April 2017 Would Be a Very Good Month for Babies

Way, way, way back when times were tough for God’s people—in bondage, in Egypt, under the threat of death, not because of unfair labor practices but the threat of death because Pharaoh declared a war on male Hebrew babies—stories not often retold these days reveal that Hebrew leaders actually banned having children.  The image of Egyptian soldiers or agents killing infants was too much for them to bear.  So to avoid infant deaths, as this surely was not what God wanted or intended, they chose not having babies.  Seeing themselves as unable to change the system, they admitted their powerlessness and made themselves complicit with the Egyptian edict. 

Husbands and wives refrained from relations.  The Hebrew population ceased to grow.  And the lack of resistance kept a good people down. 

I’m grateful to John Dominic Crossan and Marcus Borg, whose book entitled The First Christmas introduced me to some of this tradition. 

Where the turning of the story began, they suppose, was when a young Hebrew man and his wife chose resistance.  They resisted Pharaoh, they resisted their own leadership, they stood in the face of infants being killed and chose life—intentionally.  They made a baby and named him Moses—and dared Pharaoh to snuff out what God had inspired. 

I write this, horrified by the violence that erupted in the United States from African-American men dying at the hands of white police officers and innocent white police officers gunned down as they protected what was widely reported as a peaceful protest in Dallas, Texas. 

I don’t condone the violence.  I don’t condemn police officers.  I don’t blame #blacklivesmatter.  I recognize every day that the violence we abhor is violence we have helped create ourselves.  It’s the violence of not loving our neighbors as ourselves.  It’s the justification of privilege, somehow thinking we’ve “earned it.”  And it’s only a matter of time before the violence explodes in so many different directions.  We are all at risk.  Not just because of the color of our skin, but our refusal to love one another as Jesus teaches us as Christians.  We are also dying because of the color of our skin or the color of our politics or the color of our religious affiliation or the color of our sexual orientation and lifestyle. 

There is many a good reason to give up hope that we can end this cycle of violence.  For us to give in to the idea that this will go on and on and on—much like we have said that the peoples of the Middle East will always be fighting, that the poor will always be with us, that there can be no real peace for human beings.  That someone, somewhere, will always take up arms. 

I’ve spent a lot of today reading online, trying to find out exactly what happened in Baton Rouge, in Minneapolis, in Dallas.  I’ve read facebook posts and tweets, news stories, reflections from friends and colleagues. 

I was moved by a woman who hoped that her son would not have to see her die, like the 4-year-old daughter of the girlfriend riding in Philando Castile’s car watched him die. 

I was moved by a colleague whose eldest child, having gone off to college in Minnesota was going to participate in rallies in the Twin Cities; how words from her dad encouraged her to speak loudly and feel free to get arrested. 

I have spent hours this week thinking about my own children, and in particular, a friend of my eldest son, they both enter 6^th grade this fall, the friend who is African-American, whose mother is white and greatly fearful (and for so many good reasons) of what awaits him in this world.  I, too, am fearful about what that will mean for my son and our families, knowing their years of innocence will likely be impacted now by things they won’t be equal in sharing in because of the color of their skin. 

I have one of those experiences myself.  I remember my own experience in college.  My roommate was African-American, also a Presbyterian preacher’s kid, but adopted.  I was there the day my roommate was arrested for robbing a baseball card store.  My roommate and I both had been on a college-sponsored mission trip to Eastern Kentucky over spring break, the time the robbery had taken place in Arkansas while we were in Kentucky.  When the white police officers asked me if there was any way my roommate could have committed the crime I laughed and said how preposterous it was, “No.  He can’t time-travel, or be in two places at once.  He was with us all night.”  But to my dismay, they believed otherwise. 

In this world where people seem to have no honest chance and hope is fleeting, …I hope a bright young couple is thinking this is the perfect time to have a baby! 

Because it will mean hope is not dead, and life is not in doubt; that someones would be choosing life, and witness, and resistance.  

#makelovenotwar

#killemwithkindness

#loveyourneighborasyourself

#thegoldenrule

#teachthemtoyourchildren

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

I Disdain WASPS and WASPiness; and I’m Part of the Problem

A few weeks back, a colleague of mine posted this on her Facebook timeline:  “There was a wasp in the house and I sucked it up in the vacuum cleaner but now I have to take the vacuum to the dump to be incinerated.” 

I really don’t like wasps, and I have a lot of affinity with her assessment.  But when someone

posted a graphic-language-containing-meme about wasps and bees in the comments to the original post, I found myself thinking about WASPs.  The meme suggested that wasps exist only to (and this is the sanitized version) “mess stuff up.”  But whether it involved the insects for W.A.S.P.y people and ideas—the meme was still right! 

I’m hoping there’s a better solution to the problem of wasps or WASPs than incinerating the vacuum cleaners of the world! 

So yesterday, after worship—I was horrified when I realized it—I came face to face with my W.A.S.P. male privilege. 

I was introducing the newly elected co-Moderators of the 222^nd General Assembly of the Presbyterian Church (U.S.A.)—as I do each time the Assembly meets, introducing the congregation I serve to the Assembly’s elected leadership and the ambassadors of the Assembly’s work for the next 104 weeks.  Unlike other years, this year—because there were only 2 co-Moderator teams to choose from, because I was somewhat familiar with all 4 co-Moderator candidates, because one candidate was from my own Presbytery, and 2 of the others I had either met, heard in person, or share regularly in blog posts, I felt confident enough to introduce the newly elected co-moderators without notes, a stat-sheet, or the official General Assembly press release in hand. 

Here’s what I said: 

“…Denise Anderson, who is a teaching elder and an African-American woman from National Capitol Presbytery, the other is Jan Edmiston, a teaching elder and the Associate Presbytery Executive for the Presbytery of Chicago.” 

See what I did there? 

I remember feeling the need to tell the congregation that Denise was African-American—sort of like a radio-broadcaster, having to describe the scene—“oh, and you need or want to know that Denise is black.” 

Well…, she is.  But maybe that shouldn’t be the main point! 

I wanted the congregation to know that we had elected a co-Moderator team, a beautifully diverse team.  I could have said that, but I didn’t.  From my privileged place—I was taught (?), I am want—to not have to describe everyone racially.  I’d prefer that “people were people,” and even then, I could have just left off that Denise is African-American. 

But by naming Denise as an African-American but then not naming Jan as white—I left people to “assume” that everyone should understand Jan was white, implying, of course, that somehow Jan is OK, that she’s ‘like us,’ that she’s ‘not-different.”  In fact, such an introduction could subtly imply that somehow Jan is more of a moderator than Denise.  I’m horrified because that’s what we privileged people do—we even unconsciously offer subtle hints about whom to trust and follow, treating people differently in just the right ways. 

Yet this was explicitly NOT what I thought, think, or believe. 

And I must do this in any number of ways. 

And therein lies the problem.  I am blinded by what has been usual and customary for me, believing I can see a world without color or distinction because I don’t have to think about it every day.  Privilege.  I have it.  Others don’t.  It’s unfair.  It’s unequal.  It stinks.  It more than stinks. 

I didn’t mean to suggest anything other than describing Denise by my comment, well, other than being sinfully proud that my denomination had the courage, insight, and giftedness to call a wonderfully gifted and diverse co-Moderator team.  It matters for important reasons that Denise is African-American and Jan is white.  It is a blessing and gift to have called two women to serve as the first co-Moderators of the General Assembly, and that it was not two white women (that would match the overwhelming lack of diversity our denomination possesses) but that it was a woman of color and a woman of privilege who if nothing else can model for us and encourage us to continue to have the conversation about race and privilege! 

And I hope I’d be right and saying that as a denomination we’re mostly ready, even if some of us don’t always act like it! 

And maybe the election of Co-Moderators of the General Assembly of the Presbyterian Church (U.S.A.) isn’t such an earth-shattering accomplishment in the greater scheme of things.  But this time, it’s offered me the chance of reflection and repentance in my own way of being.  The whole world might not yet be changed, but my world can be different.  And it’s a blessing and a gift. 

I believe the door to freedom is standing open.  We just have to have the courage and conviction to walk through it. 

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

Treating Worship Like the Beach

With the arrival of summer—which despite the local school schedule actually arrives Memorial Day weekend rather than the equinox—worship attendance numbers for the suburban, Philadelphia-area-congregation I serve really plummet.  The culprit is the reality that here so many people spend summer weekends “down to shore.”  For those of us NOT at the shore, it’s immediately noticed in a significant reduction in traffic and gridlock (unless you’re going or coming from said shore on Fridays or Sundays, respectively).  But it’s really, really noticeable at Church. 

Sure, in most congregations Sunday worship attendance patterns change during the summer vacation season.  But this is like people moving away for part of the year.  Programming—outside of worship, stops.  And worship itself is so sparsely attended you think something’s gone terribly wrong. 

I’ve tried to not be overly panicked when summer attendance tanks.  I’m a strong proponent of biblical sabbath; it’s just that people here more than other places seem to save it up all year and spend it over the summer.  And I know people have to be away; they should be away—family trips, and visiting extended family, and other things are really, important, I get it—and I really do hope people aren’t so glued to their Sunday pews that they get chances to enjoy trips and family time and God’s creation. 

But I also think this isn’t just a summertime issue anymore.  The Church has lots of Sunday competition—and this isn’t the old “woe is us” argument about youth sports and grocery stores being open on Sundays.  This spring, church members I’m familiar with faced a gauntlet of events and activities from weddings of family and friends, to participating in fundraisers for organizations they cared about, to family funerals, to continuing education conferences and retreats, to 10k races in the community, family reunions, and family health crises.  “Sleeping in,” “baseball and lacrosse games,” and “grocery shopping,” didn’t keep people out of worship!  This year, the number one worship-attendance-killer for the congregation I serve was probably people getting married.  There’s lots of shouting about marriage these days, but no one’s arguing against it because it hurts Sunday worship attendance. 

So I’ve been reflecting a lot about many of the things David Lose puts forth in his recent book, Preaching at the Crossroads.  Lose reminds us that we’re not only preaching to a different culture than in years past, but that worship needs to have a different role in our lives.  Gone are the days when people wander into church looking for expert advice on biblical or even cultural topics.  Any person with an iphone can easily peruse biblical and theological scholarship on any given passage or topic.  This doesn’t diminish the role or importance of the preacher; but it does give witness to worship that’s being cultivated and used by younger generations and people who are newer to the faith differently than those who have been long-term, mainline worship attendees. 

Lose also describes a kind of “disconnect” between Church (worship) and the everyday world in which most of us live and move and have our being.  He and others he’s talked to feel as if our lives are divided like Church and State—except it’s Church and World, where we touch so much more of the world, and so little Church.  In part, Lose is able to describe how our choices and insistence about how we worship has hardened the disconnect. 

People come on Sundays, we sit in pews facing the same direction as if we all agree, we expect someone to simply tell us what’s important so we don’t have to do the work, we sing some hymns together, we say some prayers, we often share some refreshments—we’re in, out, no one gets hurt in about an hour or so and we’re left to go on with our lives. 

People still regularly tell me that “Church” is so important for the rest of their week.  But a significantly greater number of people, while they might say that—or even believe it—easily make other choices. 

I don’t have any answers that are going to “fix” this problem.  I’m in it with the congregation and we’re constantly asking how we might do things differently or gain an impact that translates into better attendance. 

Lose suggests we should start to think of worship as a kind of “practice” for what we will do in our lives in the rest of the week.  That we should practice connection with one another and with God, hoping to replicate it later in the week.  That we should ask questions, and seek answers and then use what we discover together.  So that worship and liturgy is less of a performance and more of a warm-up. 

It sounds like a question of integration—how do we integrate worship into the rest of our lives?  Or, how do we get worship to play like a soundtrack in our hearts and lives for the whole week? 

I know Church isn’t really going to compete with “down to shore.”  But I think there are ways we can build a worship experience people can appreciate with more necessity.  I don’t think it will be based on music styles or contemporary verses traditional.  I think it will be measured by church-related folks by how useful worship is to them in their lives. 

Useful. 

It’s not one of the questions I’ve thought about in relationship to worship. 

I think people want something useful.  Perhaps, more useful than it’s been for a while in worship.  That’s part of what I’m thinking about as we begin the summer worship season. 

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

Memorial Day Cometh!

Memorial Day is not a liturgical holiday. Earlier this month many of my clergy colleagues posted their copious opinions about their preferred separation of liturgical and cultural observances particularly when it came to Mother’s Day. For me, Memorial Day has always fallen into that kind of category. And more recently, as it becomes more and more of a “catch-all” observance for those who have served in the military, it’s become more discomforting for me. Sometimes Memorial Day is celebrated as the necessary and tacit approval of violence and war—viewed as recognition shared participation in the brave and violent service to our nation’s military.

I’m not always sure what the Church is called to celebrate in worship on this weekend when many inside and outside of Church seek to honor military service and those who have died in it. For me, the gospels offer the backdrop of Jesus’ clear injunctions to “love your enemies and do good to those who hate you.” In particular, I don’t know what this means in our world where “military service” can now come in the form of un-occupied drones operated from Anwhere, U.S.A. to bomb “enemies” half-a-world away with the reprisals being the release of videos of captured journalists and others being beheaded.

For many people, Memorial Day is still synonymous with “Decoration Day”—originally a day set aside to decorate the graves of those who died in military service, with roots in the 1880’s where “decoration” referenced the placing of flower on the graves of soldiers who had been killed in the Civil War. Such observance of the death toll of violence and war strikes me NOT as a day for espousing the necessity and bravery of those who would give up their lives, and “remembering those who serve,” but as an honest response meant to count the “cost” readily apparent in the lives rubbed out, still lying in freshly used graves. Memorials not of heroism in service, but the terribly, bloody, ultimate cost.

I have a hard time on Memorial Day Weekend because I believe the Church has a response that is worthy of our observance, but it’s mostly perceived to be uniformly unpopular by many. I believe that violence is the wage of sin; and the a response to sinfulness is confession. Yet culturally, civically, we almost always prefer looking at our war dead as heroes and not as the cost of our sin. This, too, is discomforting because I don’t readily have a good answer for what we are called to do when persons are called into harm’s way as a part of military service; or are called to do harm to others in that service. I don’t want to give in to terrorists, or thugs, or allow violence to be used to harm or hurt, or to take advantage of others any more than the next person. I believe fervently that God seeks us not to resort to violent means in order to resolve our differences. And too often, we resort to violent means in either fear or the blind hope of something to gain by it.

Yet I believe the Church has some important roles this coming Memorial Day weekend.

Maybe the Church, when other institutions won’t, or can’t see their way clear to, can offer a brave witness of confession and lament in worship. We can be clear that our lament is not a denigration or repudiation of those who participate and endure violence on our behalf. The issue isn’t military service but our penchant as human beings to trust the use of force and violence more, and as a means of protection rather than trusting God.

As Christ-followers and believers we’re called to give witness to Jesus Christ who asks us to “love our enemies and to do good to those who hate us.” This means recognizing and owning that violence and violent means are the wages of human sin; that while we struggle with their seeming necessity in the world of which we are a part, we openly admit they have no place in the kingdom of God. As Christ-followers we can confess our willingness and complicity to go along with violence, and ask God to reveal new paths of righteousness.

And maybe the Church is called to be present for and is called to participate with other community institutions and our communities at large, giving witness to those who lost their lives in military service by remaining resolute that these sacrifices will not be forgotten, or allowed to be bereft of meaning. We can participate in sharing remorse and loss, acknowledging the inherent hurt for our communities and the world. This would be a more public role of intentionally gathering as representatives of communities of faith being present in courthouse squares, VFW posts, cemeteries, and other places where Memorial Day observances are held, asking God to be present with us as we remember and seek relief from the wages of violence. It is also for us as believers to offer Jesus’ words of grace and hope that all is not lost, but that we are recalled toward God’s vision again and again of a world made safe in God’s image.

Memorial Day might not be a liturgical holiday; but it’s one of the observances when I hope the Church is helping to carry a kind of liturgy out into the world. So that we give witness to the value of communities of Christ-followers and non-believers being united in the common acts of remembering sacrifice and hoping for a different way—and being encouraged together to see a different way.

There’s plenty of that work to go around.

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

CHURCH: and how the enemy of my enemy is not always my friend.

My family finally joined “the club” this spring.  Our 9-year-old middle son wanted to play baseball.  It turns out, it’s a lot like Church!  It comes with a financial investment to participate, then all the equipment, and of course—the schedules!  [We’ve recently been in the throes of a 6-day, 5-game nightmare where wind and snow-outs meant games “jumped randomly” into our previously well-arranged plans with reckless abandon.]  Before we knew it, baseball owned us, interrupting meals and displacing weekly traditions by demanding junk-food binges and ice cream suppers because “we had to eat something quickly.” 

Yes.  This is literally our “first sports rodeo.”  We observe more experienced families regularly bemoaning, “When will it end,” as the season is just beginning.  We notice some families—like ours—have religious commitments; but while I was sure to make Sunday worship, I must admit, I skipped out on some other things that I would have otherwise been present for because I now have a sports league in my life!  I’ve even heard “gratitude” that our league isn’t so intense, so that if you miss a practice or a game you aren’t demoted—because some of my son’s teammates have multiple sports; one of his teammates is Jewish and can’t practice or play Friday nights or Saturdays; and tonight, we’re choosing our son not skip his religious education class to play in a baseball game.  There are definitely trade-offs and choices. 

My wife noticed several weeks ago—“this must be the new community”—because between cub scouts’ pack meetings, pinewood derby, and den meetings, and now baseball, we see a lot of the same people.  And “our people” know “other people” because it’s a steady diet of baseball, lacrosse, football, traveling softball, basketball, …[name your commitments here], and for many of them it’s in multiples! 

So I’m reflecting on a conversation from Easter Sunday in which a nice family that was worshipping with our congregation for Easter was chatting with me before worship began, and pretty well identified this kind of cultural sports-a-thon existence as “bad” and “wrong”—in addition to Muslims purchasing church buildings and Jewish neighborhoods were literally expanding.  Maybe they thought I needed to hear them lament how fewer and fewer Christians seemed to be going to church these days,” so they named as shameful the reasons why some people don’t attend church, even as they were admitting they were worshiping just because it was Easter. 

I get it.  The Church, frightened by the merciless talk of “decline,” comes to see the threats to it as any “competition” that has arisen to its dominance.  But we’ve been talking about this ever since the first stores started opening on Sundays—and that’s been 50 years or more ago, now!  Frankly, I think the world’s moved on.  And we should, too.  I think this is one of the ways that the world has changed.  And it doesn’t make us “bad people” or failed Christians. 

If we focus on worship attendance as self-interested Church goers, we will entirely miss a creative and important opportunity, here.  There is a new community which needs the faithful witness of faith-filled Christian people that is more than just worship attendance. 

For our part, the Church could ably reframe this new world in more helpful ways.  We could, for example, disconnect worship from “sabbath” as Walter Brueggemann observes: 

“Sabbath, in the first instance, is not about worship.  It is about work stoppage.  It is about withdrawal from the anxiety-system of Pharaoh, the refusal to let one’s life be defined by production and consumption and the endless pursuit of private well-being.” 

In this view, churches might even consider cancelling worship to allow people to experience a broader Sabbath experience.  Ours was a beautiful weekend—weather-wise.  There is much to be said for sitting in the bleachers at the ballfields, basking in God’s glory in a bright, sunshine-filled sky and comfortable temperatures and a whole community “playing ball.” 

I know!  Preachers aren’t supposed to advocate for playing hooky from worship—people might get the idea that it’s OK.  And it’s true, we might have more people in worship if we could summarily dismiss or dismantle the regular and routine conflicts from grocery shopping to weekend swap-meets to little league sporting events and practices.  We can name these things as “bad,” and warn people about the “conflicts” and berate them for missing “worship.”  But for me, these would be reasons why people might just choose to stay away from Church more often! 

I have handfuls of people who are regular participants in our congregation who routinely seem to find it necessary to “confess” to me their Sunday “indiscretions” (choosing other activities over worship).  Maybe they think this is what I want to hear—or need to hear—that such contrition is or should be required to remain in good standing, or something.  I smile, because I actually know how it is.  Missing worship doesn’t make us bad people.  Especially if we’re:

• Taking a vacation weekend with our spouse who works for a bank and this has been a grueling tax season.  
• Participating in a 5k race that raises money for cancer research. 
• Attending the wedding of a family friend out of town. 
• Taking time away with family to relax; 5 baseball games in 6 days certainly eats up family time. 
• Completing 3 weeks of endless overtime.  
• Helping a family member move. 
• Sitting with a friend in the hospital. 
• Spent after a Saturday cutting the grass, working in the yard, helping a neighbor put up a fence, and need a spur-of-the-moment windows-down-drive-through Amish country on Sunday. 

These things may obliterate our worship attendance numbers; but they don’t make us bad people or failed Christians.  They don’t cause us to lose “Christian market-share,” and perhaps, if people knew this was really permissible, would improve our standing in the community and our attendance! 

The Church can cope in this new world, because we’re invested in people and Sabbath and not just worship.  Attendance is helpful, but it’s not the only measureable goal.  The day was once that the Church actually sought to care for the oppressed and persecuted and the suffering.  And this might be easier and more attractive than ever!  It might simply be a word of grace when people can’t be present; and offering to hear their stories when they can. 

Because we believe God is present with us in everything.  Even in community sports leagues and walking a golf course chasing a ball.  Maybe not every Sunday—but at least some of them. 

If we actually stopped calling people “bad” for missing Church, or the things they do as “bad,” and sought instead to instill in them Christian values they could demonstrate wherever they were—we could actually be ahead of the game. 

Slowing Down to go Fast; or making one step forward by taking two steps back (or, the value of listening)

I’m a NASCAR fan, and on Sunday’s in the religion of left turns and second place is just the first loser, commentator Darrel Waltrip is fond of preaching two counter-intuitive formulas for success.  #1—“Loose is fast.”  It’s his way of telling that if you want the fastest car, you have to have a set-up that keeps you uncomfortable.  “You’re driving it,” he says, “but it feels like your wrecking it on every lap.”  #2—“You have to slow down in order to go fast.” 

Last Sunday I preached the divergence of two scripture stories describing the disciples after Jesus’ resurrection.  One story from Acts 5 (a story that you may have attended Church all your life but never heard of), describes disciples breaking the rules, being chased by police, enduring jail time, sprung in a jail-break orchestrated by an angel and re-sent to defiantly preach Jesus crucified and risen.  Another story from John 20 (that we tell in Church almost every year), in its most-popular form describes fearful and doubting disciples hiding behind closed, locked doors. 

I think in spite or because of our best efforts, too many churches have ministry and mission models that mimic “hiding out.”  We’ve developed building-centered identities where our “witness” is safely showing the world our faithfulness in gathering for weekly, hour-long meetings; and, it “appears” the rest of our lives can be disconnected (like Church and State) from our church attendance and religious beliefs. 

It’s no wonder we choose John’s story, though.  If we followed the example from Acts 5, we’d surely feel the uncomfortableness of feeling like we were wrecking on every lap!  So to ensure crash avoidance, we over-adjust our car’s set-up so it always feels like we aren’t wrecking.  Yet we end up being so safe we can’t keep up in the race!  While we’re dramatically under-performing, “inside our buildings and practices” where we breathe the air of deeply held beliefs and tried and true practices, we errantly insist that “not crashing” IS winning. 

But most people know better. 

So, with disappointing results—too many empty pews, unfunded budget line items, and dreams of former glory—we ask ourselves questions like:  What can help people come to Church— or (at least) come to worship?  How can we go from under-performing to over-performing?  But often, these questions give rise to MUCH speculation from INSIDE—where we breathe the air of tradition and success-that-once-was-ours.  In response, mostly internal speculation that scrambles for what appears to be working in other churches gives way to “quick-fix” or populist ministry based on attraction.  In order to try and replicate the programmatic successes we covet, we narrow our first move down to picking tried and true programs to duplicate. 

Sometimes, you just have to slow down in order to go fast. 

Waltrip, as strange as it sounds, preaches a NASCAR wisdom of carefully “backing off”—slowly rolling out of the gas and not working the brake so hard—to let the car negotiate a turn without the driver aggressively over-driving the corner.  The result generally is that you go faster, except that it feels like you’re slowing down. 

As congregations consider how to create new ministries, conventional wisdom is to avoid “re-inventing the wheel” by choosing something that’s been tried and tested.  But a few months ago, I was impressed with a presentation at a NEXT Church event by a couple of pastors from Baltimore.  They described work that “looked a lot like” those disciples in Acts 5.  But they labeled the start of this Acts-mimicking-ministry with a process where LISTENING was the first step.  It sounded easy.  You just ask people what they wanted or needed, and then built a program around that need.  Piece of cake, right? 

Not so fast.  Literally! 

The kind of LISTENING they advocated wasn’t the simple survey kind—“here, fill out this form, we’ll collate the data and get back to you when we have a solution you might like.”  Rather, it was a form of deep listening that required a kind of incarnational community involvement that necessarily reverses some of our evangelistic thinking.  We have to stop looking into the community and asking, “How can the Church get some more members out of here?”; and instead, recognize the essential nature of the Church supporting, enhancing, and growing the community as a whole.  We have to begin to see and understand that, “The community doesn’t exist for the Church; rather, the Church exists for Jesus Christ AND for the sake of the community on Christ’s behalf.”  Can we discern what the community needs that the Church can participate in fashioning?  It might even require that a church have partners in the community! 

In Baltimore, the experience of listening paid off only when the listening was followed by a season of wrestling and discernment within the Church.  Leaders described a circular pattern where listening was followed by discerning or wrestling, followed by choosing an action, followed by evaluating the outcome.  “Wins” didn’t just describe successes, but were the natural result of carefully studied failures and learnings.  In fact, failures (opportunities to learn and grow from actions that underperformed expectations) were required before almost every “successful outcome.” 

The journey starts not with a conversation around, “What can we do?” or by borrowing someone else’s set-up.  Rather, we must start with a conversation about “How can we listen—to those around us?”  Followed by a conversation about “How can we serve—those around us?”  Followed by a conversation about “How can we act—in response to those around us?” 

I’m convinced this is model that will ramp up our ministry and really make it hum along. 

The problem?  It feels like we’re slowing down.  Avoiding self-interest and especially self-promotion goes against every conventional wisdom of increasing BIPs (butts in pews).  And it feels like we’re going to crash long before we get someplace meaningful. 

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

...and so it begins, again!

It’s on Good Friday in the congregation I’m serving, that all of our attention turns toward Easter morning.  The Lilies and tulips get delivered on Thursday—when it’s actually hard to find a hiding-place in the Church building that won’t make it smell like Easter morning for Maundy Thursday worship, or Good Friday observances in the years we’ve hosted the community service. 

And lo!  This year, before Jesus was ever entombed at sundown on Friday (to beat Sabbath observance), we were hard at work shifting our liturgical gears and worship space from Lent to Easter.  It happened as some of us returned from the Community Good Friday Service—because it’s the last chance to get things in order at church before the “weekend” so everything is set for when we arrive on Sunday morning.  By 5pm this Good Friday our sanctuary was already Easter-perfect! 

So if you walked into our sanctuary this Friday evening, you’d have been amazed at what you say—just as the gospel story describes Peter at the tomb on Easter morning!  It smells like Easter in the Church!  There’s absolutely no stench of death or any reminders.  There’s “no waiting.”  You can now fast-forward past the tomb.  We’ve gotten rid of the evidence of any pre-Easter parties; and with a deep breath and a hush falling on Havertown for the long Easter weekend…, we’re ready!  Way ahead of schedule! 

Maybe it’s like this where you are, too. 

Actually, no one really knows “when…” it happens.  “It” being God raising Jesus from the dead.  Tradition and the Bible say it was Sunday morning that Jesus was suddenly raised; but that’s only and because that’s when the empty tomb was discovered.  The Bible reminds us, Jesus says, “in three days” he would rise again.  But three days—wouldn’t that push us on toward Monday, rather than Sunday?  As three-days-worth of time has always been 72 hours, hasn’t it? 

Alas, before I get caught up with Dr. Who in the minutia of time, we remember that it’s “sometime”—between the tomb being closed and when the women arrive to the tomb on the first day—post Sabbath—a Sunday.  “Sometime” in there—could be anytime in there--God pulls the best Star Trek “beam me up” moment and yanks Jesus miraculously from the jaws of death, pulling him out of the tomb and releasing the world from the rule of death, and sin—and a host of other things. 

And because that “sometime” could be “anytime” between Jesus dying and rising, YES—even on Good Friday—for me it begins, again!  I start looking for the world for which Jesus gave his life! 

On this Good Friday, it was the gift of a moving community Good Friday service that included prayers of solidarity with Middle Eastern Christians, and prayers for faithful people around the world, hosted by the Armenian UCC congregation in our community. 

On this Good Friday, it was seeing the woman who earlier in the week had stopped me in the grocery store to ask if I was a local clergyperson, wanting to know the details about today’s service.  

On this Good Friday, it was an unusual number of Philly drivers who were kind and unusually courteous toward me and other pedestrians as I walked home from the community Good Friday service. 

On this Good Friday, it was thinking excitedly about an Easter-world to which Jesus and we are working to give birth—in ourselves, and the people around us. 

On this Good Friday, it was the Facebook post of a colleague who was bemoaning the usual reference to “C & E Christians” (those who attend regularly but only at Christmas services and Easter services) inviting Church leaders to be brave and consider that maybe it’s not what we do in Sunday morning worship that inspires people, but that they find hope and help in the stories of incarnation and resurrection.  Hmmm.   

On this Good Friday, it was gratitude—for God so loved the world—and for God still loving the world.  And maybe I and the people I know and love can still make a difference in the world—in which we must live with the realities of terrorism manifested in violent attacks, armed conflict, and a destructive political process.  But what a world in which to witness the love of God in Jesus Christ! 

So on Good Friday it always seems to happen to me that I witness glimpses of Easter-come-early—the gifts of a world Jesus gave his life to save. 

So…, what are you doing this weekend to prepare yourself to give birth to a world that Jesus gave his life to save? 

What must you make ready, so that come Easter Sunday morning, you’re busting out of church to raise up the world Jesus gave his life to save? 

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

Directions Toward the Kingdom

In the congregation I’m serving, we’ve found ourselves struggling with the question, “what’s our mission?”  Despite having a Church mission statement, or organization by-laws and church structure prescribed patterns of behavior centered on keeping the organization running smoothly-- naming and electing persons to church boards, encouraging church membership to those who weren’t yet members, teaching the faith to younger generations, continuing the church’s educational programs and ministries. 

There must have been a time when people really dedicated their time, talents, energies, and monies to keeping the organization running smoothly, because we have expectations that that should continue!  But we’ve finally experienced the subtle shifts away from our Church’s need to perpetuate what was once given an institutional rather than scriptural form. 

For a long time, we helped create good church members.  Good church members did things like worship together weekly, participate in and support the congregation’s ministry and programs, respond positively to annual stewardship letters, care for others when asked, serve as church leaders when asked, say only nice things to the pastor after worship, show up for “clean-up days,” and helped support mission work through the places and people church leaders chose to support. 

There’s an old saying that when the pastor asks a question, part of the answer is always, “Jesus.”  But for too long, people have been asking deep questions, and the church’s response has been simply, “Church.”  Yet it’s no longer readily apparent how “Church” makes a difference in the world.  Maybe “Church” doesn’t. 

Rev. Dr. SueWestfall shares a story this week that transformed her understanding of ministry:

“I am not volunteering!” The parishioner who accosted me after worship one Sunday morning was not angry but so very earnest he definitely had my attention! That morning in worship we had asked for volunteers to work in our homeless shelter. His words surprised me because he’d been a creative, tireless, compassionate volunteer with that ministry for several years and seemed to truly love participating in this way. His adamant “I am not volunteering!” was even more surprising since he’d already signed up!
 “Please say more.” I invited, wondering if he’d had a bad experience or changed his mind or something. What he said not only caught me off-guard, it changed from then on my understanding of church volunteering. And of discipleship. “Listen,” he said, “I believe I am called to this work by God in Christ. I’m not volunteering out of the goodness of my heart but rather I am responding to the goodness of God’s heart who enlisted me in God’s service for the sake of God’s Kingdom. This work is one way my own life is increasingly surrendered to God in Christ.  Call me a follower.  Call me a member of the Body of Christ.  Call me a disciple.  Just don’t call me a volunteer.”
 Well now. I’d been schooled.”

I credit Joe Small for pointing out to me some 10 year ago that people were no longer wanting to volunteer or serve the Church, often because they found the experience was no different than any other community-service organization in town.  “Joe’s right,” I thought; “we read scripture, spend time in each meeting in prayer, we ‘do ministry’ and financially support mission-work.”  Yet I’ve been slow to notice we still meet around a line-item budget, we sometimes let Robert’s Rules suck all the air out of the room, and we try to push the true intervention of the Holy Spirit into an opening and closing prayer. 

The truth is, we almost can’t stomach people coming to our Church who want to live as true disciples of Jesus and not as strict adherents to the traditions of the Church. 

Because perpetuation is important, in our congregation, we’ve been clamoring for ways we could bring more people to participate—in worship, in stewardship, in programs, in planning, in progress.  So we’ve been asking, “how can we appeal to a broad spectrum of people, draw in families, increase attendance and giving—and it’s invited us to think about things like advertising, branding, evangelism, and outreach. 

And last night, at one of our Session meetings, one of our bright young ruling elders helped school us.  These things—advertising, outreach, evangelism, even mission—are tools that serve the greater mission, or what we’re doing together. 

Right.  I think we all knew this.  It’s just apparent that we’ve lost sight of what’s supposed to be in the middle—what we’re supposed to be about. 

“I’m not volunteering out of the goodness of my heart but rather I am responding to the goodness of God’s heart who enlisted me in God’s service for the sake of God’s Kingdom.” 

Maybe we haven’t realized that striving for perfect attendance records is different than struggling for justice and righteousness.  That singing “Amazing Grace,” doesn’t make it OK to sit back in our pews and pat ourselves on the back for making it to worship when violence breaks out at political rallies.  That hearing about how Jesus challenged the authorities in his day over issues of homelessness, illness, and how we treat each other as children of God should never lend itself to building walls and refusing entry.  And perhaps most importantly, when we lament how quickly the world is “going to hell in a hand-basket,” should we not be recognizing that God sent Jesus precisely so that the world could not go to hell in a hand-basket, and so it’s our task as witnesses to and believers of Jesus to put ourselves in the middle. 

We’ve taken it for granted that our Church leads us to the Kingdom.  But maybe it’s just been the kingdom of our own making. 

Jesus points us to another Kingdom. 

Maybe it’s worth double-checking our bearings. 

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

After The Congregational Meeting Dressed in Anxiety

Dear Church,

There you were, all dressed up for your annual congregation meeting, wearing your anxiety. 

Seeing again that pledged giving can’t pay for anticipated costs, you pleaded for reassurance of someone doing something to make it so you wouldn’t be financially at risk.  You noted fewer people, again; and heard some reasons why.  You presumed “We can’t keep operating like this”—referring to the manner to which you have been accustomed for the last half-century.  “Yes,” you admitted, “there are always tough times.”  But you wore the anxiety of seeing writing on the wall growing more permanent. 

Rest assured, dear Church, you picked out your fashionable anxiety for reasons right and realistic.  You love your Church.  You can’t imagine your world without it.  You can’t picture a life that doesn’t include your sacred music, familiar worship, sacramental rituals and traditional calendar.  Frankly, you can’t imagine that God could love the world in the best way if your Church simply ceased to be! 

So you chose designer-anxiety even, to match the “money issues” that are pushing changes that will force you, dear Church, to transform into something you cannot like.  Because to stop the financial hemorrhaging, you have to stop paying—that is, cut back on the music program, reduce the office hours, and contract with a part-time minister.  So super-chic anxiety is important to your "appearance" because when you’ve asked about what’s imperative, spiritually fulfilling, joyful, and brings excitement—the music program, worship, and full-time pastoral ministry are staple responses. 

You know you *should* move to ease your financial worries; but you know the medicine is a bitter pill that will make things be different.  The prescription, too, could hasten your death as much as "insufficient funds" if the side-effects are less people coming because they find the lack distasteful.  Yet still you ask, “What’s to be done so that you won’t run out of money?” or “What can you change to avoid capitulation?”—borrowing 2 more anxious outfits for the price of 1—because the answers to financial freedom create the changes you don’t wish for and won’t allow to happen! 

You asked, dear Church, if your leaders faced your questions, too.  Surely, you know they have.  They’ve listened.  Felt your pain.  Seen your ambivalence about choices.  Shared your guilt and same sense of responsibility.  Don’t you know?  It’s hard to choose to stop the bleeding when the voices grumble against even small steps.  It’s hard choose new responses when the whispering declares, “But, we can’t afford it.” 

But as hard as this is to conceive, you must come quickly to know, dear Church, that your trendy anxiety is unbecoming.  That Jesus died and rose again to save you, doesn’t ever mean that the life to which you have become accustomed must always be preserved.  In fact, quite the opposite is true.  Jesus was meant to transform you!  To follow Jesus means not staying the same—no matter what you do, or don’t even try. 

Craig Barnes, the President of Princeton Theological Seminary, writing in a very recent article for the Christian Century magazine, observes: 

"The church has never looked less attractive than when it dresses in anxiety.  …The church has to stop fretting about its future. The anxiety takes up the air and leaves the church too lethargic to offer anything to the world. The alternative response is for the church to do what it’s always done at its best, what it did from the beginning: stop thinking about its future and sacrifice itself to its mission.  …Fretting about the viability of our [church] only distracts us from the only thing that has ever given us purpose—keeping up with Jesus.” 

[You can read the full article here, where Barnes would remind any church dressed in anxiety that she’s called instead to “follow Jesus--to whom she has given over her life” in the waters of baptism.  No Church should be afraid of death—“You can’t scare [people who have died and been raised].”] 

Yet long before this eloquent observation, dear Church, this word of life always at risk of dying, is written into your very definition:  “The Church is to be a community of faith, entrusting itself to God alone, even at the risk of losing its life” (Book of Order, F-1.0301).  That you wear anxiety is misleading; for you should be clothed in the fabric of the one to whom you have given yourself in faith! 

This is really hard for you to conceive, dear Church, because everyone and everything you know from the world around you tells you yours is no way to live.  “Yours is a failed business model because you can’t project to operate beyond 2 or 3 years.”  “Yours is a failed life because you appear to be dying.”  “Yours is ‘unsuccessful’ because you ‘can’t’ or ‘won’t’ make the prudent changes.”  Everyone—that is, but Jesus—whose name is attached to an institution that has stood the test of more than 2,000 years-time. 

Dressed in the anxiety the world gives you, dear Church, you keep asking, “How long—how long do we have until the money runs out?” as if that’s your measure, focus, and calling.  But what if you chose not to dress in the world’s anxiety?  What if you turned your back on the world, and tried keeping up with Jesus?  What might be revealed if you chose naked transparency?  What if you chose an aim like this one, attributed to John Wesley—that like Jesus you are called to:

“Do all the good you can. By all the means you can. In all the ways you can. In all the places you can. At all the times you can. To all the people you can. As long as ever you can.”

Do *this*, dear Church, and how could anyone quibble that you were unsuccessful or not beautiful, or not effective, or not faithful to your calling?  Even if by doing *this*, it costs you your life?  For isn’t part of what the story of the garden reveals is that sin is in the desire to clothe yourself and hide your nakedness? 

You must have been thinking, dear Church, that your task is to save yourself.  But you were given life and commissioned instead to show Jesus to the world, to imitate Jesus, even if it costs you your own life!  The question you should be asking is not, “How long can you survive?” but rather, “How are we living out our days?” 

What your leadership believes, dear Church, is that God’s power outlives the world’s power.  This is part of the star-light that guides us in dark and light times, trusting a gut instinct informed by our experience of scripture, and a faith most often expressed near death: “If we live, we live to the Lord, and if we die, we die to the Lord—so that whether we live or whether we die, we are the Lord’s.” 

Your leaders may exhaust all the money that’s been given to you over time, dear Church; or we may seek to discover new ways and wild possibilities.  But in either or in every way, it will be in giving witness to Jesus Christ—the best we can, by all the means we can, in all the ways we can, in all the places we can, at all the times we can, to all the people we can, as long as we ever can. 

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

The Lottery’s Got me Raising My Hand, But Not My Pledge

It’s the talk this week—the lottery jackpot is estimated at more than a billion dollars!  Nearly everyone’s chattering about what to do with it—even the group of Presbytery leaders I was with yesterday.  It was infectious!  “What would YOU do with the money?”  “Oh, I don’t play, either; but if you won, do you know what you’d do?” 

I’ve seen first-hand the damaged lives that result from lotteries and gambling; what proponents call “gaming” and “entertainment” robs spouses and children, and destroys lives.  Even when a portion of the “proceeds” are set aside for public schools, or in Pennsylvania, to “support older adults”—it’s such a sham, because these payouts shroud the real truth that these millions are a mere drop in the bucket compared to what the profiteers gain!  And that’s not the winners. 

More than the money, gaming and gambling are addictive behaviors; they come with similar warnings akin to what we require for cigarettes that cause cancer—you can’t advertise your casino without letting people know “there’s help for people who can’t stop.”  But my personal reason for not wanting to win the lottery comes from the research that these “winners,” at almost any level and not just the big winners, have the same psychological appearance as someone who just suffered the death of a close family member or friend.  People who “win” experience the feelings of people who have “lost.” 

Despite these and other dire warnings, even the people of Jesus, though the Ten Commandments would forbid it, seem to still lust after and covet the “winnings”—even if “we never play the lottery.”  The infection tries its best to convince us to “think of all the good we could accomplish if that kind of gift were given to the Church, or especially if the winner could be a bonafide tithing Church member!” 

I know of a church that received a $12million bequest from a person who wasn’t even a church member!  I know another church that a $4million gift rent asunder.  I’ve also been the pastor who received the anonymous envelope addressed to the church, with the supposed “winning McDonald’s game pieces” inside; or the check made out for millions—that wasn’t authentic. 

Money tends not to solve any more problems than it creates.  And yet, the truth is that even while I never play the lottery, I too, am envious of just a little bit of money that could make my family a little more comfortable.  I too, am not immune to the temptation to believe a little money would solve some of my Church’s problems.  A little money—we believe—but not a little Jesus. 

If we thought we needed a little more Jesus, we’d have to do something else with our money.  Because Jesus never seems to have any money!  The closest Jesus comes to having money is the coin that miraculously appears in the fishes’ mouth to pay the tax.  And though at some point I’m willing to concede that Jesus has family members or supporters who appear to be people of means, Jesus never appears to have money in his tunic or set aside anywhere.  Instead, what is infinitely clear, is that Jesus always appears in a race to give everything he has away.  Jesus is always sharing with others by ministering to those who are down on their luck, disenfranchised by the rich, or suffering from horrific conditions of disease and poverty. 

AND, to followers, Jesus would teach a perpetual lifestyle of giving everything away, of holding nothing back, of being wholly invested in the Kingdom of God and in making other’s lives better. 

Believe me, I get it.  Faithful people can do faith-filled things with our money—including enabling the work of congregations and organizations aligned with the teachings of the gospels.  I support “tithing” and giving money through one’s faith community and then still helping other causes with additional and sacrificial giving.  Money is a tool it’s not in and of itself inherently evil—though the Bible calls it the root of all evil.  Maybe that’s because we see money as a kind of saving grace for our troubles rather than a little Jesus. 

The kind of ministry Jesus comes to fulfill is proclaimed by John the Baptist when Jesus is baptized—we read the story during Advent anticipating the coming of Christ, and we revisited the story (at least by association) as we celebrated Jesus’ baptism this past Sunday--

The crowds asked [John], “What then should we do?”  In reply he said, “Whoever has two coats must share with anyone who has none; and whoever has food must do likewise.”  Tax collectors came to be baptized, and asked him, “Teacher, what should we do?”  He said, “Collect no more than the amount prescribed for you.”  Soldiers also asked, “And we, what should we do?” He said, “Do not extort money from anyone by threats or false accusation, and be satisfied with your wages.”  As the people were filled with expectation, and all were questioning in their hearts concerning John, whether he might be the Messiah….” (Luke 3: 10-15)

Sharing with others and being satisfied is the word that Jesus enfleshes and would teach to those who follow him.  In fact, this “good news” is recognized by the crowds as the Messiah’s work!  Not a lifestyle of trying to win or receive, but rather, to give everything away. 

I understand why we don’t like giving everything away—“if we give it all away, what will we have to live on?”  What I don’t get is why we aren’t trying harder to give away what we clearly don’t need to live on; or, why we settle for wanting more when we should be giving more.  According to Jesus. 

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