“Errar es nuestro regalo mas divino”

I still remember the time my grandfather had wanted me to learn how to change the oil in the family car (one of his values was learning to do-it-yourself and save a few bucks).  He’d put the first of his three vehicles in the garage, had out all the tools, and said I should start by taking out the bolt on the bottom of the oil pan. 

And let’s be clear, I HAD NOT been the one who thought this whole “learning to change the oil thing” was a good idea.  Working with tools and cars—or both—was never my idea of a good time; nor did I ever think it was one of my gifts.  No matter, as this was one of those things “I should learn” and then if I wanted, I could do it myself, right? 

Can you tell I would have much rather been fishing? 

Oh, I got the bolt out of the oil pan, just at the moment my grandfather realized he’d forgotten the container to catch the used oil! 

So not 10 minutes into this helpful life-lesson it wasn’t going well!  And now, Grandpa was asking me—the novice—how we might clean up the oil soaking into the floor of his garage!  What I wanted to say was, “I told you this wasn’t the best of ideas.” 

To his credit, Grandpa liked solving problems; so, for the rest of the day WE “puzzled” over the possible solutions to the problem my grandfather’s lesson had created.  To my detriment, I thought I had better things to do with my summer vacation. 

But what I remember from that two weeks of summer vacation at my grandparents’ house was my grandfather’s sage advice: “If you don’t make mistakes, you can’t learn anything!” 

Not long ago, this picture and subtitle hit my Facebook feed: 

Errar es nuestro regalo mas divino."--"To make mistakes is our most divine gift."

A dog, making a leap, but appearing not quite on target—and we are so certain, aren’t we, that the tire must be the correct, most efficacious, clearly successful path? 

Even as we cannot see what is just outside the frame—another tire, another target, another instruction?  How do we know this is, in fact, a mistake—an error?  Or maybe these are the questions to ask as if to make it seem this is not a mistake—because we’re fearful that mistakes are bad! 

We are fearful that mistakes are bad.  We trust the old Biblical proverb that appears in various forms, paraphrased as—“do good and you shall live, do badly and you shall perish.” 

Walter Brueggemann, identifies this as our propensity to trust a “deeds-consequences” construct that [ultimately] produces a graceless world[i].  He argues that “You reap what you sow” is the construct that frightens people into a “moral life” where wrong living evokes long-term punishment that is inescapable.  So we trust that we get what we deserve, or that people should receive what we deem they deserve for their actions—ignoring the story of faith where God promises none of us are treated as we deserve! 

While we believe God pardons, forgives, and redeems, still—we are stingy about our willingness to allow God to help us! 

Christian faithfulness must trust somewhere along the way that it isn’t just about maintaining perfection according to the Law, doesn’t it?  Christian faithfulness also means entrusting God—who loves, pardons, forgives, and redeems us—and our mistakes, too—doesn’t it? 

So my grandfather’s lesson keeps coming back to me, over and over.  I’m being encouraged (more and more frequently) to “experiment” as a part of my role as teaching elder/pastor.  Experimentation is a hard task-mistress for us Presbyterians; our particular form of government was created with checks and balances and carefully prescribed structures meant to commend each little jot and tittle of church life.  Presbyterians, who prefer “decently and in order,” have too often created a barren wasteland for experimentation.  We believe we’ve not only done it before, but we’ve done it well—with great success, even!  No need to try it another way—to trust God to redeem, reclaim, recreate, with us. 

Yet not long ago, I wrote down for the second or third time as a participant in a presentation about leading “change” in the life of the Church—“It’s like seeking answers to the questions you don’t even know how to ask yet.”  And I was mesmerized once more by the promise of trying and failing well—by learning.  More and more, colleagues and congregations are sharing news of a new motto in their practices as leaders and congregations: “fail miserably—and learn from it!”  Perhaps it’s a lot like “sin boldly” was for Martin Luther. 

Perhaps this should be more familiar to us than we think, since we espouse to be a church called to be “reformed and always reforming.”  How can we demonstrate our trust in God’s willingness to write our story inclusive of mistakes?  How can we accept failure and mistakes as a verdant way forward?  A sustaining gift of God who walks with us, helping us always to find our true home. 

When was your last big failure?  --err, when was the last time you had a chance to learn something helpful, to learn something fruitful for God’s kingdom? 

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

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[i] Walter Brueggemann, “The Impossible Possibility of Forgivenss”  Journal for Preachers Volume XXXVIII, Number 4, Pentecost 2015

And then *THIS* Happened

Yesterday began with me having to explain how it works for me to feel “unencumbered” with my job/role as pastor, because you can’t count on the predictability of a 9-5 workday and usual/ordinary tasks.  You just can’t account for what’s bound to come up except that something always does. 

Then there was the knock on the door to share the glad news that the heavy rain overnight had resulted in large amounts of water seeping into our church’s social hall.  Our Property Team chairperson, whom I may have been able to call to pawn off the task of cleaning up, was out of town.  In case you wondering, there wasn't a class in seminary that dealt with any of the maintenance issues or problems most likely to be encountered in congregational leadership.  I left seminary all certified for pastoral ministry; there was no story entitled, “the miracle of shop-vac,” or “boiler-ology” to fall back on.   

So after taking a complaint from a staff-person about wires sticking out of the wall in one of our closets, I spent a couple of hours sucking up water with the shop-vac (yet unaware that the filter was to be used in “dry-vac” operations and only impeded wet-vac success).  Then, I read a Facebook post from a colleague who spent his morning replacing lighting fixtures in the secretary’s office (better him than me since I know nothing about electricity and felt no harm standing in a puddle of water with an electric vacuum sucking water)!  (Note to Session:  Don’t ever leave me alone with power tools!)  You just can’t account for what’s bound to come up except that something always does! 

While it’s true that being a pastor is seldom boring, somehow I think it would have been helpful if someone had shared along the way that I might one day discover that one of the supposedly helpful steps in correctly exegeting the Pauline epistles was in fact going to be the step that included the actual plumbing and plunging of toilets!  Or, how to operate a shop-vac when your building floods.  I understand these things are second nature to some people; but it’s the same people who like to Monday Morning Quarterback the decisions that got made when they were mysteriously not around!  You just can’t account for what’s bound to come up except that something always does! 

I’m always glad to help.  But when certain things happen I definitely feel like I’m not the best-trained person for the job!  Sometimes though, you've just got to own the reality that in any given moment, you may in fact be the PERFECT person for the job! 

I've been lamenting lately that some of the people helping to lead my denomination aren't the best-trained persons for the job, either.  I've voiced my opinion both publicly and privately that recent decisions have been bungled, that the “optics” haven’t been good, and that I’m disappointed and brokenhearted that responses to questions and concerns haven’t been straight-forward and transparent.  Despite knowing well that we just can’t account for what’s bound to come up, except that something always does; I've become that loud-mouthed critic who wasn't in the room when needed action had to be taken.  I've become the proverbial congregant perpetually unhappy about the new worship order, and found myself wondering and wondering out loud that a change in personnel at the top would yield a more fruitful season. 

I do trust—that my colleagues in ministry serving in and with our denominational structure believe our ministry as Presbyterians is relevant, important, and work hard to make it effective; I do know—they are facing challenges, concerns, and “clean-up” that no one anticipated.  Like me, they no doubt feel it’s been “left to them,” while others who caused the concerns, anxieties, and problems have either moved on or been moved on.  You just can’t account for what’s bound to come up except that something always does! 

We’re still saying it, though—that the old days of denominational structures being at the center of church identity are clearly over.  Our congregation participated in a neighborhood home tour this past Sunday where we received visitors and guests and got to show off parts of our building.  “Presbyterian” is in our name that was printed in the home-tour guides—but lots of people still had to ask, “What kind of church is this?”  And while we think it “goes without saying” that everyone is welcome in our building, more than one person noted how they finally had a chance to get a look inside our building, suggesting that they DIDN'T feel welcome on other occasions. 

Just when did *THAT* happen? 

You just can’t account for what’s bound to come up except that something always does! 

I feel this way because I’m a congregational leader on the front lines where substantial change—not in our favor—has already happened.  I feel this way because I’m certain that we can do better.  I feel that way because sometimes, just like the social hall being baptized after a heavy rain, I’m the one stuck with the consequences just when I believe there are more important and pressing matters to be accomplished! 

And then I remember.  Our true task isn't always what it seems it should be.  We’re called to be witnesses to the love and justice of Jesus Christ.  To find and identify, to be and become, to point to and yet be a part of God’s love, reaching into the world in Jesus Christ. 

Some days we just have to own that, to own the tasks that have been given to us, to do our best, and let the chips fall where they may.  You just can’t account for what’s bound to come up except that something always does! 

What we count on—is the resurrected Christ; who grants not just new life when we die, but who gives us so many opportunities in which to serve, serve others, and witness to his love.  You just can’t account for what’s bound to come up except that *THIS* always does! 

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

The Problem of Easter Sunday Attendance Records

[WARNING:  Satire alert!] 

Lots of church insiders speculate beforehand and brag afterwards about the Easter worship attendance.  But in my almost 20 years of ordained ministry in the Presbyterian Church (U.S.A.) I’ve simply never known for Easter attendance to be all that great. 

Oh sure!  There’s the odd visitor or two.  But I can’t say that I’ve ever heard of a congregation that gets consistent growth in worship attendance for Easter! 

I’ve wondered for years why this is, because everyone seems to talk about it.  Really?  There are more people in worship for Easter?  I mean sure, CLERGY talk about it.  But they seem to bemoan the people who attend as if it’s obligatory to “see and be seen” in worship.  We even have “name-brands” for these people, like C & E’s or “Chri-Easters.”  But the truth is, worship numbers during Easter are abysmal.  They don’t go up; they plummet! 

It turns out, to the dismay of regular church-goers, Easter is not just a Sunday.  Easter is a season.  So, by the end of the season, the “losses” begin to add up (just like they do for the Phillies).  In the same way, most congregations immediately begin charting a DECLINING worship attendance on Easter Sunday—like buying a new car that depreciates as you drive it off the lot (or the Phillies on opening day in the 7^th inning).  The downward slide is completely inevitable.  I mean we chose to locate Easter during Spring and they don’t call it “Spring Fever” for nothing!  Most churches suffer a catastrophic bout of Spring Fever every year—just look at the worship attendance numbers! 

But this may be because Easter attendance always begins with a bang and stratospheric attendance for opening SUNDAY that begins declining as soon as the liturgy reaches the benediction.  And with Spring Fever and “carburetor Sunday (when everyone tunes up their lawnmowers), the numbers totally fall off. 

Look.  Believe me.  I know that if more people understood that EASTER was really a commitment of 7 weeks, they wouldn’t get our hopes up by showing up on Easter SUNDAY.  And then this whole matter of charting an attendance decline could easily be turned around.  At least, we’d have a fighting chance! 

Sure, I know.  It’s a big expectation for regular church goers—who attend almost every week of the year—to put on a full-court press of church attendance for Easter.  I mean, Easter is the LONGEST liturgical season, outpacing the 6 weeks plus of Lent and nearly doubling up the weeks of Advent.  And surely, we can’t expect our Easter activities to compete well with the NCAA’s “March Madness,” the opening of Baseball season, the impending NHL and NBA playoffs, and for the love of discipleship—NASCAR and spring football! 

Still, we might have a fighting chance if we risk giving up Easter SUNDAY.  Consider, the Easter SEASON almost always brings with it Mother’s Day, Graduation Sundays, and sometimes, even Memorial Day weekend—all times when just as many people may want to be seen in church!  And, if we got people off the Easter SUNDAY habit, and on to an Easter SEASONAL habit, we COULD make this worship attendance thing go in the right direction! 

So, Brothers and Sisters, Friends, I’m PLEADING here.  We need help.  We’ve got to stop bringing people to Church on Easter Sunday and start forcing (err… I mean) “INVITING” PEOPLE to join us for worship THROUGHOUT THE EASTER SEASON! 

We need non-weekly worshipers to step up their game and help us, too!  We need people skeptical of regular church attendance to come in and make a difference if only for these 6 or 7 weeks!  We need weekend warriors to give up the early-season lawn mowing and trade sleeping in on Sunday mornings for naps during NASCAR racing during Sunday afternoons!  We’ve got to STOP the Hallelujah Chorus, and START Hallelujah Chorusii (that is, many choruses)! 

Now, I know already that this approach promises to be radical and completely counter-cultural and in some circles even a bit heretical.  But I’ve been challenged recently to start trying new things and doing the unexpected.  This sounds out of the park, but I assure you it’s totally Biblical.  There’s really no reason to be in Church on Easter SUNDAY.  Mark 16:6 says it plainly—even Jesus isn’t in Church on Easter SUNDAY: 

“Do not be alarmed; you are looking for Jesus of Nazareth, who was crucified. He has been raised; he is not here.

[Because if you’re reading that line in church, several times, trying to make your Easter-y point, you keep saying to your people, “you’re looking for Jesus of Nazareth …he is not here (the plain reading of which must mean, he is not in church)!”] 

So I say, if it’s good enough for Jesus, “why not?”  Why not take Easter Sunday off, and improve those attendance numbers.  Plan to turn the trend around, by making Easter SUNDAY the “low Sunday” in worship attendance.  Have contests and prize-giveaways for people who DON’T come to Church on Easter Sunday.  Take up the conversation with your church officers, let it become like the State of the Union where some of the cabinet is present, but not all of them—draw straws and cast lots for the Session members who have to attending the obligatory Easter Sunday service and make sure everyone, Everyone, EVERYONE else shows up for the remaining six Sundays of Easter! 

As one of my favorite Canadian comedians is always saying, “Remember, I’m pulling for you—we’re all in this together!” 

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

brb --Jesus

So, when we were last in worship (if you attended a Good Friday service) we were reminded that Jesus was crucified, died, and was buried. 

More than likely, when we are in worship again—either for an Easter Vigil service (tonight) or an Easter Sunday service (tomorrow), we will celebrate Jesus’ resurrection. 

So, sometime—between Friday at say, three o’clock and Saturday evening (when vigil services begin), it happens. 

The resurrection. 

Odd, isn't it.  Because it’s most likely without fanfare, no trumpet blasts, no alleluias.  Holy Saturday passes in our house full of special events and activities.  We have a special breakfast, we dye the Easter eggs, we prepare the food that will be our Easter feast, I clean and polish my church-wear, put the touches on the Easter worship service, and get ready to celebrate Easter.  In some ways, it’s like every “normal” Saturday with chores and activities and time to be monitored and carefully parceled out to various things that need attention. 

But today is really the day—isn't it?  The day of the Church’s greatest celebration—Christ being raised—yet, the celebration that WAITS until tomorrow!  (And you though Christmas Eve was hard-waiting!) 

I was reminded again this morning that tradition tells us that Jesus spent the hours between the crucifixion and the resurrection harrowing the halls of Hell.  In these hours full of activity in our house, so is Jesus busy in his—or at least the entirety of places Christ’s kingdom reaches and touches.  Not dead, after all.  Busy.  Oh, he die; yes.  And just as surely, was raised.  But there is for a resurrected Jesus to begin setting right between Friday and our discovery that Jesus was—or IS—alive! 

I know.  You and I are dying to ask, “How long was he dead,” or was it simply one of those near-death experiences” we read and hear about.  We have a thousand other questions, too! 

Isn't it enough to say simply that God raised Jesus?  That the road to resurrection goes through death.  But that the resurrection, well, maybe it doesn't just WAIT until Sunday morning—like we think it should to match up with all of the Easter sunrise services. 

This weekend, some friends in Boise, ID at Southminster Presbyterian are sharing this Easter-y message—“BRB, Jesus”—which I take to mean, “be right back,” –Jesus. 

And, by golly, I believe that’s the incredible, amazing, and almost unbelievable word of hope.  Life is going on.  Jesus dies.  But Jesus is raised, and is at work putting the world right—almost, right under our noses.  It doesn't wait, as in a heavenly boarding lounge where the flight is delayed for 3 days!  Christians have never celebrated that way, anyway.  It’s never been 3 full days between Friday afternoon and Sunday morning—or as most have celebrated it, historically, between Friday afternoon and Saturday evening (vigil time!).  No, and in that time (sometime between Friday afternoon and Saturday evening or Sunday morning) GOD’S UNDYING LOVE FOR THE WORLD is most fully LOOSED! 

Jesus doesn't wait—even as we take this day to watch and pray amongst our busy-ness, watching and praying for signs of the hard to imagine, difficult to understand, “how does he do it” questions, the Easter egg dying and recipe trying of Holy Saturday.  For those whose lives have become like hell (and even for those of us whose lives may not be as hell-ish), Jesus is at the door knocking—today.  God be praised! 

We’ll probably wait until tomorrow to celebrate it.  We’ll call it resurrection in the morning.  But for right now, it’s like the election night coverage that is “projecting” the winners while the ballots are still being counted.  By morning—or even before—and you might have heard it here first (or probably not)—Jesus is being raised! 

So, are you looking for Jesus, today, Church?  Are you seeing Christ, O people of God?  Are you even watching—because I know a lot of you are going to be preoccupied with the Final Four coverage this evening! 

Please.  Go on.  Go about your day.  But be looking, be watching, for the signs are there.  GOD’S UNDYING LOVE IS LOOSED.  And we’re celebrating real soon! 

And there’s probably still time.  You can get your roast in the oven and still get to Church!  There are Vigil celebrations and Easter services all over the place!  Find one.  Join it.  Because if nothing else, the celebration will remind you again to be looking for Jesus everywhere! 

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