'Twas the Week before Christmas...

'Twas the week before Christmas and all through the place

                every person was caught in the holiday race;

The stockings weren't hung; they'd not even been found,

                and the cards were not sent, and nowhere around

were the cookies that should have been all baked and ready;

                nor the ornaments made, nor the dinner plans steady.

And I with a sigh and Mama with a yawn

                wondered how we would finish before Christmas dawn.

There we sat, not so nice, on the living room couch;

                one tired and sad, and the other a grouch.

Perhaps we were snoozing; I don't really know,

                but something or someone had startled us so

that we sprang to our feet to see what was the matter

                while our hearts raced ahead of their usual patter.

When what to our wondering eyes should appear

                but a village alive 'neath a night starry clear.

"Come this way," a voice seemed to lead us along

                through a close, winding street towards the sound of a song.

There were people all over, crushed shoulder to shoulder,

                so to stay with our guide we pushed on a bit bolder

until we were standing in front of a door

                that was open, revealing a bare, earthen floor

and a rude, little room set with a straw and a trough

                and a trio of doves cooing down from a loft.

"More water!" another voice hurried on by;

                then a shout, "He is here!" and a woman's sharp cry.

And the song was replaced by a baby's first squall,

                and a poor woman's tears from her nest in the stall.

"He is beautiful!" now a man softly exclaimed,

                and his voice starting humming the song once again.

And taking his shawl, then the baby was clothed

                in the prayers of his father and the love of all those

who had gathered to marvel at this long-waited birth

                of a child and a promise and a hope for the earth.

"Yeshua is his name," soft the voice of his mother;

                "God will save" was the murmur from one to another;

And the crowd backed away, and the babe fell asleep,

                and the man looked to heaven and started to weep.

"Forgive me for doubting" he pled to the sky,

                "all the words of the prophets from days long gone by

that you'd never abandon your creatures below."

                And again came his song in a voice rich and low:

a simple refrain as his lullaby swelled,

                "I love you, my child, my Emmanuel."

And then the dream vanished as quickly it came;

                and we wakened to find most our things much the same.

Still the presents and parties and jobs to be done,

                still the days over full and the work under fun.

But yet, in another way, subtle and true

                this frantic-paced waiting is changed and made new;

Priorities shifted, and new questions raised:

                Just what does it mean when the Lord of all Days

Comes to live 'mongst his people and take as his own

                their sins to be healed, and their hearts as his throne?

While the motive behind all our busy-ness is

                to do just what is right; still the holiday's His.

All our gifts and our getting can never compare

                to the gift of the child and the life that is there.

So I think of the song; may it fit to my voice!

                May there be no temptation, no darkness, no choice

that would keep my own life from attesting it well:

                                          "I love you, my child, my Emmanuel."

Hey, Jesus!

Ben is three years old, and he is standing on his chair across the table at dinner on a recent Wednesday evening. There’s not a whole lot of food going in to his wiry, little body…but he is enthusiastically sharing just about every thought or idea that comes into his mind.

“Hey, Jesus! Guess what!” He is talking to me.

His parents, trying to convince him to take another bite of hot dog, are also reminding him that the person he is addressing is Pr. David…not Jesus. And I am also quick to add that, while I know Jesus well, I am not Jesus.

Ben is not easily persuaded…although he’s beginning to get the idea. Nonetheless, he still has important observations about his life to share. And sharing them with Jesus, having hot dogs with Jesus, going to see Jesus who loves him on a regular basis…all of this works in his world very nicely.

Two ideas spring to mind.

First: Ben helps me understand what Jesus is trying to convey to his disciples when he suggests to them that entry into the kingdom of God is impossible for those who cannot receive it like a little child. In his innocence and enthusiasm, Ben reminds me how marvelous it is to stand in unencumbered trust before the One who loves us so deeply. I long for such relationship.

Second: I’m beginning to wonder how good an idea it is to quickly correct Ben’s “mis-identification.” After all, when Ben sees me, should he not be seeing Jesus? Indeed, when anyone sees me or sees the Church (either as individual believers or the body corporate), should they not be seeing Jesus? Are we not called and sent to be (as Luther reminds us) Christ to one another and the world?

Ben’s very faithful parents (bless them!) have rightly taught him to be on the lookout for the Lord who loves him. If Ben sees that in me, it is both an awe-full responsibility and a deep, deep privilege. If the world sees that in us…in this rag-tag collection of broken believers called to be Christ’s body in the world…then perhaps we are, by grace, finally being the Church we are meant to be.

It Will Be Enough...

It is budget planning time here amidst the corn and tomato fields. Unfortunately, this year that means planning to have less income than we’ve had in the past. The trends have been there for a couple years. And there’s plenty of blame to go around: a weak and stubbornly un-recovering economy; internal discord about sexuality and denominational policy; a wider culture in which formal/communal expressions of faith are fading in favor of an individualism (both in secular and sacred matters) that recognizes little loyalty beyond itself; and the church’s own (and decades long) inability to get beyond its own walls and deal with the reality that the Church was never meant to be a club whose sole distinguishing factor was that it closed every meeting with the Lord’s Prayer. 

OK. Got that off my chest. 

On the one hand, it makes me sigh deeply. We (both the lay folks and their pastor in this place) have been working faithfully at being what God has called us to be. No doubt about that. But we’ve made our mistakes along the way, and in the current environment there seems to be little margin for error. The result is that we must be planning do ministry with fewer dollars and fewer folks. Guess I know which direction my salary is headed for 2013.

But on the other hand…

How many dollars does it take to share with your sick neighbor that big lasagna you just made…just to let them know that you care about them getting better? How big a savings account do you need to hold your tongue when the political debates get nasty and personal and stupid…or to employ that same tongue with a word of encouragement rather than condemnation? How many other people does it take for you to decide that getting up on Sunday morning and going to worship is the right thing to do…that God deserves your praise, and that you need to be fed by that holy Word and precious Meal in order to make it through all the decisions and distractions of the week ahead? How big a budget do you need in order to read a Bible story to your child or even to a gathering of the community’s children in something like a Sunday school?

The point is this: Most…nearly all…of what we do as church doesn’t require massive amounts of money or people. Most of what we do requires a simple, thankful response to the grace of God that we are willing to let overflow into the daily, ordinary, mundane faithfulness that cares for the world and all its inhabitants…or at least those inhabitants closest to us. God will take it from there…redeeming what we screw up and using it all (by the power of the Spirit) to get done what needs done.

Yeah…I know. It’s not fancy or glitzy. Our worship videos probably won’t be going viral. The TV cameras won’t likely be camped outside the front door. And there will still be a frustratingly large amount of arrogance and nastiness in the neighborhood. But where we let God work through what we have to offer, we will be treated to glimpses of the Kingdom itself…a holy reign that cannot be bought with our big budgets, but that has already been purchased by the faithfulness of Christ.

Just remember. The crucifixion didn’t much look like a success either. But after every Friday comes a Sunday. God can and will use us and whatever gifts we have to offer no matter how big or small. We may well wonder…but in the end, it will be enough.

DLN@CCD

Waiting for Smalls...

There is yet no word from Chicago. After eight and a half months of serious construction work, elder son and his lovely wife, having done everything they can to prepare, are now just waiting for the appearing of their first-born…a child of unknown gender who has become affectionately known in the family as “Smalls.” 

And it’s not just Chicago that’s waiting. Here in a small town four hours away, a suitcase is mostly packed, a list is made, the gas tank is full, and a new rocker is ready to stuff into the minivan for what will be a very speedy trip along the toll roads between here and the Prentice Women’s Hospital just a block from Lake Michigan. Other than that…we’re just waiting, too.

It occurs to me, however, that this is a different kind of waiting…something that evokes Advent rather than late summer. It is anticipation tinged with joy and anxiety and a kind of wide-eyed wonder at the mundane miracle of love that blossoms into new life. 

Wouldn’t it be marvelous if each day could dawn like this? How might our lives (and the lives of those around us) be changed if we let the Spirit so work in our hearts? There are, after all, different ways of receiving the days we are given. Perhaps we see what lies before us each morning as a kind of nervous and judgmental “to do” list, ready to condemn us for not getting everything done that we should and reminding us that we’re always behind somebody’s idea of a schedule. Better, I think: the tasks we take on today are an opportunity for living into God’s future, building for the coming of something as wonderful as a new child…that hopeful kingdom which in Christ has already come near, and that shows itself in each chance to share the healing and hopeful word of God.

Someday soon, I get to be a grandfather for the first time. Until that day, I’d like my preparations to be worthy of the miracle of the gift of life that God is granting…not just in baby Smalls, but in each and every person who is part of the work and play, service and sharing, laughter and sorrow and joy we are given to share with each other. With God’s help… 

By the way...The name? A result of morning sickness and this.

Fried...

This past Saturday evening, a line of hefty thunderstorms blew through our area. In the midst of what’s been a very dry summer, we are thankful for the rains. But the lightning is a less welcome guest…especially when you consider that, for the second time this summer, a huge power surge came roaring through our phone lines, frying nearly everything in its path. Even the filter which we had cleverly installed after the last incident was no help. In fact, it was literally blown into a pile of carbon-coated pieces. The result is that, since Saturday evening, we’ve had no phones, no fire alarm system, and only limited internet access. Now, really…how are you supposed to do ministry in this day and age without phones, fire alarms, and the world wide web?

I know. It’s a first-world problem. Phone system problems never stopped Jesus from doing ministry. But I have spent the better part of this Monday morning talking to and working with the technicians who know how to fix this stuff, negotiating repair timelines, and keeping our Property Board folks in the loop, and wondering about how we absorb the cost of these repairs for the second time in seven weeks. The result? The alarm system isn’t the only thing that’s fried. I am a bit frazzled, too.

It’s not that I’m complaining. OK…maybe I am complaining a little bit. But really…it’s more that I’m wondering how we keep from getting bogged down in the management of places and institutions so that our energies can be focused more keenly on being Christian and doing God’s work in this place. 

And then it hits me: there is absolutely no reason why these little (and not so little) hiccups have to stand in the way of my doing what I’m created and called to do. The fact of the matter is that, even if all systems were functioning perfectly this morning, I would still have found ways to waste time and not live up to God’s expectations for my life. Sure, the phone lines are messed up. But the deeper mess is within me…in my inability to take each day, with its challenges and possibilities, on its own terms. The real issue is my inability to trust that God can work around our broken gadgets and sagging spirits to get done what really needs done.

Yes…the phones still need to get fixed. But repairing our stuff and our structures is not in and of itself the challenge before us. Lightning bolts will strike without regard for the holiness of our mission or the burdensome size of our insurance deductible. But we need not be fried as a consequence. Remembering and acting upon the great privilege of living in God’s grace, no matter what each day brings: that’s the real issue.

Gotta go. It’s time to let the repair guy into the alarm system panel…and time to let the Spirit more fully into me.

DLN@CCD

O Lord, how shall I meet you...

The congregation I serve had a group of nine young people and two adults in attendance at last week’s ELCA Youth Gathering in New Orleans. They rolled into the parking lot here at about 10:30pm last night...bubbling over with that precious combination of joy and laughter and exhaustion which those events produce. How great it was to hear their stories and to see them hug each other as they finally split up and left for home. And thanks be to God, not only for safe travels and a lot of fun, but mostly for the seed of transformational faith that has been sown in each of them.

But now, of course, they are home. And things will probably be different. I don’t know about the congregation you’re a part of, but we don’t normally worship 35,000 each Sunday…in a huge dome…with a band led by Jimmy Buffet’s guitar player. The usual preacher is not tattooed; he’s not (I hate to admit it) very hip at all. The folks around them will not know Switchfoot from their left foot, and probably won’t hold up their phones or other mobile devices while singing “This Little Light of Mine.” It just wouldn’t occur to them.

So the homes to which they return can’t replicate the experience. That’s just the truth. But, if we are smart and faithful, we will figure out way to receive the experience from them…to value what they have learned and done over the past five days, to engage their stories and insights, and to allow them to have an effect on the joy and laughter and exhaustion that is ministry right here amidst the corn and tomato fields.

“O Lord, how shall I meet you; how welcome you aright?” For some reason, that Advent hymn (probably not a part of the Gathering’s songbook) was running through my head last evening as we welcomed our travelers home. And why not? In our young people, do we not see Christ at work? And, having been shaped by their experience, how does that Christ come to us in them? What word of Good News does He have to share via their enthusiasm and their experience? And how will we let that Good News speak to us? How might it re-shape and re-form the local ministries of which our kids are such a vital part?

The beginning of the Good News is this: Christ comes to us...wearing cargo shorts, t-shirts and flip-flops. It is for the good of the whole church that we listen carefully and engage honestly our young peoples' experience of the faith. We need their questions, their energy, and their hopes. Pray that we receive them…that we receive Him in them…faithfully and well.