 Growing up, I had always heard, and quite honestly believed, that the opposite of fear was love. But as the years have gone on, as I have gone to Divinity school, read the Bible a little more closely, I have begun to see that there are lots of opposites of fear.
As a matter of fact, in some ways, the entire season of Advent is themed with opposites of fear. Hope, love, peace and joy are all opposites of fear. It is difficult to be joyful while you are fearful. It is difficult to be at peace when you are experiencing fear. It is difficult to love that which you fear. When fear has a strangle hold on your life, it would seem that all hope is lost.
Biblically then, it is no surprise that angles greeted us saying, “Be not afraid.” We seem to have a disposition and dispensation for living in fearfulness, for being motivated out of fear, for finding fear even in that which was intended for hope, love, peace and joy.
For the Christian world, Advent is the beginning of our liturgical year. It's the four weeks leading up to the day we celebrate the birth of Jesus. In modern times, we have a tendency to jump right from Thanksgiving to Christmas (for that matters it seems most stores jump from Halloween to Christmas). Skipping Advent robs us of an opportunity to have a deeper understanding and experience of what the coming of Jesus means not only to us but to the world.
You see, Advent is a time of waiting. A time of waiting and anticipating what the arrival of this baby means. In part, it is the absence of Jesus during Advent that helps us understand how celebratory the arrival of the child born in a manger is. It is in the waiting for Hope to come down that we begin to understand hopefulness.
Let us not rush into Christmas, but rather bask in the anticipation of that which has both happened and is yet to come. You see, in waiting for Hope to come down for the first time, we begin to understand why there is hope in the second appearing of Christ. The apocalypse is not the fearful thing we (with the help of Hollywood) have made it out to be.
The promise of a second appearing of Jesus is not to be feared. Much like Christmas, the first appearing, it is something we should wait for in hopeful anticipation, not fearful dreading. We should hopefully (not fearfully) wait for the second coming of Christ, if for no other reason than the knowledge of how the world changed for the better on the first appearing when Hope came down. To jump straight to Christmas, without Advent, is to miss out on the message of hope that the coming of a Savior brings.
Why is this all so important? Well, because we all suffer mini-apocalypse everyday. A parent's health takes a turn for the worse, company's layoff, a careless driver runs a stop sign, a spot shows up on the x-ray...uncertainties in life abound. Life's difficulties are at times too heavy a burden for us to bear. In those times, in those moments, we need to know what hope looks like. We need someone we can count on. We need to know that there is hope. We need to know that Hope is with us.
That's why Advent is important. In anticipating the arrival of the baby who will be born in a manger, it teaches us to hope in the face of fears, to hope in the face of all the mini-apocalypses that happen everyday.
Not only that, but being that that child has already arrived; being that that child grew up and his teachings still live on today; and being that ultimately, to show us how much we are loved, he hung on a tree and rose again...in all of those things, we are reminded that we are not alone.
When life overwhelms us, we are reminded that that child said to us, “Come to me, all who are weary and carrying heavy burdens, and I will give you rest.” When it feels like life has overwhelmed us and the shadows of fear are closing in, when the burdens of this world isolate us and we hope – we hope that we're not alone, the journey through Advent serves as a steady and sure reminder that the one who said, “Lo, I am with you always, even to the end of the world (KJV),” is here with us even now.
It reminds us that hope is... That hope is in the not knowing; that hope is expecting something but not knowing what the something is or even what it will look like. Hope is a joyful anticipation. Hope is knowing that we are not alone and that when Christmas arrives, when Hope comes down, we have every reason to celebrate!
But until then, we wait in hopeful anticipation for our God.
Today we celebrate the abundance found in God's Creation. Thanks be to God. As we move forward may we work diligently to share that abundance equitably as a form of true thanks giving.
PEACE!
 Change is a given. You don't have to like it, but you have no choice but to acknowledge it. Being alive means changing. To be just a little bit morbid, even in death our bodies change as they decompose. Like I said, change is a given.
Inexplicably, churches have come to think they don't have to change. The world around them changes at an ever quickening pace as technology changes our ability to travel, communicate and gather information, and the Church clings to the past believing that if we just believe hard enough we can make the reality of change go away. But we can't. Change is a given.
The Church's general resistance to change is really odd if you think about it. God was (and is) always about to do a new thing. From Noah, to Abraham, to Moses, to David, to the prophets, to Jesus, the disciples and Paul, the people of God are always experiencing God moving them from one state of being to another. The way it was done (the old life) is gone and the new way (the new life) has begun, and those are just the most obvious Bible stories. Add to that the fact that the history of the church is also littered with constant change. It truly is inexplicable that we think we don't have to change.
So, how did we get to this place of such a staunch resistance to change? We forgot that Jesus was a radical redeemer. You see, as a colleague once reminded the congregation where I serve, Jesus never met anyone he didn't ask to change.
If you don't think you need to change, you haven't met Jesus. He never met anyone he didn't ask to change. Now, while change comes in all forms (some change is small, some is big), it isn't all that surprising to see in scripture that Jesus was typically interested in the big changes. The kind that challenged the status quo and flipped our whole way of seeing something upside down. He was a radical reformer. A reformer in that he asked us to change, radical in that it often required a paradigm shift to become the person Jesus said God was calling you to be.
Are Churches radical reformers? Do we ask the people we meet to change? Radically? Better yet, are we willing to change radically? And don't think that we are talking about change for the sake of change here. That would just be mean and short-sighted. We are talking about change that engages fully with the reality that change is inevitable.
In that, the Church must also recognize that it has been clinging to the past for so long that it lost sight of the communities in which God planted them. The Church must acknowledge that as it clung so desperately to how things have “always” been done, it lost it's ability to hold onto a God who moves about in a tent (2 Samuel 7:5) and is always about to do a new thing.
If we can recognize that, then we can also see that in order to catch back up with the community in which God has planted us, it is going to take a radical change. Not change for change's sake, but change for God's sake. It is not about changing what we believe about God, rather, it is about trying desperately to live into it! It would feel better, it would feel safer, to move slowly, methodically and only in places that cause the least stress, but that's not the kind of change Jesus asked of those who met him.
Have we truly met Jesus? Do we hear his call to radical reform? Are we willing to let loose of our past and let the Spirit move us as the Spirit will?
It is time for the Church to change at the speed of grace.
Good and gracious God,
Today, like the rest of the world, when I woke I wrapped myself in myths. They are comfortable and warming in what can seem like such a cold world. Yes, they are old and worn but they are familiar and even the most fashion forward find comfort in this thread-worn garb.
They tell me that while it may not be fair that 1600 children die from hunger everyday, I can do nothing about it.
They silence my own judgment of myself when I put a quarter in the cup of a homeless man as I walk on by the lack in his life to live into the abundance of mine.
They tell me that the rich shall inherit the Earth, and that they will be beneficent rulers. The myths that I wear tell me that giving to the rich is better than giving to those in need, so we as a nation heap blessings upon the rich expecting 'trickle down' to make it rain on those of us below. Yet, we remain drenched in our inability to pay the rent, pay for college, save for the future... at times, even believe we have much of a future.
So, today, like the rest of the world, when I woke I wrapped myself in myths. They are comfortable and warming in what can seem like such a cold world. Yes, they are old and worn but they are familiar and even the most fashion forward find comfort in this thread-worn garb.
They tell me that violence, while abhorrent, is inescapable, a part of the reality of life - that violence is the path we must travel to find peace. Religion reinforces this myth of Redemptive Suffering suggesting that suffering builds character, that you, O God, won't give us more than we can handle, ignoring the realities of the families who have survived the loss of loved ones through violent acts: War, Domestic Violence, Gang Violence, suicide.
Even in the names we use, we see how we believe this myth: The world calls one of humanity's most violent acts The Holocaust, which means 'sacrifice by fire,' Suggesting that there might be something good or even of God in it. Those whose lives it destroyed call it Ha Shoa – the calamity.
So, I wrap myself in myths. They are comfortable and warming in what can seem like such a cold world. Yes, they are old and worn but they are familiar and even the most fashion forward find comfort in this thread-worn garb.
They tell me that the least of these deserve what they get, that “But for the grace of God, there go I,” believing that somehow God's grace falls more abundantly on me.
They tell me that I must shut off who God created me to be and live into the image the world expects of me because who I am on the inside won't be accepted on the outside.
They tell me that some are created more equal in God's eyes and don't deserve the same rights as the rest of us that they should be punished for being their own unique reflection of their Creator.
Loving God, take from me this earthly garb, for not only are they old and thread-worn... but they reek. They stink of the stench of power, money and greed. They have the foul odor of prestige, self-importance and control. They fill my nostrils with an offensive aroma that smacks of a history of abuse, belittlement and pain. They exude with the suffering they let me ignore. They ooze with the memories of the blood that has been lost. They smell to high heaven and point to my complicity in the lies of this world.
Redeeming God, take these Robes of Myth from me and let me walk naked through this world if I must, but I wish to walk through it blindly no longer. I wish to breathe in the brilliance of creation and leave behind the stinking myths of humanity.
Help me, my God. Free me, my God.
Help us, O God. Free us.
Amen.
A Personal Response To The Myth of Redemptive Violence
“Violence is the ethos of our times. It is the spirituality of the modern world. It has been accorded the status of a religion, demanding from its devotees an absolute obedience to death.” - Walter Wink
Inevitably humans end up at war with each other. It seems to be entrenched in our very beings at times. Over the course of history, peace seems to be a difficult place for humanity to find. We war over land, over political differences, over ruling parties, over race, over religious beliefs and over natural resources -- just to name few.
Many early religious traditions would suggest that war and violence are inescapable, necessary and even good. They would have us believe peace, even life itself, entails traveling a path that runs through chaos and violence. It is a perspective which is still pervasive in our world. It says that it is unfortunate but true that war is sometimes needed to achieve peace. It is a myth – a myth of Redemptive Violence and it has many roots in religion.
"Nonviolence is a power which can be wielded equally by all…” Mohandas Gandhi, Harijan, September 5, 1936
I stand over and against the myth of redemptive violence. I'm a pacifist. I'm not the lay down and be stomped on like a doormat kind of pacifist, I'm the Jesus-wanna-be kind of pacifist. The kind that looks to the lives of people like Martin Luther King and Gahndi as models for non-violent resistance. Don't try to re-categorize me either. I'm decidedly a pacifist. Shedding blood should not happen. Period. Jesus laid down his life, shedding the ultimate blood, to show us what love looked like. Showing us that love knows no bounds.
In Christianity the myth of redemptive violence hangs from a tree. It is the ultimate story of redemptive violence is it not? Through pain and blood, sacrifice and death, one man saves the world. Clearly violence is redemptive, no?
No. We miss a few things when we see it that way. It was love that hung on that tree, not violence. Jesus did not die for the sake of the War Machine, he died in resistance of the Powers That Be which are protected by the War Machine. Jesus suffered that we might not have to. Jesus suffered to show us how far love was willing to go. Jesus' sacrifice shows us that if love is large enough, no one should ever have to suffer again.
We are to live into that kind of love. We no longer need to make sacrifices of blood. It has been done for us. What that kind of love lived out looks like is seen in the life of Jesus and mirrored in the lives of King and Gandhi.
Seeing the world through the lens of non-viloent resistance, makes a day like today (Veterans Day, formerly Armistice Day) an eternal conflict for me. I grieve for the dead. Those who died in their country’s service and those who died in the crossfire, sometimes coldly refereed to collateral damage. I cry tears for their families, for their friends for their loved ones.
But every year my tears fall like so many drops into an ocean of violence that is supported by the myth that violence begets peace, that loving one thing (your country) more than you love the reflection of God carried in the 'enemy's' eyes is somehow redeeming for humanity – growing us closer not only to God, but to the peaceable kingdom which we are to be ushering in. Every year I see an inordinate number of the poor sent to the front line, while the economically powerful fight their war from war rooms and well decorated offices. Every year the tears and the blood fall into the pools of the wars that preceded them.... and nothing changes.
So there is conflict and struggle in my heart, in my soul. The War Machine co-opts a day like today, wraps it in patriotism and manages the difficult task of both relegating the dead to being secondary to it's own promotion of the myth of redemptive violence and (at the same time) suggesting that anyone who has problems with the day are dishonoring those who have served honorably.
So many drops of blood have been spilled. With each drop, I weep. With each drop, God weeps. Each drop falls into the ocean of violence that came before it.
Today, I honor those who have died because of war, but I do not honor the War Machine. I reject the myth of dominance and redemptive violence, and substitute God's reality of love, peace and grace. With each drop of the blood of Christ, humanity was given a gift. We have yet to fully embrace that gift. Until we do, love continues to hang on a tree, suffering so that we might not have to.
Children Grow Where I Send Thee
A church is a surprisingly difficult thing to just pick up and move. I'm not just talking about the physical building. If you've ever tried to get a entire group of people to move (be it spiritually, ideologically, or theologically), you wold probably agree that, at times, it might just be easier to move the physical church - but we can't.
Churches must grow where they are planted. Digging them up with all of the roots that have been established and moving them to a new location is amazingly difficult and in the rare cases that attempt it, frequently they are not ever able to fully take root, so they eventually wither away. There are exceptions, of course, but they are rare.
Growing a church organically, takes very seriously the idea that God has planted a church where it is. It takes very seriously the idea that God has carefully placed the church where it can not only be watered but can provide sustenance.
Considering the realities about the Church that were mentioned in the first three parts of this series, that would seem to be a little bit of a problem. As society has changed the Church hasn't. We have decentralized ourselves from the lives of a great deal of our communities. Ultimately, we have turned inward for stability and comfort. The more we cling to our past and ourselves, the more the communities in which we are planted have found us to be irrelevant for their lives.
In that situation, the Church is neither likely to be watered by or provide spiritual sustenance for the community. We have to begin reengaging our communities and the first step, quite naturally is to stop clinging to our past and ourselves and, instead, engage in our present and our communities.
Can The Walls Come a Tumbling Down?As we've seen, the society and community in which most churches sit have moved forward with the inevitable changes of life and for decades as they have changed The Church has done everything in it's power to remain firmly in its place. The net result is that the Church has not only removed itself from its former place of centrality in most communities, but it has become decidedly 'other' - an alien in it's own community. This isn't the kind of 'other' to which Paul called the church either. That kind of 'other' while not of the community was very decidedly in the community. The Church has responded in a number of very understandable yet unhealthy ways. One of them is to turn inward. When the community in which you reside looks so very different from the community within your walls, it is very comforting to turn inward. It not only reassures you that it is 'OK' to be like you are, but it also offers a great deal of support in a situation where you feel like the 'outside' world has gone astray and are infringing upon what was once your community. Naturally, this inward turning that many churches who have been left behind by society experience, will ultimately lead to a decrease in missions, particularly in missions in the immediate community. This withdrawal from engaging in social and justice issues in the immediate community is reinforced by ever-decreasing funds. The decrease in funding and available resources is also related to the inward turning. When church members are holding on tightly to each other in order to survive the perceived storm outside the walls of the church, it makes reaching out to new members difficult. Over time this means a decrease in membership. Congregation members are also effected by another, more subtle, influence when it comes to bringing in new members. Identity. It has long been an unspoken problem in churches but in becoming so inward turned, it has become more pronounced. When a church disengages from the community in which it sits, it becomes a community unto itself. One contained within a predefined area by the walls of the building, but a community none-the-less. Within that community, people naturally take on roles. Sally keeps the kitchen clean; Bill tells us what to to about finances; Sue writes get-well cards, etc. Over time, those roles become part of each individual's identity. In many ways, they perceive it as part of who they are. “I'm the one who is responsible for having the kitchen in good order.” That's when the roles begin to hurt the Church. There are two specific ways which most concern me. The first is with other members of the church. When the kitchen is left dirty, Sally will take it as an attack on her personally (at the very least on a sub-conscious level). When you add up all of the assumed identities within the church community, it is inevitable that there will be factions...and they will compete for control. Worse yet, when Jane infringes on Sue's identity as “the-one-who-writes-get-well-cards” there will be some kind of conflict and with conflict there are two likely outcomes: flight or fight. Either one has the long term effect of diminishing the church's size and ultimately opportunity to do ministry. The second way the conflation of roles and identity concerns me is that it leads churches to be polite, but not hospitable. While new people coming in the door do represent an opportunity to do ministry and new life, they also represent a possible threat to well established ways, a long term threat to the factions that have power and ultimately a threat to individual’s identities as the new people may also have ideas about the kitchen, finances or they may just like to write get-well cards. So, we welcome the new people but we do so reservedly and if they are to venture into territory where they have not be given permission by the Powers That Be, they will find that the welcome did not run as deep as they had first hoped and will probably make the choice to move on. (Frequently, they chose to not continue to play this kind of game with the Church and on Sunday mornings can be found enjoying sleeping in, an extra cup of coffee, or a 10 o'clock tee time). More churches than really care to admit it find themselves in this position. The way back to a relevant ministry is difficult, challenging, and requires a little bit of death, a little bit of re-birthing and a whole lot of faith and hope. The Good News is, life after death, and faith and hope have always been the stuff of God. That's what we will be looking at in the last of this four part series on Organic Church. Part 1: Hopey-ChangeyPart 2: Sit Boy, Sit. Good Dogma.Part 4: Children Grow Where I Send Thee
Sit Boy, Sit. Good Dogma.
In order to understand why we need to grow our churches organicly (whatever that may mean - don't worry, we will get to that), we need to understand a little about how we, The Church, arrived at our current location as well as what the location is.
There was a time, frequently referred to as “the good ol' days,” when the church was the center of society (as in the first quadrant of the illustration below). A large percentage of a community's life centered around the church. It was not only the moral compass and center for their lives, but it was their social and philanthropic center of their lives as well.
This afforded the church the ability to define for it's community what was acceptable and what was not. It was really unlikely that people would challenge the status quo that was being established (one, not surprisingly, heavily weighted down with dogma). Challenging the thing that defined your community and was the center piece of many people's daily lives and activities would have probably been a really good way to make sure you were not accepted by those who had power in the establishment and ultimately you would probably be pushed out to the margins of the circle of society, if included in it at all. So, the status quo that's being established goes unchallenged and ever-unchanging.
As you could probably guess, this kind of influence (and let's just be honest, power) was somewhat intoxicating. The Church, particularly it's leaders, began to believe the myth that they had established. The myth wasn't that they were at the center of community, because in many ways they really were. The myth that they had begun to believe was that they deserved to be there, that it was by some divine right that they have so much influence (and power).
That was the beginning of getting left behind. In the illustration below, the first quadrant represents where the church once was – in the center of society. The blue arrow represents time and change. Over time, society began changing. The church, in it's perceived place of godly instituted influence and power, did not change even though it has a history of changing and, at times, doing so dynamically. The further society moved down the time line, the more it changed and the more church did not. With each passing year The Church became less and less relevant for a quickly change society. The bottom half of the illustration is where we arrived. Society has moved on and, much to the surprise of The Church, has done just fine without us. People, it turns out, were created in the image of a very responsive and ever dynamic God and were able to find other social centers, other ways to express their philanthropic needs and other ways to fulfill their spiritual desires. The Church didn't fare as well. We continue to insist that we can repeat the things we used to do (maybe with a few minor adjustments, but certainly not with any changes that are significant or truly challenging) and expect to reap different results. Not surprisingly, it doesn't work and The Church not only continues to die, but more importantly it continues to be less and less relevant for more and more people which takes away the opportunity of doing ministry with them. We have a problem. Growing our churches organicly is at least one good solution. But before we go there, we need to understand how our current condition has effected our relationship with our community. We will look at that in the third installment in this four part-er on Growing Church Organicly. Part 1: Hopey-ChangeyPart 3: Can The Walls Come a Tumbling Down?
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