Advent waiting …not even a day.

Advent began yesterday—the First Sunday of Advent marking the beginning of the annual countdown to Christmas and the celebration of the birth of Jesus. 

I was blessed to have friend and colleague, Rev. Nancy Benson-Nicol preaching for me.  Nancy is the Associate Director, Theological Education Funds Development & Director, Seminary Support Network (you can find out more about the Theological Education Fund here: www.presbyterianfoundation.org/tef.)  Nancy and I have worked together for several years now, in support of our denomination’s Theological Education Fund which supports our Presbyterian Church (U.S.A.) seminaries.  As a part of that work, I get a lot of news from our seminaries. 

This morning’s news was that McCormick Seminary in Chicago was closed for the day in response to the FBI warning the University of Chicago that a credible threat of gun violence had been received in association with today’s date. 

My advent prayer, for as long as I can remember, has been the hope that we are drawing near to peace on earth.  “Peace” is my long-awaited Christmas present.  This year, it didn’t even last a day. 

By the evening of the second day of Advent, news arrived in my newsfeed that a man had been arrested. 

“Jabari Dean, 21, was arrested for allegedly threatening to murder University of Chicago students and staff, the U.S. Attorney’s Office for the Northern District of Illinois announced Monday. Dean, of Chicago, has been charged with transmitting a threat in interstate commerce.”  --stated in an online article by The Washington Post

I suppose a celebration is in order, that threats were made but that gunshots were not fired.  But that’s little consolation for a world still reeling from the latest mass shooting in Colorado over the Thanksgiving weekend, or where the Pope is visiting a war-torn part of Africa, or when we all recognize that another movie theater shooting or Sandy Hook is inevitable. 

In the movie, “The Hunt for Red October,” the Admiral (played by actor and former presidential candidate, Fred Thompson) offers:

“This business will get out of control.  It will get out of control and we’ll be luck to live through it.”  (You can view the scene here:  https://youtu.be/0-JA1ffd5Ms)

One day of Advent.  ONE DAY!  

And yet the cries for justice and righteousness, the cries of, “how long, O Lord,” and the promises of the Antiphons ache and groan among us! 

One day of Advent and the end seems lost, never to be found or heard from—the end of peace, not the beginning. 

One day of Advent and I’m pressing God, demanding God, looking for God to speed up the calendar.  Your Kingdom come, and right darn quick.  “Peace.  Give me peace when there is no peace.”  One day of Advent and my patience is already fried. 

But now, it’s just about been two days of Advent.  Two days of waiting.  Two days of aching for some of the people who ache and hurt, who live a lot closer to harm’s way than I do, apparently.  Two days, waiting, hoping, and praying for peace.  Two days.  Tomorrow, it will be three. 

I’d like to be afraid. 

Afraid of the guns. 

Afraid of the violence. 

Afraid of those who like or choose violence. 

Afraid for those who are in harm’s way; afraid I or those I love might end up in harm’s way. 

The truth is that I don’t have time …to be afraid.  The truth is …I choose to believe God’s got this. 

It’s just hard—waiting. 

Three days of advent.  And counting. 

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

The Ironic Tale of a Beloved Baby Jesus

 Six years ago I was “shopping in Bethlehem.”  Our group was told, “It was a chance to bring some commerce to the Palestinian side,” (yes, there are ‘sides’ with real people of both of them) but nearing the end of my pilgrimage it was also a place to start reflecting on things I wanted to remember about my trip.  One of the things I wanted to remember was the plight of peace that I now saw hidden in these beautiful reminders of the place of Jesus’ birth.  Contrary to how we often read the story, the place of Jesus’ birth was then and remains today a place frothy with all kinds of un-welcome-ness. 

We paper over this version of the story, choosing to tell the plight of Mary and Joseph as just and righteous, despite how we judge the people in our own time who look like them—the pregnant, unmarried teenage girls and the teenage boys who had sex with them. 

We paper over this version of the story, when we refuse to also tell the plight of the young family as they flee Bethlehem because the world powers of domination try to kill Jesus. 

With the brush of the word “virgin” and some sense of innocence or “virginal” we can easily push our way past all the difficulties our holy story presents us—even as we know deep down the world is never quite as it seems.  Unwed pregnant teenagers and refugees are good examples of it being NOT as it seems! 

So, I stood on the outskirts of Bethlehem and saw how Jesus was literally born under Herod’s nose.  It was remarkable to me in that place that Herod with all his power couldn’t find the baby Jesus and wipe him out.  I recalled, too, that it seemed many other innocent children had to pay the ultimate price for our world to receive this Jesus. 

I was face to face with the realities that the land of Jesus was also overwhelmed with the realities of fear and violence as much as or even more so than the threats against Jesus.  Herod’s walls and defensive structures, the visible signs of Roman power and might were, in fact, powerless against this one small life.  To say something like the “force” or the Holy Spirit was strong with this one—in “Star Wars irony” is an obvious “no duh” for us as Christians—drawn as we are to all the magical powers we ascribe to the nativity story. 

But… the irony.  The irony isn’t that we see beauty in the Jesus story.  The irony isn’t that we believe it with such passion.  The irony isn’t that we wrestle with its uniqueness and power.  It’s that we can so easily refuse to see what it represents. 

You can’t stand in Bethlehem today and not feel the threat of the Israeli occupation—much like I believe it was to stand in Bethlehem under Rome’s thumb.  You can’t stand in Bethlehem today and not feel the threat of violence and death. 

And, we should not be able to so easily and “virginally” read the Christmas story without acknowledging the irony of a world filled with violence and the threat of death.  And when we stand with doors locked, with borders closed; when we isolate ourselves in fear; when we wall out the world; when we refuse to accept, when we turn others away—we are decidedly NOT the hope, peace, joy, or love, of Jesus! 

Christians, in the nativity of Jesus Christ, are called to tell a story that is anti-locked-doors, anti-security-wall, anti-military-aggression, anti-death, anti-imperialism, and refugee-friendly.  And yet, in the aftermath and violence done in the name of hate, the irony is, too many Christians—in fear—have not employed these things but instead cheered air-strikes and rejection in the names of freedom and peace. 

Nothing like a little violence and death to scare the Jesus right out of ya! 

Irony.  Remember? 

I’ll be getting out my Christmas tree ornaments, soon; but I’m already holding dear that time I walked in Bethlehem and was so struck by the challenges of Jesus’ birth amidst violence and hatred, of Jesus being born under the nose of the fearful establishment, and being at risk—because that’s often how God sees the world, from the view of the underdog, the least, and the lost. 

The light shines in the darkness, yet the darkness does not overcome it! 

So, if you’re like me, in our holiday seasons you’re apt to display the iconic symbols of Jesus’ birth.  But it’s best to remember the roots of the story are light shining in the darkness.  And we aren’t just shining them against the world’s darkness, but also our own! 

And if you’re looking at the world and seeing violence and attacks and hurtfulness, and you’re feeling afraid, uncertain, and scared—you’re probably doing it right.  Because into all of that God surely sends us Jesus! 

But if you think that the way of Jesus is to get him, but then shut the door and turn out the lights and hide, trying to keep him away from others—you’re doing it wrong! 

Instead, try on these words from my colleague and Facebook friend, Shannon Vance-Ocampo: 

“If you are Christian you worship the One who started life as a refugee.  And was born in a place of safety because someone opened up a door, even if it was to a stable.
 It doesn't get any more non-negotiable than that.”  

And, if you’re looking for ways to truly get the holiday spirit, you might think of starting with some sage advice from Brené Brown: 

"The opposite of scarcity is not abundance; the opposite of scarcity is simply enough.  Empathy is not finite, and compassion is not a pizza with eight slices.  When you practice empathy and compassion with someone, there is not less of these qualities to go around.  There's more.  Love is the last thing we need to ration in this world."  

What do we have to give to a world wrought up with fear, suffering injustice, bombarded with hopelessness and loss? 

How about a little bit of Jesus.  Maybe even a beloved baby Jesus. 

But may it also be the REAL Jesus! 

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

Shop-Less Thanksgiving

Well, here we go again.  It’s the week of Halloween and it’s no longer “breaking news” that the Christmas fever was ALREADY at the Kohl’s near my house—a month ago!  [Christmas “c-rap” was already on the clearance table.] 

But over the past few weeks my Facebook feed has lit up with this overwhelming holiday cheer-less-ness over Thanksgiving Day shopping.  Lots of people are against it.  Some, so much so, to the extent that they believe stores MUST be closed as an act of preserving the integrity of the American family.  As if not shopping on Thanksgiving Day would save every family! 

Friends and colleagues are cheering stores who are announcing they will be “closed” for Thanksgiving Day and denouncing others who are advertising their intention to be “open” on Thanksgiving Day.  In both cases, a sure and certain Public Relations move rather than revealing any intention to somehow “preserve the American family.” 

Let me just say up front that I LOVE Thanksgiving; it is my favorite holiday.  I would LOVE for no one to have to work on Thanksgiving—but that’s just not possible.  In all honesty, I don’t blame the stores.  That I will likely NOT be working on Thanksgiving, that I will likely have the chance to enjoy the day with my family, is a sign of my extreme privilege.  It certainly isn’t a right guaranteed by God or any human-made institution or government. 

Actually, were I most faithful to my calling, I’d be lined up to advocate for Churches to have worship services on Thanksgiving Day so that we could truly be thankful and worshipful and thus, I’d actually have a lot more people working on Thanksgiving.  So, maybe I need to be added to the list of boycotts!  Me, God, Jesus, and the Holy Ghost! 

 

I believe in family; but it's not about this shopping bit!  

We all know the truth of the matter is that stores closing on Thanksgiving Day will not “preserve the American Family.”  In some cases, it’ll likely lead to family demise—for with nothing else to do but overeat and watch the NFL, some families will never recover!  For some families, simply being together for a day isn’t a blessing, it’s armed conflict.  Stores being OPEN on Thanksgiving Day won’t save them, either. 

I’m conflicted!  For while we so passionately advocate for those who are asked to work on Thanksgiving Day to be “off,” for some, it’s a day of badly needed overtime pay that goes far in supporting their family. 

While we so passionately advocate for those who must work on Thanksgiving Day to be “off,” we are grateful for the Firefighters, Police Officers, Nurses and Doctors, and others who will save lives and keep people safe. 

Having everyone off?  That’s just a plain kind of irresponsible.  Gas stations, convenience stores, and toll booths are all necessary things when people are traveling to Grandma’s house or even my house.  Someone always has to work, despite a holiday—not only doctors and nurses, firefighters and police officers, but NFL players and coaches, TV broadcasters and camera crews, the stadiums at least must be full of employees—hard-working employees most necessary for the holiday to achieve its intended celebratory fervor FOR ALL THOSE PEOPLE WHO ARE OFF FROM WORK!  After all, what’s a turkey sandwich without a football game! 

So here’s what I think.  I think this whole “keep the stores closed” is really a part of our PRIVILEGE—to which we really shouldn’t be entitled. 

More than boycotting stores or trying to publicly shame them, what if we worked to be better advocates for some things that really do matter.  For stores to pay honest, living wages—all the time (not just for special holidays).  For stores to treat employees with dignity and respect.  To advocate for fair ways of giving time off around the holiday seasons, so that not just the lowest have to work, but that it is and becomes a shared venture.  If stores are open, make sure the highest offices have a share in the holiday working. 

How about advocating for care and concern for those who do have to work.  So that we can say “thank you” and be more grateful for those who are working to provide needed services like first responders and healthcare workers—AND those who are working to serve our lunch-table or make our NFL gameday experience a better one. 

Let’s advocate for wage increases and double-pay on holidays. 

And lets go back to LEADING THE WAY on holidays as people of faith.  Praying together.  Worshipping together.  Supporting our communities from top to bottom—together. 

But frankly, dear friends, we so easily forget our privilege, our own selfishness.  By our willfulness to close stores, we simply deny so many others an opportunity they might willingly choose in order to get ahead—or worse, just eek by.  Holiday pay can be more substantial.  Many people will willingly trade a day off, for a day of extra pay—especially those who are poorest among us.  Who are we to insist that they cannot take advantage of this opportunity?  Who are we to insist that those who wish to work, may; while those who wish not to work wouldn’t have to? 

That stores are open on Thanksgiving simply isn’t the problem. 

No one forces us to shop. 

And not shopping will not restore some kind of restoration of the values of yesteryear. 

But, the values we use to evaluate how stores are behaving, our desire for all people to celebrate a holiday together, our yearning for a new and different world, no doubt point us to the Kingdom of God where no one works for pay and everyone is served.  This isn’t a dream world for some other time.  It’s the call and claim of the Kingdom for now.  Jesus would have us get out there and change the world—not just complain about it. 

Facing this Fearless Generosity Toward Guns

I’ll come to the point quickly:

America, we can no longer afford the right of each individual to have unquestioned access to guns. 

For my part, as a Christian, Presbyterian minister, I feel forced to ask again and again—for the sake of Jesus’ “little ones” (innocent children), and for the sake of our future as a people—“What should people of Christian faith do about these gun deaths that afflict our communities?” 

But shouldn’t all Christians be asking this question?  Especially, Christian gun-owners? 

I am no longer able to be “fearlessly generous” in the face of so many people who appear to care more about the right to bear arms—or what’s being interpreted as any citizen’s right to possess and use a firearm—than they care about children and others dying!  No!!!  All the pictures I see of armed citizens walking into banks, hospitals, and restaurants actually make me FEARFUL!  And inviting more people to “have guns” and “bear arms” in public has not led to saving lives.  I’ve watched as more and more people have died for this “right” or as a result of this right. 

So, now that it’s being widely reported that in 2013 more preschool-aged children were shot dead (a total of 82) than police officers in the line of duty were shot dead (a total of 27), isn’t it abundantly clear that the suffering caused by unquestioned access to guns is completely and totally unbearable for all of us?  Preschoolers AND police officers are being shot dead at alarming rates!  

I know!  We want to spin it the other way, to BELIEVE—SOMEHOW—that guns don’t kill people, that it’s really people who kill people.  But it’s just not true. 

Until today, I might have been tempted to believe that my ministry hasn’t been tinged by “gun violence.”  But here’s my story. 

My first call to ministry was to a congregation in a small town in the middle of Nebraska.  Compared to Richmond, Virginia where I had lived during my seminary education, during the time when Richmond was on the top ten list for gun-related murders in the country, the rural, “middle-of-the-country community” seemed blissfully safe.  Still, the day came when one of the faithful members of the congregation called with a spiritual need, telling me that her teen-aged granddaughter, who lived in Phoenix, Arizona, had been shot to death. 

The news rocked our small town, forcing us to remember that sin is indiscriminate.  Things like this weren’t supposed to happen! 

She was a good kid.  She lived in a suburban neighborhood.  Her parents had a curfew.  She was an “A” student.  She had good friends.  On the night she was killed, her parents had noticed that she was in the back yard talking on the phone with a friend; they’d even hollered out to her that it was getting close to bedtime, and she’d acknowledged.  When she didn’t come in, they found her slumped, with a head wound.  No one had heard a gunshot, yet there she lay in the emergency room shot to death.  Her friend on the phone would say later that a “crash” had ended their conversation. 

The autopsy revealed a bullet had entered her head from above, and judging from the angle of entry, had traveled more or less straight down, leaving the presumption it had been a gun fired into the air and not aimed intentionally.  It was an accident, or perhaps not at all on purpose, but leaving no way of knowing where the bullet had come from, how it was fired, or who fired it.  This tragedy led to a change in Arizona’s gun laws, so that firing a gun into the air, today, is a crime. 

Nearly twenty years ago, this didn’t seem like “gun violence;” but today, I have a different answer.  Yes.  Not only does the aftermath of every gun-death, intentional or accidental, share devastation; all gun deaths share one thing in common—a gun. 

Our problem is that every gun is equal in its uncaring-ness.  An 8 year old child can shoot a 10 year old neighbor “in fun;” or a teenager can unlock the gun cabinet and the ammunition and use the gun to kill himself.  A toddler may discover a gun in mom’s purse and be an accidental but active shooter of a woman in Wal-Mart; or a person in a fit of anger and hurt can get the gun kept in the nightstand for “self-defense” and shoot a spouse in order to end an argument.  Increasingly, very well-meaning armed citizens or even highly trained police officers can’t clearly identify the bad people with so many guns about; nor can they prevent bullets from passing through a wall or a body to cause collateral damage, just like bullets fired into the air don’t always fall harmlessly. 

No.  It is ever, increasingly more clear, that guns kill people.  Guns concealed or carried, guns locked in lock-boxes or left in nightstand drawers.  There are so many guns, in fact, that it’s statistically only a matter of time.  We no longer live in a world where it’s necessary for our children to endure lock-down drills, and hiding exercises, preparing for the day when a person, armed with a gun comes into school shooting in hallways and classrooms.  We live in a world, right now, where statistically, we must seriously consider counting the days to when our children—OUR OWN CHILDREN—will be the victims. 

You don’t want to believe it?  I know.  I don’t either. 

But as I’m writing this post, fresh news stories reveal a gunman caused a lock down at Philadelphia Community College--just a day after bomb threats disrupted college classes in and around Philadelphia.  Thankfully the reported gunman turned out to be only two men arguing.  The Police Commissioner said eventually, “The two men have a history.  He said they know each other, there was an argument, and one of them allegedly produced a gun.” 

Can we at least agree, it’s a totally different scenario minus the gun? 

 

School drills with bulletproof disaster gear for sale

We live in a world where accidents happen.  Guns kill people, even when people don’t want to kill people.  And increasingly people are CHOOSING to live in this world.  Without remorse!  People have become convinced in large and small ways “this is now how our life has to be” and for many reasons.  We justify the necessity of “deadly force” and “killing,” rather than decrying it.  We fear what might happen to us if we didn’t have these “protections” even as they kill our children.   

This, however, is NOT a CHRISTIAN view. 

The Pope, in his recent visit to our country, didn’t mince words.  He said, “If you’re a gun manufacturer, you’re not a Christian.”  If this is true, what does it say about gun owners? 

As one of my spiritual heroes says, “God does not kill.” 

I believe Jesus teaches there are options, but that killing isn’t one of them.  Ever. 

So, for the followers of Jesus, who are in fact called to “sell our possessions, …then come and follow Jesus,” isn’t the need for guns understandably way more qualified than any “right” the Constitution of the United States may wish to guarantee in one form or another?  In fact, in my view, following Jesus simply doesn’t square very easily or at all with using or even owning a gun.  There are always other, better options. 

To be sure, these better options begin with solving problems long before we get to the point of involving weapons of deadly force.  And any solution to “gun violence” and “gun-deaths” necessarily involves solving other social problems and ills!  There is no “quick fix” or painless inoculation to be had. 

We have to start somewhere.  And I’ll start by calling out Christians. 

So for me, a Christian, Presbyterian minister, I’ll be praying for Christians, in particular, for Christian gun-owners, that they begin to see the light of Jesus Christ.  I’m fearful that my generosity in allowing more and more guns will mean more and more and more deaths.  So I am placing my generosity in fearlessly praying that those with guns will come quickly to see that they are no longer needed, required, or desired.  That Jesus gifts us with other options to resolve our differences and needs. 

I already know.  This prescription tastes like the doctor’s advice to a patient with high blood pressure who needs to give up table salt.  We may not like it, but for the sake of survival we have to figure out how to do it.  But unlike the patient with high blood pressure, it’s not just our own lives, it’s the lives of our children—that rely on our “beating our swords into plowshares.” 

If Christians will start, others will follow.  Christians need this kind of fearless generosity toward life in the face of those who would be fearlessly generous with guns. 

Let's Kiss Some Babies!

I live outside of Philadelphia, about 7 miles from this past weekend’s Pope-A-Rama that turned the city of Philadelphia like an upset apple cart with the visit of Pope Francis.  At one point on Sunday morning, the television commentators—who were covering every single movement of the pontiff live on television—indicated that they had counted 12 babies that the Pope had kissed since touching down in Philadelphia.  The number went on to soar well beyond that, and as it’s only Monday, I’ve yet to see an official count of Pope kisses.  Two words.  A. Lot. 

Anyone watching the coverage, either locally or nationally, surely saw what is plain.  This Pope has great curb appeal.  People lined up on curbs all over, just for a glimpse or glimmer of the Bishop of Rome—and they dangled children for his Holiness to kiss.  And obviously, as is often the case with Popes, the young and old, the maimed and lame, were strategically placed along the traveled pathways, where they too might be offered their own special encounter with the one who represents Christ. 

It’s never a P.R. stunt.  But it is. 

The one who represents Christ…, that’s supposed to be not just His Holiness, the Pope.  That’s supposed to be a lot more of us! 

Often over the last week, I was reminded either in the coverage or on someone’s Facebook feed that this behavior—of paying particular or special attention to the least, the lost, the poor, the underprivileged, the hurting, the sick, the suffering—is what Jesus did.  Over and over, as so many remarked at the Pope’s courage or his strong words, or even blamed him for the resignation of the Speaker of the U.S. House of Representatives—the Bishop of Bishop’s influence was attributed to his determination to model Jesus for the world at all costs! 

And the crowds loved Pope Francis for it. 

But do they love Jesus for it? 

In the United States, politicians get the reputation for “kissing babies.”  It is a campaign stunt.  And people everywhere see right through it.  Maybe, that’s why when I suggest that those of us in protestant church traditions, and especially Presbyterians, would do well to start kissing some babies, that idea will get frowned on. 

But kissing babies is powerful. 

Not because it’s a P.R. stunt—but because it looks like Jesus. 

Kissing babies is just the beginning.  The problem is, of course, it forces us to love and accept, include and adore, people and ideas that aren’t always “popular.”  The Pope can get away with kissing dangled infants in a parade, or even hugging inmates in prison—he’s the Pontiff.  But when our churches accept poor families at the pot-luck dinner, or welcome drug addicts to the alcoholics anonymous meetings, we’re somehow conscripted by many as “enabling bad behavior” or “letting those people have something for nothing.” 

So these days, as many of our churches face struggles of diminished worship attendance and declining financial giving, we might reflect on what it is to represent Christ.  Our diminishment and declination has happened, at least in part, because we have not done well to replace the current ranks of members with new members.  We haven’t found new members who were interested in pursuing the old goals and strategies devised and carried out by our older members; and our unwillingness to change and adapt to the mission ideals of newer members has left us short-handed. 

I think Jesus faced these same challenges.  He had a loyal opposition known as the scribes and Pharisees—entrenched religious leaders who believed they had it right!  Sound familiar? 

But Jesus continually and consistently managed to step outside the box those leaders invited him to operate within.  Jesus could have climbed those ranks, he too could have been one of “those members” and would have been more and a different kind of popular.  He didn’t. 

The same kinds of themes are being observed when it comes to Pope Francis.  Refusing to bow to the loyal opposition.  Continuing to look outside the box.  Continuing to welcome strangers, sinners, the least, the lost.  Oh, and he’s almost universally popular because he kisses babies, the disabled, the afflicted, and bad characters! 

When was the last time we did things like that?  Because we represent Christ? 

Last week, I read yet another article aimed at suggesting to Presbyterian congregations how we might get outside the “box” we’ve created for ourselves by not recruiting and establishing new church members.  The suggestions were practical and worship-based.  “Don’t preach the lectionary, instead, use a sermon series.” 

I’m all for new ideas.  But I’ve studied church history and liturgical tradition and the lectionary.  I think the lectionary is simply “the original sermon series.”  But more than that, if we follow it—and more importantly, by it, follow Jesus—we might do better by getting out there and kissing a few babies!  And not metaphorically!  Maybe not just babies, either, but finding ways to welcome the least, the lost, the stranger, the one in need, the ones without hope, the ones who’ve given up—and offering them another chance to be enchanted by the one who calls us to live differently. 

At all costs. 

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

Seminaries and Churches Together--A Sermon for Theological Education Sunday

Let us pray.  

--+        Our delight is in your law, O Lord, and on your teachings we meditate day and night.  Gathered by Christ as his disciples, may we draw ever closer to your Word.  May it hold us together as we welcome all your children into your presence; may it inspire us to welcome your presence in our own hearts and minds.  AMEN. 

“Seminaries and Churches Together”

--}        Brothers and Sisters, for most of my 20 years in ordained ministry as a Teaching Elder in the Presbyterian Church (U.S.A.), I have been an advocate for theological education working with the seminary support network to help fund our denomination’s Theological Education Fund. 

The Theological Education Fund was established shortly after the reunion of the Northern and Southern expressions of Presbyterianism in 1984; and the dream at the time of its inception was to provide a sturdy, denomination-wide funding stream that would substantially support and undergird the ministry of our Presbyterian Seminaries.  We have 10 Seminaries that belong outright to our denomination and us, and two additional seminaries related by covenant agreement.  These institutions provide for education and nurture for church leaders, particularly those in ordained ministry—both teaching and ruling elders—but especially inquirers and candidates seeking ordination as teaching elders, for which a seminary degree is required. 

For 2014, the Theological Education Fund received gifts totaling just over 1 million dollars from congregations and individuals across the denomination.  Just a decade ago, the Theological Education Fund accounted for nearly 3 million dollars annually.  And when you consider that those funds are divided among 11 schools that receive financial support—that 1 million dollars doesn’t go far enough to support the substantial service our seminaries are tasked provide.  Consider further that each of those schools, must raise several million dollars annually just to meet the budget—what we’re providing as a denomination is woefully inadequate for the needs which we have. 

Today, the cost of providing 1 year of theological education is more than $60,000 per student. 

And while tuition grants cover most of the tuition costs for PRESBYTERIAN students at our seminaries, the overall costs still leave seminary graduates with a substantial debt load, that even younger students will have a hard time repaying over their lifetime at today’s median salary in the PCUSA—not even considering those who receive salaries on the lower end of the scale or who come as older students! 

But my task today was not to shame you for not having given more money to TEF.  Our congregation faces its own serious financial difficulties and we haven’t had money to put toward causes like the TEF in recent years.  The financial situations at our seminaries are not as dire as our own, thanks to substantial endowment programs that buoy the balance sheets.  However, that cannot be a reason that we simply allow theological education to languish on its own. 

It’s not just about service to students, but serving the needs of the whole church! 

Remember, Jesus prescribes “theological education” for believers and followers in today’s gospel lesson.  It’s the kind of education that requires skills at recognizing the needs of others.  And, apparently, it requires skills that aren’t natural—in fact, they’re skills that very much go against the kind of education the “world” offers us. 

Martha Moore-Keish, a seminary classmate of mine, notes Joyce Ann Mercer’s Welcoming Children: A Practical Theology of Childhood in a Feasting on the Word commentary about today’s passage the importance of recognizing the value of children.  Jesus doesn’t offer up the child as a cute example, but a purposeful reminder for believers: 

" The 'gift of children' is thus not only about the delight and wonder that children embody, but also about the way that children draw Jesus’ followers into resisting all imperial powers of our time, struggling against all that opposes the 'kin-dom of God'."

See, the presence of the child in the story compels Jesus’ believers and followers into ministry to the “least” the “lost,” and the “forgotten.”  THIS—is theological education.  Preparation for ministry—as Christians, but also for Teaching and Ruling Elders—requires a different way of seeing the world!  Our seminaries are tasked with opening this new world where God’s love and vision for all of creation can be revealed.  It’s not a matter of simply “learning what the Bible says,” as if it’s just reading the words and applying a plain meaning.  It’s a matter of learning a craft, understanding the task of God’s claim on our lives, and living new lives! 

This isn’t just a task for preachers—for learning Greek and Hebrew and memorizing all of the books of the Bible—it’s a process and a practice of sharing with the church at large the call and claim of God in the world. 

Theological Education is the starting point for every ministry!  It’s the place at which we discern a calling and seek to follow God.  It’s also the resources we need to “be the Church” in the world.  It’s about leadership AND exploration.  It’s about having research centers where the latest studies and information can be deciphered as well as addressing needed, real-world questions. 

For example, the Bible offers absolutely no guidance about the use of fossil fuels or nuclear weapons—directly.  And while policy decisions about sex trafficking or homelessness or pornography and the dangers of the internet and cable television seem self-explanatory in light of the 10 Commandments—they’re not.  How we understand WHO we are as well as WHOSE we are is in part, related to our “theological education.” 

The theological education Jesus prescribes for believers and followers is one where we learn to recognize the people we are not inclined to recognize.  THEY are VITAL to our seeing and knowing the Kingdom of God!  Without them, we have little hope of accomplishing what God has called to us accomplish. 

The theological education Jesus prescribes is putting a child in the midst of the adults, to put a child in the midst of those who think they know—as an invitation to welcome the child. 

So this morning, I want to do no less than Jesus for you; except the child that I would put in your midst is theological education in the Presbyterian Church (U.S.A.) and the work and support of our 10 + 2 Presbyterian Seminaries. 

My job is to invite you to share from your hearts—AND from your checking accounts.  Because while our congregation doesn’t currently have money to support this ministry, it doesn’t mean that you as individuals can’t make your own contributions to this work of God’s mission on earth.  And in your bulletin is information about the theological education fund and how you can contribute online or by writing a check and sending it to the Presbyterian Foundation.  Or, you can write a check to our congregation and mark it for the THEOLOGICAL EDUCATION FUND. 

And please, don’t think that a gift to TEF should be more valuable than your other giving.  Don’t make this gift instead of your pledged giving to our congregation, or instead of gifts you promised or intend to give to other causes that are important to you or our congregation.  Accept this “child in your midst” as a challenge to increase your giving and to give more.  Use it as an opportunity to push past your usual and customary giving, having been invited into the realities of God’s kingdom on earth.  And know that this additional, special giving, is part of the way God has invited you to respond to the small one amongst you. 

THIS is about Seminaries and Church together.  The Theological Education Fund is like “paying it forward” because some day, this congregation will require a new pastoral leader.  It just makes sense to replenish the ranks.  By funding the work of seminaries now, there is something to rely on later. 

But even now, with a pastoral leader in place, the work of our seminaries provides valued and needed resources toward meeting the needs of God’s mission in the world.  Resources to train congregational leaders, provide direction, and valued input.  As we turn to face the crisis of racism, theological education offers a wealth of knowledge and input.  As we seek to become a resource to our community in Havertown, theological education can help us speak “God” to the people around us. 

So, I’m putting the child before you. 

Won’t you join me in making a difference?  In welcoming him to the fold of the faithful; or, by remembering that SHE is the key to the Kingdom of God—for us.  And, for so many others. 

Will you pray with me? 

--+  Help us, O God, by the power of your Spirit, to listen attentively to your living Word, to speak boldly of your saving love, and to live faithfully in your holy way; we pray in Jesus’ name. AMEN. 

Worship Celebrating the 17^th Sunday after Pentecost; September 20, 2015

THEOLOGICAL EDUCATION / PRESBYTERIAN SEMINARIES SUNDAY

The Presbyterian Church of Llanerch; Havertown, PA 

Texts:   |  Mark 9: 30-37 * 

Tipping Point

I had one of those moments today that I don’t often have. 

I had heard there was a breathtaking picture floating around social media of a three-year-old who washed up dead on a beach.  I read comments by people who didn’t want to see the photo because they had children.  I saw other comments by people who didn’t want to come face to face with the bold reality that this small, wee, one, this vulnerable child, could in fact be their child.  I saw other comments that said plainly, “it looked like my child.”  These were all bold, daring people who don’t run easily from a fight—or a picture. 

I knew what was coming. 

I would have had to look myself, to find it, except I was in a phone conversation and just happened to glance over to the Facebook feed to see that the person I was talking to on the phone had also just posted the story. 

I knew to wait until I was off the phone. 

By then, there were other postings. 

I knew what would happen when I saw. 

And there was that feeling in the pit of my stomach—not the feeling I’d been having because I skipped lunch. 

I was listening to the NPR news story.  I heard Mr. Broucheart talk about being moved by the shoes.  They were ordinary children’s shoes in the photo I was looking at with the soldier carrying the limp body.  There was nothing strange or odd about the shoes. 

And then I saw the image of the boy lying face-down on the beach, no soldier around, just the boy.  And his shoes. 

I wept first. 

Then I groaned. 

But I don’t think it was because I put those kind of shoes on my own two boys when they were that age, or my daughter who just graduated from those kind of shoes this last year.  These weren’t the shoes of my children and I wasn’t reminded of my own children so much.  I had by then come to grips with the reality that this child, his mother and his brother—and his father who survived—were all fleeing from Syria.  From the war in Syria.  From the war in Syria that in part is shaped by the foreign policy (or lack of policies) by my own country.  From the war in Syria that affects thousands of lives across a whole region of the world, now.  Countless children affected, lost, killed, lives destroyed by far more violent means than drowning at sea! 

I was also being reminded that these waters were dangerous waters from biblical times.  That the Apostle Paul for one was shipwrecked in this same region, and himself—the stories tell us—made many a perilous crossing to deliver the good news of the gospel or riding in chains.  There was, after all, perhaps not anything new about this story in more than 2,000 years.  It just keeps happening.  It’s just that it’s far, far away from my day to day life—and I don’t hear about it, every day. 

The picture forced an emotional reaction in me, but I was not sad.  I’m angry.  Because this, too, is the face of gun violence, of violence and fear.  This is what happens when human beings are too afraid, or we’re hell-bent to have our own way at the expense of others.  And I see it all the time in my every day life right here in suburban America and it is only by the grace of God—no, perhaps only by dumb statistical luck—no, I want to say something about God makes this better for me, but I’m afraid it doesn’t because I know for certain God doesn’t love me or my children more or less than God loved this child washed up on the shore, or some other father’s child in Syria or inner-city Philadelphia.  And that’s the rub.  This isn’t a story about God or the lack or loss of God.  It’s a story about human beings who don’t walk enough with God.  Myself included. 

This is what I put on Facebook: 

The photo breaks my heart. But I'm not offended by a photo. I'm angry. I'm angry that even now, we as Christian people will be most likely to pray about it, but do nothing more. Myself included. Come, Lord Jesus, and convict us that we are wholly unable to live this way. But that we must put ourselves and drag others kicking and screaming if necessary, under the call and claim of your Kingdom. May we be forced to look at the world we have been complicit in creating. May we confess our poor choices. May we look to the promise that we can now write another ending so that others don't have to be victims.

Today, this is what this picture did to me. 

I’m willing to say: “I hate guns.”  There are reasons I have to live with them.  But I hate them. 

This tragic story began because of armed, human conflict.  This family simply wanted to escape.  We all want to escape. 

The shoes didn’t bother me. 

I’d rather not spare you the horrific image.  Perhaps there are reasons we don’t pass the photos from Sandy Hook Elementary or Columbine.  We should look in wonder …and come to grips with our human complicity.  Ask ourselves why we allow it to happen again and again and again.  Myself included.  Perhaps, that should be said of a great many things of which we keep ourselves neatly separated from.  It’s why we can live with all the violence and killing that we do. 

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

What We Make For Ourselves

My family and I were driving back to our home in Pennsylvania having spent a two-week excursion through the south and the plains.  We had plans to meet some family for dinner in St. Louis when we got a troubling phone call from our family who live in the St. Louis area, telling us that violence had broken out in Fergusson and St. Louis following the 1 year anniversary of #MichaelBrown and #blacklivesmatter.  Not wanting to be mixed up in the violence that had been relayed as “gang violence” (and not necessarily related to the protests), we made alternate plans for dinner that would not take us downtown, and chose to drive around St. Louis, being sure to avoid Fergusson.  

I am actually frustrated and angry that my privilege and status afford me choices others cannot make.  I admit I have many opportunities to escape harm that others do not and cannot have, in part because people like me aren't willing to be vulnerable enough to give up our own safekeeping even in the face of trying to keep others safe.  And while I grieve the suffering, loss of  life, and hurting people must endure, I'm all the while grateful for my not having to bother.  This needs to change, not just for me, but for lots of us.  

But just a week earlier, when my family and I visited the Panhandle Plains Museum in Canyon, Texas, we encountered this banner and the quote from Ten Bears in the Museum’s lobby. 

It seems, we’ve been this way before. 

Sometimes called the “Smithsonian of the Plains,” the Panhandle Plains Museum did an excellent job of inviting reflection about the anthropology, sociology, religious beliefs, and the history of the Panhandle Plains.  It mapped out lifestyles and trading routes, revealed the harsh realities and joys of life for a number of different peoples over time. 

As a “white man,” It was particularly difficult coming face to face with history that recounted how “whites” not only destroyed natural resources—like the plains’ buffalo—but took for their own by means of violence, displacing native peoples violently.  Of course, it was all in the name of “getting rich,” and “keeping safe.”  As a last resort, it seems, native peoples fought back, having witnessed “white man” destroying resources and habitat—changing the landscape forever and making it no longer habitable. 

Then, with the natives gone, another group of immigrants moved in to continue “getting rich.”  Ranching and farming replaced native migrations and roaming.  The Texas oil rush added another chapter of “get rich” opportunities.  And today’s fracking adventures seem to me to just be the latest development. 

But, there are astonishing other “signs.”  All is not as it seems.  A drive through this landscape reveals unrivaled natural beauty, but alongside mostly forgotten towns with abandoned, unused buildings—standing as used hulks that if piled up, would look a lot like the piles of buffalo carcasses from back in the day.  No doubt.  The “White Man” has laid waste and decimated.  And it’s heartbreaking. 

But traveling north from Texas to Kansas, I was completely surprised to note the substantial shifts in peoples.  In the middle of “red state America” the number of small businesses and stores with Hispanic or Asian names and services is eye-opening.  It’s easy to notice how realities are shifting again. 

So, what is our inheritance?  Is it destined to be Greed?  Violence?  Suffering?  Death of every kind? 

But before we left Texas, we visited the Alibates Flint Quarries National Monument, and discovered that the real historical evidence in the Panhandle Plains of the now United States began some 12,000 or even 15,000 years ago.  There’s plenty of evidence of tool-making and hunting activities involving now vanished prehistoric animals.  We learned about prehistoric stone knapping and tool-making; and, despite our U.S. History classes, learned that “native Americans” inhabited the plains thousands of years before what we now think of as “Native Americans.” 

The archeological evidence demonstrates that trade routes and trading happened at a distance of at least a thousand miles from the quarries, in what would appear to be more peace-filled times.  This is a surprising comparison to say, “Biblical history” that seems violence prone and nowhere seems to stretch as far back. 

I wish we could have inherited a history of relationships, trade, and respect rather than making for ourselves a world of exploitation and destruction. 

We can’t change history.  But we can change our future. 

I’ve been reminded that I am a privileged “white man” in today’s world, blessed both with opportunities to exploit and preserve; and I recognize that my privilege came at great cost to others who suffered violence and loss and exploitation to my benefit.  But I’m committed to a future of relationships, respect, and non-retributive justice.  I want to move from responding to acts of violence and exploitation to helping my community and my congregation build a space where mutual respect and love trump greed and power.  

It gives me hope that long before our more recent troubles, human beings enjoyed a least some times of peaceful existence with trade and cooperation being key parts.  It gives me hope and courage that our Lord Jesus pointed us continuously in the direction of peace, love, helping, and healing. What ways can we share that peace and love with those around it who seem so clearly absent from it?  It’s probably not just an invitation to show up on Sunday mornings and worship with us! 

People of Jesus, we have work to do.  We can do this.  The world not only can change, it does change.  But we can help it change for the better. 

Imagine that the Church you love is dying.

[Jan Edmiston, an associate presbyter for Chicago Presbytery, has been writing about “closing churches” in her blog.  And while it’s been good food for thought, it’s stirred up some other feelings for me.  Here’s an unsolicited response, not meant to be critical of her work, but in conversation—that in writing, helped me work through some angst—not about Jan or her work, but about where we find ourselves in the Presbyterian Church (U.S.A.).] 

Jan Edmiston, a gifted Presbytery staff-person whose work I respect, wrote in her blogpost of July 8^th, 2015, that we should “Imagine that the Church [we] love is dying.” 

(You should check out Jan’s blog and the rest of her post here: https://achurchforstarvingartists.wordpress.com/2015/07/08/the-difficult-truth-about-creating-the-future-church/). 

Respectfully, I can’t. 

The Church belongs to God.  God is a God of life.  For me, the death of a/the Church is a non-starter. 

But I also know well what Jan and other church leaders want to get at.  Both we as individuals and the congregations and councils we’re a part of, need to “be the Church”—the real Church of Jesus Christ.  We can’t simply cling to our old buildings and the ways that have met us where we are comfortable and wait to be relieved, if we want to serve Jesus Christ!  To serve Jesus we must be Jesus—emulating his work and witness. 

Churches aren’t dying.  They’re struggling to look like Jesus. 

We all know this.  And it’s still hard. 

I’ve been grieving about my beloved Church for a while now.  It’s very much like she’s dying.  But I’ve experienced the illness not just in places we can identify and agree “where churches need to close”—it’s more like an illness that afflicts us from top to bottom, and bottom to top, left to right and all around.  It’s surely related to sinfulness, real and present and unavoidable when you get human beings involved.  It was that way for Jesus, too.  You do remember the stories? 

I’ve spent a quarter-century in leadership in the Presbyterian Church (U.S.A.) serving congregations and at each level of the church’s councils.  I’ve witnessed the adoption of one downsizing and consolidation plan after another as we’ve practiced to perfection “circle the wagons,” responding to decline in members, money, and ministry.  We’ve chosen re-allocating dollars and shifting position descriptions to meet new realities rather than re-envisioning and reconnecting in response to God’s continuing and ongoing call to us.  In response to our fears, we’ve done our very best to preserve the status quo, trying to make the decline as less-painful as possible.  So now, there’s little downsizing and shifting work left to be done; and each adjustment really hurts. 

It’s true.  The Church needs some kind of transfusion.  And in her blog piece, Jan sees one kind of hopeful possibility where the generosity of Jesus looks absent:

“We have churches that need to close. They no longer serve anyone but themselves, and even that service is barely satisfying much less life-changing. They exist for themselves. They vie for personal power. (“I’m in charge of the kitchen fund and you can’t have any money for new spoons unless you come through me.”).” 

And she’s right about everything past the word, “close.” 

Here’s my struggle with closing.  All of the congregations and councils I’ve ever served or heard about, in some way, at one time or another (but not always or in all ways), fit this description.  And somehow, when we talk about closing churches we don’t’ talk out loud about ALL the congregations that fit Jan’s criteria, where “service is barely satisfying much less life-changing; where they exist for themselves; where they vie for personal power—oh, and by the way many have plenty of members and money to keep going for decades!  Instead, we talk as if we’re working from a list of churches where the “data” empirically dictates they are “no longer viable” because membership is too small, the corporation is financially caput, and the building is located in a non-vital place. 

Have we really forgotten what Jesus and his disciples looked like? 

True.  It’d be real nice if we could eliminate the drag of those “less fortunate” churches unable to sustain themselves and be able to use their unexhausted resources in other places.  But it just sounds too much like the disciples with Jesus in the deserted place: “These people need something to eat and we can’t help them.  Can you send them away?” 

I recognize the practicality—there may be way too many congregations with less than 12 adherents on our Church’s roster; but the proposals for moving them on sound a lot like that scene from Monty Python’s Holy Grail, where the cart to collect the dead plague victims is wheeled by with an invitation to “bring out the dead; ” only then, a man appears to “pass off” a relative “who’s not dead yet;” then the argument ensues about not being able to accept people are “aren’t dead yet;” then the official whacks the clearly “not dead yet” man in the head so he’s more passably dead. 

I feel whacked. 

Simply shifting the money from churches that “need to close” to churches that deserve to remain open is nothing more than a shell game.  Because we’re talking about the Church of Jesus Christ that can look alive or not-so-much in all kinds of forms! 

From where I sit, while closing churches helps us more realistically “balance the books,” the real need is for all of us individually and corporately to participate in the transformed life demonstrated, offered, and inaugurated by Jesus Christ!  Because the same kind of transformation that leads some of us into brave new things is the transformation that’s needed for congregations to joyfully participate in sharing everything that’s available to them for the promotion of the Kingdom of God!  Then, it’s not a demand to get out of the way, it’s a gift.  Jesus is God’s gift.  God is always giving.  God gives life, even where we can only see death—for example. 

The work that we have to do, individually and collectively, is “Jesus”—it’s both the “new to us” and the old answer! 

The true church, in all its forms, looks like Jesus.  Both uncomfortably poor and extraordinarily generous. 

But, “We have churches that need to close,” sounds a lot like “get off my lawn.” (And I don’t think Jan is saying that, at all!)

I wish the conversation was a lot more focused on living and looking like Jesus.  I wish we asked ourselves at every level, “Are we looking like Jesus?”  And if the answer is “no,” or “not as much as we could,” then, if we want to try to live and look like Jesus, this helps offer a corrective course.  For me, this is a much more productive way of discerning together what God is calling us to be and become. 

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