Peace

December 29, 2022

Christmas Confessions

There was a time I thought Christmas Eve services were only a creation of Hollywood. I did not know people actually went to church to sing the songs I heard on the radio. As a college student I attended my first Christmas Eve service with the guy I was dating because his dad was a pastor. I thought it the oddest thing in the world, but I wanted to impress him so I went along. The only memory I have of that evening is of standing in the sanctuary, with the whole congregation circled around the room, holding candles singing Silent Night.

I grew up in a working poor family that chose to work as many holidays as they could. The ability to get holiday pay outweighed the need to get together on a specific date, and if they were able to work it out to get overtime pay and holiday pay, so much the better. As a child I accepted this as our normal, as an adult I recognize the financial wisdom my adults demonstrated. Since this was our normal, celebrating a holiday on a specific day was not something that was vital to me, not so much for my spouse, the son of a pastor. Sure, his dad works each Christmas, but that work involved observing the sacredness of the holiday, a completely unusual concept for me.

Fast forward twenty-some years and I am now the pastor responsible for organizing and leading the annual Christmas Eve service. I work on the holiday, but not for overtime or holiday pay. I work to help others encounter the sacredness of this holiday. I spend weeks (sometimes months) creating the services to help others find a space of welcome and to be reassured of God’s love.

I confess this has not always been easy. Yes, I have grown more tenderhearted and gentle surrounding this holiday as I have gotten older. However, my original mindset was it made no sense to have a service on this holiday if people were not going to come because it was a waste of money. This is clearly a product of my childhood thinking. My thinking changed from that to a frustration as I realized the cliché that some people only attend services on their faith traditions high holy days was not hyperbole. As I grew older, my thinking evolved to resignation that I would always be exhausted by Christmas Day, and that no matter what I did someone was going to be unhappy with my energy level, and I would have to endure hearing about how I had ruined yet another Christmas. Add in to those experiences the number of times I have officiated a funeral service, or attended one for a family member during the month of December, and it is no wonder Christmas is a season of mixed feelings.

I confess, it would have been really easy to stay in my discontent and disillusionment of this holiday. But I did not want to do that, I wanted more than anything to experience this holiday as one of hope, joy, peace, and love. I wanted to be able to recognize everybody approaches the holiday season differently and my responsibility is to observe it as I am able, without judging others and without allowing the judgment of others to cloud my view. I wanted to capture the magic of Christmas so many people talk about, but that usually escapes me no matter how hard I try to create meaningful services or loving family traditions.

To confess as a Christian pastor that Christmas is not your favorite time of year is not easy to do. Usually this results in some pushback about my level of faithfulness or succumbing to the pressure of secular society. I am not sure what an equivalent might be, but maybe it would be similar to a professional athlete sharing that they really do not enjoy the sport they play. Even though it is difficult to confess this apathy, reluctance, or even dislike of Christmas, I found healing in finally claiming those very feelings. In all my years of trying to find the magic of Christmas, it was only when I was honest about my negative feelings around the holiday that I began to find that magic.

First, it came from a more experienced pastor who assured me I could struggle with Christmas all I needed, because that was the point of the story. God brought all these people into the Nativity story (Luke 1-2, Matthew 1-2) to remind us that not everyone was an eager or willing participant, but they were invited all the same. Second, it came when the COVID19 pandemic forced our congregation to worship differently. There I was Christmas Eve 2020, standing in my dining room in front of a Zoom screen, while people I loved lit candles and held them up, while singing Silent Night. There was the reminder of the power of community, there was the Christmas magic. Third, it came this Christmas Eve. I stood in the sanctuary on a night of subzero temperatures, ferocious wind, and messy roads, and saw the faces of people I have been given to care for and love, and I knew of all the places I was going to find Christmas magic, this was the place.

I confess, I did find that magic. At the end of the service I stood in front of the gathered community as we lifted our lit candles and sang Silent Night and my heart cracked wide open. In that moment, it made sense why we gather for this service, why for some people all they need is that night to renew their faith so they can do the work God gave them the rest of the year, why we pastors pour so much energy into creating special services, and why even when we feel disillusioned we are still invited into the Christmas Story.

I confess, even though my heart is becoming more tender and I am becoming more gentle, I still did not think I would experience the magic of Christmas. I had in mind that I had missed my chance to find that magic. But God never ceases to amaze me, because just when I thought I had wandered too far from the magic, God dropped it right down on me. And in case I missed all the evidence of that gift, God tried one more time, and with the voice of one of the youngest members of our community said to me, “This is the best Christmas ever.”

Wherever you find yourself in the pursuit of holiday magic, I hope you will know what it has taken me so long to comprehend, that no matter who you are or where you are in life, you are not alone, you are welcomed and loved just as you are, by the One who created all the cosmos. Come reluctantly or eagerly, it does not matter, because there is always room and magic for you.

December 23, 2022

The Third Week of Advent 2022

Our focus for this week was peace. Somewhere in all of this I realized I had switched the themes of the week from some of the liturgies, but it fit the services we were hosting and I did not mind so much that our themes were a bit out of order. I have found when I put things out of order pay I bit more attention. I spent the week thinking about peace in my life.

There was a time I would have cited peace as that elusive “world peace” concept. But as I have grown in experience and age, I find my definition of peace has expanded. Now peace includes being able to have conversations that do not result in arguments or the silent treatment. Peace includes being able to lay my head down at the end of the day knowing I did my best that day to demonstrate gratitude. Peace includes knowing if this were my last day I have left behind people who know I love them deeply, and my love is a fraction of the love God has for them.

I used to think people who were peacemakers were the kind of people who waded into conflict and made everyone talk it out. For sure, some peacemakers do that work. But most of the peacemakers I know spend their days making others feel valued, included, and loved. These peacemakers do this work in a million ways, by laughing with others, cooking, cleaning, providing safe spaces, by asking after loved ones, by sharing memes or reels, mostly by being present with the people who populate their days in a way that makes it known they are thankful for the opportunity to share that moment.

I am struck again this season that the peace I find in my days is because people take time to see me, and I think when that can be duplicated on a larger scale we create peace in our families, organizations, countries, and hopefully some day the world. I still long for world peace, but I recognize that will not be achieved until all of us are willing to see the value each of us holds. May we be willing to work toward that goal this season and always.

August 7, 2018

One Sunday Morning

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From the National Memorial for Peace and Justice in Montgomery, Alabama.

One Sunday afternoon I read an article in  The Christian Century about the newly opened Legacy Museum: From Enslavement to  Mass Incarceration and National Memorial for Peace and Justice in Montgomery, Alabama.

One Sunday morning halfway through our summer vacation traveling through Alabama we had a discussion with our children about foregoing a usual worship service to be confronted with our sins as a country.  My explanation resulted in comments about how even away from the pulpit I could not stop teaching them.  There were a few John Calvin jokes shared before we pulled into Montgomery.

Arriving in Montgomery we parked by a sign that told us Montgomery was the center of the Domestic Slave Trade and that the place we were parked used to be a place where humans were sold.  As we read the sign silence began to descend.  It was an odd silence because the city sounds did not cease, but the other noise of our lives ceased.

The museum is housed in a building that used to hold humans as they awaited the moment they would be auctioned.  The day we visited, the museum was packed.  We slowly made our way to each exhibit between two families.  We never spoke more than the usual whispered “excuse me” and “sorry” of museum goers, yet I was completely aware of their presence.  We were staring at evil laid bare, and my skin color, which was different than theirs, connected me more with the evil than with the good.

The memorial is a sacred place.  We walked through the memorial reading the names and dates of our fellow humans who had been murdered because of the color of their skin.  More than 4,000 names were displayed.  I walked through the memorial reading of the lynchings in towns I have walked the streets, in years people I know were alive.  I wondered if I would learn someone I loved was a murderer.  I wondered how anyone I was walking beside could ever look at me and not hate me on sight for what white Christians had done.

As I came to the last corner of the hanging display section of the memorial I could hear water, realizing I had heard it all along.  I stopped to read the wall featured in the photograph, and the tears could no longer be held inside.  I took a photograph because it was allowed and turned toward the source of the water, a long wall pouring water down like a righteous stream.

I approached the water hearing in my head the words of baptism I say when I baptize babies, teenagers, and adults.  I heard these words and my tears fell as I touched the water.

. . . we set this water apart to be the waters of baptism may the person who now passes through these waters be delivered from death to life, from bondage to freedom, from sin to righteousness.  Grant that they will grow in compassion and humility. . . 

I wanted to put my whole body in the water.  I wanted someone to make the sign of the cross on my forehead and say the words of baptism to me.  I wanted to be reminded that grace and forgiveness is ours to have.  I wanted to know we could still have hope.  I wanted to know evil would not win for one more day.

I reluctantly left the water and walked through the graveyard portion of the memorial holding my daughter’s hand.  I read the invocation at the end of the memorial, wiped at my falling tears, and left with my family.

In the weeks since we visited that morning has never been far from my thoughts.  One of the lessons the creators shared was their belief that With Hope we could change the world, with a determination to never forget and a belief we could be better, we could bring healing, and that evil could be stopped.

I am left with this conviction.  We cannot change our past, but we can change the present and the future.  In order to do that we have to know our history.  We have to admit our sins, the ways the sins of others have benefited us, and our lack of commitment to working for healing.  We have to admit where we have been and are if we ever expect to change, and we must change.

We cannot be who we have been.

We cannot let evil win one more day.

We must change ourselves and the world.

We must remember, have hope, be courageous, be persistent, and have faith.

One Sunday morning the Holy Spirit held me tight and forced me to see.

 

 

March 14, 2018

A Newsletter Article

20170228_123249One of my tasks as pastor is to write an article for the monthly newsletter.  The following is the newsletter article published in our March 2018 newsletter.  It is the third installment in a series reflecting on our eleven years together as pastor and congregation.  Each month this year I am sharing a memory and connecting it to what we are learning today.  This article is longer and a whole lot more personal than usual.  I share it with the wider internet world to add depth to the conversation about caring for the members of our society.  This is a glimpse for you, the reader, into conversations around my dinner table.  I welcome you to come visit, share your story with us, and help us find a way to care for each other.  Thank you for reading.

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In March of 2008 we were in the middle of a long season of saying goodbye-for-now to loved ones.  In a year there were sixteen Witness to the Life and Resurrection Services, two of them were my family members.  In March I did not know the season would continue for months, I was simply a person grieving the death of two family members, who seemed to be spending my time leading others through the first days after death.  I would sit with families, hear stories, pick Scripture and hymns, and then stand before the community and remind everyone of the promises of our faith.

Each Lent I am reminded of that first season of funerals, and the ones that followed.  I sit with the stories of those who have died.  I remember the conversations with families.  I remember the ways our community came together to take care of all of those who were mourning.  I remember the fatigue that I felt deep in my bones and spirit as I tried to be compassionate when yet another family needed me to help them proclaim the promises of our faith.

This month when we are reeling from yet another act of gun violence against our children I find myself thinking back to the fatigue I felt in 2008.  I remember in 2008 some hurtful comments directed my way by people who thought I was not being the pastor they thought I should be.  I remember rumors reaching my ears of the supposed atrocious things I was to have said.  I remember my tears that were always close to the surface that year.  I remember questioning deeply my call to pastoral ministry.  That season was a difficult season for me, and yet there were moments of grace that still shine brightly in my memory as others reminded me of the promises of our faith.

As I write this article my heart is broken with the pain of yet round of senseless deaths, and the truth of the number of gun violence episodes of this year.  I am afraid of the funerals I will have to do if ever there is a tragic act of violence in our community.  I am trying to work for change, to help others see the truth we learn in the Gospel: that there are times when we set aside our own freedoms for the sake of the safety of another.  I am trying to comfort my own children as they talk through their anxiety at the possibility of an active shooter coming into their school, and their firm belief if that happened they would be the ones standing at the graveside crying as their dad’s casket was lowered into the ground.  Because for my children, there is no doubt their dad would die for them, or for his students, or for his colleagues.  My children remind me of the promises their dad has made them, which I know come from his understanding of the promises of our faith.

As adults we know what we would do in a stressful situation cannot be determined until that time.  We know enough to think about it, to talk about it, to prepare with training, and to leave behind the words we want said in the event the worst happens.  But we also know we are responsible for the safety of our children, even at the setting aside of our own freedom.  Because isn’t that what we do when we hold that baby (our own child or a child of our family) in our arms?  Do we not look at that baby and promise we will do everything in our power to keep that baby safe and protected?  Do we not look at our own choices and begin to change them so that that baby would be safe, from even us?  Do we not stand before God and the community and baptize that baby in the promises of our faith?

I know the intersection of gun violence and the freedom to own guns is not an easy conversation.  I grew up with guns, my step-father was a gun dealer, and I know people who hunt and those who enjoy shooting a rifle just for fun.   I can recall conversations about gun safety, and times when there was legitimate fear someone would use a gun in a fit of drunken rage.  The end result of all of those conversations was the belief that the safety of the children and the community were more important than the right to own a gun.  Unknown to my agnostic and atheist family members they were living the Gospel in a way that would make it easier for me to one day recognize the promises of our faith.

I do not have all the answers for how our society needs to change so our children do not fear going to school, our teachers and school staff do not wrestle with what they would do when faced with their life or the life of another, our medical and emergency personnel do not have to be prepared for mass shootings, and our clergy of all faiths wonder about funeral sermons that would have to be preached.  I do know one of the best ways to make change happen is to actually listen to each other, to share our experiences and our fears.  I know it is not to spread atrocious rumors about others, or to call each other names, or to make demands that our freedoms are more important than the freedom of others.  I know we can be the kind of community that has these kind of conversations because we have already had hard conversations.  We have walked through the valley of the shadow of death with each other before and we have been changed.  We have lived the promises of our faith.

Our faith is one that requires action, it is one that is all about setting aside ourselves for the sake of God.  Our faith is about setting aside our own freedom so that we can be of service to another, just as Jesus was when he walked this earth.  The Holy Spirit makes it possible for us to give up our freedom for the sake of others.  Our faith requires that we love mercy, act justly, and walk humbly with our Lord.  Our faith is one full of promises of forgiveness, grace, love, joy, and peace.  Our faith is one full of promises of a community that recognizes they are only as strong as the weakest member and therefore works together to strengthen that weak one.  I remain confident we can become the kind of community eager to learn from each other, eager to protect others, and eager to demonstrate the promises of our faith.

May we be bold enough to work together to insure that never again will we have to hear the cries of our children because they had to watch their classmates and teachers die.  Let our efforts be pleasing to God until the time Christ comes again and fulfills the promises of our faith.