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

Church: Put on Your Crash Helmets!

It happened in worship this morning at the Next Church conference.  Next Church is a group of Presbyterian Church (U.S.A.) leaders who are thinking and talking about what’s “next” for our denomination. 

This was my first time to participate at an annual conference that’s been growing in attendance in recent years; a pilgrimage this year that grew to nearly 700 participants!  And it was amazing.  I was reunited with friends a colleagues that represent more than 25 years of my life—some of them—and others who may sustain me and my ministry for the next 25 years! 

But, I’ve been accused of having an “old soul,” and no doubt, for one of the first times in 25 years of ministry, I felt old.  For the first time, I felt the weight of tradition and stayed-ness that is a part of ME, being more buffeted by the winds of change that God’s Holy Spirit is blowing through my church.  Here-to-fore, I watched the older folks be blown around like strong winds in downtown Chicago, where you’re simply blessed to only lose your hat and not be carried not-so-merrily down the street by the wind! 

The unwritten part of the liturgy was this, “Church, put on your crash helmets!”--words made famous by Annie Dillard’s description of what it means for us to be called by God out into deep waters, to be at risk in a world of risks, in ways that are uncomfortable and should be more expected than not.  An experience that matched the intended theme of this conference, “beyond our walls,” but also one that I fully recognized as a word of warning.  There was rough water coming in this liturgy just ahead. 

I knew these words, about crash helmets.  I knew some of the words that were coming in the liturgy.  “This was serious,” I thought, but I still wasn’t ready. 

We literally were invited to catch and use our BREATH as a part of God’s Spirit. 

The worship leader read the written liturgy, a poem “Wage Peace” written by Judyth Hill, beginning:

Wage peace with your breath.
Breath in firemen and rubble, breathe out whole buildings
and flocks of redwing blackbirds.
 Breath in terrorists/and breath out sleeping children
and freshly mown fields
Breathe in confusion/and breath out maple trees.
Breathe in the fallen/and breath out lifelong friendships intact

These words came after jarring images for me during the celebration of communion.  An image of persons wearing orange jumpsuits and whose heads were covered in black bags.  Tortured detainees?  ISIS prisoners?  Except the image held the Supreme Court building in the background, and a Police Officer standing as if at a pulpit. 

In light of recent pictures in news, I found this image jarring, frightening, and dis-comforting.  Just give me a little Jesus, please.  The Jesus who love me, who loves us, the Jesus who displaces violence with love.  I am a part of that love.  Give me my Jesus, please! 

I was uncomfortable and angry.  I began parsing a carefully worded e-mail in my head to the leadership team.  How dare they take away my Jesus! 

And then it hit me.  That is my Jesus. 

The Jesus who was tortured, who was unjustly condemned, associated with the worst human beings.  The Jesus who dwelt his last night on earth in control of those who would make him suffer and die, abused, surrounded, poked and prodded, dehumanized.  There, in fact was my Jesus, crucified in front of me. 

And what was discomforting even still, or perhaps even more, how often was it that my church would seek to deny THIS Jesus in favor of the one who only comforts us, but cannot save us?  How much my stayed Jesus teaches me to love my comfort, my safe theology, my safe faith—that actually saves little. 

JESUS, beyond my “stayed Jesus” dares to save the world—promised John’s gospel in last week’s lectionary passage (John 3: 14-21).  And so it is that this Jesus, the one present in suffering and dying, the Jesus of protest and proclamation, beckons me and my whole church beyond where I am comfortable.  And we need crash helmets! 

Can I imagine a world, a church, a faith, a hope, a Jesus-incarnation that dares us to “breath in terrorists and breath out sleeping children and freshly mown fields? 

It’s too idealistic, some will say. 

It’s too offensive, others will decry. 

“It’s not realistic,” “it can’t be real,” we’ll say--standing at the foot of the cross. 

The truth is, I’ve been taught to see Jesus in all of these places of death—be they torture, the death penalty, abortion, or the death penalty.  I see Jesus, I know Jesus—reaching out in love, displacing the victimized.  “He takes our place,” some have taught me.  He redeems.  He loves.  He makes right—in the way only God can make right.  But this is not the comfortable crucified Jesus, hanging blithely in front of the sanctuary or on necklaces. 

In all these places, Christ is dying; but Christ is raised by God.  Christ is dying and Christ is being raised, again and again.  This is Jesus who transforms the world, who transforms the church, who transforms me. 

Sometimes, I’m afraid of letting things die in me.  It is the way I’ve been taught, the church I know.  Hang on! 

Because when it’s dead, part of me will be dead. 

But the great mystery of faith is that just at that moment when we are afraid we are dying, or at just the moment we ARE dying, we are already being raised. 

Easter is coming, and this story of death is the story of resurrection.  “I believe, Lord, help my unbelief.”  “Help me die, Lord, so I can be raised.”  And then, a crash helmet seems wise; but really not necessary. 

No.  I wasn’t ready for that. 

I am now, profoundly grateful for it. 

Maybe, when it happens NEXT, I’ll be a little more ready.  And, God-willing, I’ll be even more willing to embrace it. 

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

We Know What You Need--the Apostles' Creed

A couple of weekends ago I participated in a regional event sponsored by NEXT Church (a group of Presbyterian Church (U.S.A.) leaders committed to conversations about what’s “next” for our congregations and denomination).  The keynote speaker was Rev. Dr. David Lose, the president at Lutheran Seminary in Philadelphia, sharing with us the importance of story-telling in the Church, and in particular, how Christians can and should be shaped by Biblical stories they encounter at/through/with church. 

An image David Lose shared with the NEXT Church Regional Conference

He spoke at length about cultural shifts and changes in the past few decades.  He reminded us about values that are now prevalent in the world around churches, and how many practices within churches often prevent us from pursuing the goals of the Kingdom of God which we all believe Churches are called to be about in the world.  He didn't say it exactly this way, but his suggestion was that if we were serious about pursuing the goals of the Kingdom, we need to change what we do “at church”—moving from worship as performance to worship as “practice.” 

Lose pointed to our Christian “in house” approach to worship as being counter-productive because worship is seen as a preacher-dominated environment.  Church communities have taught people to sit nicely and listen to the preacher in worship and to expect the preacher to be the hired Christian who will proclaim and act out the stories of the Christian life.  Lose reiterated the propensity of most congregations to be known for “good preaching,” with expectations of scholarly study and profound delivery; but practiced so well, this actually has a negative effect on how Christians perceive their role in the world. 

For most churches, worship is designed around the proclaimed word, presented as a monologue, surrounded by familiar words and ritual, where despite “practicing” for weeks, years, and lifetimes, preachers are seen as experts and congregants are always novices.  So Lose thought a much better model might aim at helping people feel better about their own faith and their own expertise honed by years of experience so that people would feel more confident about their Christian contributions to the world around them.  So that in his view, “Church” becomes a place to practice what we believe with the impetus of taking our faith with us into the world—using it in the real work of ministry.  That is, for each of us—preacher and congregant alike—to become “experts” in doing and being faithful. 

I was reading something totally unrelated (I thought) in the last few days—from an article about Interim Ministry by John Wimberly: 

"Telling people what they need is, in most instances, a highly flawed way of relating to others. It usually works best to ask people what they need from us." 

As a result of the conversation with David Lose, a number of us immediately noticed the systems at work in the congregations we serve as being counterproductive to sending people out into the world as fully-formed Christians with their own expertise.  For years, generations even, congregations have rested and insisted on “telling people what they need.”  We’ve taught Church doctrine and even Bible stories as if they simply “tell us” what we need to know.  As if “faith” and “believing” were an exercise that can be performed in our heads. 

Do you believe in Jesus?  “Yes, yes I do.” 

As if believing in Jesus were the key to eternal life—nothing else required.  As if attending church were only a bonus.  As if participating personally and financially in the life of a congregation was inherently a “good thing” but what really matters for us as individuals is our “personal relationship with Jesus Christ”—to open the gates of heaven. 

We've relied on the mantra that Christians SHOULD attend Church and participate.  We tell people frequently and often this is what they NEED; and often, when we then hear that’s problematic, we are well-known for backing off our presumption and telling people also, “you know, come to church when you can make it.  God doesn't mind if you have other commitments.” 

True to our word, people have found reasons why they CAN’T attend worship or “church” each week.  We can see the data in the declining worship attendance numbers. 

And rather than offering an expectation about participation, we acquiesce to the excuses of family events, little leagues, or jobs.  Rather than helping people find other ways of participating, or other connections between faith and life, we trust people to make up their own mind, insisting on the things that always have given us comfort. 

In my own congregation, people have said, “we NEED to say the Apostles’ Creed because it’s an important part of our faith.”  And so sometimes we say the Creed, almost as if saying it is salvific in and of itself.  Congregants often express resistance to using other creeds or confessions that might reveal deeper connections between faith and life not because we don’t believe them, but because they are unfamiliar and they make us feel “uncomfortable” in worship.  And we don’t ask others, who aren't in worship, what might be comfortable for them, or in particular, what the church could do to be helpful to them. 

It’s not just that we’re tied to our own tradition and ways; the reality is we’re becoming more and more disconnected from the community around us, the people around us, the people who in some respects don’t know that they need church too.  By practicing our traditions to perfection we haven’t realized how closed we have really be come.  And we haven’t recognized that “practicing our traditions” is different from “practicing our faith.” 

About a year ago, our Church Session started talking about “inviting others.”  We recognized that around the session table most folks had become members of our congregation because someone asked.  The fact that most of our ruling elders became members more than 25 years ago will tell the story that we've stopped “asking.”  But since then, that conversation about “inviting others” hasn't gone away.  We’re working on it again. 

The trouble is we need to recognize that that “invitation” should be more of a two-way street.  We shouldn't be inviting people because we know what they need—that they need to do and be “like us.”  We should be inviting people because our relationship with Jesus invites us to a life of transformation.  That we’re not stuck or stopped in the same place.  That we have the capacity to be renewed and reshaped by our faith—together.  We have to be open to asking more realistically what others need from us.  And hearing THEIR story, perhaps we will find our own revitalized. 

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

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