Faith in Us...

It’s been a long day of teaching and working the crowds. He tells the disciples to load up the boat and to get ready for a trip across the Galilean lake. And they all go aboard…taking Jesus along “just as he was.” Nothing extraordinary in this: the experienced fishermen-disciples man their stations at oar and sail; the exhausted rabbi rests his head on the pillow in the stern. He trusts his companions to do what they know how to do…to steer their way safely across the waters to the country of the Gerasenes.

So why is it, in the midst of a storm, that these experienced boaters cry out to Jesus? Have they never worked through the suddenness and violence of a wind-swept Galilee? Does their new-found relationship to Jesus expunge from them every bit of knowledge they brought along from their previous careers? I struggle to find an adequate explanation for their behavior…including their willingness to indict their Teacher on the grounds that he does not care for them simply because he has taken a much needed nap.

We often think about faith from only a human perspective…asking questions of ourselves and others about whether or not we have faith in Jesus or faith in God or faith in God’s plan for our lives. Sometimes we might even be so thoughtful as to wonder about whether or not we have the faith of Jesus…that daring, radical trust in God’s favor and power.

But I wonder if this Gospel reading isn’t also (perhaps mostly) about glimpsing God’s faith in us. These disciples, to whom Jesus has explained everything, are entrusted with their own roles to play in Christ’s announcement and enactment of the coming Kingdom of God. Jesus himself apparently trusts them enough to let them do what they already know how to do…safely drive the boat…so that he can do what he needs to do. Unfortunately, they seem unwilling or unable.

Dear sisters and brothers: God has not made us without gifts and abilities. We, however, sometimes hesitate to take up those gifts and abilities for the sake of the kingdom work entrusted to us. Maybe we just don’t want the responsibility. Maybe we are afraid of doing the wrong thing. Maybe we just don’t care. Whatever the reason: refusing to do what we already know how to do for the Kingdom’s sake is more than just a betrayal of ourselves. It is, at the very least, an ungracious response to God’s faith in us.

Lord, have mercy.

Enough already...

I would like to think that I’m a “glass is half full” kind of guy…someone who is consistently able to see and celebrate the gifts and resources that we already have at our disposal for whatever task is in front of us. But…truth be told…I’m just as likely to perceive the glass as half empty.  Way more often than I care to admit, I find myself agonizing over how little we seem to have or how underequipped we are.  I don’t think this is always a bad thing; it’s a good idea to be realistic about what you possess. But the problem: it can be a pretty short leap from there to a kind of paralysis which stifles both creativity and courage.

Two things in the past several days have challenged me on this.  The first was a wonderful sermon (and follow-up presentation) by the Rev. John Edgar at our recent synod assembly.  His work with the Church for All People in Columbus, Ohio, is a wonderful testimony to what can be achieved by simply starting with the gifts God has already given.  The second was a re-reading of 1 Corinthians 1:4-9 in preparation for last night’s Bible study here at Grace.  I was struck not only by Paul’s ability to set-up his argument with the Corinthians, but by his theology of abundance.  He gives thanks for God’s grace that has enriched the Corinthians so that they are “not lacking in any spiritual gift.”  How interesting.  Paul doesn’t start by enumerating their deficiencies (and they are many); he begins by praising God for all that the Corinthians already possess.

It may seem like a little thing…or that we are only arguing semantics.  But I’m beginning to understand that the distinction between “half full” and “half empty” is not little at all.  The unquenchable yearning for what we don’t already have is, in fact, a huge problem in our culture as well as in the church, if for no other reason than that it sets us up for the easy psychological move to victimhood…lamenting our unfulfilled desires, denied rights and burgeoning entitlements.  Recognizing and giving thanks for what we already have, however, opens our eyes to opportunities, and empowers us to work with those gifts for the betterment of the world around us in whatever way we can.

Like a lot of mainline Christian congregations, the one I serve has been through some challenging times the past several years…and we’re not out of the woods yet. Disagreements on social issues and a lousy economy have put a real strain on us. But never along this hard road have we been abandoned by God. Never are we without the resources we need to make a difference for Christ in our communities. In every way, we have been enriched in Christ Jesus (to paraphrase Paul). The challenge is simply to see and then employ what we have…and to recognize that it is enough already.

Confused...

At the end of our discussion, I still had one question: “All that being said Father, and granting the necessity, beauty, and orthodoxy of the Council’s teachings—how did their implementation go so disastrously wrong in the immediate years that followed?”

“The Council called us to find fulfillment in Christ,” he said gently, “but many Catholics confused that with their own self-fulfillment.” Stunned, I finally murmured, “That’s a pretty big mistake.” “Yes,” he replied, with tremendous understatement.

William Doino, Jr.'s excellent article from the First Things blog (available here) is focused on the upheaval in Roman Catholicism resulting from Vatican II. But Father Molinari's comments could easily be made about the upheaval resulting from the 16th century Protestant reformation. Luther and his companions intended that a transformed yet still united Roman church would more clearly focus on finding its fulfillment in Christ, sweeping away the accretions and impediments that the medieval church had accumulated. How is it, then, that so many splits, arguments, dissensions and differences have resulted? Because, like our Catholic sisters and brothers, we Protestants have confused our own fulfillment with the promise of the true and abundant life which is our promise in Christ.


Whenever we are convinced we are right beyond all doubt, it would be helpful for us to humbly recall: When our Lord and Master Jesus Christ said, "Repent!" he willed the entire life of believers to be one of repentance. (Martin Luther, "The 95 Theses" Thesis 1)

Telling the story...

Have you ever seen Moses as a stick puppet?

I hadn’t…until this year’s Easter Vigil. The 7^th and 8^th graders were in charge of telling us the Old Testament stories of faith which are a part of that ancient and beautiful liturgy. And the instructions we gave them were just that: tell us the story. Don’t necessarily read us the words out of the Bible, but tell us the story.

And that’s how Moses ends up as a stick puppet…and beautiful pictures fill the screen as part of a creation PowerPoint show…and a dove borrowed from the Christmas decorations flies above Noah’s ark on a fishing pole…and Jonah ends up spending three days in the back of a garbage truck instead of in the belly of a great fish. Not your “normal” Scripture readings, to be sure. But rich and funny and engaging and endearing in a way that only a fourteen year old can be when, as Jonah, he’s pleading with God to “smite me now.”

Teachers of preaching have been talking about it for years…the need to connect God’s narrative for the world to our own narrative…our own life story. Indeed, there is something powerful about getting The Story…God’s Story… into the language of our own story…of telling/sharing/speaking the Word in our own words…that makes it compelling. But this is more than just a good method for preachers. Seems to me that it might just be the essential challenge before the whole church. After all, we human beings love stories. We love hearing stories. We love telling stories. Stories make sense of the world. They put us in relationship with other people and the created order around us. Stories remind us of who we are, and help us share that identity with others.

In this respect, the Biblical story is no different than any of the rest of our stories…except that we share it with the God who gives it meaning…and who, in the process, gives us our meaning and purpose, too. Knowing and telling the Biblical story (or stories, if you will) reminds us of our identity and purpose every bit as much as the ones we tell around campfires and at family reunions and at a child’s bedside…and does so with an eye towards our most important relationship: the one with the God who, in Christ, has created and claimed us as his very own.

Here’s something to try. Read a favorite Bible story from whatever translation you like. Then tell that same story to your family or a friend using your own words and your own imagination. You’ll not only be relating something wonderful and needful to someone you love. You’ll be reinforcing the attachments of your own life’s story to the greatest story ever told.

So many words...

“Lutherans just have so many words.”

It was said yesterday in the course of a lunch time conversation after worship yesterday. The subject was outreach, and there were a lot of good ideas kicked around about how we might do a better, more faithful job of bearing the Good News into our communities and inviting folks to share Christ’s abundant life with us. Things like music, discipleship, community were all on the table…salutary topics that must and will be addressed in this place. But the one item that I find sticking with me in mulling over our conversation is less about the substance of what we do and more about the media by which those things are conveyed. “Lutherans just have so many words.” While not exactly offered as a complaint, neither was it expressed as a compliment.

“Lutherans just have so many words.” Of course, we do. We Lutherans emerged as a theological tradition primarily on the power of a media revolution. Not to ignore the role of the rise of German nationalism: but really…were it not for the printing press, Fr. Martin and his co-conspirators would have had a very difficult time getting their theological points made and their reforms enacted. Lutherans have so many words because we were born in the midst of printed words. And we have relied on those printed words and the rising literacy they engendered to make our way ever since.

So how do we communicate to a world for which the printed word is waning? How do we make a 16^th century handbook of the faith (still a faithful and relevant exposition of what it means to be Christian) accessible to a 21^st century public programmed to receive and respond in digital visual forms? These are the questions we need to take seriously…or we might as well appoint the last person out the door to turn out the lights. And please note: this is not about merely being fashionable or throwing out the substance of what we believe. Quite the contrary: It is about learning to live and speak and share the profound insights of the Reformation in a way which today’s hurting and harried world can understand. I’m convinced that folks still need and can benefit from what the Lutheran tradition has to say. So, not unlike the lessons learned by missionaries of old, this is about the church learning the language of the culture to which it is sent.

Yes…we Lutherans just have so many words…beautiful, faithful, powerful words rooted in the Word. Why keep them to ourselves? Let’s learn to speak again.

Ashes to go...

AP Photo/Robert F. Bukaty

I’m still not quite sure what to make of this: The Episcopal churches of southern Maine imposed (distributed?) ashes on/to folks on the streets of Portland and other cities on this most recent Ash Wednesday. According to the AP, the church’s motto for the day was “You’re on the go, so [we] bring the ashes to you.” The little sign is a nice touch, too.

*sigh*

I understand that the Episcopal Church USA is really concerned about their declining membership. Most mainline denominations are facing, if not succumbing to, the same problem. And I understand that, in order to combat that decline, the church needs to explore some outside-the-box ways of taking the Good News to the street. McAshes, however, just doesn’t seem to be the right strategy.

The church is not a retail institution. Its profound inability to reach the people by traditional means (i.e. stay inside and wait until someone shows up) still does not warrant trying to make the church conform to certain retail sensibilities about product sampling and public events marketing. Eugene Peterson wrote some years ago about the denigration of clergy as religious shop-keepers. This kind of stunt only confirms his argument. Christianity cannot be vended alongside street food and fake Ray-bans.

Christianity can, however, be shared even more effectively (I would argue) on those very same streets by the community formed around that ashen cross and the baptismal covenant out of which it arises. Those folks who stop to consider their mortality, reflect on their sinfulness, and give thanks for the grace which marks them are completely equipped to leave their places of worship and go to work in the world bearing God’s mercy and love on and through themselves. I’m having a hard time imagining that so much necessary work gets done during a thirty-second stop on a cold, winter sidewalk.

Those who disagree may well cite my lack of imagination. So be it. But I would rather spend more time forming the community that incarnates Christ in its daily work and play than spend time forming distribution strategies for dust.

By the way, you kids: get off my lawn.