Here's something worth pondering, from UCC Iowa Conference Minister for Youth Nicole Havelka (reprinted by permission):
http://www.youthministrycommotion.blogspot.com/
Monday, October 11, 2010
Wednesday, September 29, 2010
Talking to Statues
I was in Clarkson Hospital in Omaha yesterday when I noticed a man apparently having a very animated conversation with a bronze statue of Thomas Jefferson. The man was sitting across from Jefferson, talking clearly and gesturing freely. Jefferson, as is his wont, was listening intently, even though he was in the act of writing the Declaration of Independence. As I got closer, I realized that of course the man was talking on his cell phone, using his head set, and, like many of us, gesturing even though his conversation partner couldn’t see his gestures.
I guess I wouldn’t have blamed the man if he had been talking to Jefferson; the statue (in bronze) is very lifelike. Jefferson is seated, in his shirtsleeves, a large writing board propped on his lap, with a quill pen in his hand. On the board is a piece of parchment with the opening words of the Declaration of Independence already written. But Jefferson isn’t looking at his paper. He’s looking straight ahead, as though pondering what the next words will be in this seminal document of American history, indeed, of world history. It will be important to get it right.
The statue has the effect of humanizing this larger-than-life figure, of making me feel a certain kinship to him. How many times have I turned away from my manuscript or my keyboard and looked at nothing in particular, trying to decide where to go next in what I was writing. The late Charles Schultz of “Peanuts” fame once said that getting the idea for a comic strip was much more difficult than the actual drawing and lettering of the strip. He added, “It’s hard to convince people that when you’re sitting and staring out of the window you’re doing the hardest work of the day.”
But as I thought about the humanized Jefferson I was looking at my thoughts went back to the man who seemed to have been having a conversation with him. Aren’t we all having a conversation with the people who have gone before us? As Americans, we converse with Thomas Jefferson, John and Abigail Adams, Abraham Lincoln and Sojourner Truth; as Christians we are in dialogue with Augustine and Anselm, Knox and Calvin, Theresa of Avila and Mother Theresa. We listen to what they have to say, and we respond, sometimes in agreement, sometimes in challenge. G.K. Chesteron, one of my conversation partners, once wrote that tradition is simply a way of giving dead people a vote.
When I was in the Reformation Museum in Geneva a few years ago, I saw a life-sized statue of the reformer John Calvin. Calvin, too, is seated, but instead of pondering his next words, he is caught in the act of expounding Scripture. The Bible is open on his lap; with his right hand he is marking the passage he is talking about; his left hand is raised, thrust forward, the index finger up to make a point. The statue, it seems to me, captures one aspect of Calvin, but not everything, any more than the statue of Thomas Jeffereson captured everything about Jefferson. What this statue captures is Calvin’s energy, his commitment, his total captivation by the Word. We may not want to follow Calvin in everything, but here’s one place where he becomes a first-class conversation partner.
If you ever see me talking to a statue of Calvin, you’ll know why.
Friday, September 17, 2010
The Alban Institute
This is an excellent seminar if you can afford it. Highly recommended for those who have been their current pastorates more than about 8 years and plan to stay a long time.
The Alban Institute
The Alban Institute
Tuesday, September 14, 2010
Killing a Dead Man
Word got out among the Jews that [Jesus] was back in town. The people came to take a look, not only at Jesus but also at Lazarus, who had been raised from the dead. So the high priests plotted to kill Lazarus because so many of the Jews were going over and believing in Jesus on account of him. - John 12:9-11, The Message
They are just a few verses, easy to miss in the transition from Mary anointing Jesus’ feet and the Triumphal Entry into Jerusalem, but they struck me when I read them this morning. The high priests want to kill a dead man!
Lazarus, of course, was the brother of Mary and Martha, and we read the dramatic story of his resurrection in the 11th Chapter of John. He died, and Jesus restored him to life. I admit that sometimes I wonder what kind of life he had after that, but John isn’t interested in telling us, except for this: by being raised from the dead, he became a marked man.
Well, I don’t know how Lazarus reacted to that threat on his life, but I suspect with laughter. He’s already passed through the most extreme experience life has to offer. He has already died. What more can they do to him?
On one hand, it shows the futility of the opposition to Jesus. First, they’ll get rid of Jesus. Then, they’ll get rid of the man Jesus raised from the dead. Where do they go from there? Get rid of everyone who saw Jesus raise him from the dead? Get rid of everyone who heard about Jesus raising him from the dead? The reaction of the Pharisees at the Triumphal Entrance is more realistic: “You see, you can do nothing. Look, the world has gone after him!” (John 12:19)
The Church is kind of like Lazarus: still alive, in spite of all the forces that would like to see it dead and buried. In fact, you could say that the Church has already died and been raised from the dead. What else is there that anyone can do to us? “When you were buried with him in baptism, you were also raised with him through faith in the power of God, who raised him from the dead.” (Colossians 2:12) Every attempt to kill the Church, through persecution, harassment, or neglect, is only killing a dead man. Been there, done that, got the t-shirt.
Knowing that should give us a new lease on life, so to speak.
They are just a few verses, easy to miss in the transition from Mary anointing Jesus’ feet and the Triumphal Entry into Jerusalem, but they struck me when I read them this morning. The high priests want to kill a dead man!
Lazarus, of course, was the brother of Mary and Martha, and we read the dramatic story of his resurrection in the 11th Chapter of John. He died, and Jesus restored him to life. I admit that sometimes I wonder what kind of life he had after that, but John isn’t interested in telling us, except for this: by being raised from the dead, he became a marked man.
Well, I don’t know how Lazarus reacted to that threat on his life, but I suspect with laughter. He’s already passed through the most extreme experience life has to offer. He has already died. What more can they do to him?
On one hand, it shows the futility of the opposition to Jesus. First, they’ll get rid of Jesus. Then, they’ll get rid of the man Jesus raised from the dead. Where do they go from there? Get rid of everyone who saw Jesus raise him from the dead? Get rid of everyone who heard about Jesus raising him from the dead? The reaction of the Pharisees at the Triumphal Entrance is more realistic: “You see, you can do nothing. Look, the world has gone after him!” (John 12:19)
The Church is kind of like Lazarus: still alive, in spite of all the forces that would like to see it dead and buried. In fact, you could say that the Church has already died and been raised from the dead. What else is there that anyone can do to us? “When you were buried with him in baptism, you were also raised with him through faith in the power of God, who raised him from the dead.” (Colossians 2:12) Every attempt to kill the Church, through persecution, harassment, or neglect, is only killing a dead man. Been there, done that, got the t-shirt.
Knowing that should give us a new lease on life, so to speak.
Sunday, August 29, 2010
United Church of Christ: Email - August 29: Love endures
I thought this was good, from the United Church of Christ's "Stillspeaking" daily devotion:
United Church of Christ: Email - August 29: Love endures
United Church of Christ: Email - August 29: Love endures
Tuesday, August 17, 2010
Remembering Connie
I see it’s been a long time since I posted anything to this Blog. I was away on vacation for two weeks, then at Synod School, where I chose not to take my computer so I could focus on worship, the main presentations, and the classes I was taking. I came home with a fever and cough that set me back for a few days, then Kathy’s mother died August 11 after a long battle with cancer.
Connie was first diagnosed a little over two years ago, and we all went through the stages of shock, cautious hopefulness, waiting and watching. There were more and more trips to Tarkio, Missouri to help arrange things, more phone calls to keep abreast of the latest developments, and finally the word we had all been dreading: there’s nothing more that can be done medically. We enlisted the help of the local Hospice and began the really long wait as Connie’s condition slowly deteriorated. She went from sleeping in a recliner to a hospital bed in the living room to a room at the local care center, which was where she died, peacefully, early on a Wednesday morning.
Nearly all her family was able to gather for the funeral. There are three ordained ministers in the family, counting me, and we all had a part in the service, as did Kathy and her brother Paul. Kathy’s brother Jeff preached on the resurrection and got through with only one pause to compose himself, which was more than I would have been able to do. Some folk from our congregation here came down for the service, which was a great comfort and support for both of us. I had to leave shortly after the funeral lunch to get back to Westside for a wedding, but I was able to come back to Tarkio Sunday to spend some more time with our kids before they headed home on Monday.
As pastors, we get to spend a lot more time with dying people and their families than almost anyone else. In some ways it prepares you for the time when the dying person will be a loved one, but in other ways it doesn’t. We grieve for those with whom we minister and serve, but it’s not like the grief we feel when we lose a family member. I grieve for Connie but even more, I think, I grieve for Kathy’s grief, and for the grief of my father-in-law, my brothers-in-law and their families, and my children. For a time it becomes the dominant thing in your life, the sun around which all the planets orbit.
We do not grieve, Paul says, as those who have no hope. (1 Thessalonians 4:13) The mood Friday and Saturday was somber, but joyful, if I can put it that way. We know that for Connie, this is not the end, but the beginning. Thanks be to God.
Connie was first diagnosed a little over two years ago, and we all went through the stages of shock, cautious hopefulness, waiting and watching. There were more and more trips to Tarkio, Missouri to help arrange things, more phone calls to keep abreast of the latest developments, and finally the word we had all been dreading: there’s nothing more that can be done medically. We enlisted the help of the local Hospice and began the really long wait as Connie’s condition slowly deteriorated. She went from sleeping in a recliner to a hospital bed in the living room to a room at the local care center, which was where she died, peacefully, early on a Wednesday morning.
Nearly all her family was able to gather for the funeral. There are three ordained ministers in the family, counting me, and we all had a part in the service, as did Kathy and her brother Paul. Kathy’s brother Jeff preached on the resurrection and got through with only one pause to compose himself, which was more than I would have been able to do. Some folk from our congregation here came down for the service, which was a great comfort and support for both of us. I had to leave shortly after the funeral lunch to get back to Westside for a wedding, but I was able to come back to Tarkio Sunday to spend some more time with our kids before they headed home on Monday.
As pastors, we get to spend a lot more time with dying people and their families than almost anyone else. In some ways it prepares you for the time when the dying person will be a loved one, but in other ways it doesn’t. We grieve for those with whom we minister and serve, but it’s not like the grief we feel when we lose a family member. I grieve for Connie but even more, I think, I grieve for Kathy’s grief, and for the grief of my father-in-law, my brothers-in-law and their families, and my children. For a time it becomes the dominant thing in your life, the sun around which all the planets orbit.
We do not grieve, Paul says, as those who have no hope. (1 Thessalonians 4:13) The mood Friday and Saturday was somber, but joyful, if I can put it that way. We know that for Connie, this is not the end, but the beginning. Thanks be to God.
Monday, August 9, 2010
Op-Ed Contributor - Congregations Gone Wild - NYTimes.com
Haven't posted here for a month, I see, due to a variety of circumstances--vacation, Synod School, illness--so am easing back in with a link to a New York Times Op-Ed piece by a UCC pastor. Would be interested in your comments: Op-Ed Contributor - Congregations Gone Wild - NYTimes.com
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