Emailed Political Rage - again...

   I’m so weary of emailed political rage.  Two weeks ago in my sermon, and then again in a column in the Charlotte Observer, I warned people against forwarding angry emails.  Then one flies around the past couple of days, it gets forwarded to me - all about the DNC refusing to let Christian groups provide gifts for delegates, how they welcomed Muslims, how Christian values aren’t accepted by the DNC.  However…

   1. The “news” story” had a newspaper-like font, but not attributed to any remotely reliable news source, or any news source at all.  Just a guy named Austin Miles, who appears to be not a journalist but a minister in... California?

 
  2. The source quoted in the story, complaining about the DNC, is David Benham, the son of Flip Benham, the notorious protestor who was rude to people outside my own church for weeks ramping up to the convention.  The Benhams were at Trade and Tryon St. every day with megaphones, spewing venom, condemning everybody to hell.  I don’t know what “gifts” they offered, or what transpired, but I don’t see David Benham as a reliable source.

    3. The story says Christians couldn’t do anything for delegates.  But several downtown churches did provide snacks, respite, organ concerts, etc., with no troubles.

    4. I was personally part of a panel at the DNC on God and politics, and not only the panelists but several Democratic politicians were there, and Jesus was spoken of quite fondly.

    5. I do not know many of the DNC delegates personally, but the ones I know are church folks, good folks.  Some delegates worshipped with us during the DNC, and were very kind and appreciative.

   So readers, please:  an unsubstantiated email isn’t something to get riled up about, or even to bother reading. 

Rollercoasters - and their theological significance

      When I preached to preachers about Mark’s report that when Jesus preached he “amazed” those to whom he was preaching, I suggested we who preach might not be amazing, but we can at least be amazed.  But how does the preacher come to be amazed?  I wryly suggested that for every minute of the sermon, prepare – not for an hour in your study! but go be amazed.  Then I trotted out a laundry list of possibilities:  run across a street with heavy traffic, go skydiving, go to a bar at midnight – or ride a roller coaster.

     I’ve ridden dozens of roller coasters, many dozens of times, all over this country and in a few other countries.   Riding may be nothing more than sheer daredevil craziness – but I wonder if there are theological implications lying around unnoticed.  There usually are when we dig in to things that seem utterly secular or just plain fun.

   Or terrifying.  While my son and I will burn frequent flyer miles to ride Millennium Force one more time, my wife will never, ever get on any even tame kiddie coaster.  The first time I kidnapped my daughters and strapped them into Top Gun, as we clacked our way up the first hill, one shrilly pleaded for me to make it stop; the other swore she was about to throw up. 

    But you can’t get off; you can’t hit the brakes and stop the thing.  I wonder if people quite rightly balk at the prospect of getting on the Christianity adventure, for it might just sweep you away and then it’s too late to back out.  Of course, when Top Gun eased to a halt, both my previously mortified daughters giddily asked, “Daddy, can we do it again?”

     Statistics prove nobody gets hurt on even the steepest, speediest rides.  In fact, people exiting are giggly, and get back in hour long lines to do it again.  It is the abandon, the vulnerability that frightens us and yet is finally the allure.  Roller coasters aren’t equipped with jet engines, or a steering wheel.  It’s all about gravity – and you yield to the whims of the designer of the thing.  God invented the gravity, and structured reality in a way that, if you give yourself over to it, can be a thrill.  To buck the direction of the thing is foolhardy.  If I pull too hard on the restraining bar, or lean way left or right, when I get off my neck hurts or my hip gets bruised.
     Veteran riders hold up their hands while whooshing down the big drops or around lunatic curves.  I suspect that on old-timey rides, when you weren’t as tacked down by shoulder restraints as you are on more modern rides, the hand raising was indeed a gutsy move.  I wonder if Pentecostals, by percentage, raise their hands on rides more than pew-stiff mainline denominational riders. 


     Last time I was on the ridiculously fast Millennium Force, I raised my hands – and remembered the last time I’d raised my hands was actually just the day before, at the end of worship.  After the last hymn, I stand before the congregation, raise my hands in a gesture of blessing, mutter some words, and then it’s over.  As we whizzed around Milllennium’s corners, I felt a rush of wind into my palms.  What do I feel when I bless the people?  The air seems still – but something is rushing from them to me.  It’s not adulation, or even a blessing back.  I think they look my way and (not counting those wishing I’d hurry so they can get to lunch) are blowing toward me something like appreciation for the worship, or more importantly, fervent wishes that it’s all true, their yearning that it won’t be just as temporary as the ninety second ride, their dreams, hopes, griefs and faith borne to the altar when I receive it into my raised palms.  Now when I extend my arms, I try to detect the wind.

     Recently I flew to New Jersey, not to ride a coaster, but to preach.  Saturday night I was walking around and came upon a fairly tame roller coaster, bought my ticket, and got on – alone.  It was fun – sort of.  Roller coasters are designed when two, or four people sit side by side – rarely three, and never one.  The exhilaration is heightened exponentially if you share the moment. 

     I do not buy those cheesy photos the amusement park people hawk of you screaming and hanging on for dear life.  But I bought one, and it may be my favorite childhood photo of my son.  We are on Magnum XL200; both of us have that zombie like facial squish, where the G forces press the front of your face to the side of your face – and both of us have hair flying.  Noah’s mouth is wide open, and I can almost hear the delighted scream just by studying his mouth.  I’m next to him, but my head is turned toward him, and I’m smiling my biggest smile ever at his larger than life smile. 

     Joy is communal, and we only know true joy when we notice and celebrate the joy that has infected the one we see, and love.  And you never just get off the ride and walk off in silence.  Whoa, that upside down loop! or The tunnel surprised me! or That reminds me of the Hulk! or I thought I was gonna die!  There’s a story, an experience shared, a moment to relish.  And even if you’ve ridden a great ride quite a few times, the thrill is always fresh, the edge is never lost.

     I can’t get to a roller coaster every week, but I plan to identify with the teenager who’s employed at every roller coaster, the one with the mic who welcomes you, asks if you’re ready, and tantalizes you with some titillating fact about the thrill you’re about to embark upon.  I want my sermon to do that somehow.  So I’m a rider.  I’m always amazed by the ride, and feel entirely out of control – and then I’m readier to preach, and maybe to devise a little thrill ride of a sermon to shed their securities, to feel the plunge, to see if some of that mighty wind might blow through the place, even to my uplifted palms.

my 2 newest books

My two new books are back in stock with amazon.com - What Does the Lord Require? Doing Justice, Loving Kindness, and Walking Humbly - and The Beauty of the Word: the Challenge and Wonder of Preaching. 

Homosexuality and General Conference

The petitioning, debate, and aftermath of the homosexuality issue at our General Conference every four years is dispiriting, leaving the winners and losers both feeling not exactly bursting with the fruit of the Spirit. I see the petitions that are coming, and I’m wondering if I might offer an alternative, which I actually submitted a few hours late due to a life and death week-long vigil I kept in an intensive care ward with my daughter’s boyfriend (who survives, thanks be to God).


This effort allows for the strongest possible disagreement on the matter (which we have, and which accurately characterizes the truth of where we are as a church). It can’t be wise to pretend we have some strong moral stand on such a personal issue when in fact thoughtful, faithful people disagree – and with intensity.

Some have asked me how we would handle ordination if we agree to disagree, and the answer would be that local boards of ordained ministry could decide – which oddly would work quite well in divergent cultures.

I realize any such effort might fail; but if it fails, many of us still feel the current language (if retained once more) is harsher than necessary (especially the term “condone”), so after my substitute petition I will share an edit to our current language that might be more conciliatory.

So here is my suggestion for the kind of thing I hope we might pass:

¶161 F) Human Sexuality. One of God’s most mysterious, confusing and lovely gifts is sexuality. Therefore, we reject any sexual expression that damages people, or exploits adults or children. This good gift of sexuality is to be exercised responsibly, with integrity, fidelity and holiness, as our bodies are “temples of the Holy Spirit.” The Church bears the wonderful burden of not only teaching but exemplifying a faithful stewardship of our bodies and minds in sexual relationships. And yet the Church is not one on the issue of whether God’s intention has been to restrict sexual expression to heterosexuals, or if homosexuality can also be accepted. Faithful, thoughtful people have grappled deeply with the issue without coming to consensus. Many, with biblical backing, and given the cultures in which they live, believe strongly that homosexuality is wrong; there is and will always be a place for those who believe this in the Church. Others, with theological logic and given their understanding of humanity, believe just as strongly homosexuality can and should be blessed; there is and will always be a place for those who believe this in the Church as well. The truth is we disagree on the issue, and about God’s people, all of whom are of sacred worth. We continue to reason and pray together with faith and hope that the Holy Spirit will soon bring reconciliation to our community of faith. In the meantime, God’s welcome, and ours in the Church, is to be extended to all people, which is our most faithful witness.

And then, if we “retain” the current statement, might the following be a way to make the current statement more palatable – and I’d say Christlike, without the demeaning verb “condone”?

Homosexual persons no less than heterosexual persons are individuals of sacred worth. All persons need the ministry and guidance of the church in their struggles for human fulfillment, as well as the spiritual and emotional care of a fellowship that enables reconciling relationships with God, with others, and with self. The United Methodist Church does not condone the practice of homosexuality and considers this practice incompatible with Christian teaching. Faithful United Methodists who have grappled deeply with this issue disagree with one another, yet all seek a faithful witness. Our best wisdom remains that we have no unarguable, compelling theological rationale to overturn centuries of Christian teaching, and so we do not endorse homosexuality. Yet we pledge to continue to reason and pray together, with faith and hope that the Holy Spirit will soon bring reconciliation to our community of faith. We affirm God’s grace is available to all, and we will seek to live together in Christian community. We implore families and churches not to reject or condemn lesbian and gay members and friends. We commit ourselves to be in ministry for and with all persons.

Amendment One in N.C.

     I know I have my opinion, and I know how I will vote on the marriage amendment.  What intrigues me, and frankly worries me, is the way we are talking about it.  No matter how much we admire America’s “wall of separation” between church and state, this issue has an inevitably religious core, and both sides prop up their viewpoint with religious arguments.  But sadly, what I’m hearing makes faith appear to be such a thin thing, easily manipulated to fit any political purpose, more of a blunt weapon than a bright lantern.

 

     We have a liberal version of faith-talk that makes it appear that Christianity is love and nothing else, and a kind of love that is little more than tolerance of everything except intolerance, a compassion with no clarity.  And then we have a conservative version that makes it appear Christianity is nothing but a righteous veneer plastered on top of a narrow nostalgia, easily hijacked by right wing agendas parading as piety.  Those on the right thunder about “values,” while those on the left speak glibly of “rights” – but Jesus said nothing about values or rights.  Christians think about the “gifts” of God, not my “rights,” which are all about me instead of responsibility.  And Jesus didn’t say “Uphold solid values,” but “Follow me,” as faith is a dynamic, organic thing that moves and acts, whereas “values” get rigid and are more about my biases than living for God.

     Jesus also didn’t say anything definitive about this amendment; and even if he did, should American jurisprudence enforce Jesus’ words?  If so, people who didn’t give everything away to the poor would be imprisoned, and the Pentagon might be ruled unconstitutional.  Because of Jesus’ silence on homosexuality, Christians wind up disagreeing among themselves on the matter; we could be well-described by Lincoln:   “Both read the same Bible, and pray to the same God; each invokes His aid against the other. The prayers of both could not be answered.”  But that is an in-house problem for us Christians.  What we see now is absurd:  not only are the Christians divided, but we have become a divisive force in the larger society.  Shouldn’t we be a force for good, to foster understanding and humility – to be a blessing instead of a problem to society?

 

     Former Republican Senator John Danforth warned us, “If we believe our political positions are absolute implementations of God’s will, then our political causes become religious crusades, and reasonable accommodation becomes difficult if not impossible. If we are less confident about our capacity to know and implement God’s will, and if our faith brings modesty about ourselves and our politics, our effectiveness is more likely. I believe that such modesty is, or at least should be, Christianity’s gift to American politics.”

  
     Does Jesus provide any clues to help us?  I think so.  Jesus most certainly had pretty strong morals, and at the same time we see him befriending all kinds of people; in fact, the hyper-religious people hated him precisely because he befriended people who were different, and whose morals weren’t celebrated.  The one thing Christians must always be engaged in, no matter if they are “right” on this or that issue, is hospitality.  We can disagree, and we can say so openly; but we must be hospitable toward others, and as luck would have it, this is also an historic virtue of American democracy.

     What is the mood, the tone of these arguments? and what might the end game look like?  When Christians bicker among themselves, and when we citizens, Christian or not, rail against one another on homosexuality and marriage, isn’t there a lot of rancor, and hurt, a shock that someone else could be so stupid.  And if my “side” manages to “win” or “lose,” then I will feel – what? – relief? disgust?  Will we congratulate ourselves that we have defeated our foes?  At the end of the Civil War, Lincoln’s poignant dream was “with malice toward none; with charity for all… to bind up the nation’s wounds.”  In the ramp up to and aftermath of this vote, some malice is being inflicted.  I find myself looking for a little hospitality, binding up of some wounds.

     I suspect that if either “side” is of God, we would expect evidence like the Spirit’s fruit:  love, joy peace, patience, kindness, gentleness.  And above all else, if we are going to drag religion (as we must) into this thing, let’s bring a more robust, healthier, and more helpful brand of religion to bear on the discussion, not a yellow sticky stuck on our preferences, but a wise, time-tested conversation partner that can speak, and listen, with modesty, not a divisive force, but a blessing.  Come to think of it, that’s why I will be voting the way I will be voting.

God, books, gaming and the internet

     I’m afraid I’ve become one of those boors who bemoans the demise of reading.  I have a deep affection for my library, and for the great canon of literature, and as loath as I might be to admit it, a touch of the dilettante.  But all around me, bookstores are closing, it’s harder than ever to scare up a good conversation about a great book, and the electronic revolution has even seized what reading there is, with newfangled gadgets like Kindles and Nooks, semi-books without the tactile delight of paper, with severely limited capacities for flipping forward and back, or lining a shelf so people might come into my home or office and strike up a conversation based on the bookish décor.

     My children, I tend to lament, have been swept up in this unfortunate turn in history.  When they were young, their noses were constantly in books.  But now their noses point to a screen, screens actually.  The internet, Facebook, tweeting have taken them hostage.  Yes, these do involve the reading of words, but it’s different, and tragic, I tend to complain.

     As a pastor, I am especially gloomy about the way the universe has shifted on its axis.  Christianity is all about a book; God and reading go together; we know God through the Word, the words of God, not snappy, rapid images flitting about.  I wrote a blog about the important book, Hamlet’s Blackberry, expressing my concern that an attenuated attention spans and the vapid inability to be present (as the connected person is disconnected from here, and me trying to talk to such a person!) imperil the very heart of the faith; indeed, if I am always reachable, can I ever be reachable by God?

     My answer has been Not very likely – until I read a book at the behest of a friend.  Cathy Davidson, who’s been involved at Duke with technological change, has written Now You See It: How the Brain Science ofAttention Will Transform the Way We Live, Work and Learn, pretty intriguing stuff, not only along the lines of “the train has left the station…” reality, but even suggesting not only that there are now new ways of learning but that brains are actually rewiring to think differently – and that the changes aren’t to be lamented but embraced, and even celebrated.  Academic grading will need to shift toward abilities not to recall but to connect, collaboration, and discernment over whether to trust what one happens to find.  Gamers will have a leg up.  I reported this to my son, interrupting him in the thick of SkyRim, and he uttered a smug “I told you so.”

     So my question isn’t Shall we or How shall we use technology in worship or church life? but rather What does it mean for the knowledge of God, and even faith, if brains are functioning differently than they have in all of human history?  If learning is no longer linear or book-related, but more linked, connected, communal, then how will God be known?  Could it turn out to be that God is actually okay being known in non-bookish ways?  After all, Christianity began and spread among non-literate people; they were bookish but only heard the words read, or saw them depicted in mosaic or stained glass.  Will faith be less about what we know of God and more the patterns by which we seek after God? and will God even evaluate us based on how we poke around after things and work with others than our own privately settled past with God?

Robert's Rules and the Church?

This blog appears today at Duke's Faith & Leadership site:

We Methodists are about to head to Tampa for our big quadrennial denominational meeting called General Conference. Like some beached whale, our church struggles to survive, and the underbelly frankly isn’t very pretty. I like to be hopeful that the creature can live, but worry that the way we do what we do at such meetings is an unacknowledged hindrance to healthy change.

The ruin of not just General Conference but also the larger church will be the not so sacred procedure we unthinkingly use to decide things: Robert’s Rules of Order. When the faithful disagree, as fallen, imperfect Christians do inevitably, the advantage goes -- always -- to the one who is the master of the rules more than to someone who might have some wisdom or humble insight on their side, but isn’t swift to the mic or doesn’t grasp a “substitute to the amendment.”

Robert’s Rules fuel the unholy viewpoint that we have -- and should have! -- “sides.” Worst of all, Robert’s Rules seduce us toward a vote, where majority “wins,” and it’s winner-take-all. On an issue, the vote might be 51%-49%, but the “official” outcome is just one, unhedged thing. Winner-takes-all…and then we have “losers.” A political democracy works precisely this way with strategizing, clever plotting and fist-pumping victories.

But we are the Body of Christ, where we don’t have winners and losers, but members. According to Paul, the most valued member of the Body isn’t the big winner who is crafty in procedure; in fact, Paul would dismiss such bunk as the world invading God’s church. The priority goes to the weakest member. What majority vote would Jesus ever have won?

We may choose to speak of “holy conferencing,” but I suspect this is a cloak thrown over what our procedure fosters and even requires of us: just get the votes for my biased version of how I think church should be. Such a church will never be a true Body with differing members that embrace, appreciate and even honor the small.

Quakers know how to “discern” quietly, listening for the movement of the Spirit, refusing to vote in some fractional majority that will create wounded losers. In Tampa, stuck as we might be with Robert and his rules (how would we vote him out -- by nimble pluck and majority vote?), can we pray for holier minds and shun any who dare to maneuver? Or call up to the stage a handful of the losers, hug them and share with them leadership in the new, victorious petition?