Seneca Presbyterian Church is doing something new and very meaningful this weekend. We are honoring Veterans. Not just by saying a quick thank you and moving on with the business of the day.  Our Outreach Committee has planned a program and reception. It will take place in our Pastors’ Hall on Sunday afternoon (November 10) at 3:00 p.m. Charlie – a member of our congregation who is president of Patriot’s Hall, a war museum dedicated to veterans of Oconee County – will be our speaker.

            It’s natural that a congregation of primarily retirees would take time to recognize this day and say thank you. But I also find it surprising. You see, in over thirty years of ministry, this reception marks the first time a church I was currently serving marked the day. It is long overdue.

            I invited Charlie to join our Wednesday evening Bible study group. That’s the group that helps me live into the text and sermon for the following Sunday. Charlie brought Del with him – another member of Seneca Presbyterian and Marine Corps vet with 20 years of service. I felt honored to be in their presence and to listen to stories of their active duty service along with their ongoing service to veterans in our area.

            I needed their help this week. I had discovered a fascinating and also disturbing topic: moral injury. It is defined as “perpetrating, failing to prevent, or being witness to acts that transgress deeply held moral beliefs and expectations.” (See “Soul Repair” in Presbyterians Today, Vol. 103, No. 8, September 2013) I needed to hear from Charlie – and thanks to Charlie, also Del – that the topic was real and open for discussion.

            Moral injury happens when we find ourselves caught up in a situation where we are forced to act in ways contrary to our moral code of conduct. We may do the right thing in the right moment – like killing the enemy in the moment of combat. But when we no longer live and function in that moment; when other moral codes take over; when a soldier comes home from war, the memory of those actions can create a living hell - even when the action was entirely justified and even when it was the “right thing to do.”

            It seems, some would say, that human beings have an instinct against killing. That’s hard to believe, isn’t it? When we think of Columbine and Virginia Tech and Newtown, we wonder if the opposite comes closer to the truth. Yet it has been said that we have to be taught to hate. What if we have to be taught to kill? And when we must kill, it leaves a giant moral injury in the human soul. Perhaps that is something of why our grandfathers and fathers and brothers and sisters don’t talk about war.

            But we cannot heal the deep wounds of the soul without talking about them. The Church can offer a unique and powerful place for that talking. For in the Church we also talk about forgiveness and about a God who loved us so much that He took on the sin of the world in order to redeem it. 

            We’ll talk about that this Sunday at Seneca Presbyterian Church. Join us if you can. 

Have You Ever Tried the Mainline?

I stumbled upon this response to a blog post one recent Saturday. I do not remember the issue that prompted the response – but I am drawn to the story reflected in it. Listen:

I’m a former Christian myself. When I followed the Bible, I was a bigot, because I was following it, down to the letter. When I tried being “Spiritual,” I became a liar, because I was no longer following the Bible. When I finally realized how screwed up the Bible really is, I became an Atheist, and I was no longer a bigot nor a liar, but indeed, I became my authentic self – someone worthy of other peoples’ trust. The irony is, I was always who I am , but I used to be buried under so many layers of religio-Biblical nonsense that it was hard to know who I was at all. Now I know. So does everyone else. I’ve never been more free and happy in my entire life than I am now. Just some food for thought.

It is a story of someone’s life and how it was harmed by “being Christian.” The writer seems to presume that the only options for faith are to be a “bigot” or a “liar.” It may be an authentic experience for our times, but at its heart it sorrows me because faith – the Christian faith – is so much more. I want to ask the writer – have you ever tried the Mainline?

Mainline Protestants are those particular branches of Christianity that have been around since the 16^th century. We were born out of a desire to “reform” the abuses we saw in the practice of faith in our time. Yes – to our shame – we have divided and divided and divided again and again. Much of that is human sin, but some of that is the belief that even though God does not change, our understanding of God deepens and grows over time.  We have learned that the Church was wrong about slavery – justifying it with scripture; divorce – condemning it unequivocally; and wrong about the role of women in Church leadership – thinking it knew better than God whom God has called and gifted to serve God’s Church.

As a Presbyterian, I am part of that great heritage that includes Lutherans, Episcopalians, Methodists, the United Church of Christ, Disciples of Christ, and even some Baptists. We used to be the steeple in the center square of every town that united the community. We still are in many places. But we are dwindling. Maybe we became too comfortable with our place in the community. We fussed among ourselves too much. We held too strongly to dying traditions and let the fire of our faith become barely burning embers. We didn’t change when we needed to – and we didn’t see the changes that were happening all around us. Many of us are now – and we want the world to know that there is an option for faith that is not bigotry or falsehood.  We affirm these truths…

• There is a God who is actively re-creating the world – this world. That God loves justice and kindness, not wealth and power.
• That God took on human flesh and walked among us in the person of Jesus of Nazareth. The power of his life, his death, and his resurrection embodies a love so great we can barely catch a glimpse of it, but it can forgive any sin and redeem any darkness.
• There is no human voice who speaks the entire truth about God.
• We work better when we work together.
• Salvation is not primarily a ticket out of this world and into a better one. It is healing, wholeness, reconciliation, and peace with God and the world God loves here and now.

We “main-liners” aren’t perfect; we’re human. But I hope we seek to provide a community where we can become our “authentic” selves: children of God redeemed for love and service. That is at least what we strive for at Seneca Presbyterian Church. So – have you ever tried the Mainline?

  

"Jesus Loves Me, This I Know"

In about four weeks, my husband and I will become grandparents for the first time. Our son and daughter-in-law are the ones affording us the great honor. As I try to get myself ready for this momentous transition in life, my thoughts go back to the days of parenting that son, his twin sister, and his younger brother. I remember the book series we subscribed to that sent the classics of children’s literature our way – including Pigs in Hiding, The Carrot Seed, and Goodnight Moon. When I went to the Scholastic web site to see if I could subscribe to the same series for my grandchild, a new option should not have surprised me: ebooks.

            I also thought about the series of child development toys we subscribed to from Johnson & Johnson. One particularly well-used one was a yellow “dumbbell” with squeaks at each end and a bright, red tracking ball in the middle. The series offered similar toys sent once every couple of months. They were all equally bright, functional, and educational. Since all of my twentysomething children are independent and successful, I wondered if those toys had anything to do with it. Are these toys still available? Can I subscribe to the series for my grandchild? No – but I can buy used ones on ebay.

            Books and toys are important for shaping a child’s world, but so is music. The songs my children grew up hearing came from Sesame Street, including the classic “It’s Not Easy Being Green,” Raffi (“Three green and speckled frogs sat on a speckled log eating some most delicious bugs”), and Mr. Rogers. In my book, that man was a saint, along with being a Presbyterian minister. Who else but Mr. Rogers would think to write a song for children telling them “You Can Never Go Down the Drain”?

As I pondered my children’s complete musical repertoire, once again, the internet blessed my memory. A quick search reminded me of “Free to Be, You and Me” and some very timely lyrics: Parents are people; people with children. When parents were little they used to be kids, like all of you; but then they grew and now parents are grown-ups, grown-ups with children…

As I contemplate the changes my grown up kid about to become a parent will face, I wonder what kind of music will shape his child’s life? When I began to reflect last Sunday with the saints of Seneca Presbyterian Church on the power of music to shape faith, I was taken with the amazing individuality of musical options in our time. With Amazon Cloud Players, Pandora, and Sirius radio, we can easily listen to whatever we want to hear whenever we want to hear it. I wonder how this world will alter the power of music to shape a generation, because music does have the power to shape us. It teaches us what is important, where our passions should lie, what it means to be human, and for Christians, what we think it means to be children of God.

When we gather for worship this Sunday at SPC, we will consider how music teaches. How do the hymns and songs we choose to sing together shape our understanding of God, of Jesus, of the Holy Spirit, and what it means to be Christian disciples? If you are anywhere near-by, come join us! 

A More Profound Alleluia

We are beginning a new series of worship experiences at Seneca Presbyterian Church this week. Our denomination – the Presbyterian Church (USA) – is publishing a new hymnal. It is called Glory to God and we have been promised that our shipment will arrive in time for us to use it on World Communion Sunday, October 6. Let’s hope publishers and printers and shippers can uphold the promise.

In preparation for that new era, we will be celebrating the gift of congregational song when we gather for worship over the next five Sundays. Since we know our ancestors in faith have been singing about God and to God for thousands of years, we know there are many ways of praising God with music and song. I grew up singing traditional hymns in church and Sunday School. The church that nurtured me as a child had a Sunday evening service too. Hymn sings were often a part of those nighttime worship opportunities. It was there that I learned so many hymns by heart. But just as significantly, I heard what was important to the adults around me, what nurtured their faith, and what they sang with gusto.

I also learned to sing on retreats when we gathered around a campfire, particularly in high school and college. Those are the years when you want to learn something different, something the adults would not sing or even like. In my era, it was “Pass It On” and “Teach Your Children.” I wish I could remember the title of the song book we used – but it had a brown cover, contained just the lyrics, and included “Charlie on the MTA” and “Little Boxes.” Looking back, I remember thinking in that book alone was every good song ever worth singing!

But thank goodness my faith-filled music education didn’t end there. After college came seminary and life in the Church spanning four decades. I’ve been blessed to include in my repertoire Taize choruses and songs from Iona; the majestic strains of high Church tradition; the hymns and songs written in only the last few years. 

When Seneca Presbyterian called me as their pastor, I came to a congregation that offered opportunities to worship in both the traditional and contemporary styles. Traditional I knew; but contemporary was an entirely different experience for me. It threw me into one of the most divisive issues in modern church life, one where either/or usually wins out over both/and. I wish it were not so, because these past three years have deepened my musical repertoire and I am grateful.

                Our denominational church family’s songbook tries to model the diversity that God created in the world of song. For the next five Sundays, we hope to do the same. We’ll look at songs that teach, songs that draw us into God’s presence, songs that call us to action, and songs that unite us. We do so not in order to pick and choose “what I like,” but instead to sing what God likes from all the voices of God’s children. It is what Marva Dawn calls “the music of the whole Church for the sake of the whole world.” You are welcome to join us.

                I’ve already heard from the people of Seneca Presbyterian. They have shared with me their favorite hymn and why. Since we will be at this for four more weeks, there is time to hear from you.

• What is your favorite hymn and why?
• How diverse is your repertoire? Is it ok to sing and worship in only one style? What is lost when we do?
• How do different styles of music speak to you? What do you find missing from your worship experience?
• How can we sing as one Church offering praise to God in one voice?

The Mystery of Mortality

Clementine Hunter  -  The Funeral

I’m at a bit of a disadvantage today as I prepare for preaching this Sunday at Seneca Presbyterian Church. The group of faithful seekers who normally engage the text with me were not in session this week. I miss their input because the subject of this final sermon in the series on Christian practices is powerful, personal, and profoundly theological. How do we as Christians mark the moment of death?

            My seminary years were long ago – in the mid seventies. It was a time when the progressive church was challenging traditional funeral practices. We were taught to be wary of funeral directors who wanted to sell grieving families expensive vaults that would protect the human remains of their loved one forever. It would come, we were warned, in a package deal that included limousine service and the use of the funeral home’s chapel where families could sit behind a screen during the service, their tears privately protected from public view.  

            In the years since then I’ve watched many grieving families and seen many different ways for honoring the dead. We have moved away from a static tradition toward many personalized options. In the three years I have served as pastor at Seneca Presbyterian, I have been privileged to walk with roughly two dozen families at the time of death. A few had no service at all. Some were just graveside services. Most were cremations. The ashes of many of those saints are buried in our memorial garden, a ministry that means much to me.

Only a few were conducted the “old fashioned” way – with a casket present in the sanctuary followed by a service at the grave. One of those exceptions was profoundly meaningful. We accompanied a saint of the church and a career military officer to a burial at a veterans’ cemetery not far from a base where he and his family served our country.

I’m grateful for the options and the choices they give families. In all circumstances, we seek to do the three things an early mentor in ministry once taught me about funerals: we honor a life, we comfort each other in our grief, and we celebrate a faith that believes death is not the final word for a God who forever brings life from death. But in the midst of our options, I hope the traditional one is still viable.

Tom Long, a respected theologian and preacher, ignited a firestorm several years ago in his book Accompany Them with Singing: the Christian Funeral (Westminster/John Knox Press, 2009). As he wrote the book, he came to a position that surprised even himself: that the Christian funeral is a gathering of believers who accompany the body (the physical body) of one of God’s saints on a journey from death to the portal of life everlasting. His work is profound, and his reasoning is far more complex than can be explained here. But it does offer food for thought.

We live in a world filled with death and sorrow. Too many think too little of taking life, particularly the lives of those they label as stranger or enemy or threat. Yet we worship a God who honors bodies – even dying ones, and even dead ones. What can that God teach us about the way we mark our mortality at the time of death? 

Honoring the Body

Homeless Jesus by Timothy Schmalz

This week our journey through spiritual practices takes us to one many would hardly consider “spiritual,” namely honoring the body. Our reflection on the practice will extend beyond Sunday morning worship. Beginning Sunday evening, and continuing through Wednesday, Seneca Presbyterian is hosting a Vacation Bible School for adults. The tradition of VBS is so rich that we believe it should not be limited to children. Our adult VBS is a bit different. It’s in the evening and not the morning. It’s for adults and not children. And its focus is on healthy living.

We’ll learn about lifestyle and how it impacts our brains, particularly our brain’s susceptibility for strokes, Parkinson’s disease, and Alzheimer’s. In that light, we will welcome Dr. Lotta Granholm of the Medical University of South Carolina as she educates us about healthy brains. As the week goes on, we’ll talk about diet, exercise, and stress reduction. We’ll see a demonstration of Tai Chi and yoga. We’ll eat healthy meals and enjoy a few laughs. Most importantly, we’ll show the world that we are a church who cares about bodies and the gift they represent from God.

When you stop to consider, honoring the body is one of the most profound spiritual practices for Christians. We believe God became incarnate – God took on human flesh – in Jesus of Nazareth. Such an idea is unique to Christianity among all the world’s faith traditions. It stands at the heart of our faith and our understanding of salvation. It should impact all our living. For though we do not worship the body, we believe the body is good and holy and blessed by God.

Yet we live in a world that does worship the body. In our world, beauty sells. In our world, sports are king. Sleek, beautiful, trim, strong, fast, agile, healthy bodies are adored – and we spend a-lot of time and money and stress trying to get and keep them that way. Of course, much of that is good. Healthy bodies help us live faithful lives. They are not as prone to disease, and disease is a tremendous burden to so many.

But we also pay a steep price for our worship. It is a price we see in the exploitation of human bodies, in the diseases of anorexia and bulimia, and in lowered self esteem that may not have a physical manifestation but extracts a tremendous cost from our spiritual and emotional lives. I can remember the exact moment when, as a child, I learned the world would judge me by my physical appearance. It is a lesson that stays with me always.

            As we gather for worship this Sunday at Seneca Presbyterian, the sermon text will be from John chapter 13: Jesus washing the feet of the disciples. We’ll see how that act of physical touch embodied sacred community and invited us into a deeper relationship with God. We’ll also learn from a surprising source, the actor Dustin Hoffman. I hope you’ve seen the clip from the American Film Institute where he shares so powerfully the profound and life changing insight that came to him from making the movie Tootsie.  Dustin Hoffman. Tootsie. AFI

            We live in a world that worships bodies. We serve a God who blesses bodies and makes them sacred gifts for serving God in the world.  We will explore that dichotomy this Sunday! 

Listening

I have transitions and new beginnings on my mind today. Our youngest son is newly arrived in New York City seeking a job and a place to live. He is an actor in the making and he’s following his dream. Our oldest son will become a father in about eight weeks – for the first time. Our daughter is beginning her second year of medical school. And I’m following the Facebook journey of a friend and her daughter as she is about to begin the pilgrimage of seminary. I suppose it goes with the times – the month of August and the era of life when your twentysomething children and friends’ children embark on life’s new adventures.

            We all face those times. They are the consequences of significant decisions. What is the passion and dream of my life? What has God gifted me to do? What am I meant to be as a citizen of the world and a disciple of Jesus Christ? Everyone makes those decisions in a variety of ways. Were they intentional or impulsive? Confident, anxious, or hopeful? Were they made privately or shared with trusted friends and family?

            Decisions this significant need time. We consider carefully, weigh options, ponder consequences, and count our resources. As Christians, we seek God’s guidance all along the way. Christians call that discernment. It is the intentional process of making choices that are in accord with God’s will, God’s leading, and God’s intention for our world and our lives. It also acknowledges that the overarching will of God for our world and for our lives is LIFE - abundant life for God's creation and ALL who dwell within it. 

            Discernment is the spiritual practice that will be the focus of our attention as we gather for worship this Sunday at Seneca Presbyterian Church. We will consider the story of the apostolic council in Acts 15 as an example. We’ll ponder what is needed for good discerning – the kind that can come to us even without burning bushes and direct communication from God. Time, patience, listening, relinquishment, prayer, and trust are all vital ingredients. We’ll also consider the signs that show we are on the good path – not simply the right one. And we’ll reflect on the difference between asking God to be with us in the decisions we make and asking God to guide us into the decisions God makes. It has something to do with the difference between telling and listening; between certainty and trust; between leading and being led. 

The process of discernment invites us into the heart and life of the Triune God. Decision-making can no longer be defined as doing what we think is best; it is now a search for the mind and will of God within a community of people with whom God has chosen to dwell. 

Danny Morris and Chuck Olsen 

Telling Our Stories

Talking about God in the midst of our lives. That is the essence of the Christian practice of testimony. It will be the subject of our contemplation this Sunday at Seneca Presbyterian Church. We are in the midst of a series of sermons on the practices of the Christian faith – ways Christians live out their lives that honor what we believe to be the truth of our lives revealed by God in Jesus Christ.

Last week we talked about some basics, what I called the Big Four: prayer, worship, study, and service. This week, we are launching into some practices that have been around forever, even if we haven’t identified them as such. They speak to the reality that faith isn’t an addition to our lives that lingers on the periphery; it is all of life. It touches on all that we do.

It was pleasantly surprised when the faithful seekers who gather with me each week to study the text for Sunday talked about their experiences of testimony. We may think of the tradition as being active among evangelical congregations and especially African – American faith communities. But it was not that long ago when even Presbyterians experienced “lay witness missions” or “renewal weekends.” There persons would share the experiences of their lives: how they came to faith; how they found faith again after times of challenge and struggle; moments when they experienced the clear and powerful presence of God in their lives; and times when that guidance came more quietly, in moments that were only recognized in hindsight.

Testimony deepens our faith just as it deepens the faith of those around us. One of the most meaningful moments I know in being a Presbyterian pastor comes when we prepare our new leaders for service. They are called upon to share their faith journeys in the company of those who will serve with them. We don’t call it a testimony, but it is. Many of them approach the challenge with trepidation, only to discover how deeply meaningful it is in the end.  

Reactivating the practice of testimony in the midst of our times of worship is a hope and dream I have for Seneca Presbyterian and its good people. They need to hear many more voices than just mine each Sunday, and so many of them have such wonderful stories to tell. I know because I’ve heard them – in small groups centered on the study of scripture, in times of illness and grief, in sharing their dreams for God’s world.

We can “practice” the practice of testimony in our small groups and in our spiritual friendships where we hold each other accountable for the spiritual disciplines that enrich our lives. Perhaps then we will capture testimony’s marvelous blessing – and be captured by it: the gift of holy encounter where God is not just an idea, but a living presence. Then we can join our brothers and sisters who offer this classic testimony (as shared in Practicing Our Faith):

Thank you, God, for waking me up this morning, 

for putting shoes on my feet,

clothes on my back, and food on my table. Thank you, God!

A Way of Life

John August Swanson: Festival of Lights

Hello to all my friends out in cyberspace! I shocked myself when I opened up Seedlings and realized my last post was four weeks ago. I have been on vacation, but not that long. One of those weeks took me up to the Presbyterian heaven known as Montreat, so blogging was far from my mind. Thank you for your patience – if you are still there!

               When I return to the pulpit this Sunday at Seneca Presbyterian Church, my thoughts will be focused on a new theme. Perhaps that theme can be summed up by the question: Is there a peculiar way of being Christian?

               I don’t mean peculiar in the sense of strange, though I understand completely how many non-Christians would characterize us in such a way. 
               By peculiar I mean distinctive, set apart, in the way the dress of a faithful Muslim woman sets her apart. Peculiarity can also be seen in the way Eric Liddell (Chariots of Fire), a competitive British runner in the 1924 Olympics, set himself apart when he refused to run in a race scheduled for a Sunday.  

               So – is there a peculiar, distinctive way of living the Christian life? The Apostle Paul would say yes, and does so eloquently in the 12^th chapter of Romans, our text for Sunday.

• Let love be genuine.
• Hate what is evil, hold fast to what is good.
• Bless those who persecute you.
• If your enemies are hungry, feed them.
• Do not be overcome by evil, but overcome evil with good.

               Many would argue, and rightly so, that Christianity has no monopoly on love or compassion.  Yet still I believe it is the way we are called to live out our faith. It may look like everyone else, but it is still a peculiarly Christian way of living.

               As we gather for worship in the coming weeks at Seneca Presbyterian, we will be exploring just how that can be true. We will use the concept of Christian practices, a concept introduced by Dorothy Bass and Craig Dykstra in their 1997 book Practicing Our Faith. The concept was unique then; it is foundational now. Foundational to understanding how Christians can live out the Christian witness in a world that is increasingly secular and increasingly prone to characterize all Christians by those given prominence in the media.

               A Christian practice is a cluster of activities, ideas, and images, lived by Christian people over time, which addresses a fundamental human need in the light of and in response to God's active presence for the life of the world in Jesus Christ. (From Dorothy Bass, “What is a Christian Practice?” www.practicingourfaith.org) I hope you can sense from that definition something of what makes a practice peculiarly Christian. It goes beyond what we do to why we do it, the confidence behind the doing, and the strength we have to persist in the doing.

               Over the coming weeks, we will put the concept to the test as we explore more deeply what it means to live as Christians in the world God is working to redeem. Please join us as we do, but if you can’t: watch this space! 

Abiding in Hope

As I prepare for the fourth week of seeing worship through its senses, I’m finding the sense of hope elusive. Is that because it conveys the sense of wishful thinking and pipe dreams? I hope I win the lottery. Or is it because it is so essential to life that it defies definition?

Dictionary.com defines hope as a feeling that what is wanted can be had or that events will turn out for the best, which seems rather positive until you glance at the example: to give up hope. Other options go on to define the reason we have this feeling, the thing or person that gives us this feeling, or a particular experience of this feeling. The verb form continues to exude hope: to look forward with desire or reasonable confidence; to believe, to trust. Synonyms are expectancy and longing.

No wonder the Wednesday night seekers spent most of their time asking questions about hope rather than nailing it down.

• What is the difference between faith and hope?
• Which comes first: hope or faith?
• Can we have hope without faith?
• Can we have faith without hope?
• Does hope bring you to God, or must faith come first?
• Is hope faith realized?
• Is faith hope realized?
• Is hope unrealized a threat to faith?
• When faith deepens, does hope change?

I’ll stop before your head starts spinning too much. I think you get the point!

         Here’s the definition that comes to my mind: Hope is a longing deep within us that is not in our power to achieve yet will not let us go, for to be without hope is to be without life.

            The word hope occurs 149 in the Bible – at least that’s what my NRSV search brings up. Surprisingly, the occurrences are just about evenly divided between the Old and New Testaments. It tells me that hope in its greatest manifestation is theology and not psychology. Which brings me around to another inversion of sorts: worship must sustain hope; hope is not possible without worship.

            As we gather for worship this Sunday at Seneca Presbyterian Church, we’ll look at hope for our lives, hope beyond our lives, and hope for the world. It just may take us on a journey through all of scripture. I hope those who gather will leave with hope renewed!

The Truth of Our Lives

We are now at the third installment in our contemplation of worship through its senses. First we allowed Jacob to introduce us to awe – that unexpected moment of holy encounter when we are caught up in something far bigger than ourselves and it brings us to tears and to joy and to worship.

Next we allowed Babette and Jesus to invite us to the feast – the one we are reluctant to enter because we simply can’t believe it is OK to indulge the delight that is God’s grace. This third week draws us deeper into truly sacred worship. If we trust God and know the goodness of God, then we are drawn into the truth of God and into the truth of our lives.

            As we gather for worship at Seneca Presbyterian Church this Sunday, we will allow David, Bathsheba, Uriah, and Nathan to invite us into truth. The story is the classic tale of lust, power, and conquest when the great King David, the apple of God’s eye, succumbs to the illusion that kings can take whatever they wish, including another man’s wife. Sadly, it is a story that lives on in so many ways even today. But unlike the stories of our world, God’s truth entered this one. When confronted with his sin, David confessed his guilt.

            Where can we go to honestly and safely confront our guilt? When we worship, we talk about sin. We even confess it. We use someone else’s words. Sometimes we confess the sin of others, trusting that we can bring that truth before God on the world’s behalf. In our tradition, we pause for a moment to confess privately our own sin before God. Then we always hear an assurance of pardon. Is that all it takes?

            When the faithful Wednesday night seekers entered this story, we asked if we could be honest – brutally honest – about our lives within the embrace of sacred worship. Can we name our true sins? Can we confess the struggles and the contradictions we are forced to encounter as we live out our lives in a world that does not always honor God’s way? If we succumb to the world, is it a sin?

What if we are forced to charge a customer with a less than stellar credit history 30% interest on a car loan? Is that sin or just good business? What if I say “no” to the habitually homeless man who comes asking for grocery money – for the third time in as many months? Is that sin or tough love? Should a Christian walk away from a job mining coal that blasts away 400 vertical feet of a mountain, strips the mountain of its coal, and leaves behind its mess?

Did we come up with the answers? No. Our dilemma was even more basic. Can we even talk about those challenges without judging and without preaching? Or is church the place for our Sunday best, leaving our real lives outside the walls? 

The question remains: if we cannot speak the truth of our lives in church, where can we? 

Our Dancing God

It’s week two of a five week sermon series on worship. This series isn’t a “how to” for worship or which style of worship is the “right” one. It’s a reflection on the “senses” of worship, and for that topic I’m grateful to Don Saliers and his book Worship Come to Its Senses. 

     Last week we focused on awe; this week we will focus on delight. So think with me: what does delight mean to you? What experiences in your life have been “delightful”? A thought immediately comes to my mind that this is not the “delightful” that Professor Henry Higgins declared as he contemplated Eliza Doolittle’s demise. That’s the sort of delight some in my congregation might take when their Clemson Tigers defeat my N.C. Tar Heels – or when either of us defeat the S.C. “Chickens.” That sort of either innocent or fiendish delight in our own vindication is all too human, not divine.

     When I asked our faithful Bible seekers on Wednesday evening, they characterized delight as an emotion stronger than happiness that contains a degree of exuberance. It would likely have a sense of surprise, of experiencing the unexpected. It would bring pleasure and joy.

     In that light, I certainly hope worship is “delightful.” There should be an inherent sense of joy in every act of worship, for we worship a God of joy and grace and delight. The question remains: how can authentic worship faithfully enable the experience of delight? It certainly cannot be manufactured. Many years ago, I heard a sermon from a guest preacher that was 20 minutes of back to back jokes. For me, it got old quickly, and though some seemed to enjoy it, most found it pompous and inauthentic. Yet do you too often experience worship as too serious, too somber, and too respectful to be delightful? 

     I’ll be using two parables this Sunday as we explore delight. One is the story contained in the feature length film entitled Babette’s Feast. I hope you know it. It’s a gorgeous visual parable of grace. The other is the Parable of the Great Dinner as told by Jesus in Luke chapter 14. At the center of both parables is a guest who behaves in an unexpected manner. As each guest becomes the host, we catch a glimpse of the invitation to delight – the delight that is God’s gift - if we are daring enough to receive it. 

The Nowhere Place

We have begun a season of discernment related to worship at Seneca Presbyterian Church. We anticipate some transitions in leadership (for very good reasons) for our contemporary service, so we are using this time to contemplate the best options for us and especially for the community of faithful persons who worship at that service. We want our decisions to thoughtful, wise, and far reaching, rather than simply what is the most expeditious solution to the immediate challenge.

We have gathered a team and charged them with making the recommendation. That team is starting out with a time of study and reflection. Each member of the team is bringing his or her experiences in worship to the table, and I’m grateful for the diversity they represent.

In light of that study, and at the beginning of the long season of ordinary time, I will devote the Sundays of June to a sermon series on worship. I’m using a book by Don Saliers as my springboard. It’s called Worship Come to Its Senses. The book is actually a series of lectures where Dr. Saliers focuses on “the sense of awe and mystery, the sense of delight and spontaneity, the sense of knowing and being known by God truthfully, and the sense of hope in a confusing and violent world.” I appreciate his approach because it says worship can happen in a variety of styles, with different music, and in widely different spaces and still be genuine if it honors the presence of the holy as experienced through these four senses.

            For this Sunday, we will be attentive to the sense of awe. It is the proper starting point. All varieties of worship are meant to bring us into an encounter with God, an experience of the holy. Scripture offers us many places to turn for a story that will ground our understanding of the shape of holy encounter. We could look toward Moses and the burning bush, Isaiah and his vision in the Temple, Paul and the road to Damascus, or Mary and her angelic visitation. I’ve chosen someone a bit more like us. Jacob was a scoundrel, a cheat, and a liar. He knew life on the run. He loved one woman passionately and worked fourteen years in order to have her. He was his mother’s favorite son and then played favorites with his own sons, and knew the grief it brought.

            Jacob fell asleep one night in the middle of the desert, and when he did, he met God. He heard God’s claim upon his life and God’s promise for his life. His encounter with God changed him. Encounters like that can change us too. It is why we worship – to meet God, and be made anew.

            We’ll examine a portion of Jacob’s story this Sunday when we gather for worship at Seneca Presbyterian Church. It’s found in Genesis 28:10-22. We know God will be there. We’ll try to be ready for the holy encounter.   

            

Our 3-D God

In the tradition of the church year, the Sunday after Pentecost is Trinity Sunday. It marks the transition from the great seasons and festivals of Advent and Christmas; Lent and Easter; and finally Pentecost into the long season called “ordinary time.”

That may sound entirely boring until you understand that this is not “not special” ordinary but “ordinal” – like numbers. It is the season where we count the Sundays rather than link them to Sundays before or after our three high holy days.

Since Trinity Sunday often comes at the end of the school year, you can think of it as something of a recapitulation day. Who is this one God whom we have seen as God the Son and experienced as God the Holy Spirit? How can three be one and one be three? And the answer is: “It is a mystery.”

            The picture you see above graced my facebook page this week. I don’t know if it was sent as a challenge or a comfort. It takes all of us preachers back to our seminary theology classes where we discovered the dreaded truth: all those lovely analogies we learned as children about the Trinity are actually heresy. Think ice, water, and steam. Think three leaf clovers. The Three Musketeers may come close – “All for one and one for all.” Celtic knots may come even closer. But in the end, every explanation that satisfies one attribute risks losing another, hence heresy – which is why I am glad that faith is far bigger than systematic theology.

            When I worked with children, I would tell them that God is just so big that we cannot know God in simply one way, so we have three. That’s the mystery. God is gentle and God is strong. God forgives and God judges. God comforts and God challenges. God is near and God is far away. The key lies in our realization that God is not a multiple choice question. I cannot pick one “God” and neglect the others. That’s heresy, too.

            In the end, that’s the kind of God I need. Even if I can’t get my head around God the Trinity, I can try to get my heart around a God who is big enough to get those divine arms around all of me. I like the way Brian Wren says it (in Praising a Mystery): The living God is a mystery, not a secret: secrets puzzle us, but lose their fascination when they are revealed. A mystery deepens the more it is pondered and known.

That’s something of what I want to explore this Sunday when we gather for worship at Seneca Presbyterian Church. No kittens, just a 3-D God for my three dimensional world. You are welcome to come and join us.

It's Festival Week

I’m looking forward to a long-anticipated week away. On Monday, I’ll be joining with upwards of 2000 other preachers for an annual gathering called the Festival of Homiletics. We will converge on the city of Nashville, so beware if your travels are taking you to that fine city. We’ll be the ones in the restaurants still sporting name tags because we’ve forgotten to take them off, until about Wednesday when we will have forgotten to put them on. You needn’t worry about street corner evangelists in this crowd, though. You see, we all hail from the “mainline”: Presbyterians, Methodists, Episcopalians, Lutherans, Disciples of Christ, United Church of Christ, and those wonderful “moderate” Baptists.

            We all make the trip in order to hear great preaching. The line-up of speakers is always outstanding, but this year it is incredible. As someone who began in ministry thirty five years ago with very few female preacher-role models, I’m naturally drawn to the women in the line-up: Diana Butler Bass, Lillian Daniel, Anna Carter Florence, Barbara Lundblad, Barbara Brown Taylor, Phyllis Tickle, Lauren Winner – all women I have heard on numerous occasions, some I’ve even actually met, yet who always challenge and inspire me. And just to prove this conference is open to “fresh winds of the Spirit” – Nadia Bolz-Weber will be with us, too. And she is amazing!

            There was a strange posting on the Facebook page for the Festival a few weeks ago announcing the outstanding line-up of male presenters. And they are – for they include Craig Barnes, Walter Brueggemann, and Brian McLaren, along with cutting-edger Eric Elnes. But I have to wonder if someone thought they were in the shadow of those amazing women.

            If anyone thinks this is “vacation,” let me assure you it’s not. I find sitting and listening all day even to these grand orators physically exhausting. But I’ll know I have transitioned into true receiving mode when I cease listening for sermon structure and useful illustrations and allow the Spirit to refresh.

            Since I will be preaching at Seneca Presbyterian Church on the Sunday following the festival – on Pentecost Sunday – this week is also affording me a unique opportunity. I’ll finish my rough draft of that sermon before leaving town, but unlike all other weeks, this week will allow for simmer time. It also allows you to enter into the dialogue. That’s what I had hoped would be routine when I first started this experiment.

The text I am working on is basically the 14^th chapter of John’s Gospel. It is part of that wonderful Farewell Discourse that is unique to John. The focus is, of course, on the gift of the Paraclete (your Bible may say Advocate, Comforter, or Counselor). But it is a gift to the community that will continue on in the absence of Jesus. The community that gift is meant to create is truly remarkable. It makes me wonder if you have ever experienced something like it. Have you ever: 

… been part of a community of people where you were absolutely accepted just the way you are?

… known a group of people where criticism was always constructive, spoken in love, and did not focus on the wishes and wants of the one criticizing?

… dared to try and fail supported by people you knew would not think less of you if you did?

… been surrounded by people who were always hopeful despite current reality?

… found the strength to never give up on God or the world God came to redeem?

            While no human community could ever fully meet those standards, the Spirit-filled Christian community is meant to try.  

The Treasure in Our Hands

When the faithful group of seekers of Seneca Presbyterian Church gathered last Wednesday evening to sink our teeth and our hearts into the Parable of the Talents (Matthew 25:14-30), we discovered an almost universal dislike for this parable. The reason could have been as simple as its dis-use and abuse by so many preachers. Who has not heard this parable interpreted thusly? God has given us talents – skills and gifts – to use in a way that honors God. But too often we are afraid to use those talents – skills and gifts. Instead we bury them and keep them to ourselves. Then, if we get the soft climax to the sermon, we will be exhorted to do better - to dig up those talents and put them to use so God will bless us. But if we get the tough climax, we will be warned that God has little patience for those who bury what God has given and meant for us to use.

            I suppose every interpretation has within it something of truth. After all, we are beginning with God’s Word, the source of all truth. But I fear this is far too tame an interpretation for any parable of Jesus, let alone one that comes so near the end of his life. The parables of Jesus were simple stories with great meaning. The series of parables that end Matthew’s Gospel are stories with life and death meaning. These are stories that have a way of getting to us. And if it is God who is doing the “getting,” our discomfort is likely a clue to what we are meant to “get.”

            So if you are curious, here is what made us uncomfortable:

·         We thought the one talent servant was short-changed. He started off with low expectations. No wonder he was afraid.

·         Anyone who is entrusted with someone else’s wealth and acts recklessly with it is subject to a penalty. You should not act recklessly with what belongs to another.

·         Just how did those servants double their money? Did they do it honestly or dishonestly? Could the parable become a license for those who abuse the innocent and trusting gifts of others?

·         What if the return on the investment had been less? What if the servants only earned 50% or 25% or even 10%? What would the master say then? What would the master say if the servants risked the money and lost?

·         What’s wrong with keeping something entrusted to you safe? Why was the third servant judged so harshly? Is this really God? What happened to “salvation by grace alone through faith alone”? We don’t like this image of God.

So - just who is this master and what is his treasure? And what are we called to do with it? We’ll pick up with those questions on Sunday.

Keeping Goodness Alive

Martin Richard 

Weeks ago, as I was planning out my preaching schedule for Seneca Presbyterian Church, I was attracted to the story of Tabitha in the 9^th chapter of Acts (Acts 9: 36-43). It comes from the Revised Common Lectionary for this Sunday. That lectionary focuses on stories from Acts on the Sundays between Easter and Pentecost. If you have never read this brief but fascinating story, I invite you to do so. It is delightful! 

          During that planning process, the sermon title came to me immediately: Keeping Goodness Alive. Back then, I had my mind on our stewardship campaign – which we do in the spring. The women in this story reminded me so much of the women of Seneca Presbyterian. We have wonderful seamstresses – and cooks. But most of all, we have a wonderfully compassionate congregation that cares deeply for one another and for the community. Keeping that “goodness” alive – that significant part of our church’s identity and soul – was what I had in mind then.

          That was before the world unraveled this week. As our lectionary study group gathered on Wednesday evening, we were still dealing with just the Boston Marathon tragedy. Its sorrow and shock were still real. We knew nothing of the remarkable events that would transpire on Friday.

In the shadow of that humanity, we talked about the humanity of this story. What were the women expecting when they summoned Peter in the wake of their dear friend’s death? Did they expect resurrection? They did not ask for it specifically, but did they hope Peter would take the hint? Did Peter expect resurrection when he knelt by the bed and prayed? Or was the Holy Spirit’s power to bring life unexpected for everyone? One in our group had a fascinating observation. He believed Peter was praying for guidance as to what he should do, not just for the power to do it.  

          We also struggled with the reality that we do not expect physical resurrections in our own day. I’m grateful that my people do not expect me to do what Peter did when they invite me into their lives at the time of death. But that leaves us with a difficult question: How does resurrection happen today? How do we keep goodness alive?

          I had in mind the image of Martin Richard, the eight year old victim of Monday’s bombings. His plea - “No more hurting people” – dominated the stories of earlier in the week. Now we have images of police officers and FBI agents going door to door in a persistent quest to bring safety back to a quiet neighborhood in an amazing city. So where does the power for goodness live in our world? We will explore that question as we gather for worship at Seneca Pres this Sunday. We would love to have you join us! 

On the Road Again

There is an amazing degree of similarity between the story of last week – the journey to Emmaus – and the story for this week – the journey of an Ethiopian eunuch. The similarity is so striking that it prompted me to title the sermon I am working on for this Sunday at Seneca Presbyterian Church: “On the Road Again.” Each story involves a physical journey. Each involves a stranger who interprets scripture for travelers who are seeking to understand. In each, the stranger mysteriously disappears at the conclusion of his work. One ends with the sacrament of communion, the other with the sacrament of baptism – the two universally shared sacraments for all expressions of the Christian faith. In case you’re wondering, it’s not a coincidence.

          Luke is the only Gospel writer to give us part two of the story. His book of Acts tells us how the gospel message spread from Jerusalem to Rome and from the Jewish to the Gentile world. It’s primarily about the Apostle Paul, but it doesn’t start there. It starts with stories of the apostles and the first disciples. Jesus had promised the disciples that when they received power from the Holy Spirit, they would do everything they had seen him do, and even more. The Spirit is the abiding and empowering presence of the risen Christ living among those who follow him. In the story of Philip and the Ethiopian eunuch, we see a realization of that promise. Philip steps in the role of Jesus as the interpreter of scripture, the one who enables faith, and the one who seals that faith sacramentally as he baptizes his Ethiopian friend.

          But such a gospel parallel is not the only amazing facet of this story. For me, that prize goes to the Ethiopian. He has just undertaken an arduous journey from Ethiopia to Jerusalem in order to worship in the Temple. But curiously, as a eunuch he would have been forbidden to enter the Temple. That reality is probably why he asked Philip, “What is to prevent me from being baptized?” This aspect of the story fascinates me. Why would you feel compelled to move toward a faith that considers you a second class citizen? Can it simply be the power of the Holy Spirit pulling us all toward new challenges and deeper understandings?

          Those questions cause me to ponder others:

• Have you ever felt excluded and unworthy to enter God’s holy house? What kept you away?
• Do you know of others who have experienced that same exclusion? What kept them away?
• Did anything overcome the barrier?
• Could it have been the hand of the Holy Spirit directing the action?

 I welcome your reflections.

The Third Traveler

Beyond believing God can bring utter, unexpected hope even in the face of the world’s deepest darkness – literally life out of death, the most remarkable aspect of the Easter story for me is how very honest it is about doubt. When confronted with an empty tomb and reports of encounters with the risen Christ, no one believed. They all needed physical proof; they needed to see and touch and talk with Jesus. They needed personal knowledge of the risen Christ.

That fact raises an alarming question that was on the minds of the faithful Bible seekers at Seneca Presbyterian Church when we gathered this week. One in our midst, an attorney by profession, reminded us that a witness in order to be credible has to have personal knowledge of an event. Hearsay evidence – even reliable hearsay – is not sufficient. So how can we, who live 2000 years removed from that first Easter, come to faith? Who can be our “witness” or must we rely on the hearsay evidence of the Church passed on from generation to generation to generation for 2000 years? Granted, that hearsay evidence is substantial. A lot of people have believed, and their testimony is strong. But is it sufficient to inspire faith in others?  

          It is a question that must have been on the minds and hearts of the gospel writers, too. Their gospels were not finally written down until late in the first century, years after Jesus. It was during a time when the eye witnesses were dying. How could new generations come to faith? John simply commended those who did. In his story of “doubting” Thomas, Jesus says: “Have you believed because you have seen me? Blessed are those who have not seen, yet have come to believe”. But Luke goes one step further. Luke gives us the amazing story of Emmaus.

          There are some Bible stories that have to be heard every year. Certainly Luke’s Christmas story with its angels and shepherds is one of them. The story of women encountering an empty tomb is another. For me, the story of two disciples journeying away from Jerusalem on the first Easter day is another “must tell” story. That’s because it’s a story for us.

          It’s a story that says the living, real presence of the risen Christ can come to us even when we don’t see him; even when our sorrow and doubt cloud the physical seeing of our eyes and the spiritual seeing of our hearts. It’s a story that says the risen Christ will linger with us until we do see. He will be our companion on the journey, teaching us along the way. Then he will give us an unmistakable sign, and when we see it, our eyes will be opened, and everything will make sense. Everything will be new.

          We’ll examine just how all that happens when we gather for worship on the Sunday after Easter at Seneca Prez. If you don’t know this story, you can find it in Luke 24:13-35. There you will see what Christians have been doing ever since that first Easter – in order to create more “witnesses” for every generation that followed. We have gathered to study the scriptures, trusting in the presence of the Spirit to guide us. And we have gathered for worship – for the “breaking of the bread” – trusting it is there we meet the risen Christ. Even today.