Lint is for Navel-Gazing; Lent is for Something Else

I’m indebted to my colleague from another Presbytery, Mark Davis, who created or shared the observation, “lint is for navel-gazing; lent is for something else.”  That was more than a handful of years ago and I’ve thought ever since that it’s gotten more and more true.  We live in a time when Church traditions (even the most ardent ones) no longer “play well” in the audience the church needs to be appealing to.  “Lent,” a traditional season of penitence and fasting has become a time when everyone can talk about the fashionable-ness of “giving up lattes and chocolates” after Valentine’s Day and trying to lose part of the weight we wrote down in those new year’s resolutions a couple of months ago.  Frozen fish goes on sale at the grocery, Long John Silver’s advertises again on television, and there are “Lenten specials” in a lot of restaurants even if they don’t use the word “Lenten” much. 

Perhaps this is simply because much of our national GDP is driven by consumer spending.  Despite that one of the best-known Bible quotes is still, “The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not WANT,” we’re constantly enticed to buy because the predominant story of our culture is that we don’t have enough. 

Which story do you believe—the Bible or the culture? 

But which story gets your money? 

I digress. 

Last Friday I was at the grocery story.  I had been at the same grocery story two weeks earlier and had seen that even in suburban Philadelphia, we had “King Cakes” for sale.  Now I know King Cakes because my parents lived for many years in South Louisiana, and King Cakes were very much a part of the Mardi Gras culture, there.  In fact King Cakes were beyond special, many were quite elaborate and there were wonderful creations and decorations, and flavors; it was fashionable there to order your own personalized, special-made, and even gourmet “King Cakes.” 

Seeing a “King Cake” at the grocery store took me back.  But finding the $6.99 price tag for an unglamorous grocery-store baked-good that’s been on the shelf for a while gave me whiplash!  The memory was nice, but it was easy to move on. 

But last Friday, I was in the health-foods aisle in the same grocery when I witnessed the bakery lady pushing a whole bakery-rack full of King Cake boxes.  I watched her rolling the cart in the direction of the “baked goods sale table” where the newly expiring baked goods are shuffled out at a substantial discount.  She was already 3 or 4 aisles ahead of me when I began to smell the waft of freshly baked, baked goods, and was inexplicably following. 

And, if you remember your Lenten calendar, this was the Friday, AFTER Ash Wednesday.  Ash Wednesday is the END of King Cake season everywhere.  I mused to myself that having King Cake after Ash Wednesday was probably at least a little bit sacrilegious; yet still I followed, justifying the journey in order to document what price a King Cake brings in the post-holiday euphoria (when stores drop the price in order to move the merchandise). 

I was more horrified to discover these were not “left-overs” but freshly baked King Cakes on the Friday after Ash Wednesday!  The bakery lady, quickly unloading the cart as if there were more cakes on the way, explained how they were just fresh-baked and decorated, and how they had lost all the little plastic babies that go with the king cakes, so they were minus the babies, but at only $1.75 it was a great price for freshly baked King Cake.  “Indeed,” I offered sheepishly, now salivating after the freshly baked King Cakes even on the first Friday after Ash Wednesday, and still, in fact, working over the Sunday sermon on Jesus’ temptation in my head! 

Yes, this is where it all comes together!  And I’m not embarrassed enough to admit that I left the grocery with a King Cake on the first Friday of Lent.  My wife and I decided we would eat the King Cake on Sunday—when it was no longer fresh-baked—because Friday was a fast-day for our family because of Lent; and, we were leaving the next morning before breakfast so I could attend a conference outside of Washington, D.C.  And I’m writing this because the keynote speaker, David Lose, encouraged being mindful about telling our faith-stories because this world in which we live, the predominant stories have shifted away from the telling of faith-communities and have been co-opted by those who want to sell us things—driving not only the GDP but personal profits and gain. 

Notice how deftly my newly acquired king cake box re-interprets—to the advantage of King Cake enthusiasts and Mardi Gras revelers—the story of Jesus and Epiphany.  It’s as if it were its own liturgical holiday.  And while the colors of gold, purple, and green may stand for justice, peace, and faith, those words have a slightly different meaning outside the Biblical context.  I’m not at all sure what that means to the casual passer-by, or for the family who takes advantage of $1.75 King Cake!  Is this religious-speak?  Is this what Christians believe?  Does the Church advocate having your cake and eating it too—even if it’s the Friday after Ash Wednesday? 

That the King Cake box is re-telling the Jesus story tends to make me mad; but maybe the King Cake box is getting away with it because I’m not telling the Bible’s stories—and my own stories as a Christian—about peace, justice, faith, and Jesus! 

This could be different, perhaps, if I were different.  If I made more of a concerted effort to share my stories of Lenten practices and why I choose the lifestyle I do—or at a minimum, why it bothers me that King Cakes go on sale after Ash Wednesday! 

But that means I not only have to believe and act like Lent is special and religiously significant, but also, I have to tell the Bible’s stories and MY stories …so there is another narrative.  In other words, lint is about navel-gazing; Lent is something else. 

What are some of your Lenten stories?  What are you struggling with?  What gives you hope and joy?  And do you carry the hope and joy with you in the struggles? 

© Rev. David Stipp-Bethune; Teaching Elder and Pastor, The Presbyterian Church of Llanerch, Havertown, Pennsylvania

"From 'No Words' to Good Words"

We've been this way before.  Too many times.  

Last December, when more than 126 children were violently killed at a school in Pakistan, my Facebook feed filled up with acknowledgements like, “No Words.”  It was more “bad news”—it was more than “bad news”—on top of other devastating news stories.  The season of the Prince of Peace was again shattered by violence and death.  And for many, there were “no words” that could express fully our sadness and broken-heartedness. 

Maybe because of its nearness in our Christian liturgical drama, many colleagues and I found this quotation from Matthew’s gospel appropriate for online posts and sermons:

“A voice was heard in Ramah, wailing and loud lamentation, Rachel weeping for her children; she refused to be consoled, because they are no more.” 

The shoes of Jews sent to the gas chambers on
display at the Holocaust Museum, Washington, DC

Weeping for children—whom I could never know—wasn’t hard.  And like in the aftermath of the violence at Sandy Hook Elementary (that was a mere fraction of the life taken in Pakistan), I found myself appreciating my children and hugging them, and enjoying my time in the schoolyard after school. 

But in the last 24 hours, again news of violence, killing, and innocent lives destroyed has emerged in the news; this time, AGAIN, in our own country.  I could hardly bear to read the words of the news accounts of the three Muslim Americans who were shot and killed in Chapel Hill, North Carolina.  The words in news accounts—“execution style” and “gunshot wounds to the head”—suggest this was not some random act, or the result of a dispute over a parking space that was alleged.  And while I don’t know what actually occurred, it appears that the man who turned himself in to authorities killed or murdered the three people; and that by all accounts, it appears to be religiously motivated violence.  That these victims were killed because they practiced a particular faith. 

Once again, there are “no words” that can effectively declare the depth of how I feel—sad, disheartened, demoralized, angry, afraid. 

This comes on the heels of complaints and disagreements over reflective words offered by our President at an annual prayer breakfast; and the outrage and offense expressed by lots of people who would like to think or believe that almost all religious violence in the history of the world is perpetrated by non-Christians.  These people often seemed to speak in ways that make killing seem justified if it is violence being used to protect “American values” or in the cause of “keeping us safe.”  However, as a Christian, my faith and principles dictate that to attack or kill other persons for religious reasons is always wholly and utterly wrong. 

In fact, I’ll go beyond that to say that to attack or kill another person for any reason is wrong.  I believe God does not kill; and that God finds all killing abhorrent. 

In the wake of more violence, more killing, and more death—that we continue to live with every day—there cannot be “no words.”  I believe we must begin to recognize that violence and killing is in fact, not only senseless, but somehow preventable.  That recognition, I believe, beings with more than just “no words” in response. 

While perhaps there are “no words” that can define or describe fully the depth of our sadness, disappointment, and disturbed-ness of spirit; there are words that describe what we believe about God, what we believe about other human beings, and the violence perpetrated against others and ourselves.  There are words; and we can use them. 

This is how some of my Christian colleagues in ministries in Chapel Hill, North Carolina expressed themselves regarding these latest killings: 

As leaders of faith communities in Chapel Hill, we deplore the senseless killing of Deah Shaddy Barakat, Yusor Mohammad, and Razan Mohammad Abu-Salha, and we share in the profound grief of their families.  An attack on any of God’s children, our sisters and brothers, is an attack on us all.  We renew our pledge to continue the vital work of fostering mutual understanding and respect that cross all lines of difference. 

These words are not “no words.” 

These are powerful words—if we choose to use them (or other words like them). 

In fact, these words can hold us to account: “we deplore the senseless killing…,” “we share the profound grief of their families, …an attack on any of God’s children is an attack on us all, …and we renew our pledge to continue the vital work of fostering mutual understanding and respect that cross all lines of difference.” 

It seems to me that any Christian could surely claim these words. 

It would seem to me, that any citizen of the United States could claim these words. 

These are good words. 

They speak to our grief.  They speak to our commitment to God.  They speak of our calling to respect one another (dare we say love one another).  AND, they commit us to the way of peace. 

These names will not be the end.  We will need these words again (or words like them), only with different names attached—maybe next time, Christian names, or Jewish names, or Hindu names, or Orthodox Christian names, or Morman names, or Athiest names…. 

These are not “no words.” 

These are good words. 

We should use these words. 

I just pray that the day comes quickly, that they are no longer required. 

© Rev. David Stipp-Bethune; Teaching Elder and Pastor, The Presbyterian Church of Llanerch, Havertown, Pennsylvania

I'm Feeling Deflated

It’s not really about the footballs, but the Superbowl has left me feeling deflated. 

Despite the fact that I hear my grandfather’s voice in the back of my head reminding me of the fact that “life isn’t fair,” I’m angry that the New England Patriots got to play in the Superbowl and ended up winning. 

I feel like their team has collectively stolen from me, from my children, and our culture at large—the promises about fair play and doing your best.  So I’m not-so-secretly hopeful that in the light of investigations and interviews it will be revealed that the Patriots willfully broke the rules by manipulating the air pressure in footballs in order to gain a mechanical and psychological advantage over their opponents; and that for maybe the very first time, the NFL will have no choice but to stand up for the integrity of the game and our common life, and ask for the Lombardi trophy to be returned and that the Patriots win in yesterday’s game be vacated. 

That would be so SWEET!  And I must admit my own sin in wanting to gloat over that eventual outcome by wanting to take much pleasure in what surely would be a painful turn of events—deserved or not.  Besides, I like seeing Tom Brady suffer. 

Yet, it’s true.  Life is not fair.  It rains on the just and unjust alike.  Bad people, and good people, do not always gain their just desserts. 

What concerns me is that we will just shrug our shoulders as if this is simply the way life is supposed to be.  That lying, cheating, and even stealing is all in how you play the game.  After all, we show it in how we try and place our children in the best preschools to gain them the best possibility of being in the best schools with the top reputations that will lead to the best colleges—taking every advantage to put them in the best position for “success” in life.  Even if we have to bend the rules a bit here and there, the end justifies the means.  Right?  Because surely, it’s all worth it if you get to play in the Superbowl and drive home in a new Chevrolet truck—even if what you did was unfair.  Right? 

All too often, people who misrepresent the facts or themselves are rewarded with success unfairly and unjustly earned.  This didn’t start or end with the Patriots’ cheating scandals or their Superbowl win.  But on this Monday, it feels like one more time my mother’s promise that what matters most is your honesty, integrity, and doing your best—appears more often than not to be a true roadblock to the accolades and trappings of success.  And so it seems harder and harder to convince ourselves that doing the right thing is really the right thing.  It may be the right thing, but we see often that the “whistleblowers” often pay a heavy price for their integrity. 

I wish the world were not so! 

Yet even in my deflated state (that I’m blaming on the Patriots and their Superbowl win) I still know and trust that in the long run, always and forever, honesty, integrity, and doing your best is what matters.  I just wish there were some form of major smack-down for everyone who takes advantage of others! 

But there’s not. 

The Bible promises us over and over again that it’s wrong to take advantage of others.  God declares fields cannot be gleaned so well that there isn’t something left for the less fortunate to also have their fill.  The jubilee rituals attempt to level the haves and have-nots so that no one gains an unfair advantage for long.  Jesus reminds us over and over that the loves of money, fame, and fortune are often gained at the expense of others; that we can still “kill others” by acting unjustly rather than having to take their life in the flesh.  And we are constantly invited to live, giving witness to the justice and righteousness of the Kingdom of God where God sides frequently with the least and the lost. 

So today, I’m remembering my uncle who had the opportunity to play football at the University of Kentucky.  The team had a young coach at the time by the last name of Bryant—who would go on to become a legend at another school.  Known as “Bear” the coach called my uncle out in practice one day.  “Stipp,” he yelled, “I want to see you play for blood!”  My uncle reportedly replied, “No sir.  I don’t play for blood.  I play because I love football.  I love football, and I play hard every down; but I’ll not play for blood.”  And the coach said, “Not on this team.  On this team, you play for blood.” 

So my uncle never played another down. 

Life’s hard lesson is that we can’t make anyone else play by the rules.  It’s a choice we make for ourselves.  And it comes, unjustly it seems, without any of the accolades or glorious rewards.  We have to value it for its own ends.  That’s the lesson we have to teach ourselves and our children everyday.  And not because the Patriots may have used under-inflated footballs. 

© Rev. David Stipp-Bethune; Teaching Elder and Pastor, The Presbyterian Church of Llanerch, Havertown, Pennsylvania

Ruling Congregations?

Yesterday, the congregation I serve in the PCUSA held its annual congregational meeting. 

We did most of the usual things one might expect in an annual meeting—we reviewed written reports from the previous year, we looked at financial statements and budget plans, we approved the pastor’s terms of call and changed our ecclesiastical bylaws to reduce the number of active ruling elders on our session from 12 to 9.  It was as routine a meeting as anyone could have hoped (I think). 

But “routine” is not necessarily the way the Bible teaches us to think about God, Jesus, the Holy Spirit or the Kingdom of God.  No.  In most every way, the Bible would teach us that God is extraordinary, Jesus is extraordinary, the Holy Spirit is extraordinary, we are extraordinary and that the Church is (or should be) extraordinary.  Though I can appreciate a routine meeting, it sometimes fails to offer a glimpse of the extraordinary nature of our relationship with God. 

In the last few years one of the meaningful changes in our Presbyterian Church (U.S.A.) constitution has been a return to the language of Ruling Elder to describe those elected by the congregation to serve on the Session (our congregation’s governing council).  The “ruling” part of Ruling Elder has been expressed as a job of measuring (like a ruler measures) the congregation’s fidelity to the gospel of Jesus Christ.  In other words, the task of Ruling Elders and the Session is to help determine the congregation’s faithfulness to the work set before us by scripture and in particular, Jesus Christ. 

In some ways, those written reports and financial statements and plans all demonstrate some fidelity to the gospel.  In some ways, that’s the congregation’s willingness to own the ministry to which it’s called.  But I left the meeting wondering if we were more caught up in the routineness or the extraordinariness of our ministry. 

What would a congregational meeting look like and feel like if we were caught up in the extraordinariness of our response to the gospel?  Who should speak to that?  And how do we make it more of a church party rather than a reading of reports from the previous year?  How can annual meetings, too, be about the work of the gospel—and really feel like it?  

I get that this is part of the work that Teaching Elders (who used to be referenced as Ministers of Word and Sacrament, and who are often referenced by congregants as Pastors) and Ruling Elders do together.  But it’s a real shift away from the “decent and in order”-ness that Presbyterians are often best known for.  And then, there’s the relationship to the annual meeting and the rules of incorporation that must be adhered to in relationship to the state. 

Over the years I’ve worked with Sessions and congregational leaders to think in new ways about congregational meetings.  A few years ago we organized our meeting as a Sunday morning worship service; we’ve been intentional about trying “worshipful work,” we’ve moved the meeting from the sanctuary to sitting around tables.  Still, it feels more like business and less like ministry; it feels more like process and less like Jesus. 

I’m grateful for all the opportunities we take to measure our ministry.  How many children came to Sunday School?  How many meals we prepared in response to homelessness?  How mission dollars were allocated?  Whether or not we met the budget with a surplus or a deficit?  I just wish we all had a chance to walk away with a better feeling of our personal stake in it; and the place and reminder of Jesus’ call. 

If we could help congregations accomplish this…, it might resolve a lot of other things, too. 

© Rev. David Stipp-Bethune; Teaching Elder and Pastor, The Presbyterian Church of Llanerch, Havertown, Pennsylvania

From Nazareth to Bethlehem

This Advent I’m taking a spiritual pilgrimage—of sorts.  I’m joining a group of other pilgrims in logging my walks or runs, attempting to journey the distance from Nazareth to Bethlehem—mimicking or mirroring the journey taken by Mary and Joseph long ago. 

Some people have asked, “is he really walking from Nazareth to Bethlehem?”  A good question since I have visited the Holy Land; and, I do live in Pennsylvania where there is a Nazareth and a Bethlehem—which are only about 9 miles apart (as the crow flies). 

But the answer is a resounding “No.” I'm walking in my own community, but trying to be in touch with the journey.  

As I’ve shared with my congregation, I’ve been on a regimen of walking in order to adopt a healthier lifestyle and lose weight.  I walked 1,500 miles in From November 2012 through December 31, 2013—but this year I may not even make my goal of 1,200 miles.  So, I need this Advent opportunity to kick me back into gear! 

I’ve taken up with some other pilgrims who have tried this sort of thing before.  Several congregations I’ve heard about have organized a “walk to Bethlehem” where the whole congregation logged miles to journey the distance from where they are located to Bethlehem.  But last year, I heard about this journey as an advent discipline through a friend who knew about Rev. Robb McCoy—who calls himself “The Fat Pastor.”  You can find out more about him, HERE; and check out his blog and the 2014 Advent Run HERE. 

My hope is that during Advent, I’ll be walking around my community and I’ll log enough miles to get me from Nazareth to Bethlehem.  It’s about the walking for my own journey.  But I’d also like for it to be more.  So while I’m walking, I want to take you with me.  I’m taking prayer requests—so I can hold you in prayer while I’m walking; and I’m also coveting your prayers for me during this time, especially. 

You can connect with me—on Facebook or my twitter handle is @revdrstipp.  You can e-mail me at revdrstipp “at” msn.com.  You can call our church office and leave voice mail for me (610) 789-1639. 

You can also participate by logging your own miles.  Pastor Robb has set up an official log page.  Check out the links to his blog above for more information. 

After this morning, I'm 37 miles into the journey; I've got 66 miles to go.

© Rev. David Stipp-Bethune; Teaching Elder and Pastor, The Presbyterian Church of Llanerch, Havertown, Pennsylvania

"I Didn't Preach On This Naiveté"

I’m almost embarrassed to admit this. 

I don’t know much at all about Fergusson. 

I’ve not watched any news reports.  I’ve not read newspaper articles.  I’ve not followed the evening news or the Daily Show.  I am a minister in the Presbyterian Church (U.S.A.); yet I’ve not preached lately “with a newspaper in one hand and a Bible in the other” about the horrific events related to our life together as human beings and citizens of the United States; and while I’ve read a number of blog posts from colleagues, a couple of sermons, prayed prayers suggested by my denomination, found both comfort and disturbed-ness in compelling words offered by our Stated Clerk, I know that I’m surely—and to the absolute horror of many—grossly uninformed. 

Former Vice Moderator of the General Assembly of the Presbyterian Church (U.S.A.), and current Synod Executive for the Synod of Mid-America, Rev. Landon Whitsitt, recounted on Facebook early on with regard to Fergusson, the conversation he had with one of his sons:

“Through heavy sobs he asked me “What do we do?”  I had to admit to him that I didn’t know.
 This morning, the best answer I have is: “Don’t look away.”

I don’t feel like I have intentionally “looked away.”  But I’m not sure I’ve bothered much lately to actually “look” in the first place. 

I know a lot that’s happened in Fergusson, Missouri—or as a result of “Fergusson”—is wrong. 

I believe killing is wrong.  Even if it’s accidental?  Yes.  I don’t believe killing is ever justified.  That always gets me cross-wise with the headline news.

I have believed, and believe even more strongly, now, that it’s wrong for a police force to so overwhelmingly represent one race, while policing a people of a different race.  I believe one day, it won’t matter, White or Black, Black or Hispanic, White or Hispanic, Hispanic or Asian, European or Native American—but now, today, it does matter.  A lot!  In ways I don’t fully understand.  It still matters. 

I believe it’s wrong that some police officers are referred to as “white officers” while other police officers get referred to as “black cops” in the media.  One day it should not matter as much—we will all see it for a glowing error, a falseness, a misrepresentation—but today, it matters, a lot. 

I believe it’s wrong when people make assumptions about other people that are based only on skin color.  It’s wrong for law enforcement to treat some people different from other people.  Racial profiling is wrong.  Other assumptions are wrong.  I know this might make some things easier—like banishing racial profiling—but it might make other things harder—like not assuming those bruises are from abuse.”  Getting to the real truth is sometimes, hard, ugly business and it shouldn’t be so ugly or so hard. 

I know it’s wrong, when the voices of dissent and anger can no longer be peaceful; and when trying to maintain or restore order presents itself as violence, insult, injury, fury, and might versus right.  I know it’s wrong when we turn to violent means to pursue peaceful ends.  I know that despite what Jesus teaches us, it’s still hard for human beings to resist sin and fear in hungering and thirsting for righteousness, when the cries of “how long, O God,” cannot bear another day, another hour, another moment of this pressing and present injustice. 

I know these things are wrong.  Still…, is that enough? 

Probably not.  I’m reminded of the saying, “in the end everything will be all right; if it’s not all right, it’s not the end.”  Clearly we are not at the end times!  And what I can’t get out of my mind are Landon’s words for his son—and perhaps the rest of us, too: 

"Remember that even though we don’t know anyone from Ferguson, they are our friends. Our friends will ask us to help, in some way, soon. When they ask, we need to be prepared to do whatever we can.  And don’t ever forget what you’ve seen.  Grow up to be a person that works to make sure it never happens again.”

So on this second day of Advent, I’m thinking about the future.  Of the time-come-true that the Apostle Paul writes about when he says, “there is no longer Jew or Greek, there is no longer slave or free, there is no longer male and female; for all of you are one in Christ Jesus.” 

And where that seems to be true—where I can “see it” in action—is in the children of the Llanerch Presbyterian Preschool.  They are not a perfect example of diversity—but our students come as children in different colors, with different backgrounds and families; but everyone comes as an “equal.”  Some of the children bring other gifts, too—disorders, Downs Syndrome, even a child whose internal organs were exterior (where there was a special plate and brace and special procedures for him).  Yet the joy of the children is that their “gifts” are simply “normal.”  They don’t know yet to look at the dis-abilities; and they get to see dramatically differently-abled classmates! 

Sometimes, I just wish we could live in that world as adults.  Where “all we ever needed to know we learned about in [pre-school]!  So when was it that the wool got pulled away from our eyes? 

But I also know, I need to be a part of building the world that we long for and desire to live in—the wonderful world of God’s kingdom that affords amazing gifts and abilities not thought of our imagined! 

So I’m praying for Advent’s light in this special, holy season that’s all about Jesus coming to us and our having to be prepared.  Jesus, who comes first as an infant.  The Jesus who first visits us as a child, and surely matriculated in someone’s preschool class!  And the Jesus who would stand up and boldly as an adult to proclaim not only “let the little children come to me,” but in fact, “for it is to such as these that the kingdom of God belongs.  Truly I tell you, whoever does not receive the kingdom of God as a little child will never enter it” (Mark 10:14-15). 

I’m trying, Jesus—I’m trying.  I don’t just want a world that looks like preschool; I want your kingdom.  And I don’t think it’s just going to come if I don’t help build it.  So help me with my naiveté. 

© Rev. David Stipp-Bethune; Teaching Elder and Pastor, The Presbyterian Church of Llanerch, Havertown, Pennsylvania

Sunday Sermon Follow-Up: Unhanding our Talents Part II

The conclusion of this week’s sermon was an encouragement to “unhand the talents” in the parable Jesus tells in Matthew 25: 14-30.  (Insert “Frozen” theme song here… “let it go, let it go!”)  [You can find a link to the audio recording by clicking here.]  The premise being that the traditionally maligned Steward #3 who in fear buries his talent in the ground has exactly the right reaction to the life represented by the “talents.”  Finding the life ruled by talents as defined in the rule of the harsh businessman/landowner, Steward #3 recognizes it for the sham it is, and chooses instead to invest himself in the life of God as described by the scriptures—allowing himself to be punished and kicked out of the rich man’s world. 

Where the rich man “reaps where he did not sow and gathers where he did not scatter seed”—expecting interest where he did not invest and demanding spoils generated by other’s work—Almighty God is described for us in the scriptural witness as providing water from sources where the people do not work for it, as granting harvests from fields where the people did not plant or tend them.  God, as contrasted with the wealthy businessman/landowner, gives generously expecting no payment in return, defined instead by jubilee forgiveness of debt and instructions to the faithful to “harvest badly” by leaving much to be gleaned by the vulnerable and needy.  God’s GENEROSITY always trumps the human hoarding and greed so often taken up in order to try and protect ourselves and our wealth.  Unlike the world, I’m convinced that in heaven the streets may be lined with gold but there is no money to delude us! 

So I suggested that the life God calls us to is a life of “unhanding the talents.”  That we should see the challenge of the parable not as the fool’s errand of trying to gain more and more—hoarding—but rather, as the invitation for us to boldly and faithfully give away—generosity.  Sharing and hoarding cannot go together; one is always exclusive of the other.  The parable’s judgment is aimed at our right judgment about God—that God is loving, benevolent, kind, that God is our salvation not our demise. 

So I believe we’re called emulate Steward #3’s understanding or view of God—but not that the only response is to bury our money in the ground!  No, in fact I believe we can make better use of our wealth by approaching the parable with the view toward giving away in love rather than trying to make more wealth on top of more wealth.  When we see the challenge of giving away, of sharing—it transforms the story to show us the goodness of God! 

So here are some suggestions of how to “unhand our talents” by planting them in a life that demonstrates our commitment to the Kingdom of God. 

1. We can “unhand our talents” by sharing generously with a food pantry—planting our wealth literally in the true need of others.  And we should challenge ourselves to share more—not just at church, but in support of other food drives in the community.  There’s been some scrutiny about food pantries giving away “sweet treats;” ask if you can provide desert items like cake or brownie mixes rather than prepackaged cookies.  People who need food deserve something dessert, too! 
2. We can choose to give sacrificially—supporting our church or other causes by giving up something else we normally participate in.  This is often suggested for Lent (giving up), but it works well any time of year.  Try giving a tithe (a full 10%) on what you receive in holiday gifts; or try giving a full tithe of your income during this special season with so many opportunities to give and share with others.  Out do yourself in extra giving! 
3. Commit yourself to some extra giving you wouldn’t ordinarily think about.  Supporting local a museum or library—or other projects of “public good.”  There’s public radio or television, or other beneficent foundations—like giving to research causes that help fight disease. 
4. Winter’s coming.  We know already people will need coats, scarfs, mittens, hats, and warm socks, to combat the elements.  Take advantage of a seasonal bargain and provide extra.  Or give a little extra by planting some leftover Halloween candy down in the gloves or socks or hats—or in the pockets of the coats with a little note taped to it about why it’s there. 
5. Your whole family’s coming over for Thanksgiving?  Ask each person to bring an item needed for a disaster clean-up bucket. 
6. Need something worthwhile and humanitarian to do on Black Friday?  Take your family on a “scavenger hunt” for sale items needed for a disaster relief kit or bucket.  Turn a day of greed into a life-saving gift! 
7. Use the Thanksgiving weekend with family and friends to work on hand-made projects that can be used as Christmas presents.  Avoid the “Black Friday Greed” by working on old-fashioned, hand-crafted gifts that show your love—not just your ability to retrieve a bargain ahead of someone else. 

These kinds of ideas we’ve all heard of before.  But they invite us to consider the many ways we are well-to-do, and even ask us to put our ordinary lifestyle “at risk” to demonstrate God’s love for us and others.  The point is for us to truly seek the ways we can hoard less and share more.  Where we emulate not those who greedily want more and more and more, but those who SHARE more and more and more.  Where we entrust ourselves to the love of God that Jesus teaches.  Where we seek to live it out by divesting of hold habits, seeking to live transformed realities. 

I believe the third steward, the one with the one talent and who buries it in the ground, is the one who trades the life of the world for the life of God.  Trades the oppression of Rome for the freedom of God’s Kingdom.  We’re called to live like him, willing to give it all away—like Jesus.  Knowing that when we do, God is there to love us through and through. 

  

© Rev. David Stipp-Bethune; Teaching Elder and Pastor, The Presbyterian Church of Llanerch, Havertown, Pennsylvania

Things Long Promised

A lot of my friends on Facebook are excited to proclaim their boycott of shopping for this upcoming Thanksgiving Day.  A few have heralded stores announcing that they “value their employees families enough” to not open on Thanksgiving Day; and others have decried the stores announcing that they will be open for special hours and special sales.  In the view of many, shopping on Thanksgiving Day is the Enemy at work.  I’m sympathetic; I’m just not convinced. 

To be fair, I am CHOOSING not to SHOP on Thanksgiving Day at least because I value time with my family—particularly on Thanksgiving—because it’s my favorite holiday. 

Thanksgiving is a pretty unique witness.  At a planning meeting for our Community’s Interfaith Thanksgiving Worship Service we noted that Thanksgiving is a U.S. Holiday—specifically set aside for offering signs of gratitude to God.  From the beginning, this holiday was seen as being an important observance not for any of its often-assumed Christian identity but because the original interpretation of “God” was INCLUSIVE of all faiths—Jews, Christians, Muslims, Buddhists, Hindus, and others.  So that maybe the only people who might be excluded are the atheists who believe in “no god”—and yet, so many of them also ascribe that a time of thanksgiving is not a bad human endeavor. 

I haven’t checked this on the internet, but I learned this week that for many years, the U.S. Congress met intentionally on Christmas Day.  Of all the things, right?  But the point was—as someone shared in the conversation—that Congress didn’t want to be perceived as endorsing any particular religious affiliation, or offering some kind of “special privilege” to some but not others.  In other words, Thanksgiving was a National Holiday; Christmas was a particularly Christian holy day—it was important to work on one but not the other. 

So if the anti-Thanksgiving-Day-shopping-hordes need another reason not to like stores being open on Thanksgiving Day, they can call it un-patriotic and un-American.  That’s the real truth—not that they’re stealing from someone’s family.  And I’m with you in spirit, sort-of.  But I’m sorry.  As much as I’d like to pile my angst on those greedy stores that are seeking a greater share of financial profit by opening their doors on Thanksgiving Day—it’s just not, and not just, their fault. 

Think of it this way; ask people today what “Thanksgiving” means to people and it won’t take long to get to turkey and NFL football.  For many, Thanksgiving isn’t Thanksgiving without the now-obligatory football game (and believe me, here in the Philadelphia area, few people will be shopping on Thanksgiving because it’s the Dallas Cowboys and the Philadelphia Eagles playing a game that will be televised nationally—to the joy of many and the heartburn of others!).  But no one, I mean NO ONE ever steps up to the pre-game, halftime, or post-game microphone ritual to shame the teams or the audience about the game being played on a national holiday or how this stole everyone’s family from what’s important.  So why are we so angry at the Wal-Marts and the Best-Buys when they want a piece of our holiday action, too? 

Over the past few years, as this Thanksgiving-Day-shopping-thing was coming along, the retailers made a careful argument.  Look, they said, people don’t really like their families enough to put up with a full 8 or 12 hours of contact time.  They need the distraction of the football game, they need the meal, and then they just need to “get out of there.”  They argued that opening late on Thanksgiving Day—in some cases—would “save families” because it would prevent the typical family melt-down or blow up when irritations got rubbed raw after hours of being confined in the house and around the table! 

The truth is, some people bought it—literally.  Filled with the excitement of other things to do, sure, SOME PEOPLE dumped the family gathering for a holiday mark-down.  But instead of decrying the decision, we vilify retailers—not even think about all the single folks, or those who couldn’t afford the ticket home, or the people who were blessed by a day of work just to pay the bills.  It’s not just the fault of the retailers.  They’ve got to make a buck; we’re all in this together.  All of us—tied together—now more than ever. 

Of course, if stores are open a few hours on Thanksgiving and some people are going to shop.  [Thank goodness, because some of us forget a critical item on the shopping list and at the last minute we’re in line at the grocery at 9am on Thanksgiving Day thankful that Cheri, the check-out lady, wasn’t at home warming her turkey!]  Yet still, we think we can prevent all this by just saying, “No!  You can’t open your store on Thanksgiving”—for all that is holy and right and just and fair! 

For us.  As we see it.  From our own selfish perspective.  Not us, “in it together” or “tied to one another in hope.” 

So we decry both the shopping and the fact that some people have to work.  But they’re working to pay the rent and put food on the table.  There are still real needs being met by these transactions too.  We all have choices, and maybe that’s a good thing, a better thing.  It’s possible for many things to be right and true and faithful—even on a holiday.  Even with shopping. 

I try not to shop on holidays—but that’s a choice I make for myself and my family, not for anyone else.  But I don’t think I should use it as an excuse to not like retailers or to hold it against them.  If you don’t want to shop on Thanksgiving Day, don’t.  They can’t make you do it anymore than the television can make you watch it. 

For my part, I hope to be home with my family.  We’ll probably have some turkey, we might catch some of the football game, and we might play some catch in the yard.  We, too, will be looking at the sales in that huge-thanksgiving-bundle of papers and thinking about what mostly other people will spend their day buying on Friday.  And then we’ll turn our attention to all there is to celebrate and be thankful for in the next month or two, and what it means to wait and watch and hope for the things long-promised. 

© Rev. David Stipp-Bethune; Teaching Elder and Pastor, The Presbyterian Church of Llanerch, Havertown, Pennsylvania

So my heavenly Father will also do to every one of you—Forgiveness

This last Sunday, Jesus presented believers with a parable about forgiveness.  Peter had asked Jesus, “How often should I forgive?  As many as seven times?”  To which Jesus responds, “Not seven times, but, I tell you, seventy-seven (or seventy times seven) times.” 

The Family Circus cartoon had a famous strip where the kids mistake “trespasses” in the Lord’s Prayer for “trash-passers.”  So let’s imagine that Peter’s neighbor has been “trash-passing”—or at least dumping garbage on his front lawn.  So Peter asks, “How many times should I forgive my neighbor?  Seven times?” 

He may really be asking, “How many times to I have to endure this before I call the police or take him to court, or seek some other intervening action?” 

But I take Jesus’ response to indicate something like this in response to Peter’s query: “You have to forgive your neighbor so many times it’s simply not worth keeping count.”  For some—for many, and perhaps for all of us—it’s simply too much.  Indefinite forgiveness?  Forgiving so many times?  That doesn't sound fair. 

But I take Jesus’ point also to mean this.  Let’s say you are really aiming to forgive someone seventy-seven (or seventy times seven) times.  How long down the list of required forgivenesses before Jesus’ call to “forgiveness” begins to change your life?  And more importantly, how long before that call of “forgiveness” changes other people’s lives—especially those who are being forgiven? 

In Jesus’ parable that was a part of last Sunday’s gospel lesson, forgiveness applies to monetary debt.  Someone is unable to repay a debt and the rules say simply that the indebted person can be imprisoned until he or she can repay the full amount.  It will mean being separated from family and in fact, make it nearly impossible for the debt to be repaid.  Debt causes much suffering. 

Jesus’ teaching is that “forgiveness” is the rule of life—not indebtedness.  He shows this by the mercy that is conferred on the indebted man; a gift that is not shared.  The one forgiven refuses to forgive.  It’s supposed to be a transformative message for those of us who have been forgiven in Christ. 

To put that to the test, let’s consider that once again, highly paid athletes are in the news for behaving badly—in fact, it’s beyond bad behavior, it’s violent reprehensible behavior against women and children.  At this time Ray Rice of the Baltimore Ravens and Adrian Peterson of the Minnesota Vikings are in any number of hot seats, from criminal charges to suspensions and outright firings—and justifiably so.  And while there’s been outrage over the NFL players, there are similar circumstances surrounding U.S. Women’s soccer star Hope Solo—but without the same kind of punishment. 

Forgiveness?  I’m not exactly feeling it. 

Jesus, one time seems unbearably difficult—let alone seven times.  And seventy-seven (or seventy times seven) times?  Forget-a-bout-it! 

But.  THIS. IS. NOT. OUR. CALLING. 

“Forgiveness” is not saying—“everything’s OK.”  Forgiveness is a two-way street; it means accountability; it requires the desire to be forgiven as well as the desire to forgive; it means owning up to what was wrong; it means a high desire to change; it suggests that reparations must be considered; it is not simple; it is hard, hard work.  And to say we’re not exactly up for it is surely to put ourselves at great peril.  While we may think we do or will sleep better at night holding out for extreme punishment and reparations, Jesus promises us that forgiveness is the path that leads to life. 

People argue all the time that it’s being “tough on crime” that helps criminals know that “crime doesn't pay.”  But Jesus argues that it’s by way of forgiveness that we find true life.  It’s the road of forgiveness that demonstrates time and again that we are not lost forever, but that we can be found.  We are not abandoned and left out, we can be restored.  It’s a powerful witness that demonstrates that “crime doesn't pay.”  It’s the ultimate witness that God claims us even when we have made mistakes.  It’s the reminder that mistakes aren't the last word about us.  Instead the last words can be that love, hope, and joy prevail—and the greatest of these is love (to paraphrase the Apostle Paul). 

And what better words for us.  Not because some more highly paid athletes are in trouble or appear to in some ways get off the hook of true accountability or that women and children are still victims.  The word on the street is that it’s forgiveness that prevails, that forgiveness leads to life, and we’re involved in it and LOVE is winning.  

But only if we’re truly involved in it.  Forgiveness.  Seventy seven times (or is that seventy times seven times). 

In the case of the current NFL scandals, I can’t say as I know exactly what “forgiveness” looks like.  But I’m certain that we should be endeavoring to seek it out.  Forgiveness doesn't exonerate the perpetrators; forgiveness doesn't mean it’s OK.  But forgiveness is one of the signs that the Kingdom of God is truly loosed in the world.  And that: IS. OUR. CALLING! 

So it means we have to be practiced—not at fear and retribution, but forgiveness and love.  And Jesus is just seeing to it—by rule.  Forgive seventy-seven (or seventy times seven) times and we’ll be on the pathway of life. 

© Rev. David Stipp-Bethune; Teaching Elder and Pastor, The Presbyterian Church of Llanerch, Havertown, Pennsylvania

Some Other Fun Things to Do… WITH YOUR MONEY!

If you don’t have a Facebook account (or use other social media) it’s possible that you avoided seeing all the videos of people pouring buckets of ice water on themselves, challenging family and friends to take the “ice bucket challenge” by making a video and making a donation to help ALS research.  

Over the course of several weeks, I’ve been the unfortunate witness of a plethora of videos of people pouring ice water on themselves.  And while it’s true that some of the homemade videos were creative, fun, and even funny, I found them all just silly.  At one point, more people seemed taken aback by several celebrities who took the opportunity to make videos of themselves, writing checks for ALS research, then using an ice bucket to put ice in a drink—thus avoiding the uncomfortable and humiliating “challenge” of withstanding a bucket of ice water dumped over their heads. 

Thankfully, when I saw this cartoon this week, I felt like I was finally returned to some sanity about what truly matters.  Because while so many “first-world” people were accepting challenges to take ice water and pour it over themselves, so many in the world are truly suffering.  It turns out, those buckets of ice water are for the rest of the world a wasteful, gluttonous display afforded only to people (US) who by comparison are super-rich.  As this cartoon suggests, there are plenty of people who have to work so much harder for their buckets of water in order to sustain daily living—and we haven’t even begun to touch the realities we “first-world people” foist upon the rest of the peoples of the world whose land is destroyed in pursuit of all the metallic resources needed to power our smartphones, computers, and i-pads used to make the videos in the first place.  Nor the fact that pouring buckets of useable water is wasteful for so many people who don’t have access to clean drinking water who don’t even share the benefit of seeing the amusing videos of us “first-worlders” WASTING what is to them PRECIOUS WATER! 

Plus, there’s this.  While surely this created a lot of publicity for the cause of ALS research, the hard truth is that what ALS research needs more than that is the actual dollars to fund it.  In other words, we could have taken all the “costs” to waste water and produce those videos and poured it into ALS research; or, we could simply be dedicated, passionate supporters of ALS research and written checks because someone we knew and trusted asked us to—no silly, wasteful video required. 

To make a difference, we don’t need opportunities to dump ice water on ourselves.  The best way to show our mettle is to respond to what we believe and know by supporting the things we believe and trust can change lives for the better.  What matters isn’t a public spectacle, but personal conviction.  What matters is not that we take pictures of ourselves doing silly things, hoping a kind of school-yard dare will get more people involved.  What matters is that we are convicted by what we believe and choose to be actively involved by sharing what we have.  What matters is participating with God in making the world a better place by emulating God—by giving like God gives. 

There are many causes that matter to me; some of them I am able to financially support and others I’m not.  The list of things that matter to me is long, and it’s tempting to believe there isn’t ever enough money to go around.  I believe and trust what God says to us—that there is enough and for all; we all still have to be committed to giving it.  And people are drawn to giving, not because we’re dared to pour ice water on our heads and make a video of it, but because we are asked to give.  People give because when they hear about what’s important to us, they will want to join us—or not.  Passion and faith drive our giving.  Not dares. 

So I’m asking (not daring)—don’t make a spectacle of giving.  Make a gift! 

And here are some places where your GIFT can make a big difference (and none of them require or desire you to pour ice water over your heads before or after you write the check, or press the “donate” button, or place your envelope in an offering plate!). 

Rev. Kate Taber recently shared an update from the Middle East.  Her story includes an opportunity to give directly to a hospital in Gaza where we can provide help to victims of recent violence there.  Check out here story HERE. 

Presbyterian Disaster Assistance provides help and relief in times of disaster or hardship—both natural and human-caused hardships.  PDA has an almost instantaneous response, but in order to respond, they use donations to help prepare the way—before disaster strikes.  Giving before, during, and after disasters is important.  Check it out HERE. 

Now that school has begun, classes have resumed at our Presbyterian Church (U.S.A.) theological seminaries.  Theological Education Fund of the PCUSA is the only denomination-wide funding source for our PCUSA seminaries.  Our seminaries prepare church leaders—valuable to have on the ground in churches (in communities) when hard things happen.  If you think pastors have valuable input in places like Fergusson, MO, or Sandy Hook, or who open sanctuaries in times like 9/11—then our seminaries deserve your support.  You can find more information about TEF HERE. 

And if you those problems are bigger and larger, or if you have concerns about a large denominational apparatus and how much money may or may not be used as a part of “overhead,” you can always fund the ministry and mission of a local congregation—in your community or elsewhere.  The congregation I serve has financial challenges we’re facing.  You can check out what we do, and even make a donation to our ministry via Paypal using our website.  You can get to our website by clicking HERE. 

Don’t just dump a bucket of ice water on your head.  Make a gift.  Fund a ministry.  Change the world. 

© Rev. David Stipp-Bethune; Teaching Elder and Pastor, The Presbyterian Church of Llanerch, Havertown, Pennsylvania