*sigh*

When I was a young woman, I used to be very careful with my necklaces. I only had a few, and I would hang them neatly in a row. But then, as I accumulated more necklaces, it wasn’t so easy to keep them all straight. As the years went by, this got progressively worse. If you should lift the lid to my jewelry box today, you would see that the necklace situation has gotten completely out of control. You would find a giant glob of gold and silver threads that not even an accomplished micro-surgeon could sort through -- fine chains wrapped around each other, woven together so tightly that you can’t tell where one begins and the next one ends.

For most of my life, this would have made me crazy. I would have seen it as a problem, and gone to work at remedying that problem a.s.a.p. I can remember working relentlessly, for hours, just to untangle one necklace. But now, I’m perfectly content leaving that big tangled-up mess sitting there in my jewelry box. I know that may sound like I’ve resigned myself to the fact that it’s hopeless, but that’s not it. The fact is, I find that big tangled-up mess a source of great hope. I can even look at it and smile.

There were a lot of things that troubled me spiritually when I was a kid. I worried about whether there really was a God. And, if there really was a heaven. Then, before I could find the answers to those questions, I got older, and more questions came along. Why does God allow evil? Is God responsible for everything that happens? Is there really a point to all this? Question after question accumulated in my brain. I was seldom satisfied with the answers I found. Even when I thought I had resolved one of them, it seemed like, before I knew it, my answer wasn’t so satisfying after all, and I was right back where I started.

When I was younger, I always thought that the whole point of the spiritual journey was to learn and grow so that I would come to understand such things. If I read my Bible, and studied, and prayed, and listened to what God was saying to me, then gradually, I would start to get a clue, and eventually, I would find clarity. I believed that if I worked hard enough at it, as I got older, I would finally come to understand those spiritual secrets that seemed to elude me when I was younger. And that’s when I would become the wise old woman I aspired to be.

I thought of the Holy Spirit as God’s teacher in my life. When I was too thick-headed to comprehend what God was trying to teach me, the Holy Spirit would soften my brain up so I could receive the truth God wanted to impart. You know, like the parable where the seed was planted in the fertile soil. The Holy Spirit cultivates the good soil so it’s receptive to the word. There’s also a part of Luther’s explanation to the Creed that talks about how the Spirit works. “I believe that by my own understanding or strength I cannot believe in Jesus Christ my Lord or come to him, but instead it’s the Holy Spirit who calls, gathers and enlightens…” I always saw the Holy Spirit as my own personal tutor who works on me so I can understand God better. This, I assumed, was the pathway to wisdom.

Well, I do feel that I’ve grown wiser as I’ve grown in years. But wisdom doesn’t look anything like I thought it would. It has little to do with gaining knowledge, or being able to finally answer those questions that used to keep me awake nights. It’s more like that tangled mess of silver and gold threads in my jewelry box. I’m comfortable with the mess. I no longer feel a need to sort through it all. In fact, the mess is actually a sign to me of the incomprehensible mystery of God’s love.

Being able to systematically take threads of doctrine and hang them all neatly in a row is no longer my task. Picking apart a Biblical text and squeezing every possible meaning from it doesn’t excite me like it did thirty years ago. Critically going after people who don’t see things my way and proving my point isn’t something I feel a need to do any longer. I’m comfortable with the mess. I no longer need to be vigilant about warding off ambiguity, paradox, and mystery like unwelcome guests who come pounding on my door in the middle of the night. I dare not open the door to those guests even so much as a crack or they’ll invade my house and never leave. Well, that’s not the way I live these days. I don’t lock the door to my spiritual house anymore. A lot of the time, I leave it hanging wide open. Ambiguity, paradox, and mystery are welcome guests. In fact, I’m hoping we can settle down and have a home together. I not only tolerate them in my life, I treasure them.

You know the familiar saying, “The more I know, the more I realize I don’t know.” Well, it’s sort of like that. But it’s more than that. Because it’s also coming to the place where that I don’t need to know. Richard Rohr says that in any genuine spiritual experience we are utterly humbled before mystery. We are “in awe at the abyss of it all, in wonder at eternity and depth, and a Love, which is incomprehensible to the mind.”

Romans 8 talks about the Holy Spirit working in our lives in a way that I have really grown to appreciate. “Likewise the Spirit helps us in our weakness; for we do not know how to pray as we ought, but that very Spirit intercedes with sighs too deep for words. And God, who searches the heart, knows what is the mind of the Spirit, because the Spirit intercedes for the saints according to the will of God” (26-27). I used to find comfort in the fact that when we’re praying and don’t know the right words, the Spirit will provide the words for us. Now, when I read these verses, I think more about how the experience of God transcends words.

Communication is a way of transferring what is in your brain to someone else’s brain, so maybe they can get a glimpse of what you’re thinking. It comes from our need to be in relationship with other people. But communication is also a way of deluding ourselves into believing that, because we can describe something with our words, we understand it. Using language implies mastery of concepts. So, when we describe the Holy with words, we are always diminishing God. We are making God into someone so small that we can explain him. A better way of capturing the mystery that is God is a “sigh too deep for words. “

That’s what the Romans passage says the Spirit offers on our behalf. Sighs too deep for words. Doing more than just teaching us what we don’t understand. But holding us in the midst of all that we can’t possibly ever understand. Carrying us into the incomprehensible mystery of Love incarnate. There are no words to describe it. We can’t possibly sort through it and make sense of it. But the Spirit intercedes for us with sighs too deep for words.

Have you ever had an experience that left you sighing? It may have been a sigh of longing, or deep appreciation, or sorrow. There were no words that could possibly have captured the moment. You could only sigh. This passage from Romans suggests that God sighs for us like that.

I think that may be the gift of the Spirit that I am most ready to receive this Pentecost. I’ve known the relentless call of the Spirit, pushing me out of a place of comfort to venture down paths unknown. I’ve known the subtle prodding of the Spirit, drawing me to those who walk alongside me on my journey of faith. I’ve known the overwhelming power of the Spirit, rushing into my life like a mighty wind and empowering me to do things I never imagined. I’ve known the gentle guidance of the Spirit, leading me when I felt lost in the wilderness. I’ve known the sweet comfort of the Spirit, filling the emptiness after I suffered a deep loss in my life. I’ve known the unmistakable enlightenment of the Spirit, revealing clarity and direction when I sought it. I know the Spirit acts in all those ways because I’ve experienced it personally.

The way I experience the Spirit these days, may not seem to be as dramatic as it has been at other times in my life. But it feels as if we’re finally settling down together. It’s like looking inside a jewelry box of tangled necklaces, and smiling. It’s trusting patiently in what I cannot begin to comprehend. It’s an increasing awareness of the loving presence of the One who sighs for us.

Loving Not Judging under fire

I should have known better than to talk with the press. My sound-bite that he was a “good person who made a mistake” seems to be showing up everywhere. It may not have been the smartest thing to say, but I said it. I admit that it sounds like I’m minimizing what Larry has done. That was not my intent, but that’s the way it sounds.

Not too long ago, I told my congregation in a sermon that they can count on the fact that the Spirit will always be pushing us to the limit as we try to live into our mission of “Loving Not Judging.” Just when we think we have a handle on it, we’ll be tested. And here we are. Certainly, loving not judging is the Jesus way of living in the world. And it runs counter to the dominant culture that always insists people get what they deserve. So, would Jesus show compassion for someone who has sexually abused children? Are there some sins that are so heinous they can never be forgiven? Are acts of repentance for some sinners rejected, regardless of the sincerity of the penitent? As much as I may not like it, I have come to know Jesus well enough to know the answers to those questions. Jesus would be loving not judging. Consistently.

Now, that’s not to say that the wrongs we do can just be wiped away as if they never happened. Particularly, when we have done irreparable harm to other people, there are necessary consequences. I have no doubt that this is the way the world works. And, I suspect that this is the way God works, too, although God’s justice is always tempered with mercy. Certainly, in the case of my friend, I do not excuse what he did. I also don’t minimize it. He was the perpetrator of some unconscionably evil deeds. There are consequences that he must face. But that doesn’t mean that God will turn his back on him, so how can I? The love of God isn’t reserved for the deserving.

By offering a loving not judging response to what Larry has done, it may seem to some people that I’m siding with the offender. This is especially hurtful for people who have been victims of clergy sexual abuse. I’m already starting to hear from them. Typically, when clergy are involved in sexual abuse, their congregations will gather around them and support them. They’ll talk about what a wonderful person thier pastor is and how the allegations couldn’t possibly be true. They will ostracize the accuser and blame them for whatever misconduct occurred. The church has a long, sordid history of re-victimizing victims of clergy sexual abuse. This is a grave injustice that I have always spoken against. And now, I am being accused of doing it myself. I can understand why. Perhaps I haven’t handled this appropriately. I am deeply sorry for any I may have hurt in the process. That is the last thing I wanted to do.

I was asked by a reporter how I might feel if the children in my congregation were the ones who had been molested. It was a good question and I’ve been thinking about it a lot. Of course, I have been ministering to the person in our midst, who happens to be the abuser. What if those he abused were also in our midst? Is it possible to show compassion to both the abuser and the abused? I don’t know if it’s humanly possible, but with God, I have no doubt that’s the way it works.

This loving not judging stuff is a growing edge for us at Holy Trinity. We’re figuring it out as we go. One thing I hope we’re learning is that people are not either good or bad; they’re more complicated than that. In Lutheran theology we say that we’re both saint and sinner at the same time. So, it isn’t really our job to go around deciding who the good people are and who the bad people are. We can’t begin to know what’s in another person’s heart. Heck, we can’t even begin to know what’s good and what’s bad, when it comes right down to it. There isn’t much we can be sure of, when it comes to standing in judgment over others. But one thing we can be sure of is that God’s love is extended to all.

This is tough stuff. It’s complicated. I’m still trying to sort through it all. It’s challenging me in some new ways. And it certainly isn’t anything I could relay in a sound-bite. But then, that seems to be the way the truth always is.

My brain is treading water tonight.

My brain is treading water tonight. I spent the afternoon at the federal courthouse in Charlotte, along with a number of others from Holy Trinity. We were there to show our support for one of our members. He’s a former Lutheran pastor who has gotten himself into a lot of trouble. When he was serving as a missionary in Haiti, he suffered some serious personal struggles and he acted out sexually. As if that wasn’t bad enough, a couple of the people he engaged sexually were minors. In the courtroom today, we heard all the details. To say it was unsettling is an understatement. Especially since this is a man who has done such wonderful ministry through the years. How can this be the same person they were describing in the courtroom?

My friend is going through all this because he was willing to face his demons head-on and work his way through issues that had held him captive. No one filed charges against him. But when he hit bottom, he knew he had to do something about it. He sought help and confessed what he had done to a counselor. And that’s how his transgressions became known. He was doing what he needed to do to turn his life around. He courageously faced his problems, came clean, and has been working hard to stay that way. Over the past few years, he has shown us what it means to walk in the way of repentance.

I know that repentance doesn’t mean we are no longer accountable for the things we did in the past. I get that. There are consequences for our actions. An important part of repentance is making amends. He needs to do that, to be sure. But where do mercy and forgiveness come in?

At Holy Trinity our motto is “Loving Not Judging.” We try hard to live by it. In this case, we’re supporting our dear brother with as much love as we can muster. I have framed the story for myself as “a good man, who did a lot of good things in his life, was human, and made a mistake.” That’s what I told the T.V. reporters over and over again today as they stood before me with their microphones in my face.

But there was one of those reporters who rattled me. First she asked me how I would feel if my friend had done those things to girls in the United States? I processed that one quickly, confident that I would feel the same way. The fact that these were girls in Haiti didn’t make what he did any less horrific than if they had been American girls. The fact that he had repented and worked so hard to turn his life around over the past three years was still the important factor for me.

But then she asked me another question that has been haunting me all evening. She asked, “How would you and the people in your church feel if he had done this with children in your congregation?” I don’t know how I answered her. I said something, because I knew I had to. But such a question deserves some serious rumination. What would it mean to be loving not judging in a situation like that?

So my brain is treading water tonight. I'm afraid that if I stop I may drown in my doubts.

People change. I'm counting on it.

When did it become a sign of weakness to change your mind? Have you noticed the way politicians are ridiculed for this in the media? Immediately, the negative spin accuses mind-changers of waffling, or being inconsistent. But maybe they really are “evolving.” Personally, I’m wary of anyone who still believes the same things when they’re 50 that they believed when they were 20. And I greatly admire anyone who has the courage to admit, “I was wrong.”

Last week, the oldest member of our congregation died. I can tell you beyond a doubt that Louise changed her views on a number of issues over the course of her 102 years on this planet. Once she told me the story of how she had gone to the beauty shop as a young woman and after she learned that the man who did her hair was a “homosexual”, she went right to the sink and washed her hair. As she told me this story, tears streamed down her cheeks. “Oh, pastor,” she said, “I’m so ashamed of myself for doing that.” It had happened eighty years prior to her confession. She was no longer that same woman. She had grown into someone who, after befriending a gay couple at Holy Trinity, was so thrilled to hear of their upcoming wedding that she passed along her vintage china to them as a gift.

Her daughter Laura tells the story of a couple of guys who lived next door to her while her mother was living with her. They decided to have a baby and had enlisted the help of a surrogate mother to have their child. Laura wasn’t sure about how she could tell Louise, who was into her nineties by then. How would her mother receive this information? How could she ever begin to understand it? After the first trimester, Laura decided it was time to break the news to Louise, so she said, “Mom, you know Sam and Andre, who live next door? Well, they’re going to have a baby.” The first words out of Louise’s mouth were: “Oh, I’m going to have to find my knitting needles.”

Have you ever met someone whose brain became fossilized somewhere in childhood? It’s a life wasted, and truly tragic. The whole point of the spiritual journey is transformation, which comes for us in big and small ways, even if we should live up into our 100s. We change. We grow. I’m counting on that for myself. And for the world around me.

Can you see whose child I am?

No matter how many places we live, how much schooling we receive, how many jobs we go through, or how many relationships we experience, the people who have the strongest impact on our lives will always be our parents. In most cases, to be more specific, it’s your mother. They say that’s the primary relationship in our lives.

The older I get, the more I realize I’m like my mother. Physically, to be sure. And also in the things I say. But most importantly, in the way I look at the world, in my attitude. One way I’m a lot like my mom is in my honesty. This is both good and bad. It’s good that I’m an honest person, but sometimes it’s not so good when I express that very bluntly, without a whole lot of tact. Both the good and the bad of being honest are something I get from my mother.

It’s not hard to see whose child I am. But I'm not only a child of my parents, Bob and Roberta. I'm also a child of God. And that gets me to wondering... do I in any way resemble the one I relate to as my Father/Mother God? Do I ever find myself doing something and thinking, I guess it’s not hard to see whose child I am?

Of course, God hasn’t had the same kind of influence on us that our mothers and fathers have. God influences us in a different way. Before he left them, Jesus promised his disciples that he was going to give them something that would help them become more like children of God. “But the Advocate, the Holy Spirit, whom the Father will send in my name, will teach you everything, and remind you of all that I have said to you.”

Our moms and dads have a tremendous influence on who we are as people. Their influence comes at the beginning of our lives when our brains are like wet clay, and they shape us. The Holy Spirit comes into our lives and softens that clay up again. She shapes us in new ways. When we open ourselves up to the Spirit in our lives, it becomes more and more apparent that we’re more than just products of our mothers and fathers. We’re children of God.

May you grow to live in such a way that it’s not hard to see whose child you are.

Because it's where love takes us

The last place I want to be sitting today is inside the largest Southern Baptist Church in Charlotte. After all, they are largely responsible for putting a constitutional amendment before the people of North Carolina that discriminates against families who don’t fit their idea of what a family should look like. They fuel their fire with the Bible. And although I read the Bible, too, I don’t read it the way they do. Furthermore, I would never impose the way I read the Bible upon others as the ONLY way it can be understood. And I certainly wouldn’t insist that the biblical teachings of MY religion be written into the constitution of the state.

Because we are largely a conservative, evangelical Christian state, they have the power. Their way of thinking dominates our culture, even among those of us who are a part of less-conservative churches. Without even realizing it, many people in my congregation are more influenced by the conservative Christian culture around them than they are by the teachings of the Lutheran church. That’s the reality we progressive Christians have to deal with here in the buckle of the Bible Belt.

For the most part, I have insulated myself against the dominant culture in North Carolina. Life is good in my liberal little oasis in the heart of Charlotte. It’s a world where diversity is celebrated and where people are free to love whom they love. The congregation I serve is a bubble within that oasis where loving not judging is our mission because we believe it is the most authentic way to follow Jesus.

I knew Amendment One was going to pass. And so it has. This morning, my feelings about it are all tangled up in threads of anger, disappointment, and heartache knotted with gratitude, resolve, and hopefulness. While I’m working my way through it, I just want to retreat to my bubble within the oasis for a while. But it ain’t gonna happen.

This afternoon, I will be at Hickory Grove Baptist Church. It’s a cruel twist of irony that takes me there. The mother of a dear friend died and that’s where her funeral will be held. To add salt to the wound of her grief, on the day after Amendment One passed, she and her partner will be attending a service at Hickory Grove Baptist Church, complete with an altar call at the end. It’s not a place where they are at all welcome at that altar as the women God created them to be. It’s not a place where their love is recognized as acceptable or valid. It’s certainly not a place they would ever choose to worship. And yet, they will be there. Today, of all days. They’ll be there because they have to be there. And because I love them, I’ll be there, too. Because it’s where love takes me.

And so it is for us, dear brothers and sisters I have worked beside over the months and years in North Carolina. This is where we live. This is what we’re up against. And it’s where we have to be. Because it’s where the people we love are. Because it’s where love takes us.

I love gay people

I love gay people. I really do. I’ve been blessed with many dear friends who are gay and my life would be sorely lacking without them in it. They have changed me, for the better and for good. They’ve taught me about how important it is to be authentic in this world, and how difficult that can be. About courage. About what makes a family a family. About what it means to truly love another human being.

I’ve been dreading this day when the people of North Carolina vote on Amendment One. Now it's 8:00 a.m. and I’m already hating it. Whether this bull-shit amendment passes or fails, it’s wrong. We should not be voting on this. It is bullying on a massive scale. It grieves my heart that we’re putting good people through this. As a straight person, and as a follower of Jesus, I feel somehow responsible, even though I know I’m not. I can only say to my gay friends, please forgive our stupidity. And please know that so many of us stand with you.

I love gay people. It’s true. And I hate that this is happening to you. I know this isn’t your first experience with being discriminated against. It’s something you live with every day. Yes, I know that. But, especially on this day, I want you to know that your pain is my pain. Your hurt is my hurt. Your anger is my anger. I want you to know that I love you.