Author Archives: Wesleyan Accent

How Is Community Possible? by Henri Nouwen

In 2,000 years of church history, you will find an ebb and flow of opportunities seized and opportunities lost. While church history is often a study in fracture – who split from whom, when, and why – nevertheless, it remains remarkable that community is found even today among drastically different people. An illustrative moment comes to mind: a few years ago, a friend – a Methodist leader – found herself meeting Pope Francis at the Vatican. How much may change over 500 years.

If those of us in the United States can allow ourselves to be invited to take off our America-centric lenses for a moment, we have an opportunity to receive awe. Christians are worshiping together in Japan; Nigeria (where some recently have died due to their faith); Brazil; Nepal; Russia; Egypt; Switzerland; India; China; and a host of other countries. Just from this handful of examples, we know that China and Japan have a quite painful recent history with each other; but there are followers of Jesus in China, and followers of Jesus in Japan. Week after week, genuine believers gather in community in person (or virtually) to worship, hear Scripture, pray.

We believe in the holy catholic (universal) church, and the communion of saints. The global church is astounding in its breadth, diversity, and liveliness. Within the global church, the Wesleyan Methodist branch of the family tree is also astounding in its breadth, diversity, and liveliness – 80 Wesleyan Methodist denominations with over 80 million members in over 130 countries. Differences may remain, and yet community is also celebrated every five years at the World Methodist Conference, embodied in a procession of flags as representatives enter beaming.

How is community possible? Is it, perhaps, easier to interact with Christians from other nations who are a bit removed from more local controversy? Not always; iron sharpens iron, and sometimes believers outside of our own culture see clearly through our blind spots.

The truth is that the Christian faith has never approached community as possible solely in the confines of an echo chamber. The Holy Spirit destroys feedback loops; if we quench the Spirit, we lose our saltiness. Scripture burns; affirming the Creed tugs us into alignment; the Eucharist keeps us all beggars in a bread line; works of mercy force us to learn names, not just repeat talking points. If you approach community as a customer or a food critic, you will be hard-pressed to find it.

Like a virus, loneliness has grown to epidemic proportions. When an actual virus hit, the two collided. What does community look like when tent-pole communal rituals have to be put on pause? (What does community look like when there is significant difference in risk assessment among believers who have life insurance and health insurance, and those who don’t?) Rituals imbue time and gathering with layered symbols and actions that carry meaning far beyond the immediate and literal. When you and I lose rituals – from physically attending funerals to casually lingering in a store aisle, slowly browsing and picking up greeting cards – these actions, big and small, that mark our days and moor our identity are lost.

Who are we?

We are servants; we are the younger siblings of our sisters and brothers in Christ, who are leading believers through time zones and hemispheres and governments and languages and cultures. We are people of the Way, which means we do not belong to ourselves.

The late Henri Nouwen, a Catholic brother in the faith, lent his contemplative insight on community and solitude with these words:

“Community, like solitude, is primarily a quality of the heart. While it remains true that we will never know what community is if we never come together in one place, community does not necessarily mean being physically together. We can well live in community while being physically alone. In such a situation, we can act freely, speak honestly, and suffer patiently, because of the intimate bond of love that unites us with others even when time and place separate us from them. The community of love stretches out not only beyond the boundaries of countries and continents but also beyond the boundaries of decades and centuries. Not only the awareness of those who are far away but also the memory of those who lived long ago can lead us into a healing, sustaining, and guiding community. The space for God in community transcends all limits of time and place.

Thus the discipline of community frees us to go wherever the Spirit guides us, even to places we would rather not go. This is the real Pentecost experience. When the Spirit descended on the disciples huddled together in fear, they were set free to move out of their closed room into the world. As long as they were assembled in fear they did not yet form community. But when they had received the Spirit, they became a body of free people who could stay in communion with each other even when they were as far from each other as Rome is from Jerusalem. Thus, when it is the Spirit of God and not fear that unites us in community, no distance of time or place can separate us.”

– Henri Nouwen, excerpt from Making All Things New in My Sister, My Brother: Life Together in Christ, p. 49

Who are we? You and I are called to be Pentecost people, shaped not by national affiliation but by the holy catholic church, and the communion of saints. You and I are called to receive the gift of the Holy Spirit dwelling in us individually and in us as a community, whether gathered or scattered makes no difference. You and I are called to train our eyes and our hearts and minds to see that, “the community of love stretches out not only beyond the boundaries of countries and continents but also beyond the boundaries of decades and centuries.” This is no Sophomore crush love; it is the self-giving, pelican love of the Trinity that makes all things new, thunders and whispers, and loves us too much to let us stay small in our hearts, small in our holy imagination, small in our words, loves, and actions.

The Surprising Call to Gentleness

There are many motifs and illustrations utilized to unpack who Jesus is and what Jesus did, but perhaps one of the most important characteristics of the life of Jesus Christ was a quiet one – gentleness. References abound to Jesus as prophet, priest, king. The Christus Victor portrait has remained strong over centuries, for good reason. Angles that peek toward Christ as suffering servant continue to comfort the weary, ill, or dying.

For centuries, theologians have written engrossing works on the nature of Christ and on a mosaic of approaches to the atonement. But the Holy Spirit won’t quite let us escape the surprising call to gentleness. To encounter Jesus is to encounter holy, powerful love. But how odd would it sound to hear someone say, “I became a Christian because I was fascinated by how gentle they are”?

In a way, that was John Wesley’s experience; he was transfixed by the gentleness of the Moravians traveling on the same ship. He knew the letter of his faith but not the love of it. His life was unraveling, his goals unmet, his relationships a mess. Terrified in a hurricane, he listening to the simplicity of hymns sung during a storm. There’s plenty of emphasis on his observation that the Moravians didn’t fear dying; but it’s worth noticing that he didn’t comment on that alone. He’d watched them on the days without hurricanes. He watched them take on unpleasant jobs without complaining; he saw them insulted or bullied by other passengers, cheerfully refusing to rise to the bait. What he knew by rote, they knew by heart. Wesley wanted the peace and assurance they exhibited.

It is one thing to sing calmly in a hurricane; it’s another to live with gentleness in the middle of disgusting, unwanted tasks or in the face of belligerent arrogance and anger.

Consider words floating in our atmosphere, like soot and ash rising from the destruction of wildfire. Rage. Cancel. Fury. Hoax. Death toll. Damage. Catastrophic. Unprecedented. Anger is everywhere; and some of it is righteous anger. But how do we keep our righteous anger righteous?

When we look at Jesus, we see tremendous power restrained through the beauty of gentleness. It is tempting to find vicarious satisfaction in the flipping of the tables when he cleansed the table: but Jesus could do that with holy love and pure motive, willing also to be crucified for those same people. If I want to overturn tables and scatter people who profit off of vulnerable people, but I’m not willing to die for the people whose tables I just knocked over, I don’t have love. I may have anger or even righteous anger. But I don’t have love. I’m a reverberating gong, a clanging cymbal.

What may be more telling is the quiet presence of gentleness in countless scenarios in the Gospels.

“Let the toddlers come to me.”

“Would you give me a drink of water?”

“I’m coming to your house for supper.”

“Can you see yet?”

“Daughter, your faith has made you whole.”

“Where are your accusers? Then neither do I condemn you. Go, and don’t do this anymore.”

“Render to Caesar what is Caesar’s and to God what is God’s.”

“Peace I leave with you; my peace I give you. Don’t let your hearts be troubled.”

“Forgive them, they don’t know what they’re doing.”

“Peter, do you love me? Feed my sheep.”

Of all the unglamorous fruits of the Spirit, gentleness is perhaps the most forgettable. Until it isn’t. Until it’s such an uncommon trait that it becomes powerfully noticeable.

Methodism exists in large part because of the gentleness of a bunch of John Wesley’s fellow passengers on a ship. Not their cleverness; not, like good Gryffindors, their bravery. Their gentleness.

We do not need to be loud to be powerful, as therapist James Perkins recently explored with leadership strategist Tristian Williams. In the middle of deafening noise, what is one more loud voice? But there is surprising power in quiet, strong gentleness.

Christians are called to gentleness. Gentleness is not lack of clarity, lack of courage, or lack of conviction. It is strength that is under control, that serves others, that bypasses the satisfaction of putting someone in their places. It is illustrated in Proverbs 15 – “A gentle answer turns away wrath, but a harsh word stirs up anger.”

Many children have a keen sense of danger from an unstable power larger than themselves. But children were drawn to Jesus; this was a being who, like Lewis’ Aslan, was powerful but good. The fullness of God dwelled in Jesus Christ, but children wanted to play, tease, sit on his lap. To enter the Kingdom of God, Jesus said, adults must become childlike in our trust.

And one way we can build trust with others in a bitterly cynical age taut with suspicion, anger, and self-preservation, is to practice the rhythms of gentleness. There is no substitute for the clear, calm witness of Christ followers like the Moravians. No one wants to empty the buckets of the sea-sick. No one wants to let the opportunity pass by, to one-up a caustic bully. No one wants to hold their loved ones on a wooden ship without GPS in the middle of a hurricane wondering if they’ll die.

But by the power of the Holy Spirit, God cups our jagged, slicing slivers and, ever so gently, softens our razor-edges into serving trays. There is simplicity in following Jesus, but sometimes, like Simon Peter, we try to bring our weapons with us. As the Spirit of God gradually pries our fingers from our sword hilts, we are set free to live cheerfully, to serve cheerfully, to ignore cheerfully. The only weapon in the classic “armor of God” set is – the sword of the Spirit. The Word of God will shape us and arm us to love well; to love powerfully; to love gently.

It is not only in our current time or place that gentleness is surprisingly counter-cultural; plenty of civilizations have not valued gentleness. But our world starves for it now, too. Consider the impact of Mother Teresa, or Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., or Mr. Fred Rogers. Notice the resurgence in popularity of quiet-toned public television artist Bob Ross or the popular craving for mindfulness techniques, meditation, or hygge. When people decry polarization, part of the unspoken weariness is weariness of roughness, meanness, meltdowns, altercations, and rejection.

We can’t be like Jesus if we ignore gentleness. To become like Christ is to soften – not into non-entity or non-being; but into a strong, Spirit-empowered, gentle version of ourselves. We hand over our weapons and let Christ fashion them into serving tools. Gentleness isn’t weakness; it’s strength with a sense of humor.

Are you bruised right now? Could you use some gentleness? The Holy Spirit is waving you over to the side of the race track to mend your injuries.

Have you lost some of your gentleness? Are you noticing brittle places emerging in your spirit? The Holy Spirit is waving you over to the sidelines, to take your hardened blades and refashion them into farming equipment.

This is the way of Jesus; there is no shortcut.

When the Holy Spirit Empowers Our Ears to Hear

One of my favorite Holy Days is Pentecost, partly because (thankfully) it hasn’t been co-opted by Western consumerism. Maybe that’s why it comes and goes without too much attention. We don’t have weeks of lead-up like we do for Christmas or Easter; and the Holy Spirit definitely doesn’t have the economic punch of Santa or the Easter Bunny.

Pentecost is usually only recognized on a single Sunday, and then we move right into “Ordinary Time.” In 2020, Pentecost Sunday fell on May 31. With everything happening in our world right now, my hunch is that not very many of us noticed.

And yet this one day and what it marks is integral to understanding Christian faith. This is especially true when it comes to showing and sharing the love of Jesus. Without Pentecost – that miracle of communication – faith-sharing is reduced to a mechanistic step-by-step procedure filled less with love than prescription. But when the Holy Spirit comes, everything mechanical is blown away, and we’re left with the miracle of mouths and ears.

This isn’t new information. Christians celebrate that the Holy Spirit descended on the followers of Jesus, empowering them to speak boldly about his life, death, and resurrection. We celebrate that when the Holy Spirit descended, all the people gathered in Jerusalem for Shavu’ot heard the followers of Jesus speaking in their own language – even though there were Jews from many different lands who spoke many different languages. Pentecost was a miracle of communication because it was a miracle of understanding. Everyone was able to understand the good news of Jesus Christ.

Grasping that miracle is an important part of showing and sharing the love of Jesus. When we share the good news of Jesus Christ, we want it to be in a language that other people can understand. We want the words of our mouths to be understandable to the ears of those we hope to reach. Again, there’s nothing new here, but every now and then it’s important to look at things from a different perspective. What if God isn’t just interested in our mouths, but also in our ears? What if the ongoing Pentecost miracle of communication needs to involve not just what we say, but what we hear, as well?

When the Holy Spirit descended that Pentecost morning, it landed on a tiny, frightened, unpopular group of people. They were lying low, staying out of the way, not knowing what the authorities would do next. There weren’t very many of them compared to all the rest of Jews gathered in Jerusalem. They were in the minority, working class Galileans with little power compared to everybody else. These were the mouths the Holy Spirit empowered to speak.

Then there were all the ears that heard on that day. They were from all over. Some were devout Jews who had the means to travel from as far away as Rome. A privileged class. Others lived in Jerusalem – mainstream Jews and maybe even some of the religious elite, like the Pharisees or Sadducees, who had been marking this festival year in and year out with little change. These were the ears that the Holy Spirit empowered to hear.

In these days of crisis and challenge, I’ve begun to wonder who we (at least those of us who identify as white in the global West/North) look like. Are we more like the ragtag group of Jesus followers, with little power, in hiding for fear of what the authorities might do? Or are we more like the visitors from Rome or the other mainstream folks living in Jerusalem, routinely celebrating another religious holiday with little worry or thought of danger? Are we more like the mouths who were empowered to speak or the ears who were empowered to hear?

The global Christian landscape has been changing for quite some time now – shifting significantly south and eastward. In the face of such dramatic change, perspective is crucial. Does the Holy Spirit desire to loose our stammering tongues, filling us with the courage and boldness necessary to speak? Or, is it possible that the Holy Spirit is leading us to become the ears that hear? Is there a word from the Lord that can only come to us through the power of the Holy Spirit opening our ears to voices we have not noticed or have been unwilling to hear? 

There are many in the Christian family who resemble the mouths empowered to speak on that first Pentecost day. And there are many as well, who picture themselves as the mouths that spoke, but who actually bear a closer resemblance to the ears that heard.

How might our witness be strengthened if we opened ourselves to the miracle of mouths and ears embodied in Pentecost?

How might the way we follow Jesus change if we were willing at every step, to discern which was most needful of Holy Spirit empowerment – our mouths or our ears?

As we continue to live out our faith in the midst of divisiveness, fear, and the threat of illness and death, I pray for that kind of discernment – that all of us would be open to the Holy Spirit’s ongoing miracle of mouths and ears. 

All of them were filled with the Holy Spirit and began to speak…and they all heard in their own languages. (Acts 2:4, 6 paraphrased)

The Startling Poetry of Madeleine L’Engle

Before the rumblings began to emerge around New Years’ (stories dripping out slowly from halfway around the world); before awareness of trouble somewhere became the startling realization that trouble was here – we could indulge ourselves in becoming blasé about tradition. Habits are sly: sometimes, we’re lulled into the off-key sense that traditions are a way of controlling a season. We begin to see them as the point instead of as a waypoint. At Christmas, we mumble, “round yon virgin, mother and Child,” so that young hearers don’t whisper loudly, “what’s a virgin?” We don’t know what to do with the truly awful passage about Herod ordering the slaughter of Bethlehem’s toddler boys, so we skip it. Then we stare open-mouthed at the news when natural disasters erupt in December, scissors halted halfway through the Snoopy wrapping paper. For many people around the world, last December – despite weariness or tight budgets or influenza – was one of the last waypoints of normalcy. Even for people who don’t avoid the awkward or painful, this year has been a chaotic overthrow of everyday simplicity. What voice can sound clearly through the chaos? We live in a moment aching for the holy iconoclasm of the poetry of Madeleine L’Engle.

Best known for novels, the late writer Madeleine L’Engle – born in a year much talked-about lately, 1918 – showed a knack for discomforting the comfortable and soothing the overheated, displayed well in The Ordering of Love: The New & Collected Poems of Madeleine L’Engle. There is nothing controllable about life on this planet, her words seem to shriek; no family recipe to follow carefully that will alleviate the cosmic chaos. And after all, she was born at the tail-end of World War I, during the 1918 flu pandemic, a child during the ’29 crash, a teenager during the Depression, a young woman during World War II, a mother in the tumult of the 50’s and 60’s, a grieving widow as the Information Age picked up steam. Her experiences shout loudly to our current world.

But L’Engle’s poems also bear the time signature of sacred rhythms: many follow liturgical seasons, or lectionary readings, or high water marks of living, like births, weddings, baptisms, deaths. Others cobble amusing little sketches of the absurd habits of selfishness, or glee, or fear, or comfort. She speaks to God as brashly and fearfully as a child who dares to shout at her parent before bursting into tears. Her joy, rage, mirth, and disappointment are pinned into place with her regular, irresistible return to Creation, Collapse, Incarnation, Crucifixion, Resurrection. For an author best known for books on time travel, Madeleine L’Engle shakes us awake now as much as she must have while she was alive.

Consider a few fragments from “Lines Scribbled on an Envelope While Riding the 104 Broadway Bus:”

There is too much pain

I cannot understand

I cannot pray

Here I am

and the ugly man with beery breath beside me reminds me that

it is not my prayers that waken your concern, my Lord;

my prayers, my intercessions are not to ask for your love

for all your lost and lonely ones,

your sick and sinning souls,

but mine, my love, my acceptance of your love.

Your love for the woman sticking her umbrella and her expensive

parcels into my ribs and snarling, “Why don’t you watch where

you’re going?”

Your love for me, too, too tired to look with love,

too tired to look at Love, at you, in every person on the bus.

Expand my love, Lord, so I can help to bear the pain…

It is startling to encounter words that so quickly, easily puncture the day to day patterns that trouble us – whether riding public transport or hopping on social media: “too tired to look with love, too tired to look at Love, at you, in every person.” Her honesty strips bare what phrases like “compassion fatigue” cover up. It is tempting to think that new technology or novel new realities are to blame – but for words like these, written decades ago.

In “Instruments (2)” the woman who managed to write and raise children at the same time confessed,

Hold me against the dark: I am afraid.

Circle me with your arms. I am made

So tiny and my atoms so unstable

That at any moment I may explode. I am unable

To contain myself in unity. My outlines shiver

With the shock of living…

A sense of precarious fragility often goes hand in hand with dripping, fleshy exuberance in her thoughts. Reflecting during a time of hospitalization, L’Engle writes in “From St. Luke’s Hospital (4),”

She comes on at night,

older than middle-aged, from the islands,

to answer the patients’ bells…

At first she was suspicious, cross,

expecting complaints and impositions,

soon tender and gentle,

concerned about requests for help with pain…

This morning she rushed in, frantic,

please, please could she look for the money

she had lost somehow, tending patients,

forty dollars that was not even hers.

She had kept it, in time-honored tradition,

in her bosom, and it must have fallen out

when she was thinking of someone else’s needs.

She scrabbled in the wastebasket,

in the bedclothes, panted from room to room,

returned to mine with a friend. We said,

“Close the door, take off your clothes, and see

if it isn’t still on you somewhere.”

She did, revealing an overworked body,

wrinkled, scarred; found nothing; had to leave.

In a moment when work, medical care, and working women are much in the news, Madeleine L’Engle presents us with sketches that honor womens’ labor – even one brief, sly wink at a casually maligned person from Scripture: “Martha,” the prosaically distracted sister busy with a meal.

Now

nobody can ever laugh at me again

I was the one who baked the bread

I pressed the grapes for wine.

In a year when suffering, depression, and despair threaten to blow the lid off of theoretical pondering on theodicy and the problem of evil, L’Engle charges in where churchgoers fear to tread, in these selections from “Love Letter” –

I hate you, God.

Love, Madeleine

I write my message on water

and at bedtime I tiptoe upstairs

and let it flow under your door.

When I am angry with you

I know that you are there

even if you do not answer my knock

even when your butler opens the door an inch

and flaps his thousand wings in annoyance

at such untoward interruption

and says that the master is not at home.

I cannot turn the other cheek

It takes all the strength I have

To keep my fist from hitting back

the soldiers shot the baby

the little boys trample the old woman

the gutters are filled with groans…

I’m turning in my ticket

and my letter of introduction.

You’re supposed to do the knocking. Why do you burst my heart?

I take hammer and nails

and tack my message on two crossed pieces of wood:

Dear God

is it too much to ask you

to bother to be?

Just show your hindquarters

and let me hear you roar.

Love,

Madeleine

What starts off like a cannonball blasted toward the stubbornly closed gates of heaven ends up landing with hoarse awareness: the fury driving her makes her own heart a target. I take hammer and nails and tack my message on two crossed pieces of wood. So then. Rage at the suffering in the cosmos inevitably illumines our own complicity. In that case, just let me see even a glimpse of your backside, God; let me hear your power roaring.

The years heavy with her writing were years of upheaval; chaos; swift change; suffering. Her thundering world gave way to these lines from “First Coming” –

He did not wait till the world was ready,

till men and nations were at peace.

He came when the Heavens were unsteady,

and prisoners cried out for release.

 

He did not wait for the perfect time.

He came when the need was deep and great.

He dined with sinners in all their grime,

turned water into wine. He did not wait

 

till hearts were pure. In joy he came…

 

We cannot wait till the world is sane

to raise our songs with joyful voice,

for to share our grief, to touch our pain,

He came with Love: Rejoice! Rejoice!

Whatever the pain, whatever the fear, whatever the work waiting to be done; whatever the mockery, whatever the fury, whatever the suffering – we cannot wait until the world is sane. Christ did not wait until the world was calm and well-mannered before he arrived; we cannot wait until the world is sane, we can’t pause for a more opportune moment to lift our voices, to rejoice.

L’Engle goads at every turn; upheaval is nothing new, no tradition can control it. Chaos, overwhelming loss, injustice, uncertainty – these are nothing new, no habits could contain them or master them. Millions of people around the globe would’ve been startled to realize last December that it would be one of the last calm or predictable months for a long time. Perhaps there was even a sense of boredom. In the absence – the stretching absence – of so much; in the absence of traditions, habits, routines, predictability, reasonable certainty, and guarantees, Madeleine L’Engle insists on the only stable reality: Creation, Collapse, Incarnation, Crucifixion, Resurrection. Even while she is screaming at God’s silence, ultimately she lands, too tired to be cautious, in this reality:

He did not wait till the world was ready.

We cannot wait till the world is sane.

“Overwhelmed”: How Our Pastors Are Coping With The Pandemic

A Note From The Editor: Recently I asked clergy members from several Wesleyan Methodist denominations in the United States about what it’s been like coping with a pandemic. Ministers in other parts of the world have experienced these dynamics before, and pastors a hundred years ago went through this in America. For many church leaders in the U.S., these have been uncharted waters, new territory. A number of pastors answered my questions, and their time is an especially valuable gift right now. I watched as more than normal intended to reply but could not, pummeled by to-do lists and coping with news cycles demanding last-minute updates from clergy, denominational leaders, and churches. One pastor unable to participate was busy responding to a crisis outbreak in their rural community – a town with one of the highest per capita case loads in the country.

Church leaders are finding unexpected support, bright spots, or new skills; many pastors miss seeing their church members face to face; and many are grappling with uncertainty, overwhelming demands, or the need to quickly implement new platforms and tools.

In addition to basic questions on how church leaders are coping, I also asked some pastors, “If you could travel back to December and leave a Post-It note for past-you, what would you say to prepare yourself or your people for the current situation?“ One pastor reflected, “The Church is not the building. We all know that, but we are about to live it.“

We are grateful for the glimpses into leadership life right now.

Elizabeth Glass Turner

 

Coping: “How are you?“

  • “I am anxious about what the church may look like in the next few months. People need community, and online platforms – as helpful as they may be to keep us connected – can’t take the place of mutually sharing and experiencing physical presence. I am constantly preoccupied and thinking about what we need to do. This often leads me to feel overwhelmed and inadequate, as I try to anticipate what we need to be doing next.”
  • “I’m learning it’s best not to ask on Wednesdays. I’m not sure why this is the day I feel least on top of ministry, and the most fragile.”
  • “I miss my people. I love being a pastor; pastoral care may be my favorite part of ministry, so I am really missing that connection. But personally, I have enjoyed being able to spend more time with my family. It has been nice to just have lazy time with them. Going into the living room and joking with my kids during breaks. Time from all the pressure of activities at night. That has been life-giving for me.”

Discerning: “What’s been an unexpected source of guidance?“

  • “Learning from what others are doing and reaching out to friends to ask their views about concerns and ideas I have. Reading articles about our current challenges and how we can use this time as an opportunity to create a new future dimension of ministry.”
  • “The World Vision pastors group, “We the Church.” The Barna Group’s Covid tool kit.”
  • “Unexpected friendship. There are pastors in our conference who I admire, but I’ve never really had much of a relationship with them. It’s been a joy to get to know them better and turn to them for advice in difficult situations.”

Equipping: “What resource do you wish you’d had?“

  • “A break. More clear guidelines or suggestions for funerals at this time. ‘How to transition appointments during pandemic’?”
  • “I wish I had better tech skills. I’m pretty good, but there are so many things that I don’t know and haven’t had the time or patience to learn.”
  • “Instead of ‘playing catch-up,’ I wish we would’ve had a well-organized and implemented digital ministry in place. I wish we had these online tools we are using now already at work. Now, in addition to created online content, we also need to train our leaders and laypeople on how to access them.”

Enduring: “What’s been a source of sanity for you?“

  • “Good friends and family. I’ve got a text thread with a couple of pastors; we turn to each other for advice. That’s been a real blessing and source of hope.”
  • “This will be one of the most cherished times for my children. As much as they miss school and friends, they loved being at home and spending quality time with mom and dad. We started new activities together like biking and going for walks almost daily, and that has transformed how we relate to each other. We are no longer ‘on schedule’ but have liberty and flexibility on how we use our time together. This has been a blessing to us as a family, one that has provided me with healthy feelings and thoughts.”
  • “Solidarity – knowing so many others are going through the same ministry challenges.”

Expressing: “What do you wish your denomination or church members understood better?“

  • “Just the emotional energy pastoring takes right now. I’m not sure what leaving well looks like.”
  • “I don’t think I can speak to what anyone is doing, or could have done better. Everyone is trying their best to figure out ministry in this challenging season. I am grateful for the hard work my colleagues and others are doing to provide us with resources.”

Grieving: “If you could have or do one thing right now, what would it be?“

  • “Have a gathering of my graduating seniors; have regular youth gathered for fellowship.”
  • “Between Zoom meetings, homeschooling, creating online content, writing Bible studies and sermons, I wish I could see everyone every day to talk about how they are really doing and to encourage them. It is hard to feel so powerless to support my congregation in their struggles. We have an active pastoral care ministry. I just wish I could visit with every one of them.”

Praying: “How can we pray for you?“

  • “I ask for prayers of encouragement, strength, and good health. But most importantly, I ask for those same prayers for my congregation.“
  • “That I would clearly hear the Holy Spirit’s guidance for ministry and family. I don’t know the best way to navigate these uncharted waters, but I know the One who does.”

Hindsight: “If you could travel back to December and leave a Post-It note for past-you, what would you say to prepare yourself or your people for the current situation?“

  • “I would make sure that I prepared my teams to view online resources as essential and not secondary. We had just completed a shift in our online giving platform and moved to PushPay. Had it not been for this move, we would be seeing a significant financial challenge. As for other platforms, I would have prepared our leaders to see digital platforms as an essential (not supplemental) resource for ministry, as there are already many people waiting to be reached via these platforms. We are reaching nearly twice as many people weekly through our worship services and 8 times (you read that right) as many people through our discipleship classes. I would have done crisis management training for all of my leaders.
  • “I think I would say, ‘Pace yourself‘ and ‘Go see your mom and dad in early February.‘”
  • “Ok girl, big changes are coming. No weddings, no dining out, and no church in person. So here’s what you need to do: Don’t cancel your hair appointment for the last week in February. You are going to miss a lot of things. But you are going to gain a lot of perspective on what’s most important: family, friends, the warmth of an embrace. The Church is not the building. We all know that, but we are about to live it. And embrace the deep connection that stands even when we are socially distanced. Sharpen your media and tech skills. You are about to become a videographer, editor, sound technician, and production guru. Get ready for all the kids to crash into your nest. Try not to get too bent out of shape about any of this. Enjoy it if you can. It’s a strange season we are passing through.”
  • “Good computer and editing skills, basic internet skills, Zoom and Conference Call 101 lessons for my members and myself!“
  • “Let’s prioritize our media ministry and start livestreaming our worship celebrations. Part of who we are in the community means having online presence. We can do so much ministry online through these digital platforms. True story: Prior to March 22, we had little to no online presence. We went from in-person worship on March 15th to Facebook Live from my living room on March 22nd!”
  • “Expect the unexpected. You can build community online – software that allows response is better than software that doesn’t (so, as beautiful as watching the service at the National Cathedral is, I probably get more out of wonky Zoom with my 20 congregants). Christians have been here before and the church survived. Your theology meets reality when you have to decide whether you are afraid of dying.”

As the well-documented extended-crisis adrenaline slump continues to hit caring and serving professions – from ER physicians to nursing home aides to church leaders – there are sure to be resources emerging for coping with the fallout of crisis. Pastors drained from an extraordinary season of unexpected challenges still face uncertainty, changes, conflicting perspectives, and health ramifications, while shepherding church leaders and members through those same dynamics.

Soul Posture for the Socially Distanced

Among many angles of spiritual formation during societal and global upheaval, these reflections from church leaders examine dynamics like community disruption and anxiety; the illusion of security in leadership best practices; pastoral wisdom from the Congo; and a community guide for praying during pandemic.

INDIVIDUAL SOUL POSTURE

Disruption, Solitude, Anxiety

How is it with your soul right now? Rev. Ashlee Alley Crawford, Clergy Recruitment and Development Coordinator for the Great Plains Conference of The United Methodist Church, took to social media to encourage reflection on the state of our hearts. She writes,

“The chaos of the external world means we’re all going to be staying home more in the weeks ahead. That’s perhaps a bit of a scary thing-not to mention that for many, that means loss of income and loss of essential connection with others. Is there a gift in the disruption of our rhythms? I absolutely believe there is, but it will not be easy. Thinking about those most financially fragile and finding ways to cultivate hospitality and generosity in this time will require something of us.

Not to mention that we’re likely going to be alone with our own thoughts a bit more. Solitude and silence as spiritual practices are the best teachers, but it can take a while to make friends with them. These new disruptions and the anxiety they produce tempt us into creating a hurry of a different sort.

But I’m convinced that this season of cancellations and more time on our hands-even though it’s most unwelcome-has a gift for us.”

Rev. Crawford’s insights on disruption, anxiety, community, and mindfulness are a timely call to lean into silence, or solitude, or self-awareness.

Deepening Character when Strategy Implodes

Meanwhile a gripping narrative has emerged from The Wesleyan Church, pivoting from personal quarantine to profound reflection. Rev. Ben Ward, Asia-Pacific Area Director and Director of Development and Communication for Global Partners, discusses imploding plans and emerging realization:

“On March 9, I was issued a home quarantine order from the Ministry of Health here in Singapore. This means I essentially can’t leave my bedroom for the next eight days. I was on a flight from Istanbul to Singapore on March 3. Apparently, a fellow traveler developed COVID-19 symptoms on the flight. The government began contact tracing to identify those who had close contact with the passenger, issuing quarantine orders. They tracked me down.”

Aside from the personal impact, Ward goes on to share the frustration of watching teams sent home and cancelling a major event that had taken months of resources and planning. With gracious transparency, he teases out a moment of clarity:

“Beyond the inconvenience the Coronavirus has created for me, it is also causing me to rethink what effective Christian leadership looks like.

I used to think an effective leader set a plan and then implemented that plan no matter what circumstances arose. Thinking through scenarios that could derail the plan and creating contingencies were essential leadership practices. If unforeseen events occurred and derailed the plan — well then, the leader must not have planned well enough.

But no one saw the Coronavirus coming. My best-laid plans were shipwrecked.

Ward goes on to share the keen awareness that,

“Planning is harder in the majority world than in the developed world. My Christian sisters and brothers in developing contexts have many more variables to consider that can derail their plans. I have enjoyed more stability than the majority of the world’s inhabitants. I repent of my arrogance, for thinking my hyper-planned-out approach to life is superior. I have more grace for my colleagues who keep loving, learning and leading in contexts marked by uncertainty and instability.”

He concludes with a sharp call to new perspective: “the thwarting of strategy is an invitation for God to do a deeper work of character.” (Click here to read Rev. Ward’s piece in its entirety.) What a beautiful posture toward spiritual formation when our best-laid plans go out the window.

When Lent Means Fasting from Easter 

Over the weekend I saw comments online wryly expressing that people hadn’t meant to give up quite this much for Lent. Today (March 16), tired pastors woke up to new CDC recommendations for the next eight weeks and realized that Sunday gatherings may be suspended over Easter. When I saw the comments on fasting and Lent, a memory stirred: last spring, Rev. Carolyn Moore asked me to write for her series on the Lordship of Christ, and I sent her “Jesus is Lord of the Valleys,” which expressly calls out what happens to fasting and Lent during upheaval, unpredictability, and loss. I wrote,

“Out of the corner of our eye, we have peripheral awareness of how close to being faith consumers we really are. We choose to go to a conference so we can grow spiritually. We choose to show up to Bible study so we can grow spiritually. We choose to read a book so we can cry or become more efficient or grow spiritually.

We choose.

We choose the parameters of our growth. Where we next discern/feel/think that God is leading us. What we will “give up” for Lent.  The problem is the insidious mindset that is entangled in our approach to faith: that we set the table, invite the guests, and choose the menu of our own spiritual growth. That we can choose what outcomes we want to see in our spiritual life. That we control how we want to be made Christlike. Lent changed from practices I chose to something outside my control, and I didn’t like it.

God allowed my chosen self-denial to be replaced with real desperation. I can’t guarantee you stability in this life. I can’t guarantee you won’t face tragedy. I can witness to the goodness of God, though…”

When the shape of spiritual formation is taken out of our hands – what is left? Grabbing onto Christ, proclaiming the goodness of God.

COMMUNITY SOUL POSTURE

Shared Prayer Guide for the Coronavirus Season

As we see the season of Lent turned inside-out, one way to witness to the goodness of God is through the discipline of shared prayer. Early on Rev. Pete Grieg shared a prayer resource as a community guide for praying about the impact of Covid-19. At the time, the likelihood of Coronavirus disruption had barely punctured American consciousness, but Grieg is quite in touch with global developments – the 24/7 prayer movement he helped to found stretches around the world. What seemed a bit early was, in retrospect, very timely: a lesson in itself perhaps. (Checking the calendar, “a bit early” in reality was just a week and a half ago.) Here is an excerpt:

“JEHOVAH SHALOM, Lord of Peace, we remember those living in Coronavirus hotspots. May they know your presence in their isolation, your peace in their turmoil and your patience in their waiting. Prince of Peace, you are powerful and merciful; let this be their prayer – ‘May your mercy come quickly to meet us, for we are in desperate need. Help us, God our Saviour, for the glory of your name.’ (Ps 79:8)

JEHOVAH RAPHA, God who heals, we pray for all medical professionals dealing daily with the intense added pressures of this crisis. Grant them resilience in weariness, discernment in diagnosis, and compassion upon compassion as they care. We thank you for the army of researchers cooperating towards a cure – give them clarity, serendipity and unexpected breakthroughs we pray. Rise Sun of righteousness, above this present darkness with healing in your rays. You are powerful and merciful; may this be our prayer – ‘Sovereign Lord, you have made the heavens and the earth by your great power and outstretched arm. Nothing is too hard for you.’ (Jer 32:17)

(Click here for downloadable slides for the entirety of this excellent prayer guide to use in community prayer – even if praying together occurs in virtual worship, and not in person.)

Spiritual Formation Lived in Shared Membership Vows

For congregations, Rev. Andy Stoddard reinforces community spiritual formation through the lens of membership vows, organizing congregational communication and resources through prayers, presence, gifts, service, and witness, with resources linked in each. He writes,

“There’s an old hymn of the church that reminds us: “The church is not a building; the church is not a steeple; the church is not a resting place; the church is a people.” We all believe that, we all know that, but in a season of “social distancing” it can be really hard for us to remember what it means to be connected.  That, in many ways, is my worst fear. We need each other.  And we need the church.  The church will continue to be at work, and we each can continue to do our part, and remember vows that we made on joining the church. In this time, in this moment, we continue to need God and need each other.  I love our memberships vows, and I believe that in this time, as we keep faithful with our prayers, presence, our gifts, our service, and our witness, these vows will hold us together more and more.  I want to share some useful resources that can help you and me live into our calling in this and every season. This will be a growing list in the days to come.”

What a great way to order posture for the days to come: to remind people of who they are, what they have committed together, and who the church will continue to be.

When Prudence and Cooperation Are Spiritual Formation: Wisdom from the Congo

Often community is pictured locally; but people of faith constantly affirm the unity of the global church. We are part of a local-global connection tying us to believers around the world. We all follow Jesus: it’s that simple.

While weighing the challenges of Coronavirus-related restrictions, Rev. Beth Ann Cook reached out to a clergy friend from the Democratic Republic of Congo; he has pastored people, “in the midst of war, economic and political unrest, and a cholera epidemic.” She expressed, “I was so very grateful to be able to ask, ‘what do I do?’” He responded,

“In such a situation we ask people not to panic but to be prudent.

Help people as Christians to turn our faces to God in prayer and ask for his wisdom to face the situation.

Mobilize the community and congregation to follow instructions given by health authorities.

Develop an excellent communication network.”

The posture suggested by a pastor who has led during war, economic dives, and cholera? Be prudent rather than panic; help people turn to God in prayer and to pray for God’s wisdom; use influence in your region and congregation to follow health authorities; and invest in a strong communication network.

If energy spent in helping people to be a non-anxious, careful presence or promoting health authority protocol seems separate from spiritual formation, it’s not. Centuries ago, the Apostle Paul wrote to Christ followers on the edge of the Mediterranean, “Rejoice in the Lord always. I will say it again: Rejoice! Let your gentleness be evident to all. The Lord is near. Do not be anxious about anything, but in every situation, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God. And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.”

As we form and grow, Paul – and a pastor from the Congo – remind us of the value of practicing mental habits and choices that the Holy Spirit can empower and illumine: in the middle of difficult circumstances, we can take joy, let gentleness be evident to everyone, resist the nagging call of anxiety, and in every situation, present our requests to God through prayer with gratitude. These postures are both individual and communal, hammered out personally and corporately.

In Matthew 22, we read, “Tell us then, what is your opinion? Is it right to pay the imperial tax to Caesar or not?” But Jesus, knowing their evil intent, said, “You hypocrites, why are you trying to trap me? Show me the coin used for paying the tax.” They brought him a denarius, and he asked them, “Whose image is this? And whose inscription?” “Caesar’s,” they replied. Then he said to them, “So give back to Caesar what is Caesar’s, and to God what is God’s.”

Building a posture of humility includes mindfulness about Christians’ presence and witness in “the public square.” In times of outbreak, a response of simple humility might be, “of course we may have the right to do something, but we love our neighbors with the sacrificial love God has shown for all of us, and our actions must not ever be only about our own interests, real or perceived. And for the sake of our congregation and our community, we happily submit to anything that does not require us to deny Christ. We can easily worship Christ in our homes just as easily as we can in one building. We have nothing to fear by worshiping at home and serving safely wherever we can.”

The Discomfort of Spiritual Growth in an Outbreak: Wisdom from the 1500’s

About two weeks ago, Wesleyan Accent shared an adapted piece written during the Ebola outbreak, on Martin Luther’s pastoral responses to contagion in the form of the plague. People of faith don’t only have global connections during crisis; we affirm in the Creed, “we believe in the communion of saints…” The Body of Christ stretches across space and time and sometimes there is wisdom to be found from voices through the centuries.

“Even if people are accustomed to relative health and ease – or especially if they are – it is impossible to insulate any life from certain realities: illness, vulnerability, lack of control, mortality. Pastoral care during outbreaks is in part the quiet calming of deep existential fears usually ignored, avoided, or drowned out by many people in the Western world.

In addition to taking sensible precautions and exercising common sense and good cheer, we can outfit ourselves with wisdom from church history. Perspective is never so valuable as in a time of panic, warranted or unwarranted or somewhere in between. So let’s inoculate ourselves against denial, on one hand, and fear, on the other, with a visit to the Book of Common Prayer and a cantankerous German monk, Martin Luther.”

Luther gives counsel on the shape of prayer in the face of contagion; he offers frank advice on the social and ethical responsibilities of serving others if it puts you at risk; and he comments on pragmatic angles of dying well – a deeply ignored element of spiritual formation in the U.S. Despite the difference in what we now know of disease spread, a great deal of his insight translates remarkably well – and sometimes with unexpected kindness toward those who feel themselves faltering.

A Note to Tired Pastors

There are times that church leaders are tempted to grow discouraged; we know how much energy ministry can take when things are going well; will people turn toward their faith if there is no Sunday gathering, if the activity calendar suddenly goes silent? But activity and spiritual growth are two different things.

The question of whether people will grow or wilt may be thrown into clearer relief when business as usual is disrupted; but it’s not a new question, it’s an old question. And there is nothing that pastors have ever been able to do to guarantee that the people who often sit in the pews will push deeper into their faith in moments of chaos.

Fear that people will fall away from church because a time of outbreak occurs is the same fear that a person will fall away from faith because of a cancer diagnosis. We cannot inoculate believers from loss, challenge, or hardship. Some people may have casually engaged with faith communities, and they will become more invested, more active – they may even discover a call to ministry through this time. Others may have casually engaged with faith communities, and they will become less invested, less active – their belief may diminish in the face of self-preservation or trauma.

In your work to strengthen communications, encourage prudence over panic, support health initiatives, and lead into deep and regular prayer, be at peace. Do your best to support spiritual formation in the face of quarantine, and trust that while the congregation may look different when all is said and done, you will have new and more reasons to witness to the goodness of God than you can imagine right now. The well-being of your congregation and community is not all on your shoulders; so commit with boldness to stretches of rest, and let your spirit be formed.

Practical Coronavirus Communication for Congregations

A Note from the Editor: It can be difficult to discern timely responses when so much shifts in just a week. Equipping yourself with resources is challenging when you not only must sort facts, probability, and panic, but you must also keep up to date with relevant developments. And so everyone from Old Navy to Christian denominations to the NBA is forced to rely on phrases like, “we are closely monitoring…” and “we have been in contact with” (which probably means an intern was on hold for 90 minutes) and “it is an evolving situation.” Yet there have been some beautiful responses from a variety of Wesleyan Methodist denominations to the spread of Coronavirus. Certainly many communities have been stepping up in a variety of ways; it is heartening to see. Christians certainly aren’t alone in that. Yet I have been moved repeatedly to see excellent resources and postures recommended and shared from a place of deep thoughtfulness, compassion, historical awareness, and humility. What was intended to be one post has grown into two: one focusing on Coronavirus communication tips and another reflecting on intentional posture and spiritual formation in the midst of outbreak disruption and upheaval. I hope these voices expressing Coronavirus communication resourcing for Wesleyan Methodist congregations will encourage, guide, and inspire.

Elizabeth Glass Turner

 

Every denominational connection and individual congregation is assessing how to engage with emerging needs during a crisis, without worsening difficult circumstances or contributing to virus spread. Depending on the local context, that will look different from town to town, city to city, where dynamics differ. Naturally, resources for pragmatic service will continue to be driven along existing lines – relationships with food banks, local schools, senior citizen centers, ministerial associations, and chaplains in hospitals, public service agencies, incarceration facilities, and so on.

Given that local relationships will drive much of the local response, the following examples help address a couple of immediate needs faced by clergy and congregational members: church Coronavirus communication and communicating with vulnerable populations with proactive hospitality.

As we survey some great examples of communication under pressure, let’s keep in mind a United Methodist congregation in South Carolina has two confirmed cases who, along with the pastor, are currently self-quarantined: so pastors, develop a contingency plan in case you personally have to be physically isolated at some point.

Communicating Changes in Gathered Worship Routine:

A week ago, Rev. Eric Huffman, Lead Pastor of The Story: Houston was one of the first clergy people on my social media feed to announce substantive changes to Sunday gathering practices. Just a few days before, the first confirmed case of Coronavirus had popped up in the high-density population area of Houston. Though some state governments are requesting limitations on public gatherings to fewer than 250 or 100 people, others haven’t yet; this puts congregations in a tricky situation. Do you keep the doors open or not? For churches in regions where public gathering hasn’t been addressed officially, The Story: Houston church made some sensible changes and communicated them clearly:

Five ways COVID-19 will affect tomorrow’s events:

We’re still gathering as scheduled – 8:45, 9:45, 11:05 in the morning. Things will mostly be the same as usual, with some exceptions:

1. Hugging is not allowed. Not even side hugs. If you attempt to hug someone, one of our several Krav Maga Houston specialists will respond accordingly.

2. We will not share Communion tomorrow. There will be a way to share Communion safely in the future, but until all our volunteers are up to speed on new processes, we’re not going to risk it.

3. OFFERING-FREE WORSHIP TOMORROW!! Kinda. Not really. Instead of passing the baskets, we’ll encourage you to use the wall boxes to make your offerings!

4. Hand sanitizer will be everywhere. We might even start baptizing with it.

5. We’ll worship Jesus. We’ll pray for those affected by Coronavirus, for those paralyzed by anxiety, and for those who are working to treat the ill and to develop vaccines.

If you’re sick, stay home! If you’re well but anxious, join us online at 11:05! If you’re well and you want to join us in person, I’ll see you tomorrow!

Announcements like this balance humor with respect for the gravity of unintended consequences: no one goes to church planning on unwittingly exposing everyone to illness just by taking the offering plate when it’s passed and handing it to the person next to them. This points to another strength in this communication: contamination hubs have been identified, analyzed, and named so that those who attend know what to expect. Passing the peace, passing the offering plates, and passing Communion elements all put people in close contact or involve multiple people touching a shared item. In the conclusion, an alternate mode of participating – “join us online” – is mentioned so that people can be comfortable with whatever decision they make about attendance even if they’re not ill.

Some regions have moved beyond these precautions to banning large gatherings and others are likely to do so soon. In the meantime, it’s still valuable to identify practices prone to spreading contamination and then proactively communicating planned adaptations.

Communicating District or Conference-Wide Worship Cancellations:

On a different level of church Coronavirus communication and preparedness, yesterday morning (March 13) an episcopal communication helped shoulder the burden of congregational decision-making: Bishop Mike McKee of the North Texas Conference relayed news of prohibition of large gatherings in Dallas County, given the announcement of a state of emergency.

The Bishop requested that all churches in metropolitan districts, not just large ones, cancel services for the next two Sundays at least and asked that rural district congregations choosing to gather provide additional sanitizing resources. He further requested that all church members in the conference over 60 or with vulnerable health conditions stay home and join worship virtually online, linking to a document providing a list of congregations offering livestream. (Since yesterday, I’ve learned of other Bishops requesting services to be cancelled.)

Bishop McKee wrote, “In this moment, the way that we as people of faith can do the most good and do no harm actually is to refrain from coming together. Practicing social distancing can be a way for us to prevent further infections and literally save human lives. While worship services and other church gatherings are canceled, it will be even more important for pastors and lay leaders to be attentive to our older and more vulnerable members. The ramifications of this pandemic are more than about health. People are at risk of loneliness and of suffering economic impacts.
 
This unprecedented moment gives us the opportunity to witness to our faith in ways other than gathering for worship. Pray for healthcare workers, community leaders, those suffering from the virus and their loved ones, and those who are being negatively impacted by this pandemic. As individual disciples and as churches, keep your eyes open for emerging needs and find creative ways to meet them. Be a source of hope in your circles of influence.
 
You will hear from me again soon as this situation continues to unfold.”

We live in interesting times when Bishops request that people stay home from church, but it is extremely valuable when leaders pave the way for a sensible response. Through this announcement, the Bishop has taken responsibility for closures (because there is usually some resistance from at least a few church members when services are canceled, no matter the reason). In doing so, he has also given permission to earnest church-goers and conscientious pastors to stand down from stoically carrying out weekly worship.

This is a slightly different angle from which to approach faith-based Coronavirus communication: when leaders carefully gather and analyze information and proactively collaborate on a clear response, they can be ready to implement a plan when officials announce and enact a policy. (As someone who expresses criticism of the episcopacy from time to time, it is important to pause and express appreciation when I believe something has been done especially well. Thank you, Bishop, for taking leadership on this matter.)

For Bishops or General Superintendents or District Superintendents, implementing decisions at a district or conference-wide level can alleviate stress on their clergy and congregations.

At the time of publication, several queries have been made with pastors and leaders in a couple of Wesleyan Methodist denominations with congregationalist-style forms of church government. Responses indicate that communication from District Superintendents has been limited to encouraging clergy to follow any official protocols on public gatherings. (These queries were not exhaustive; in a “rapidly evolving situation,” it is probable we will see more statements in the days to come from district leaders in these denominations. Let’s hope that we do, for the sake of the decision load their clergymembers are carrying.) Official statements from denominational leadership teams include this one from The Wesleyan Church, and this one from the Church of the Nazarene on local church recommendations.

Communicating Virtual Worship Tips:

A lot has changed in just a week, and a large number of churches are live streaming worship this weekend (even small congregations can put a phone on a tripod to livestream to their Facebook page: click here to watch a short simple video called “Local Church Guide to Using Facebook Live”). My own pastor emailed a worship guide file, with prayers, responses, texts, and sermon included so that it’s easier to follow along with the livestream.

Live streaming is a good move in the current circumstances but in the past, watching a live streamed service sometimes emphasizes the gap between presence and absence, simply because many worship leaders or pastors forget it’s happening and don’t address remote, virtual participants! For pastors preaching from empty sanctuaries or their living rooms, it will now be difficult to ignore the remote, virtual participants.

Enter this helpful reflection from University AME Zion in Palo Alto, California, where Rev. Kaloma Smith is Pastor. It’s a unique congregation that often practices fresh communication takes. Yesterday, the church shared these virtual worship tips: We know watching church service online can seem distant and impersonal, so we put together a list of tips to help you get the most out of this experience.

Here are simple tips to get more out of virtual worship:

MAKE IT COMMUNAL: As you get ready to watch a service on live stream, don’t do it alone. Invite those in your house to join in watching the worship service, invite friends and family to watch it even if they’re not in the same house, or start a watch party on Facebook.

GET IN THE RIGHT MINDSET: Say a prayer before you start watching, asking God to allow you to be brought to a place of worship, where you can experience his glory and presence.

REMOVE DISTRACTIONS: Treat this time as special and Holy. Stop scrolling, turn off the news, don’t multitask, let those around you know that this time is sacred, and you shouldn’t be disturbed. You will get so much more out of this experience if you focus and allow yourself to connect with the worship and God in a new way.

INTERACT WITH THE SERVICE: When you start watching, say hi in the chat and let people know where you’re from, type in your prayer request, respond to the praise team and preacher with emojis and gifs. We are a community, and we want to hear from you.

PARTICIPATE IN THE WORSHIP: Sing along with the music team, clap your hands, open your mouth in prayer and praise, write notes from the sermon. The service is not a show to be watched, but an experience that you are an essential part of.

SUPPORT OUR MINISTRY: During these difficult times as you’re watching University, we really need your financial support. You can give the following ways…

Not only was it savvy for this congregation to address what are often invisible or unspoken hurdles in joining worship online, it’s also a church that is already well poised to remove hurdles to giving when physical gathering is limited. The avenues to continue financial support included traditional snail-mail and a link to give through the website but most notably mentioned the “text to give” option. (In fact, Rev. Smith was quoted on the situation a few days ago in USA Today, here.)

Let’s name this as part of congregational Coronavirus communication: during uncertainty characterized by “panic shopping,” if you’re a part of a faith community whose budgetary decisions you support and trust, it’s important to continue whatever capacity of giving you’re able to exercise. Many faith communities will be front-line resources partnering with local efforts to protect and shield vulnerable church members and community members.

A quick note on utilizing technology for virtual worship: some church members may need guidance on how to find the church Facebook page. If congregations tap a few people to make quick phone calls on Sunday morning to assist any who struggle to navigate emerging technology, a quick, easy walk-through or step-by-step instructions before service begins could help everyone be prepared to participate. (For instance – in a time when many grandkids might help a grandparent navigate technology, some grandparents live in assisted communities that are now closed to visitors.) If those who are live streaming begin the stream early with music, greetings, or announcements, it will help people know they’ve arrived at the right “place” virtually.

Communicating with Vulnerable Community Members:

After processing many ramifications of disruption likely to accompany the spread of illness, Jennifer Crispin shared pragmatic Coronavirus communication insight about living well individually through intentional community in ways that support and serve others. Her thoughts have been echoed by others who similarly spent the week thinking through the likely scope of impact:

“There are still ways you can continue to SHOW UP for people, even if you can’t show up in person:

*Donate cash to your local food shelter. A whole lot of people are about to get more food insecure, and cash donations go so much farther than canned goods. Plus, you’ve spent enough time at the grocery store already.

*Get take out from your local Chinese restaurant. You may not have seen people being racist in your community, but lots of these businesses are taking a hit.

*Call your friend with a chronic health condition that you probably don’t fully understand and say, “I am going to the grocery store, what can I bring you?”

*Write a letter or call your loved ones in retirement centers, assisted living, long term care. Many are or will soon be curtailing visitors, and these folks are socially isolated enough. Remind them they are loved.

These are all different forms of communication. Financial support of food banks, organizations, and local businesses communicates; contacting someone in a vulnerable health position communicates; contacting loved ones or church members or simply any residents who are shut-in or live in long-term care facilities – that communicates.

What do these actions communicate?

They communicate solidarity and community identity. They communicate welcome (through hospitable gestures), humility (through the willingness to serve), and value (through reinforcing the worth of those whose actions are limited in public and community space). A hospitable posture isn’t solely practiced in welcoming people to a center of activity, like a church building; a hospitable posture actually reaches out and engages people where they are. (Engaging people doesn’t have to be a physical action, exposing a body to added risk factors.) It may sound odd to say that communicating with people who are isolated is an act of hospitality, because we think of hospitality as hosting people in our space.

But what if we think of it this way?

When I call aging adults in my family, faith community, or extended community – when I speak to them over the phone, which may be their default communication style more than it is mine – I am saying, “you belong here, you are welcome here, you are a gift here. You are not forgotten or irrelevant. You belong; you belong; you belong.“

When I donate cash to a food bank or to my faith community’s emergency fund – when I give to a stressed organization with stressed volunteers or employees who are working long hours on policies that inevitably will be criticized by some – I am saying to the organization, to the ministry, and to each person depending on it, “you belong here, you are welcome here, you are a gift here. You are not taken for granted or at fault. You belong; you belong; you belong.”

When I contact friends who have a kid who’s immunocompromised or text someone going through chemo – when I tell them what I’m praying for them, and ask them to tell me something to do on their behalf – I am saying, “you belong here, you are welcome here, you are a gift here. You are not a liability or hassle. You belong; you belong; you belong.”

When I order take-out from a restaurant owned and staffed by immigrants – when I show up or delivery arrives and I smile and make eye contact and say thank you – I am saying, “you belong here, you are welcome here, you are a gift here. You are not alone or unwanted. You belong; you belong; you belong.”

Many of these dynamics – church communication, what it means to extend hospitality – aren’t new to our sisters and brothers in the faith who live in different parts of the world. It seems appropriate to acknowledge and repent of times when, in our distraction or self-centered routine, we displayed casual disinterest when other regions have been rocked by outbreaks, sometimes of illnesses much more devastating than the Coronavirus.

Mother Teresa shared a great deal of wisdom on many occasions. Several of her insights are timely right now; one in particular comes to mind as we consider how we communicate and what we are communicating.

“If we have no peace, it is because we have forgotten that we belong to each other.”

Not Yet Fully Awake by Dr. Matthew Milliner

He is risen! He is risen indeed!

It’s exciting news when the most brilliant disciple of the atheist Sigmund Freud sees the need for belief in God. As many of you know, the name of this student was Carl Jung, and there is a lot one can learn from him. But here is one thing he really got wrong: “It is funny,” Jung tells us, “that Christians are still so pagan that they understand spiritual existence only as a body and as a physical event. I am afraid our Christian cannot maintain this shocking anachronism any longer.”

And so having cited this unfortunate remark of the great Swiss psychiatrist, please indulge me again, maybe with an Alleluia at the end this time.

He is risen. He is risen indeed! Alleluia!

The field of Biblical studies is wonderful. You can learn all kinds of things about the Ancient Near Eastern and Graeco-Roman contexts in which the Biblical books were originally written, you can learn the original languages. But as in any field, some people in Biblical studies make some miscalculations. I speak of the Biblical scholar Gerd Lüdemann: “A consistent modern view must say farewell to the resurrection as a historical event.”

Having heard that, please indulge me once again.

He is risen. He is risen indeed, Alleluia!

The notion that you can keep Christianity without resurrection has aged about as well as pay phones, in-flight ash trays, spitoons, hoop skirts, zuit suits, and those massive televisions that we used to have to cram in our living room and the gargantuan pieces of furniture we used to hide them before the flat screens came along.  You still sometimes see those huge TVs on the curb, usually with five garbage stickers on them because no one wants them!  And who would want a Christianity without resurrection either?

It’s often said if the resurrection isn’t true, don’t go to church, go to brunch. Well I was at one of those Chicago brunch meccas just this week and I overheard the bartenders planning the cocktail menu for this Sunday – Easter morning. And they said, “We need to mix up our menu to bring people in.” One employee said, we could change up the Bloody Mary with a bloodless Mary, which I guess is some kind of cocktail. And how I wish I had had the courage to say then and there, “Sounds like perfect cocktail for someone without resurrection hope on Easter Morning! Bloodless Mary.” But because he is risen we’re not at brunch, we’re here instead to drink from the veins of the risen Christ, and today at least we’re throwing in brunch too. 

I’m sure you know the great John Updike poem, Seven Stanzas at Easter:

Make no mistake: if he rose at all

it was as His body;

if the cell’s dissolution did not reverse, the molecules

reknit, the amino acids rekindle,

the Church will fall.

Let us not mock God with metaphor,

analogy, sidestepping, transcendence,

making of the event a parable, a sign painted in the faded

credulity of earlier ages:

let us walk through the door.

Or better than Updike’s poem is this bald statement of fact in 1 Cor. 15; “If for this life only we have hoped in Christ, we are of all people most to be pitied. But in fact Christ has been raised from the dead, the first fruits of those who have died.”  Or Acts 10: “We are witnesses to all that he did… They put him to death by hanging him on a tree; but God raised him on the third day.” That is not a pious sentiment, a clever aphorism, haiku or a sonnet – it’s journalism. They killed him, God fixed it, says St. Peter.

One reason that resurrection matters is because it addresses our root anxiety. There are a lot of surface anxieties in our lives, and some that cut a good bit below the surface. But if you follow those anxieties to their root, and ask yourself, “what’s the worst thing that could happen?” The answer tends to be: “somebody could die.” That’s about as bad as it could get. And that root anxiety of our impermanence is what drives so many of our worries, agendas and sins – and so the root anxiety is the one Jesus addresses this morning not just by his words but with his body, by conquering death and replacing it with the root peace of the risen Christ.

That root peace is why Roger Persons, a member of our congregation, when his wife Jean died while they were watching TV together, was able to address her then and there and say, “Walk with the king.” That root peace is why Jason Long and I, sitting at the top of Central Dupage Hospital with Brett Foster as the sunset beamed into the hospital room so strongly that I had to put on my sunglasses, felt strangely, in retrospect, like Brett was preparing us for our own deaths as well. When I think of Brett, my memory now skips from that hospital room to his funeral where we heard these words from the Orthodox poet, Scott Cairns, about the resurrection – not Jesus’ resurrection, but mine and yours. 

…one morning you finally wake

to a light you recognize as the light you’ve wanted

every morning that has come before. And the air

itself has some light thing in it that you’ve always

hoped the air might have. And One is there

to welcome you whose face you’ve looked for during all

the best and worst times of your life. He takes you to himself

and holds you close until you fully wake.

And in our gospel passage, Mary of course – like all of us on this side of death – is not yet fully awake. She makes first contact with the resurrected Jesus, and it’s about as awkward as Peter embarrassing himself by trying to pitch a tent on Mount Tabor. Mary’s problem is that she thinks Jesus is dead, and when she sees that he’s gone, she consoles herself by saying, “they have taken the Lord out of the tomb, and we do not know where they have laid him.”

I wonder if it’s her root anxiety in the form of a sentence. It signifies confusion, frustration and maybe even a little panic. I almost imagine her wandering off in a daze reciting those words in some kind of stupor. “They have taken the Lord out of the tomb, and we do not know where they have laid him.” Then the disciples show up, Peter and John. And of course, the best illustration I know of that moment in all the world is a train ride away at the Art Institute of Chicago. It’s by the African American painter Henry Ossawa Tanner. It shows Peter kind of concerned, almost twiddling his thumbs because he knew he blew it – and John, the beloved disciple has this beaming look on his face, as if to say, “I knew it!”  Tanner suffered from racial prejudice all his life – he believed in resurrection. Still, in our passage, neither Peter nor John stick around.

But Mary wanders back, still clinging to the best she can do under the circumstances. Call her the Bloodless Mary, wringing her hands as she repeats, “they have taken the Lord out of the tomb, and we do not know where they have laid him.” And then she gets what we all think would work for us if only it would happen: an angelic visitation. “She bent over to look into the tomb; and she saw two angels in white, sitting where the body of Jesus had been lying, one at the head and the other at the feet.” I hope you’re catching that this is a reference to the ark of the covenant – two angels surrounding a void of presence – the absence that signifies that God cannot be contained. And the angels, puzzled, say to her, “woman, why are you weeping?”

And her reply? “They have taken away my Lord, and I do not know where they have laid him.” The presence of the angels doesn’t clear up her confusion, so the Lord himself explains it to her. “She turned around and saw Jesus standing there, but she did not know that it was Jesus. Jesus said to her, “woman, why are you weeping? Whom are you looking for?” Now that is a reference to the mystical treaties the Song of Solomon if there ever was one – God’s pursuit of the soul. “Whom are you looking for?” God asks this to all of us this morning.

But it doesn’t work! Mary thinks he’s the gardener. And she offers her good intentions and pious objectives one more time. “Sir, if you have carried him away, tell me where you have laid him, and I will take him away.”  She still clings to her pre-resurrection agenda. On Friday one of our speakers said that Jesus was LOUD on the cross and I think he’s loud here too.  He has to be loud enough to snap her out of her pious plans to anoint his corpse. And so he shouts with a smile, “Mary!”

There have been a lot of good stories about Notre Dame de Paris this week, but here’s the best one I know of. Denise once told me that when she was there with her mother and sister, they were touring the Cathedral which was packed with tourists, when a mother lost her son. And my wife Denise knows the name of that boy, as does everyone who was in Notre Dame that day because the mother started to shout it. Dimitri!  After three shouts the packed cathedral fell silent but she kept shouting, no – screaming, “Dimitri! Dimitri!” until he was found. And that, after all, is what Notre Dame’s architecture is – it is the risen Christ shouting to you through beauty. Shouting your name and mine, trying to snap us out of our own agendas, even our own ambitions to serve him. That’s what beauty does, what pain does, what tragedy, suffering and joy do. They’re all the risen Christ shouting our name again and again in the Cathedral of this cosmos while the cathedral lasts.

And like Mary, we wake up, “Teacher!” and we cling to him, as any of us would. That’s what coming to church is about. But then comes Jesus’ famous lines to Mary: “Don’t hold onto me.” He does not mean back off. He tells her to stop clinging to him because he has something for her to do. Not her agenda this time but his. Namely, go tell the boys. In all four gospels the women are first, the only difference is the number of women who are present. And each gospel, the mission of the women is the same – and it is from them that we get the message with which we began.

He is risen: He is risen indeed. Alleluia!

Think your pastor’s preaching is ‘too political’? Try listening to Jesus by Mark Wingfield

“Pastor, why can’t you just preach the gospel and stay away from all this controversial stuff?”

It’s likely your pastor has heard this question dozens of times in recent years, yet he or she may be reticent to speak about it for fear of calling out certain members of the congregation or appearing to respond to specific criticism of recent sermons. If you’ve already been criticized for your sermon, however gently, you sure don’t want to make the situation worse by writing a column like this.

Since I’m not a “preaching” pastor (call me if you need a wedding or funeral, though) no one can criticize my Sunday sermons on this basis. So maybe I can address this concern on behalf of my many friends across the country who do stand in pulpits week to week and declare the word of the Lord.

What congregants seem to mean when they ask pastors to “just preach the gospel” is to avoid the things that make them uncomfortable and cause them to leave worship with something less than a warm glow in their hearts. They want Christmas Eve and Easter Sunday sermons, not Ash Wednesday or Good Friday sermons. They want seven-ways-to-live-a-happier-life sermons, not seven-ways-to-suffer-like-Christ sermons. This is not an evil desire, nor is it unreasonable – in part because the Christian church in America for most of my lifetime has conditioned us to leave worship feeling happy and sometimes smug about our personal piety.

For some, this complaint may arise from feeling like everything around them is “too political” today. They hear it on TV, on the radio, in the newspaper, at work, at home, at parties. Couldn’t church be a sanctuary from things that feel so divisive?

We must remember that the “gospel” got Jesus killed by an angry mob. All our pretty, sanded-down crosses belie the fact that Jesus was lynched and hanged on rough-hewn timbers in an act of public humiliation. Jesus upset the status quo, undermined the religious and political leaders of his day and called people to sacrifice what made them feel safe and secure. By the way, Jesus also didn’t need to raise a multimillion-dollar budget every year, which probably is a good thing.

The essence of the gospel is announced by Jesus in Luke 4:18-19: “The Spirit of the Lord is upon me, because he has anointed me to bring good news to the poor. He has sent me to proclaim release to the captives and recovery of sight to the blind, to let the oppressed go free, to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor.” This was Jesus’ agenda.

In today’s climate, pastors who stand in the pulpit and declare help for the poor, release of captives and health care for the blind can easily be accused of “being political” or “soft on crime” or “socialists” or worse. Were Jesus to mount the pulpit in your church this Sunday, it is doubtful anyone would leave feeling warm and fuzzy and self-righteous. Challenged, yes. Inspired, yes. Self-righteous, no.

If it’s not the words of Jesus people are seeking, then maybe “the gospel” is the rest of the New Testament, beyond the red-letter stuff. The bulk of those other words were penned by the Apostle Paul. Like Jesus, he died a martyr’s death and gave his life in service to others. He was not about self-preservation. Throughout the Pauline epistles, we hear that the most important thing is to “preach Christ and him crucified.” Again, not an invitation to a country club luncheon.

Paul is always calling the early church to greater action, greater commitment, greater sacrifice, greater devotion. His mission is to lead people to follow Jesus in radical discipleship.

There’s a word that ought to resonate with Christians of all stripes: “discipleship.” Whether from Jesus or Paul, the gospel message calls us to lives of being disciples, of following Jesus by trying every day to be more like Jesus. Conservative Christians had it right years ago when they embraced the WWJD bracelets asking “What Would Jesus Do?” That’s a discipleship question.

Sadly, the WWJD question has been replaced in many Christian minds by WMMC – What Makes Me Comfortable? That’s the wrong question, the wrong measuring stick, whether you’re following Jesus or Paul.

So if “preaching the gospel” isn’t about Jesus, Paul or discipleship, maybe it’s about something else. The other things pastors hear a lot is this: “You should preach more evangelistic sermons.”

Where to begin? First, evangelistic sermons are more effective when there are people in the room who need to be evangelized. That requires members of the church inviting their friends and neighbors and family and coworkers to church to hear the gospel presentation. (See the discussion on discipleship above.) Most churches in America today are filled with people who already believe. And not many of the people who complain about the pastor’s sermons are bringing inquirers to church with them.

But there is another meaning to evangelism, which is to renew faith in the good news of Jesus Christ. That involves reclaiming those who have fallen away or strengthening the faith of those who are faltering. Maybe that’s what people mean when they want pastors to “just preach the gospel.” And that could pull in some of the warmer stuff Jesus said, like, “Come unto me all you who are weary and heavy-laden, and I will give you rest.”

That’s it: We want to come to church to lay down our burdens and be comforted, to find rest from the troubles of the world. But, as before, there’s a problem. That warm and comforting line from Luke’s Gospel is followed by this sentence from Jesus in the same breath: “Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me.”

Preaching the gospel authentically calls us to do unto others as we would have them do unto us, to turn the other cheek, not to consider ourselves better than others, to live at peace with all people, to model a winsome faith, to bind up the wounded, rescue the perishing and bring God’s kingdom on earth as it is in heaven. That’s the gospel, and that’s the end-game of evangelism.

Not all pastors are brave enough to preach the gospel these days, because it’s upsetting and dangerous. But I fear even fewer people are willing to hear the gospel preached – because it’s upsetting and dangerous. To paraphrase Thomas Paine: These are the times that try men’s and women’s souls. The “gospel” just doesn’t go down as easily today; nor should it ever.

The next time you think your pastor is being “too political” or “not evangelistic enough” or should “preach the gospel more,” give yourself a simple test: How does what your pastor preaches line up with the words of Jesus, the red-letter portions of the Bible? When a pastor declares the red letters, it may leave a congregation red in the face. And that says more about the hearer than the preacher.

Why We Argue by John Turner

Why do we argue?

Is it so that we can win a competition, and feel the adrenaline rush of victory?  Is it to make another person feel ashamed of themselves?  Is it to make sure other people know what we support, or don’t support?  Is it because if we don’t, the other side will be the only ones talking?

Facebook, Twitter, and even our face to face conversations are filled with arguments. Should we have more gun regulation?  Should we have less?  Should we stop people from coming across the border?  Is it too hard to become a citizen already?   Are the Democrats using dirty tricks to gain political advantage?  Are the Republicans ignoring injustice because it helps them politically?

Whose side are you on?

Many have seen people attacked with cruelty and cold-hearted rage over these disagreements.  Some people have decided they don’t want to be a part of it anymore and stay away from social media, at least for a time.  Is this the way we should respond, as Christians?  Should we stay out of the mud, so that we don’t offend anyone?  So we don’t get hurt?

Why do we argue?

“Blessed are you when people insult you and persecute you, and falsely say all kinds of evil against you because of Me. Rejoice and be glad, for your reward in heaven is great; for in the same way they persecuted the prophets who were before you.

“You are the salt of the earth; but if the salt has become tasteless, how can it be made salty again? It is no longer good for anything, except to be thrown out and trampled under foot by men.

“You are the light of the world. A city set on a hill cannot be hidden; nor does anyone light a lamp and put it under a basket, but on the lampstand, and it gives light to all who are in the house. Let your light shine before men in such a way that they may see your good works, and glorify your Father who is in heaven.” – Matthew 5:11-16 (NASB)

So, if we are to be insulted and persecuted, we must engage with people, right?  We must have a visible presence in the world if people are going to want to falsely say evil against us.  So shutting down is not the answer.  We cannot hide.  We are needed.  We must be light.

Without the light, how will people know where they are?  Or where they are going?  Or what they are doing?  People are grappling with difficult problems, and decisions must be made.  Should things change, or stay the same?  If something must change, how?  What should we do about the new problems that the changes create?

How will people make these decisions in the dark?

Why do we argue?

Love is patient, love is kind and is not jealous; love does not brag and is not arrogant, does not act unbecomingly; it does not seek its own, is not provoked, does not take into account a wrong suffered, does not rejoice in unrighteousness, but rejoices with the truth; bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things.

Love never fails; but if there are gifts of prophecy, they will be done away; if there are tongues, they will cease; if there is knowledge, it will be done away. For we know in part and we prophesy in part; but when the perfect comes, the partial will be done away. When I was a child, I used to speak like a child, think like a child, reason like a child; when I became a man, I did away with childish things. For now we see in a mirror dimly, but then face to face; now I know in part, but then I will know fully just as I also have been fully known. But now faith, hope, love, abide these three; but the greatest of these is love.

If we should argue, we should do so because we love.

Because we want others to be able to grow.  Because we want them to be able to rejoice in the truth.  Sometimes, because they are hurting themselves or others.  Sometimes, because false beliefs can lead to mistakes, which can lead to unnecessary and unproductive pain.  Once again, the answer is that it is not about us.

How does it feel when we discover we are wrong?  When we have argued, perhaps for years, and discover we are completely and utterly wrong?  It is painful.  It is embarrassing.  It is hard.

So how should we feel when someone else is wrong, and does not see it?  Angry?  Disgusted?  Annoyed?  And, what about if they finally see it, and understand how they were wrong?  Happy?  Victorious?  Frustrated at how long it took?

No.

We should be grieved.  We should feel the pain that they feel and seek to comfort.  Which one of us has not also been wrong at one time or another?  And knowing that, we should also be humble and careful to listen when we argue.  This also could be one of those times.

We argue because we love.  But how do we argue?

We should argue with patience.  We should argue with kindness and not out of jealousy.  We should argue without arrogance, but by maintaining everyone’s dignity.  We should not try to gain anything from it, and we should not let ourselves be provoked into hurting others.  We should not hold it against people for the names they call us, or the way they treat us, and we should not be glad when our opponents make a mistake or get hurt.  Instead, we should hold on to the truth, even if it means helping our opponent’s argument.  We should bear with each other, believe each other, hope for each other, and endure each other’s pain.

Let us stop arguing like children, and begin to do so as adults.