexuality. We need to do what Paul did by offering guidance to one another about healthy sexual behavior in our time and place. We can’t base our behaviors upon the context of the first century Middle Eastern world. We need to establish a sexual ethic for our contemporary context.
Rowan Williams, the Archbishop of Canterbury, has written what one commentator has called, “the best ten pages written about sexuality in the 20th century.” His view of sexuality has been very helpful for me, and you may find it helpful as well.
Williams affirms the sacred space of erotic love, but he also underscores an ethical imperative. He does this by grounding his ideas in covenant theology – in the faithful and exclusive covenant that God has with us – and the faithful and exclusive covenant that we’re called to have with God. Because we’re created in the image of God, Williams suggests that we are called to embody the creative ethic of God. To use Williams own words: “to desire my joy is to desire the joy of the one I desire… it is to ask the moral question, ‘How much do we want our sexual activity to heal and enlarge the life of others?’” I really like that: a sexual ethic that heals and enlarges the life of the other.
A reciprocal and mutual covenant ethic suggests that asymmetrical – unbalanced – sexual relationships are simply not part of God’s vision: sexual behavior that exhibits power over the other, sexual behavior that focuses on me instead of the beloved, sexual behavior that hides in the shadows of shame. None of that behavior heals and enlarges the life of the other. That means that it’s not “anything goes” when it comes to sexual behavior. Some things are wrong, like prostitution, promiscuity, adultery, pedophilia, clergy sexual misconduct, “hooking up” for casual sex. Those practices are wrong, not just because they break some antiquated rules, but because they don't heal and enlarge the other.
So, why are Christians so afraid to talk about sex? We’re still very much people of the garden after the fall, aren’t we? When it comes to our sexuality we're filled with guilt and judgment and shame. But that’s not what God wants for us.
Song of Solomon reminds us of the amazing gift God has given us through our sexuality. Through our sexual relationships we have the opportunity to reflect the image of God within us by seeking the joy of the one we desire. I’m so glad Song of Solomon survived all the sorting and cutting that resulted in the Bible we have today. Lest there be any doubt about God’s intention for his people, we were created to enjoy sex. In fact, every time we engage in the act, we’re honoring our Creator. Now, if that doesn’t motivate you to go to bed a little early tonight, I don’t know what will.
Wednesday, June 1, 2011
With God all things are possible. Yes, even for Lutherans.
Oh, it’s synod assembly time again, and the miracle of Lutherans moving forward continues. It’s not always pretty to watch, but eventually we seem to get to where we need to be.
Since moving to the North Carolina Synod back in 1998, I have been to every annual synod assembly. And at every single one of them we have struggled, in one way or another, with the issue of sexual orientation. Year after year, voting members stood in the aisles waiting for their turn at one of the microphones so they could make an impassioned speech in response to one resolution or another that either supported or refuted homosexuality. Some would make a case for loving the sinner but not the sin. Others would insist that homosexuality is neither a sin nor a choice, but simply the way God created some of us. And then there were those who insisted that the best way to love a gay person is to help them change. Some of the speeches brought me to tears and others made me so angry I wanted to spit. But it was all part of a process we had to go through as we discerned where God was leading us.
This is nothing new for God’s people. If you read the scriptures you can see that we have always stewed over who to include and who to exclude in God’s realm. Folks got really peeved with Jesus for hanging out with people who were undesireable, unclean, un-male, and un-just-about-everything-else. Paul and Peter got into it over whether non-Jews could be part of the church. And the thing is, if you pay attention to the way the story unfolds, there is no question that the way the Spirit moves God’s people is always toward inclusion, never toward exclusion. So, the direction of the Evangelical Lutheran Church in America was a no-brainer. We were going to fully include gays and lesbians. It was bound to happen. The only question was, when?
It happened for us a couple years ago. At our churchwide assembly we decided that if a gay person had the good fortune to find someone to love, and if that person decided to make a lifelong commitment to the one they love, it was okay. Well, what we said was that it was okay for such a person to serve as an ordained (or rostered) minister in the ELCA, but, essentially, that was how we told all gay folks that they were okay by us. It was the right decision to make. And, apparently, it was the time to make it.
This year, someone has brought a resolution to our synod assembly asking us to rescind that decision. It reminds me of the classic horror film where you think the monster has been killed and all is well and then, just when you let down your guard, all of a sudden the monster comes back to life and makes one last lunge at the screen. It gets me every time. You’d think I’d see it coming, but I’ll scream, and grab onto whoever is next to me. Well, you’d think I would have been ready for this one last ditch effort to return to the homophobic days of yore as well. But I wasn't. It doesn’t leave me screaming, just shaking my head and wondering what the point is. Have these people never read the Bible? Can they not see that God’s people are constantly being transformed by the Spirit and that the direction of that transformation is always toward expanding the circle of God’s grace to include those who have been excluded?
I’m not all that worried about the people who can’t deal with the direction our church is headed. It would be nice if they’d get on board, but whether they do or not, the train has already left the station. If they choose to stay behind, I have won't be standing beside them holding their hands. The only hand I’ll be extending is the one I use to wave to them from the train window.
Every year I hope that this will be the assembly where sexual orientation is a non-issue. Well, it looks like this won't be that year. The monster needs to jump up for one last gasp of breath. So be it. We'll move on. Maybe next year will be the year.
Since moving to the North Carolina Synod back in 1998, I have been to every annual synod assembly. And at every single one of them we have struggled, in one way or another, with the issue of sexual orientation. Year after year, voting members stood in the aisles waiting for their turn at one of the microphones so they could make an impassioned speech in response to one resolution or another that either supported or refuted homosexuality. Some would make a case for loving the sinner but not the sin. Others would insist that homosexuality is neither a sin nor a choice, but simply the way God created some of us. And then there were those who insisted that the best way to love a gay person is to help them change. Some of the speeches brought me to tears and others made me so angry I wanted to spit. But it was all part of a process we had to go through as we discerned where God was leading us.
This is nothing new for God’s people. If you read the scriptures you can see that we have always stewed over who to include and who to exclude in God’s realm. Folks got really peeved with Jesus for hanging out with people who were undesireable, unclean, un-male, and un-just-about-everything-else. Paul and Peter got into it over whether non-Jews could be part of the church. And the thing is, if you pay attention to the way the story unfolds, there is no question that the way the Spirit moves God’s people is always toward inclusion, never toward exclusion. So, the direction of the Evangelical Lutheran Church in America was a no-brainer. We were going to fully include gays and lesbians. It was bound to happen. The only question was, when?
It happened for us a couple years ago. At our churchwide assembly we decided that if a gay person had the good fortune to find someone to love, and if that person decided to make a lifelong commitment to the one they love, it was okay. Well, what we said was that it was okay for such a person to serve as an ordained (or rostered) minister in the ELCA, but, essentially, that was how we told all gay folks that they were okay by us. It was the right decision to make. And, apparently, it was the time to make it.
This year, someone has brought a resolution to our synod assembly asking us to rescind that decision. It reminds me of the classic horror film where you think the monster has been killed and all is well and then, just when you let down your guard, all of a sudden the monster comes back to life and makes one last lunge at the screen. It gets me every time. You’d think I’d see it coming, but I’ll scream, and grab onto whoever is next to me. Well, you’d think I would have been ready for this one last ditch effort to return to the homophobic days of yore as well. But I wasn't. It doesn’t leave me screaming, just shaking my head and wondering what the point is. Have these people never read the Bible? Can they not see that God’s people are constantly being transformed by the Spirit and that the direction of that transformation is always toward expanding the circle of God’s grace to include those who have been excluded?
I’m not all that worried about the people who can’t deal with the direction our church is headed. It would be nice if they’d get on board, but whether they do or not, the train has already left the station. If they choose to stay behind, I have won't be standing beside them holding their hands. The only hand I’ll be extending is the one I use to wave to them from the train window.
Every year I hope that this will be the assembly where sexual orientation is a non-issue. Well, it looks like this won't be that year. The monster needs to jump up for one last gasp of breath. So be it. We'll move on. Maybe next year will be the year.
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