November 9: The Day After

Today something died. That’s the best metaphor I have for coming to terms with the unbelievable. When someone dies, your mind takes in the reality long before your heart can come to terms with it. Every reminder is like experiencing the death all over again. That’s the emotion that hits me every time I remember that we elected Donald Trump as our next president.  

        Were I to think only of myself, my fear would be minimal. I am a sixty-three-year-old white female Christian who is blessed with good employment that provides me with superb healthcare coverage. I’m old enough to be hopefully confident that my Social Security won’t ever be privatized. I don’t think my voting rights will ever be questioned. And I’ve spent my professional career in a role that was traditionally considered all male.

        Yet I am afraid for my children and my grandchildren. I want my daughter, daughters-in-law, and granddaughter to have reproductive choice. And I want them to be respected in their workplace, valued for the gifts they have to share and not their value on some scale of beauty. For now my sons, daughter, and daughters-in-law have access to good healthcare coverage. But that could easily change. And I want my children and grandchildren to be able to enjoy the beauty of God’s world for perhaps the next century and even beyond. I want that world to be healthy enough to sustain not only their lives but its life as well.

        Yet as a Christian I am compelled to fear for more than myself and even my family. The well-being of all God’s children is my concern. And so I am afraid for my Muslim brothers and sisters. I am afraid for my LGBT brothers and sisters. I am afraid for my African-American brothers and sisters. I’m afraid for my Hispanic brothers and sisters, especially those who may fear they now must hide.

        And I fear for our planet. Thirty-three years ago I remember watching The Day After. That was the decade of the 80s when many took up the call to limit or even dismantle nuclear weapons. Those movements now seem only a faint whisper in an overconfident age. Perhaps their time has come again.

        As a Christian I will now pray daily for President-elect Trump. My prayer will be that as he assumes the weight of this office, as he daily faces the challenges that are now his, he will change. The Grinch thought he understood the human heart and what brings joy. When he discovered a different source, one that could not be stolen, his heart grew three sizes. It is called grace and as a Christian I believe it is the most powerful force in the world.

        In my sermon for November 6^th I reflected on the prophet Haggai and his rallying cry to the returned exiles. They were facing the daunting task of rebuilding the Temple, of restoring a dream. Take courage, he said. Do not fear. Work for I am with you, says the Lord of hosts. Haggai told them there was work to be done. Work that would draw them close to the God who was still there, still working, still liberating, still redeeming no matter how foolish that work may have appeared.

        The intention was to reaffirm faith in a God who still holds the world in His good hands no matter the outcome of the election that was to happen two days later. On that Sunday, I did not expect to need to hear those words for my own heart. I did not expect our nation to choose a man whose words fill me with fear. If the complete sermon intrigues you, it is posted on this site.

        The lectionary texts for this coming Sunday include Isaiah 65:17-25. It is God’s vision for the world. If you have never read it, you should. For no matter who won an election, God is still God and the world still resides in God’s good hands.

The Obsolete Offering Plate?

“The offering plate became obsolete years ago but most congregations have yet to notice.” So begins an article posted recently to one of the plethora of church ministry support web sites. Since Seneca Presbyterian Church is in the midst of stewardship season right now, I was intrigued, so I read on. The author makes the valid point that cash and checks are virtually obsolete in our modern world. Most of us pay bills on-line and pay for dining out with credit cards. Why can’t we give to God the same way?

I must admit that the world of convenient “cash” is freeing. I’ve lived long enough to remember when you could only cash checks at your bank, and you had to be on an approved list at your regular station to pay for your gas with one. Now you can travel around the world with just that small piece of plastic. Traveler’s checks? Who needs them anymore!

So, the author continued, passing an offering plate in the middle of a service of worship to receive something that has become virtually obsolete is inherently embarrassing. Many may be inclined to give, but have no means of doing so. Better to encourage on-line giving. And for those who wish to donate on-site, a credit card kiosk in the narthex would be a welcoming sign of a modern church.

I can identify with the dilemma. I used to make my contributions through a monthly draft from my checking account. It was very convenient and also very faithful. The debit was made every month regardless of the current state of my finances. Now that’s every church treasurer’s dream!  But not this pastor’s.

A couple of years ago, I was inspired by the witness of one of our most faithful church members. I was told by those who sit around her in the worship service that as the plate is passed to her, she pauses for a moment and speaks a private prayer of thanks before placing her envelope in the relic otherwise known as the offering plate. In that moment, this otherwise obsolete practice becomes not only contemporary, but holy.

You see - I pay my bills on-line. But my offering is not a bill; it’s a spiritual practice. The distinction is subtle but critical.

It has been a very, very long time since the farmer placed a bushel of his finest wheat on the altar, next to the herdsman’s finest lamb. In those days, the concept of first fruits was tangible and powerful. Our offering to God was meant to represent the finest, the best, the first of all we had received from the hands of a generous God. Yet even by the time of Jesus, most personal offerings were coins, not cattle. Still tangible – but now also symbolic. It was up to the giver to see that the gift still represented first fruit: an offering that came first before all other obligations and desires.

Perhaps it is true that we have reached yet another moment of transformation. From cattle to coins to checks to digital transactions. But even if cash and checks are obsolete, I’m inclined to find a way to preserve the offering plate. Why not have that kiosk in the narthex print out a two-part receipt. One part is for the giver; the other for the plate. Rather than retiring the offering plate to the relic room, let’s embody the spiritual practice of never letting it pass us by without tangibly offering up our prayers of thanks to a God who continues to bless.