Same Song, Different Tune

I am one of those strange pastors that likes to wait until LATE Advent and/or Christmas Eve to begin singing traditional Christmas carols, even though we're hearing them everywhere else. I do this because, when we wait until the very night of Christ's birth to raise our candles as we sing "Silent Night" in the darkenss, I think we feel the amazing gift of the promise's fulfillment more powerfully. If we wait to sing "Joy to the World" until the celebration of the Incarnation (or Jesus' birthday, however you like to think of it), then I believe we can feel the lament of the world, and thus our desperate need for the Savior to come, more fully. I can't tell you how fully I felt the Holy Spirit in our Christmas Eve services because of our faithful waiting. It was amazing. I don't tend to get emotional while I'm leading worship, but I can count on emotion each Christmas Eve at that point.

But this past Sunday, Christmas Eve Eve, I began to worship with traditional carols sung by a traditional congregation with its small choir. The songs we sang all told the story of Christmas: the longing for a savior that is met by the promise of God and fulfilled in the coming of Christ. Matthew's gospel told us how Jesus was born. Then I moved to the next service, where a traditional (and all women's) choir (directed by my husband, the music director of that church) made the beautiful offering of a Christmas Cantata that again told the story of Christ's coming for our salvation through music. All very traditional...powerful, but traditional.

After lunch with my sister and her fiancee and then dropping off our son with my husband's sister and brother-in-law (and their three children), my husband and I then went to experience the same Gospel in a much less traditional way. We went to hear the same song sung to a MUCH different tune.

It is something of a tradition, a tradition we share with my music director (and her husband) in the first church I worship with each Sunday. We all like a band known as the "Trans-Siberian Orchestra," and each year they come to Columbia. We missed last year, but this past Sunday was our third concert. The first part of the concert is the same (except for the lights, staging and pyrotechnics) each year. It's loud, and hard, and definitely a far cry from Bing Crosby. They call it a "Rock Opera," and it tells the story of an angel flying over earth on Christmas Eve to collect an offering for God. The story involves a bar and some clearly not-church folk. The presentation of the story involves some dancing girls in dresses and boots that would make many people in my pews suggest they put on a long coat. But the story is no doubt the story of Christ's coming and his continuing work in the world. I may blog another time about my take on the band's most famous work, called "Christmas Eve: Sarejevo." But for now...

It all has gotten me to thinking...the founder of Methodism John Wesley talked about "plain talk for plain folk", or something like that. The Apostle Paul spoke of becoming different things to different people. I believe the point both men were trying to make was: God has made clear that the divine will is for ALL persons to know the salvation of Christ. If that is so, and if people are so very different from one another, don't we need to tell the story of Christ to each group of humans in language they understand? Different generations have different ways of speaking. Different cultures relate to different imagery. Different groups can listen to different music. What is nonsense to one makes sense to another. What is noise to one is a melody to another. My husband and I seem to exist in more than one generation, language, culture...at least sometimes; maybe we're a bit "bilingual".

Maybe we all need to become "multilingual" in order to tell the story. It's always the same song we sing, with saints and angels. We just need to learn a few different tunes to tell the story of Christmas and Easter. The babe born in Bethlehem is counting on us to make sure the whole world, and all the children therein, hear of his love and his gift to us. Can we sing the song so that everyone will hear? Can we preach the gospel to everyone at all times, using words if necessary, as St. Francis said? The shepherds went to tell everyone everything they had seen and heard. I pray that we all can do the same.

If anyone's still reading...

You may want to know, if you didn't see it, that I wore ripped jeans and fuzzy red slippers with snowmen on them to host our "Annual Parsonage Christmas Drop-In" this past Thursday. I didn't do it to make a fashion statement; I did it because I ran out of time to get properly dressed. But the food was out, the fruit was sliced, and the cake was cut. And everyone had a good time (I think--we did), with one notable exception I'll talk about in a minute. THANK YOU if you were one of the ones that made my frantic run worth it by (1) coming and (2) enjoying watching my child (who by the way had on no shoes or socks but was still adorable--again, no time for shoes) and (3) eating the food and telling me it was good (even if it wasn't) and (4) telling me the house looked good (because it was indeed a miracle that you could even walk around in the living room--less than 1 1/2 hours before people arrived my son thought that a whole big box of packing peanuts needed to be dumped on the floor).

Anyway, two things I want to share about this drop-in.

One: The fact that I didn't have on proper clothes and my son had no shoes is symbolic of my life each Advent. Though my husband and I work "our fannies off" to get the necessities accomplished, there is never enough time to get to other important things (like blogs :-) or nice slacks or shoes). But if we're lucky, and if we're open to God's Spirit that always flows around us, we'll be able to simply enjoy the blessings of Christ's coming in the midst of fellowship with friends and family anyway. We'll also be able to stop and simply worship, and just enjoy the fact that our Lord is present among us because of the Incarnation that we celebrate in this season. So forget about the shoes and the ripped jeans--just enjoy Jesus and come as you are to the party of the kingdom of God, whether you're frantic or bored or whatever!

Two: God showed us yet again at our drop-in that the divine has a way of re-directing our attention to what's truly important in the midst of our frenzy to do what we think is essential. Don't get me wrong: God did not cause one of my elderly members to become ill enough for us to call 911 that evening, but when it happened, God certainly intruded and focused us on being there for him and his wife in their need. The Holy Spirit was there as I silently prayed with my hand on his knee. The Holy Spirit led several people to get wet cloths for him, to put their hand on his wife's back, to hold them up, to drive his wife to the hospital and stay with her until their daughter and granddaughter arrived. Don't worry, he is much better now, home from the hospital and re-hydrated and his old self. He told me in the hospital Friday that they had all decided I had put something in the cider...

Anyway, my prayer for all of us is that, in the midst of the Advent frenzy and the Christmas clean-up, we will let God stop us and focus us on what's most important: Christ our Lord and the salvation-gifts--of healing, hope, family, abundant & eternal life, and friendship & reconciliation with God and other humans--that he was born to offer us. And as we do so, I pray that we'll forget about the things that don't really matter in the kingdom of God (like what you wear or whether all the food is presented right...)

Merry Christmas!

Advent 1

I was exhausted last night. After two worship services I'll tell you about in a minute, then a coaching session, then cheering for our kids from one church riding our float in the town Christmas parade, then going to that same town's Christmas tree lighting service sponsored by our Ministerial Association, then rushing down the road 18 miles to the other church (which I live beside) to eat soup, fellowship, and "prepare" the greens (since we cannot be in the sanctuary to actually HANG them), I was tired.

I think waiting in felt silence (see post "The Sound of Silence" below), and exhausted, are good stances to assume at the beginning of the season of Advent. Only when we're waiting in silence and exhausted are we in a position fully to acknowledge that we're helpless to save, control, or help ourselves. Only when we're waiting in the silence, and exhausted, are we needy enough to ask Christ to "come" for us again to save and help and heal us, and then to embrace him truly when he arrives, letting him change us.

Our worship yesterday took a very different form from your typical Sunday service. We began it by adopting a spirit of worship before the God who has promised to come and be present with us. We then acknowledged just how desperately we need what only a Savior can provide by praying for the needs of the world, as individuals led us in prayer for those suffering from HIV/AIDS and other diseases, for victims of violence and natural disasters, those in military service, the leaders of nations, and others.

Then we heard the promise of God, through the Prophet Isaiah, that a Savior will come to bring healing and peace. We celebrated that promise in song and prayer. Only then could we "hang the greens" and thank God for the first fulfillment of that promise in the coming of Christ into the world, remembering with each "green" an aspect of Christ and his kingdom. Celebrating his first coming, and the beginning of God's promise being fulfilled, led us then to hear from Christ himself (in Matthew's Gospel) about the day of his second "advent", or coming, on which the promised day of peace will finally fully come.

At that, we heard from Paul's letter to the Romans how we are to prepare for that day by "living in the light," and we committed ourselves through song-prayer to being people of the light. Finally, through sharing at Christ's table of sacrifice and victory, we were empowered to live as people of the light, prepared for Christ's return, acting as his body until he comes again. We were sent forth to live that reality.

Maybe because I didn't preach (trust me, this was just as much work :-)),this service for me was a beautiful remembrance of God's promise, and the fulfillment of that promise, that we celebrate and await in this season. I hope I wasn't the only one who was touched by God in the sharing. And by the way, if you were one of the people who led a prayer or read a scripture in that service, THANK YOU for helping me to pray to God and hear the Lord's Word.

Betty Visits The Methodists

BEWARE! This may offend some of you. "Betty Butterfield" is looking for a church home, and "she" has visited ours... There's some not-so-churchy language here, too. But it's a hilarious look at how we Methodists just might be seen by others... We need to laugh at ourselves sometimes. At least I do.

The Sound of Silence

11 days. That's how long it's been since I posted anything.

I can't stand it when I check other people's blogs faithfully because I really want to hear what they have to say, and they don't post for a long time. So, I apologize to you if you're like me.

I could blame the long absence on simple busy-ness, and that would not be untrue. It wouldn't be the real reason, though. The real reason has more to do with what I've given as the title of this post.

I don't know about you, but sometimes my mind, heart, and life get so full that I no longer know what to think, much less what to say. I hear so many voices that I can scarcely hear the voice of God speaking TO me, much less THROUGH me. I feel so much that I don't know what to feel, and I sort of go numb. And in those moments, all I hear is silence. I do and think and say and feel what I have to do and think and say and feel at any given moment. And that's all I can do or think or say or feel. And then when I don't have to be feeling, or thinking, or saying, or doing anything, I shut down. That's where I've been, I guess, for these past 11 days.

It's not that I haven't sensed God's presence or felt intense emotions or glimpsed the holy during these days. Quite the opposite. It's hard not to feel profound grief and the gentle touch of the Holy Spirit while praying with family members whose son/grandson/brother just died in his sleep at age 19. It's hard not to feel profound joy and the embrace of Christ while baptizing a new child of God. It's impossible not to feel God's peace while surrounded by beloved family and abundance of food at Thankgiving, offering praise to the Father. I have certainly laughed and felt tremendous gratitude to the Creator when my son has said some of the funniest things I've ever heard. (The other day, when on his Bob the Builder DVD one of the characters said "So let's drink a toast to..."[yes this is a toddler's video], my child [almost 3] said: "That's silly what Wendy said. We don't drink toast!")

Perhaps it's the intensity of each moment that has gotten me. Perhaps it is the busy-ness. Perhaps its the long list of things I have to get done at some point, but clearly not today. Perhaps it is the "going through the motions". I don't know. Whatever the reason, I've not been able to think of much to say; I haven't had much clarity.

But maybe that's the very best way there is to enter the season of Advent. Waiting for clarity. Waiting to hear God speak. Waiting to understand. Waiting for everything to come together. Waiting on the Savior. Waiting...while knowing that God is faithful. Waiting...while knowing that God will come. Waiting...in silence.

On Baptism

Everything comes in waves, it can seem. In small, stable or slowly-growing churches, baptisms can be that way. There have been entire years that passed at one of my churches without a baptism. Sad, huh?

But then I'll have several at one time. At the end of September, I performed two baptisms in two weeks in one of my churches. And now at the end of November, I'll be doing it again--two baptisms in two weeks, one for each church this time. There have been no baptisms at all in the intervening weeks. Waves.

Waves are something I think a lot about whenever I baptize. One of the reasons for this is that I always use a seashell in the service. I then give that shell to the newly-Baptized as a keepsake. The shell, an ancient symbol of Baptism, to me serves as a reminder of not just the water of baptism and of life, but also of the beauty and uniqueness of each child of God.

I also think of waves when I baptize because I think of the waves of God's grace and love that overflow for us and flood us with mercy, power, and newness of life when we are brought into Christ's family the Church through the Sacrament of Baptism.

There is so much symbolism and depth to Baptism. It bothers me when it gets cheapened or simplified. That's one of the reasons I love being Methodist. We allow all the symbolism to be preserved in our choice of modes of baptism. As of this Sunday's first service, I will have baptized using all three.

I did my first baptism by immersion (or, as the teenagers called it, "dunking") this past July. I had to get tutored in the mechanics by a Baptist colleague first, but it was a powerful experience to hold someone as she fell into the watery depths and died with Christ, then to be raised up to new life and a new family, dripping wet and crying. Every time I "sprinkle a baby," I think of their little hearts and lives being "sprinkled clean" by the blood of Christ and the presence of the Holy Spirit. And I look forward to my first "pouring" baptism for an 11-year-old this Sunday, in that same fellowship hall where I want to have all my Services of Word and Table now.

The different sort of worship space demanded a different sort of Baptism. And so Sunday, I will pour out the water from my beautiful pottery pitcher, the same one used each Communion to pour out Christ's blood in the juice. I will pour out that water over the head of the young lady who will just have made her profession of faith. As I do, I pray that she and everyone else in the room feels the Holy Spirit poured out into her heart and life, to drown our sinfulness and to pour grace, mercy, and power to live as God's children into us.

What a beautiful thing to preserve all the modes of baptism. In doing so, we preserve the depth of meaning the Sacrament has, and perhaps, too, some of its mystery. God does a lot through the water and the Spirit, more than any of us could ever fully understand. Who wants to minimize that?

I Joined Facebook Today

One of my fellow clergypersons, a good friend, invited me in. I'm amazed at who I found there! I'm amazed at how many people choose to share and to connect this way. And it got me thinking.

I guess we're all always looking for convenient ways to connect. The key word there is "convenient." I wonder if we, in our fast-paced world, are looking for mock-community. I wonder if that's because we don't know how to live in true community. We want community, but we don't know how to have it. We think autonomy and independence and privacy are the highest virtues. Don't get me wrong; I as much as anyone think e-communication has its place, and can be a very good thing (why else would I be blogging?) Still, hear me out...

As a pastor, I keep secrets from my parishioners all the time. All clergymen and women do. I'm not speaking of my own secrets necessarily, though I do keep my private life as private as possible (why?). The secrets of which I speak now, though, are the ones whispered to me across my desk through tears, when no one else can hear. They are the secrets church-people don't want anyone else they worship with to know.

How sad. How sad it must make the Lord that his followers can't be real with one another. How sad it is that we refuse to share our darkest secrets with our brothers and sisters in Christ, to invite them to pray with us through our trials and help us to conquer whatever would destroy us. How sad that we just can't discuss certain things, for fear of judgment or retribution or exclusion. How sad that we prize the convenience, autonomy, and privacy of virtual-relationships and over the work and reward, and maybe even saving power, of authentic, one-to-one, flesh-touching-flesh, voice-speaking-to-heart, truth-in-the-open, share-everything, forgive-and-walk-beside relationships.

I don't believe it will be so in the kingdom of God. So I have a "modest proposal" (as a fellow United Methodist Pastor writes in our conference's newspaper). What if we in the church tried to find more and more ways each day for people to really connect in authentic and deep ways? What if we invited ourselves and others to share truly, from the heart? What if we invited each other into our home lives, our family relationships, our checkbooks, our secret worlds? Could we then maybe help each other be more fully alive to God and to each other? Could we maybe then move toward the day when all are in full communion with the Lord and each other? What would our church look like then? What gift might we have to give the world? I don't know. It's just a thought.