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

Advent waiting …not even a day.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

One day of Advent.  ONE DAY!  

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

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

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

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

I’d like to be afraid. 

Afraid of the guns. 

Afraid of the violence. 

Afraid of those who like or choose violence. 

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

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

It’s just hard—waiting. 

Three days of advent.  And counting. 

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

The Ironic Tale of a Beloved Baby Jesus

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Irony.  Remember? 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But may it also be the REAL Jesus! 

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

Shop-Less Thanksgiving

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

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

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

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

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

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

No one forces us to shop. 

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

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