Tag Archives: Current Events

Words Destroy or Hallow

“Let’s put him on blast!” I hadn’t heard the phrase before, but I instantly knew what it meant: whatever the business’s misstep had been, the call was sent out to grab it by its social media handles and tear it down. A bit of photographic evidence, a globally-audible, locally-tangible siren, and the business was tagged: the company was now “it”—a toxic bit of business that infected whatever and whoever it touched. So, tear it down and stay away.  This doesn’t just happen with businesses. People get blasted, too. People scrub their Instagram and Twitter pasts to wipe away any bit of (perceived) filth before their Facebook posts are pressure washed with the words of others.

Anthropologist Mary Douglas noted the power and danger of dirt. We fear the filthy; dirt threatens disintegration. The best way to handle such dirty danger, whether located in the business misstep or social media slip up or political pariah, is to “blast” it: to use words to show the other’s filth, to distance oneself from the defiled, and to wash up the mess—all with one sweet Tweet.

But public humiliation is not new. In the fifth century, Augustine warned of the risks of wicked words (Confessions I:29):

  • Watch out for hatred! We do more harm to ourselves by hating another than the other can do to us.
  • Watch out for hostility! Harbored hostility toward another harms the self, even if it isn’t acted upon.
  • Watch out for hubris! To pursue fame is to place oneself under a human judge and to perceive others as competitors.

Hatred, hostility, hubris: A deadly combination in a fifth century social spat where one was careful to pronounce every word correctly without care for the actual human being who happened to be the victim of their verbal evisceration. Canceling another with words isn’t just a 21st century phenomenon: the form of the public put-down has changed, but the feat remains en vogue. Neither have the effects changed. Words aimed to take down a livelihood or life do not simply impact their target. They also impact the speaker-typer-texter-poster. Like shrapnel flung back upon the grenade lobber, words of hostility, hatred, and hubris score the soul who would blast another from the silent side of a screen.

C.S. Lewis also warned of the effect of destructive words, the most powerful of which in his series The Chronicles of Narnia was called “the Deplorable Word.” The Word, uttered by the Empress Jadis to arrest the forces and very face of her sister as Jadis’ defeat loomed large, stopped all living things, including her own forces and subjects. Jadis had spoken the deplorable word to destroy everything but herself, preserving her own life until the time was right and she could be awakened. And while Jadis, the White Witch, isn’t quite human, her verbal blast poses a warning for every Son of Adam and Daughter of Eve. Jadis’ own world (and its flagship city of Charn) is over, but she has been let loose in the new world of Narnia, and Polly and Digory’s own world is not immune to the temptation that took her down:

“When you were last here,” said Aslan, “that hollow was a pool, and when you jumped into it you came to the world where a dying sun shone over the ruins of Charn. There is no pool now. That world is ended, as if it had never been. Let the race of Adam and Eve take warning.”

“Yes, Aslan,” said both the children. But Polly added, “But we’re not quite as bad as that world, are we, Aslan?”

“Not yet, Daughter of Eve,” he said. “Not yet. But you are growing more like it. It is not certain that some wicked one of your race will not find out a secret as evil as the Deplorable Word and use it to destroy all living things. And soon, very soon, before you are an old man and an old woman, great nations in your world will be ruled by tyrants who care no more for joy and justice and mercy than the Empress Jadis. Let your world beware. That is the warning.” (Lewis, 1955/1980c, p. 164)

The Queen presents a warning for using our own deplorable words. Contrasted with the singing of Aslan that brings Narnia into being, Jadis’ deplorable word only arrests death; it does not bring new life. This is not a passing theme. Jadis’ words reduce things to dust. In Charn, Jadis reduces “high and heavy doors” to “a heap of dust” (p. 57). In London, she attempts to turn Digory’s Aunt Letty to “dust” just as she had the gates in Charn (p. 76), but when she realizes this power of “turning people into dust” has left her (p. 77), she settles for hurling Letty across the room. Finally, in London, Digory believes that Jadis has reduced several policemen to “little heaps of dust” (p. 79). Her words and actions are powerful, no doubt, but they are not creative. Her words result in death and destruction. Her words, at best, only arrest her own death.

Likewise, the White Witch’s leadership in Narnia was only possible to arrest spring. She does not bring joviality; she can only keep it out. In The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe, Father Christmas says, “She has kept me out for a long time, but I’ve got in at last” (Lewis, 1950/1980a, p. 99). The Witch’s leadership is not fruitful because nothing grows in winter. While Charn had grown to become a great city under her ancestors, one assumes that the Witch’s leadership in Charn was likely similar to Narnia: it stunted growth and stifled life. In The Silver Chair, the owls say she “bound our land” (Lewis, 1953/1970, p. 52). In word and deed, the Witch cannot lead to anything of life; she cannot bring newness or construction. She can only preserve from death or bring to dust. Such is the life and soul of the one who would wield the deplorable word.

What might we glean from Augustine in the fifth century and from Lewis’ fiction? The justice-by-Tweet temptation is real, but yielding to that temptation is not for the one who would follow the Word made Flesh. For in the world of this Word – the only true world – we must foster, not hatred, hostility, and hubris, but instead, holiness. Within a sacramental worldview, every word is a kind of prayer. There is no word that is not overheard. God, the giver of words and the Word, is present. But the Word who allowed himself to be blasted, to be torn open as he was raised up, was deplored so that deplorable word users could become his preachers and prophets; so that words could be bound up in lives that do not simply arrest death in futility and bring pseudo-justice through rhetorical rage, but lead and love not with words of hubris, hostility, hatred, but of humility, peace, and mercy.

References:

Augustine (1997). The Confessions (The Works of Saint Augustine I/1). Trans. Maria Boulding. Hyde Park, NY: New City Press.

Lewis, C. S. (1970). The Silver Chair. New York: Macmillan. (Original work published 1953).

Lewis, C. S. (1980a). The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe. London: Lions. (Original work published 1950).

Lewis, C. S. (1980b). The Horse and his Boy. London: Lions. (Original work published 1954).

Lewis, C. S. (1980c). The Magician’s Nephew. London: Lions. (Original work published 1955).

Lewis, C. S. (1980d). The Last Battle. London: Lions. (Original work published 1956).

Featured image by Brett Jordan on Unsplash

A Trauma Survivor’s Advice for Surviving a Global Crisis

Our Wesleyan tradition holds a rich heritage of understanding the way the whole of our created being functions. We share a long history of encouraging one another to health and wholeness in every way, just as our God designed. We believe that we are responsible for the well-being of not just our souls, but our bodies and our minds as well, in line with the command to love the Lord our God with all that we are. Sometimes that becomes difficult in times of hardship, adversity, and trauma.

As a survivor of both extended childhood trauma as well as  intense crisis situations as an adult, including my time working as a crisis responder for a domestic violence agency, I have learned some things about the effect trauma has on my brain. In the years of healing I have engaged, I have learned some key truths about trauma and times of crisis. These have helped me during this year of incredible global turmoil and an astounding level of transition and crisis in my own personal life. I’m hopeful that the things I have learned on this journey can help others to care for themselves and others well in these challenging times. Here’s my best counsel for surviving times of crisis:

Now is not the time to make large decisions.

When you are going through a traumatic situation, your survival depends on being able to make the kind of in-the-moment decisions that ensure your short-term survival or well-being. Sometimes this is a necessary sacrifice to make, but sometimes our choices are not as limited as they seem when our survival-focused brain gets involved in the decision process. While your brain is focused on the crisis at hand, it is blind to other details that are critical to consider when making large decisions. Emotions also tend to become difficult to manage during times like these, and emotions can alter and even drive your decision-making process in ways that are less than ideal. Survival situations can make it very tempting to choose options that solve short-term problems but create much larger, long-term issues.

If you must make a big decision during this season, here are some tools for overcoming the shortfalls in your brain’s crisis response:

1. Take your time.

Give every large decision 24 hours at minimum to consider and pray about your decision. You need time to hear from God at the very least. It is harder to hear the more noise there is in your life, and crisis is loud. The bigger the decision, the longer you should deliberate about your choices. Besides, that gives God time to act! You wouldn’t believe how many problems He solves without our intervention.

Physiologically speaking, time gives your emotions time to calm down and gives those immediate-release adrenaline-related chemicals time to dissipate in your brain, leaving your thinking much clearer. You’ll be much better able to look at your situation objectively and see more of your options when you are calmer. Reactions are rarely helpful; responses are  needed. The difference between a reaction and a response is time.

2. Take a nap.

You cannot think clearly if you are hungry, tired, or stressed. Sometimes you can’t do anything about being stressed, so while you are observing suggestion number one above, take the time to give your body some good rest, good nutrition, drink some water, and take some time to release some stress before approaching your big decision. Nutrition, hydration, and rest will make all the difference in the world in your brain function, so it is going to drastically change your ability to make a sound decision.

3. Take a poll.

Involve as many people who are wise and trustworthy in your decision as you can. They can see things that you cannot. During a crisis, your brain will be hyper-focused on certain details, leaving you blind to others. Finding a broadened external viewpoint can be immensely helpful in making a sound decision, but you can’t achieve one on your own from inside your situation. You need other people for that. Besides, they may have access to or knowledge of solutions that you don’t. You can make up for the flaws in other people’s opinions by choosing a wider variety of people from several areas of your life to include in your decision. Just remember that ultimately, your decision is yours to make, and your inner circle should be supportive and loving, not controlling and manipulative.

Now is not the time for a New Year’s Resolution.

Hear me here. We are coming up on the end of the year, and January is closing in. I, for one, will be glad to see an end to 2020, but global apocalypse rarely observes the Gregorian calendar, such as it is.

Perhaps the most traumatizing part about being in a crisis situation is when you don’t know how long it will last.

Aside from the impending new year, how many of us have shamed ourselves for gaining the dreaded “Covid 20?” We have abused ourselves for everything from gaining a few pounds to being less productive at work and school. What’s worse is taking a fearful half-glance at the relapse and overdose rates for those struggling with addiction and the suicide rates for those struggling with severe mental illness.

The truth about the brain in trauma is that it will adopt any type of mechanism that is readily available in order to help you survive and cope with what is happening. A lot of these, we call “negative” coping mechanisms (think  substance abuse, promiscuity, gambling, risk-taking, cutting, etc, but also things like shopping, overeating, biting your nails, and other behaviors we use to make ourselves feel better when under stress). Some of these so-called “negative” coping mechanisms should never be engaged: I would never recommend that someone indulge a drug addiction in order to get through a crisis situation. Someone who relapses while in a crisis situation deserves support, treatment and love; relapse is very understandable, but obviously it would cause more damage than any good it could possibly do.

However, some of these less-than-ideal coping mechanisms don’t cause much damage. If biting your nails can help you get through a terrible year, then don’t beat yourself up for munching away. Bite your nails shamelessly if it helps. You can break that habit later when your situation and anxiety level are manageable. If you gained your Covid 20, love every inch of your fluffy self. You can hit the gym later when your energy isn’t devoted to getting through this. The same is true for all of you who, like me, were afraid to say that they actually lost weight during this pandemic due to stress and other factors! Regular exercise and nutrition are important, and they help during times of high stress. We have to remember, though, that gaining (or losing!) a few pounds is not something to beat yourself up about. Be as healthy as possible and love yourself while you are weak. Make space for yourself to be okay with being imperfect.

Now is the time to play.

You heard me right! In the midst of a crisis situation, the pattern we tend to follow is to pile all the work onto our shoulders and carry it as far as we can humanly go. We all have to pull from our reserves of strength from time to time and do what has to be done. Humanity’s history is full of people achieving the seemingly impossible in the face of great adversity. This is something we highly value as noble, and rightly so. However, we need to remember that trauma is caused by high levels of stress over extended periods of time.

In order to counteract and reduce the trauma your brain is taking in seasons of crisis, you actively need leisure. Leisure pursuits (hobbies and things we do to relax) allow our bodies to come out of that stressed state and begin to relieve those stress-related hormones, replacing them with the hormones that come from laughter, deep breathing, loving relationships, and relaxing or positively-stimulating pursuits. Leisure time will make your work time much more productive and will allow you to help your mental health through this crisis season.

Social Media & Holiness

I’ve always been an “early adapter.”  I may not be the first person to try a new technology, but I’m not far behind.  Following the arrival of the first iPhones, I wasn’t at the Apple Store at midnight for a new release – but I’d show up sometime the next day. So I joined social media early on. As soon as Facebook opened to the public, I signed up. I started a Twitter profile.  I even tried Google+. 

By and large, I really enjoy social media.  I’ve made social media friends who became real friends; I remain in contact with old friends as they move away. Social media allows me to connect with church members and visitors; it allows folks to participate online with church activities.  In fact, you could argue that during this season of COVID, social media is indispensable to ministry.

Yet recently I decided to take a break from Facebook.  Why?  Sometimes my faith is at work when I feel something in my soul that I can’t explain, but I just know it. And I noticed that when I was on social media, I just felt – heavy. A sense of sadness. I couldn’t place my finger on it.  At that point, I decided to take a break and continued sorting exactly what it was that I sensed.

One morning while walking, the Holy Spirit gave me some insight. 

The reason why I’m a Methodist is not because I was born into it (though I was).  The reason I’m a Methodist is John Wesley’s theology.  Being a Methodist makes me a better disciple, it makes me a better follower of Jesus.  For me, the point of our entire salvation is to recover what sin has corrupted –  to recover that image of God within ourselves through sanctification, and recover it in all the world (through the eventual return of Christ).

So then, what does this new creation look like, what does sanctification look like?  It is the perfect keeping of the law of God.  Scripture tells us to be holy as God is holy.  As we grow closer to God and grow through grace, that image of God will be recovered, and we will more resemble our Savior.  Well, what does it look like to keep his law?  What does it mean to be holy?  Jesus tells us in Matthew 22: 36-40:

“Teacher, which commandment in the law is the greatest?” He said to him, “‘You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your mind.’ This is the greatest and first commandment. And a second is like it: ‘You shall love your neighbor as yourself.’ On these two commandments hang all the law and the prophets.”

The entire law is summed up in those two commands – love God and love neighbor.  This is what holiness looks like: to allow the love of God to so consume us that our sins are driven out as we are filled with God’s love.  As I understand Wesley, he was focused more on perfect love than perfect action, because complete, perfected love will lead to unsullied intent. If I perfectly love God, I will not take his name in vain, I will honor the Sabbath.  If I perfectly love my neighbor, I will not murder my neighbor, I will not bear false witness against her. 

To talk of loving God and neighbor is literally to talk about the very goal and purpose of our salvation.  It is the very nature of holiness.  It is what we are created for and what our sanctification drives us towards.

And that was what felt heavy about social media.  In this season, Facebook was no longer a place of loving God and loving neighbor.  If we take God’s commands seriously, if we take the law and teachings of Jesus seriously, we cannot live in a way that tears down not only fellow believers, but fellow humans, day after day. 

As a pastor, each verbal attack, each biting meme, each political wresting match showed me the great need all of us have for continued sanctification.  As I thought through it, I began to see that this was not contributing to my holiness.  Social media was not helping me love my God and my neighbor better. 

While social media itself didn’t cause me to sin, it did cause me to grow discouraged, to pray less, and to worry more. It caused me to despair because so many Christians are allowing this cultural moment, rather than our desire for holiness and sanctification, to be the force that dictates our thoughts, our passions, our posts, and our words.

Let me be clear: I’m not calling for a dispassionate, milquetoast existence with no beliefs or morals.  Far from it.  If you read Wesley, he shared quite strong opinions in his writing, about poverty, slavery, and even the American Revolution.  This is not a call to ambivalence on moral matters.  But it is a call to the path of Jesus, who calls us to love not just our neighbors but to love even our enemies.  If we follow the commands and teachings of Jesus, we have no choice.

I’ve been teaching on the book of James during my online Wednesday night Bible study. There is a passage that stuck with me. 

“You do well if you really fulfill the royal law according to the scripture, ‘You shall love your neighbor as yourself.’”  James 2:8

It prompts me to consider legalism.  Think of all the things we tend to be legalistic about in lives.  Maybe it’s your language, what you eat or drink, what you watch or listen to.  To put it one way, as Christians, many of us have legalisms in our lives; to put it another way, many of us have moral codes. 

What if we were legalistic – about keeping that royal law?  What if we were legalistic – about love?  What would happen?  I logged off social media for a season because participating led me to be a law breaker.  It was not helping me keep God’s royal law of loving my neighbor as myself; and through God’s grace, that is really what I most desire to do.  I desire to keep God’s law.  I desire to be holy.  Will you join me?

Featured image courtesy Unsplash: Photo by Elijah O’Donnell

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.

Featured image photo credit: Sigrid Astrada

The Cost of Preaching Pastorally & Prophetically

In a previous essay, I reflected on the fact that this is a unique and glorious time to preach the Gospel. The demands and upheaval brought on by the mysterious coronavirus were far more than most of us ever contemplated as pastors. Seeking to be faithful in preaching, teaching and pastoral care, many ministers were exhausted, spiritually depleted because of the intense and demanding changes. Then came the murder of George Floyd, and a social justice struggle more vividly felt and shared publicly than anything like it since the Civil Rights Movement.

On one hand, the preaching demands during the coronavirus pandemic are primarily pastoral and theological. Where is God in all of this?  Is God responsible, what is God’s character? How do I live in community as a “good neighbor”? But on the other hand, the national response to George Floyd’s murder – demonstrations, calls for dramatic restructuring of our policing protocols and systems – adds another, more demanding prophetic layer to our role as ministers,  requiring  a certain, confident dimension to our preaching and leadership.

Sixty years’ experience in ministry leads me to describe our preaching task as both priest (pastor) and prophet. As Christian leaders, we speak to God for the people, and we speak to the people for God. Within my own responsibilities, I’m beginning a mentoring program with eight young clergypeople. Our conversations will center on the demands for pastoral and prophetic leadership in these days of demonstrations and the pronounced cries for racial justice.

The truth is, we really have no option; we must speak. Paradoxically, even our silence is speaking.

In the late 50’s and early 60’s during the Civil Rights Movement, I was a young minister in Mississippi; my ministry was shaped significantly by the issues raging around that movement. Our Wesleyan Accent editor has asked me to share about that time.

There came the time when violence against our Black neighbors was so widespread, events so dramatically demanding Christian witness, that three fellow ministers and I felt compelled to speak together. Each of us had sought to be faithful in our preaching and teaching in our local churches. The violence toward Black citizens was boiling over throughout the state. We four were young and had no significant institutional voice. We hoped that our bishop and other conference leaders would speak out in response to the rising tide of violent expressions of racism and oppressive prejudice; but the silence was deafening. We knew it was past time for someone to say that not all white Mississippi Methodists would continue to live silently in the closed, segregated society taking its destructive toll on our state.

When the four of us gathered on Monday, October 15, 1962, none of us even faintly guessed what might happen as a result of what we were about.  What we did know, and what drove us in our decision and action, was that it was a time when remaining silent would have been irresponsible on our part, and we would’ve betrayed the Gospel we were committed to preaching.

For two days, we reflected, prayed, and talked together; then, we drafted a statement titled Born of Conviction. We engaged 24 others to add their signatures, and the 28 of us together issued the statement to our Methodist Church in Mississippi – and then, “all hell broke loose.” Twenty of the 28 signers of the statement were compelled in different ways and by different circumstances to leave the state. I was among the 20 compelled to leave my home state.

As I have confessed, I am painfully aware of my shortcomings during those days and since; yet despite where I feel I failed, there are lessons to be gleaned from that experience that may be helpful in these days.

There Are Times When We Must Speak

First, there comes a time when we must speak. In our ongoing ministry, we must seek to be faithful in speaking to God for the people and speaking to the people for God. If we are guided by Scripture, the content of our preaching will always have aspects of the pastoral and the prophetic. Yet, occasions come when either the pastoral or the prophetic will become more pronounced.

For instance, we would not be faithful in the context of the coronavirus if, in our preaching and teaching, we were not responding to the pastoral needs and theological questions this new illness raises.  With the overlay of social justice concerns dramatically brought to the forefront with George Floyd’s murder, we have an equally demanding prophetic call.

Few pastors find it easy to balance those two dimensions in their week to week teaching and preaching. Some are more pastorally inclined; others more prophetic. Our current situation sets a unique stage for balance. This is a moment when we must speak to both these issues that are defining our times.

Speaking Publicly Invites Pastoral Interaction

Second, speaking publicly sets the table for more honest and fruitful pastoral sharing. There is a sense in which the virus and the demonstrations together should make it easier for a congregation to “hear gladly” a word from the Lord. Pastoral awareness will not allow silence on either issue. Speaking on these challenges will stimulate deeper sharing in personal relationships between pastors and laypeople. When this happens, listening is far more important than speaking on the part of the pastor. If we need to speak, we need to speak clearly and honestly, as transparently as possible. In the midst of controversy, to try to hide something undermines understanding and reconciliation. If we have listened, and if we speak respectfully with and to those who disagree with what we are saying and doing, then we can move forward with energy and without apology.

Counting the Cost Is a Spiritual Exercise

Third, “counting the cost” can be a positive spiritual exercise. There is cost no matter what the setting and challenges are. In most local churches, preaching on social issues will raise questions and opposition. I have been in settings where no one questioned my speaking on abortion but resistance to speaking on fair housing was heavy.

The “cost” varies. In the United Methodist Church of which I am a part, ordained elders of an annual conference are guaranteed a pastoral appointment. Many of our Wesleyan Methodist ministers serve in denominations in which local congregations call and vote on their pastors. Your consideration of cost is a different kind than mine.

Yet there was no question that there would be cost when I shared authorship and signed that “Born of Conviction” statement in Mississippi decades ago. I think of my wife Jerry. One can imagine how it felt on long nights; she knew what we were seeking to do. She was a 23-year-old with two babies; the cost – a move to California far from her mother and father, seeking to express friendship, to witness, and to share in developing a new congregation. But there was the cost in the long months after we issued the statement, before we moved to California. She knew about our friend – the doctor who had delivered our babies – calling for my resignation; she knew the anger and frustration stirring in the congregation, the unnamed people making angry telephone calls.

There is cost, and it is not all immediate. I often wrestled in my conscience about leaving Mississippi. Even after many years, I found myself in spiritual turmoil, thinking: if the church had been different…if there had been episcopal and other leadership that had supported us young clergy who were seeking to faithful…then I could have stayed.

There is cost, and we can only seek to make our decisions on the basis of faithfulness to our calling, perceived through prayer and the best counsel we receive from Christian conferencing with persons we trust. We must acknowledge that every person’s faithfulness will not be expressed in the same way.

There will be pushback to our preaching, the level of resistance determined by our individual settings, and how long and in what ways we have served our congregation. We can only measure the cost as individuals in very particular settings. If our congregational leadership is earnestly seeking to be faithful to Scripture and to Kingdom principles, we can negotiate specific actions and responses. Only the pastor on site can determine what it means to be faithful today, in this time and setting.

The people we lead are “souls committed to our care.” The very thought of being responsible to speak to God for them, and to speak to  them for God may and should make us quiver inside. We must trust no longer in our own capacity but in God’s power.

Days like these clearly demand some witness from the church. That witness from the church to the larger community begins with the witness clearly shared within the church. When our people have experienced the genuineness of pastoral caring, speaking to God for them, they are more apt to listen to our speaking to them for God.

Reflecting on 60 years in ministry, whatever the costs have been, I relish memories of specific occasions when I have tackled prophetic preaching which was effective because of pastoral attention.

Edgar Bazan ~ Racism & Bias: We All Suffer

For 400 years, through slavery, lynching, Jim Crow laws, the Civil Rights movement, and institutionalized racism, people of color (especially within the Black community) have been fighting and crying out for justice and equality. Justice is sought because they have been oppressed and abused for centuries; equality, because that is the underlying cause of their unjust treatment: they have been seen and treated as lesser humans because of the color of their skin.

I am a Mexican-American immigrant, and although my experience is not the same as Black Americans’ experiences, on some levels I can relate to the viciousness shown them. It is not uncommon to hear stories of people like me who have been told to, “go back to Mexico.” As upsetting as I find this, it makes me sad, for it reflects the failure of a society to nurture individuals that treat one another with respect and dignity.

As a pastor who serves a diverse and bilingual community, I will speak to these dynamics of prejudice that are persistently based on race, language, and economic and education levels. In all of this, the pervasive reality is that some people are inclined to judge others based on external factors. These judgments come with labels, and these labels add or subtract value to people.

For example, it is not unusual when I meet new people and introduce myself as a pastor, that they say: “so you are the associate pastor of the Hispanic church.” I am not offended by the Hispanic label, of course; however, the underlying problem is the assumption that because I am Hispanic, I must be the Hispanic associate pastor serving people like me. To put this in context, how often do we hear about white pastors, “so you are the white pastor for the white people”? Most likely never.

I invite you to explore the implications of this. Labels carry value (or lack thereof), and those at the top usually do not have the same labels – often they are the ones who assign them to others. Bias is not always a loud offense; sometimes it has the form of rather subtle but heavy weight to keep people “in their place” — often assigned by those in positions of influence.

These acts and attitudes have pained and oppressed many people of color over the years — centuries — and it breaks God’s heart, for it is sinful: a way in which we fall short of the glory of God.

So what does the Bible say about racism and bias?

In Genesis 1:26, we find the following statement that gives us a theological framework from which to address racism: “Then God said, ‘Let us make humankind in our image, according to our likeness…’” This scripture teaches us that God created every human being in God’s image. Every person measures the same amount of the glory of God in themselves. There is no distinction nor differences in the worth between one person or another. Whether one is white, black, brown, God loves all the same. In the Incarnation, God became flesh, embracing all colors, races, and ethnicities that make up the human race.

Racism, however, denies the image of God in humankind. It seeks to destroy God’s likeness in every person, both in those who invite and ignore racism, and in those who are the recipients of it, repudiating what God created and the way God created it. Therefore, the Bible teaches us that racism is incompatible with Christian teaching; it is sinful, for it denies the image of God in others and oppresses those who are the object of God’s self-giving love. Ultimately, it leads to the violation and denial of human rights, of justice, and of inherent human sacred worth.

Now, bias on the other hand, is a more subtle form that still leads to oppression. The apostle James makes a compelling case explaining bias and cautioning against it. In James 2:9, we read, “But if you show partiality [or bias], you commit sin and are convicted by the law as transgressors.” James was addressing an issue of showing special treatment to a particular person or persons based on their social standing. He illustrates this with a hypothetical scenario where two men come into a church gathering: one is rich and given the best seat in the house; the other is poor and asked to stand away or sit on the floor. The rich man is given privileges because of his wealth, but the poor man is despised because of his poverty. Such treatment, James says, is evil.

Although James addresses a particular issue of class discrimination, the principle helps us to address any and all other practices of bias, including those based on race. (It was not long ago that people of color could not sit on the front seats of a bus in America.) In many ways, this reality resembles a “caste system” in which hierarchical structures communicate to subjects, “you are not all equal,” and, “here is your label and place.” This has caused profound generational suffering and loss, including economic, cultural, and identity devastation for people of color and marginalized groups.

Many Americans would be appalled to think that such blatant partiality or bias that mirrors a “caste system” could exist in a country founded on the premise that, “all are created equal” and that, “life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness” is a right for all people — the American Dream. Nevertheless, even as this nation of ours may create more economic opportunities for people than any other place, we continue to have deeply embedded unfair policies and attitudes, like “redlining.” There are policies that are discriminatory, unfair, and inconsistently applied, when rule of law and distribution of community resource give preferential treatment to some people over others.

Most of these harmful practices reflect a subtle yet hostile and derogatory way in which some people are communicated to be more of a liability, or more valuable, than others. This stigmatization wears on people emotionally, mentally, and spiritually. But if someone is spared these additional burdens, because of the sound of their name or the color of their skin, they don’t realize that they don’t have to prove themselves in the same way to get ahead in life, even if they’re born into poverty or other serious trauma, while others may have those struggles but also bear the additional burden of race-based bias and prejudice.

Have you ever observed how someone who is not white is often questioned about their capacity to accomplish a task? And if they do accomplish it, they are seen as an exception? The tragedy is that this is normalized and internalized by both sides: “we are more” and “we are less.” As a pastor, it breaks my heart when I hear young people begin to accept the labels and positions assigned to them, whether it is because of the color of their skin or their socio-economic status. It is heartbreaking to hear them settle for less than they dream, for less than they are capable of accomplishing as individuals, because their abilities, intelligence, or character are constantly questioned.  These mental and emotional chains are heavy. To treat people in such a way is a terrible sin that plagued the early church and has continued to plague the church and society at large in every generation.

The apostle Paul, in talking about prejudice and favoritism in the church, wrote that, “If one member suffers, all suffer together with it; if one member is honored, all rejoice together with it” (1 Corinthians 12:26). Paul makes a compelling case about undermining the giftedness and value of people in our communities. By doing so, he says, we harm each other.

By now, I hope there is little doubt that we are called to face the pain, abuse, and oppression of a segment of our community that has been affected by racism and bias — “if one suffers, we all suffer together.” Not only that: the work towards eradicating unjust practices of racism and bias must be a top priority for followers of Jesus, not at all because of political affiliation or preferences, but because of our compelling faith in Jesus Christ, which is what James wrote: “because of your faith, you should not play favoritism but treat everyone as fellow brother and sister.”

My prayer is that the principle of “loving our neighbor as we love ourselves” will guide us (Matthew 22:39). Just as we care about our own needs, feelings, and desires, we must show the same care for the needs, feelings, and desires of others. So how can we foster and nurture communities (at church, home, work, school) where anyone is welcomed, respected, and treated with dignity?

We don’t need to have all the answers; we simply need to start asking the right questions from a place of compassion.

Featured image is an interior photo from the Don Bosco church in Brasilia, capital of Brazil. Photo credit: Vladimir Soares on Unsplash.

James Petticrew ~ Praying for Compassion Collisions

As a Scot, I am sort of unique.  I don’t drink whiskey and have never played a round of golf. However, my golf-obsessed friends tell me that there is such a thing as a mulligan: the chance to take a shot again because you didn’t like the first one. So I wonder: who do we ask for a mulligan for 2020? I don’t know about you, but I would really like a do-over of this year.

Here in Switzerland, over the last few months of our COVID lockdown, I’ve found myself constantly saying things to myself like, “I wasn’t trained for this,” “I have never ministered like this before,” “people have never had to handle stuff like this before,” “how will they cope?” and “how on earth can I respond to that?”   

As if COVID hasn’t been difficult enough for our churches to handle and navigate, the death of George Floyd exposed racism to still be a malignant and yet callously mundane force in many cultures worldwide. Social media exploded with reactions, from righteous indignation, to a great deal of malicious misinformation, to some not-so-righteous responses from people who feel under attack (or let’s face it, who are just unrepentant racists in denial). A couple of U.S. pastors told me privately that they were glad that their churches have been on lockdown and not meeting face to face – because the face to face interaction most likely to happen between some congregants was angry confrontation. Months of lockdown anxiety and politically potent issues have made some of our congregations powder kegs of pent-up frustration and barely concealed anger.

So how do we respond to all that we have gone through and all we are facing right now in our churches and cultures?

How should we respond to all the hurts, anxiety, and anger with which people are emerging from lockdown?  

What should be our response as disciples of Jesus? Because if we are not responding first and foremost as disciples, we are in trouble, and heading for more.

Now I know we can be too eisegetical when it comes to Jesus’ culture – reading our contemporary situation back into his. Nevertheless, it is not an exaggeration to say that the culture in which Jesus ministered was riven with sectarian divisiveness and filled with enormous amounts of real and pressing human need. It struck me recently while reading the Gospels that Jesus was often confronted by angry people and needy people. What Jesus faced in Judea 2,000 years ago must have felt somewhat like 2020 does to us in many ways. (Though I am sure Jesus is happy to be spared “Zoom fatigue” and the frustrations of low bandwidth.)

All of this fills my mind and prayers as lockdown in Switzerland eases and people begin to meet again, with appropriate masks and social distance.  Recently, a song and a text came together in Holy Spirit serendipity, giving my answer on how I should respond as a disciple, and how we as a church should respond as a community. As I hit play on a video incorporated in our online service, I heard the voice of the Spirit through the words of the song: “everyone needs compassion.”

Those who are struggling with the physical, emotional, and relational impact of COVID need compassion. The victims of racism need compassion – and justice. Even racists need our compassion, if we are serious about that enemy-loving stuff that Jesus seems to have been serious about. People with whom I differ on politics need compassion. I need compassion. The politicians who frustrate me and have a talent for pushing my buttons need compassion.

Just in case I hadn’t got the message, God followed up with a verse from the Gospel of Luke. I’ve been preaching a series called “Overflow,” about how God’s character overflows into our lives and then overflows from our lives into the lives of those around us. I chose the texts weeks before, and as I heard the song, that Sunday I was due to preach about overflowing with -compassion. “Show mercy and compassion for others, just as your heavenly Father overflows with mercy and compassion for all.” (Luke 6:36)

In that moment, I could see the message of Luke 6:36. I could see what it meant for myself, for the church I pastor, and may I tentatively suggest, for the whole Church of Jesus Christ at the moment. Faced with everything that is happening to us, in us and around us, we are to be people and communities of indiscriminate, overflowing compassion.

Two words from this verse jump out at me: “just as,” drawing a direct parallel between God’s treatment of me and my posture towards others. Jesus is telling us that God’s compassion needs to be experienced and expressed: experienced by us as his people and expressed to the people around us. Just as our heavenly Father overflows with indiscriminate compassion for all, we are to allow that compassion to overflow without restriction or discrimination to those around us.

 Is there anything that our world needs more right now than people and communities of overflowing, indiscriminate compassion?

I’m now praying for what I’m calling compassion collisions. I am praying that God will fill me, fill us as a church, until we are brimming full of his compassion, and that God would make us bump into people, spilling his compassion all over them through us.

Maybe you would join me in praying for compassion collisions?

What if we pray for Holy Spirit-orchestrated compassion collisions in our families, in our churches, in our workplaces, in our neighborhoods? What if God’s antidote for the anger and need swirling around us right now is his compassion administered through us?

Featured image courtesy Vonecia Carswell on Unsplash.

“Overwhelmed”: How Our Pastors Are Coping with Pandemic

Recently I asked clergymembers 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, Managing Editor

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.

If it has been difficult coping with the sudden changes and demands of ministry in pandemic, here are additional resources on possible signs of exhaustion or burnout and resources for leader self-care in the face of extended crisis:

The National Center for PTSD Clergy Self-Care page on “potential emotional reactions to working with trauma survivors”

Toll-Free Clergy Care for Pastors & Families in The Wesleyan Church: 1.877.REV.CARE

Clergy Care Wellness Resources in the face of Covid-19 (especially for United Methodist clergy)

The Lilly Endowment National Clergy Renewal Program Grants

Emerging Insights on Sabbaticals

Elizabeth Glass Turner ~ A Prayer for Burning Grace: Protocols & Pentecost

Pastors and denominational leaders face tough decisions right now. The Christian faith is inherently embodied; we gather, we meet, we celebrate the Incarnation – the Word Made Flesh. For millenia, we’ve celebrated the Eucharist, finding Christ’s presence in the tangible – wine and bread, a burning grace.

The Christian faith is also inherently self-sacrificial; we mend, we serve, we search out the vulnerable, we protect, we value. We “look out not only for (our) own interests, but also for the interests of others,” being told, “let this mind be in you which was also in Christ Jesus…” who “took the form of a servant.” (Phil. 2) Early Christians rescued abandoned babies on hillsides and cared for their own plague-stricken members as well as caring for poor members of the Empire (to the Empire’s chagrin).

In gathered worship or scattered and serving, Christians have been told that whatever we do, we should do with good cheer. Rejoice in worship, rejoice in giving. Rejoice in getting together, rejoice in serving others. Grumbling is apparently not a Fruit of the Spirit. We value creation; and we show it by serving.

Originally seen as shared by Dr. Holly Taylor Coolman.

The Body of Christ is essential even if meeting together is interrupted. Churches are essential insofar as the Body of Christ is essential; but access to church buildings is not an absolute, essential piece of the puzzle. While the Body of Christ, existing in the life of congregations, is essential, congregants are not expendable. We are a people who value life and promote its flourishing.

The Christian faith is inherently embodied; but it is also inherently self-sacrificial. And so many face tough decisions. Leaders of all denominations have an opportunity to take strain off of individual clergymembers by continuing to create contingency plans and best practice protocol:

plans, practices, and protocol that cheerfully look out for the value and dignity of each church member and potential visitor.

When the strain is greatest, let’s continue to forge ahead with creative resilience.

By doing so we march hand in hand with the midwives of Egypt, who protected vulnerable newborns at risk to their own lives, thwarting the easy call of casual contempt, by the burning grace of God.

By doing so we march hand in hand with Moses and Miriam, called to distance from the land of their upbringing, caught between warriors and water, carried to the other side on dry land by the burning grace of God.

By doing so we march hand in hand with Elijah, who poured water on his altar, making sure every single witness knew that it was only God who could make the fire fall, watching the revelation of God crack the sky, vindicated by the burning grace of God.

By doing so we march hand in hand with Esther, who found herself vulnerable in halls of influence and power, carried by the urgent encouragement of one who saw clearly the stakes for a whole people group. She found favor with the powerful, toppling corrupt schemes and protecting the innocent by the burning grace of God.

By doing so we march hand in hand with Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego, who found themselves caught in the crucible but discovered in it the presence of a fourth – “I see a fourth man, who looks like the Son of God” – rescued from the inferno by the burning grace of God, not even smelling like ash.

By doing so we march hand in hand with Paul, who cried out in his letter to his fellow church members in Philippi how much he longed to see them face to face, person to person; how intently he prayed for them, by the burning grace of God.

By doing so we march hand in hand with John Wesley, who as a child was rescued by community members during a roaring house fire, grabbed from a window, a “brand plucked from the flames.” His early memories were seared by other people sacrificing in order to protect him; later he experienced his very soul being warmed, not by trauma but by the burning grace of God.

We have nothing to fear from closed doors; we have everything to fear from closed hearts.

Our hope is not in “business as usual,” our hope is in the fourth man, who looks like the Son of God, wandering around casually in the crucible with us – the Ascended Christ.

Our hope is not in the Pentecost banners we’re accustomed to seeing in church sanctuaries, our hope is in the Holy Spirit, who descended on believers – only to scatter them.

In this moment we still have a choice of what we are going to be: a dead, rotted stump of former things, or potent seed bursting with latent life, willing to live scattered by the Spirit.

By the burning grace of God, we pray, Christ Ascended, that you will char away our bent to dry rot; scatter us like fresh, powerful seed, holding the promise of fruit we can only imagine, because it is only possible through the radiance of your Holy Spirit.

We do not like feeling scattered, God; we would rather stay close to each other.

Remind us that You are enough.

Remind us that you bind the stretches of the universe together and you bind us together, too.

Remind us that your Holy Spirit is faithful to keep us sensitive to each others’ needs if we will listen to Your Spirit who binds us together.

You are not just God who sustains gravity; you are God who knits with quantum entanglement for fun. Entangle our spirits with Your Holy Spirit, like particles that, “cannot be described independently from the state of the others even when separated by large distances;” entangle our hearts with each other.

Christ Ascended, in you we find wholeness; Holy Spirit, entangle those of us who feel distanced, lonely, despairing, afraid.

By the burning grace of God, keep us from being overwhelmed by distancing; sustain us with Pentecost entanglement that scatters and connects at the same time.

Through Christ our Lord, the only open door we need – Amen.

Elizabeth Glass Turner ~ A Prayer for the Raw & Ragged

Breath of Life,
You humble us with the piercing memory of a man six years ago begging to be treated with dignity: I can’t breathe. I can’t breathe.
He spoke the truth; we were busy.
And now we’re all struggling to breathe.
Some on ventilators.
Some in panic.
Some in stale rooms we didn’t choose, didn’t plan to inhabit
hooked up to the life support of Wi-Fi.
We need your Breath of Life.

We need your Breath of Life, your Spirit-Wind that slowly fills our lungs with quiet life,
that slows our breathing away from
fight
or flight
billowing into our cells
the warm, still calmness of being.

Breath of Life,
we wait and watch (what else can we do?)
gathered in our upstairs rooms
by ourselves
or with two or three
away from Dan or Karen or Dave
with them in worship
as we use our air to sing together on Sundays
while the internet strains to take it all.

We wait and watch (what else can we do?)
for your Holy Spirit to pour out on us gathered
here
and there
a mighty rushing wind,
a theophany of fire on the heads of women and men, young and old, day laborer and C-suite.

We wait and watch (what else can we do?)
for your Holy Spirit to pour out on these gifts –
what gifts are in our pantries?
What can we bring you from empty store shelves,
from online stores crushed from the weight of inventory of others’ worry?
Pour out on these gifts – what do we have to bring you?
Bread and wine? Juice?
It has not always been so:
some find you’ve made rice be for them the Body and Blood.

We wait and watch (what else can we do?)
for your mighty rushing gifts poured out on our scraps:
stale end pieces of dried bread; instant rice; canned biscuit dough near expiration.
We don’t want to give you this.

We wanted to give our best – our best foot forward, a good vintage, a rich bread.

We don’t want to give you this – a rigged ventilator adapted for two; cloth face masks needing nightly bleaching; Hefty bag hospital gowns.

We wanted to present our best side – our best foot forward, a royal tour of a new hospital wing, a display of how your major gift was put to use, your name on the gleaming building.

Perhaps
we believed we could breathe on our own
our own steam
our own will
our own can-do spirit.
Perhaps
we thought giving our best
was how the Wind came.

You’ve known otherwise.
You always have.
You have poured your mighty rushing gifts on
old technology
illiterate minds
stale bread crusts
empty cupboards.

It’s always been your Breath we borrowed.
It’s always been Breath of Life
infusing frailty
trading waste for life
one breath at a time.

And that is all we have, Breath of Life:
one breath at a time.
My bread will be here today, gone soon in hungry bellies.
I don’t know what store will have what goods – flour or yeast or bread, or not.
We can give you what is in our pantry
today.
That is all.
That has always been all.

You’ve been waiting and watching (what else could You do?)
prompting us, preparing us for the moment
when we would stare at crusts and apple juice,
at rigged ventilators and make-shift masks,
at rice and water
and say

we want to give you this.
It’s all we have.

You’ve been waiting and watching (what else could You do?)
so that you could pour out Your Holy Breath
in sight of us all
on everything that embarrasses us in its stale dryness.

We believed we could breathe on our own. But our breaths do not belong to us.
We need your Breath of Life:
the Spirit-Wind that slowly fills our lungs with quiet life,
that slows our breathing away from
fight
or flight
billowing into our cells
the warm, still calmness of being.

Pour out your Holy Wind on us gathered
here
and there.
Pour out your mighty, rushing gifts.
Speak the truth; we are not too busy.
We need your Breath of Life.

Photo by Mick Haupt on Unsplash