Tag Archives: Hope

Fight, Flight, Freeze: Holy Week Unraveled

We work so hard to keep Holy Week well-orchestrated: bulletins pristine, lilies in place, songs rehearsed. It’s an important celebration in the life of a church – in the life of The Church; a highlight of the liturgical calendar. We should have our vestments ready, Easter baskets ready, shoes by the door, hearts rightly adorned and aligned. Ham or lamb or lemon something waiting in the refrigerator.

In the space between the eggs and the hunt, something moves, caught by peripheral vision, sensed by hyper-alert ears. It’s probably fine; you’re probably safe; but the nearly-ignored motion is unsettling. Maybe it was the quickly darting shadow of someone off to sell out their friend and meet tragedy. Maybe it was the slow-motion wave of a drawn sword slashing lethally toward the head and neck, managing only to find a subordinate’s ear. Maybe it was the flick of water from dripping fingers washed in refusal of responsibility, dried of moral imperative, patted with averted gaze while a haunted wife’s warning was ignored.

From start to end, Holy Week was a chest-thumping rush and slide and crest of adrenaline. Crazed crowds pressed, desperate for rescue – hosanna, save us, rescue us, get these occupiers out – the welcome parade had the glee of a crowd watching an existential buzzer-beater three-point shot. A patient Christ sat in cold rage braiding a whip before overturning tables, the carpenter splintering any woodwork that supported oppression. Before Pilate reached for a basin, Jesus reached for one; away from noise, people, intrusive eyes, requests – between welcome parade and death march – before the disciples scattered like chaff on the wind, one lost forever – Jesus pulled sweaty, dirty feet near and tenderly cleaned his friends’ calloused heels. Later, Jesus’ distress wrung blood from his forehead while he faced the slicing weight of darkness. Sleepy friends – ashamed to be caught off-guard? – surged with adrenaline again. The sounds of the crowds, the waving palms, the smells of the city, the sounds at the temple, the crack of a whip, the pouring of water, the breaking of bread, the breaking of fellowship, and here is Judas, friend, fellow traveler, not meeting their gaze, not looking them in the eye, not admitting he knew why the money bag always felt light. Everything unraveled.

Fight, flight, freeze – Simon reached for his sword, disciples ran and scattered. Some froze, then followed at a distance.

This isn’t how it’s supposed to go.

It was supposed to be a victory lap, a coronation, a revolution, a vindication, a proof.

Across the street, a bent and broken palm leaf lies dusty and abandoned.

What did Judas just do? Surely not. He was one of us.

What did Simon just do? The flash of the sword, the yell, the splatter of blood-red, the ripped body; the tone of command, the severed ear fused seamlessly in place, vessels re-knit, nerves reconnected over a bloodied neck and shoulder.

The pulse doesn’t lie; words may deny the Christ, sever him from acquaintance, claim not to have cast out demons in his name. But the quickened heartbeat betrays the liar to himself. It does matter; he does know; he is known.

Everything unraveled.

Fight, flight, freeze – adrenaline surged early; nurses donned their gear. Teachers logged on to a box of squares. Chaplains held iPads, screens for goodbye.

This isn’t how it’s supposed to go.

The beeping wouldn’t end, the oxygen alarms kept blaring, the sounds wouldn’t still. Coding, and coding, and coding again. People got testy. Pastors got yelled at. Budgets were torn up and cast aside like yesterday’s palm branch – useless now.

Everything unraveled.

But the pulse doesn’t lie; lying awake, tossing and turning, isolated and cooped up, tired but wired. What started as a wave of energy slumped into a numb blur. Out of nowhere, unneeded adrenaline burrowed up at inconvenient moments, startling at shadows instead of substance, leaving a shepherd shaking through what surely was a heart attack. No; the panic would ebb, drained weakness in its place.

Severed – not just ear from head.

Voices cried out from cities that had street-view peeks of coffee shops, parks, hospitals with patient reviews. Google Translate shifted the familiar but unknown alphabet into familiar characters: the neurosurgeon here was very good, they were helpful, I have recovered well; whether the former patient in eastern Ukraine is still well – who knows? Where concerts had rung out, air raid sirens blared with uncanny dissonance, folding 70 years like accordioned paper, bringing past to present: buildings smashed to rubble, civilians starving. Severed – the illusion of peace; the illusion of fellowship. A pastor on one side of the border pleads for support for refugees; a pastor on the other side denies their nation is responsible.

The explosions wouldn’t end, the alarms kept blaring, the sounds wouldn’t still.

Fight, flight, unraveled –

Everything, freeze.

This isn’t how it’s supposed to –

Surely not.

The numbness creeps, the slump insists: no more. More? Hasn’t it been enough? How can we bear to bear witness?

But the pulse doesn’t lie. The quickened heartbeat betrays the truth. It does matter; we do know; we are known.

Judas was undone; he tried to unravel the web that choked in around him, tried to return the money that burned a hole in his psyche. Face to face with Christ, he had splintered, shattered; later, he spilled out in a field.

(But – he tried though; tried to give the money back, take it all back, rewind, undo the damage. He couldn’t; but he wanted to. Wanting to is not for nothing.) Judas took flight, unspooling along the way like a human banner of confession.

Simon was undone; he did what zealots do, tried to use muscle and steel to defend the Creator of the universe. Maybe he was slow or the servant was fast but Jesus didn’t refasten a head, only an ear. Simon’s adrenaline was quelled by Christ – what? Why? Wasn’t it time to impose the kingdom? It was supposed to be vindication. Simon was undone; enraged by simple questions that poked at his pride. He was like a fish flopping in one of his nets, a fish out of water. He’d waited for bigger things, he’d seen the miracles, he’d collected baskets of leftovers, and now at the point of proving himself, swore at servant girls and denied he’d ever dreamed of being anything other than a fisherman.

Mary was – surely not.

Mary was –

(This isn’t how it’s supposed to be.)

Mary –

Mary knew fight, she’d fought stigma and rumors and whispers and gossip.

Mary knew flight, she’d gathered him up and with Joseph run to Egypt as refugees escaping a vindictive tyrant.

Mary – did she know freeze? Maybe; she didn’t freeze at the wedding in Cana. If she knew freeze, it wasn’t inability to respond, for her. It was frozenness; being rooted to the spot; rooted, watching her boy die, unable to –

Watching her beloved son, in whom she delighted, suffer because of soldiers who were “just doing their job.”

Mary was undone.

Like mothers before and since, undone. Like survivors who glance instinctively to smile at missing loved ones. Like children who reach for the hand that isn’t there.

Undone.

And when she ran out of clothing to rend and tear in grief, God took pity and tore the temple curtain clean in half.

The Spirit howled and churned up rock, dimmed the sun, and let Creation scream. In the shockwave, some of the dead were ransomed back, the universe reeling.

Something deep, undone.

There can be loveliness in an elegant Holy Week choreographed for worship, ultimately for celebration.

But there is no shame in a Holy Week smeared in mud, numb, ears ringing, drained, undone.

There is no shame in fight

or flight

or freeze.

There is no shame in finding that you are undone.

Something moves in the space between.

Wrap up what has died; buy the spices, pack them up. Cry, or having cried all your tears, wait in the darkness for morning. Don’t obsess over whether you should have fought instead of fled, or frozen instead of fought, or fled instead of freezing.

Something moves.

Like the dry scrape of stone against stone,

like a boulder shifted – and moved –

we are all undone.

One day at a time, one thread at a time, like a bird twisting twigs for a nest perched over a naked tomb,

hope darts

stitch by stitch.

Featured image courtesy Mel Poole via Unsplash.

Quietly Anchored by Advent

Some things you only discover over the long course of years. This frustrates an economy of optimization, hyper-fixated on immediate improvement and benefit. Wisdom can’t be reduced to “insights” gleaned by data, metrics, or analytics though, even if they’re useful from a strategic point of view. The season of Advent stubbornly persists in forcing the door open for the hard-to-quantify long-haul. It even escapes the individual desire to find in it a quick shot of spiritual inspiration, like a swallow of Gatorade to get us back in the game. Advent will quietly hold you in place, arresting your plans, anxieties, and even priorities. Wait, it whispers. Wait. Wait. Don’t pull out your phone, though, to dull the irritation at waiting. No, Advent asks us to sit through the discomfort of waiting until we find ourselves watching.

If you didn’t grow up in an especially liturgical tradition, it may have seemed odd to you as a child – the anticipation of Christmas, the frenzied build up all to one day – the odd, slow deflation afterward. The twelve days of Christmas bridging manger to Magi somehow makes more intuitive sense even to an informal child-calendar. It makes sense that this good news – Jesus born, Word Made Flesh! – is due more a little season of celebration than a single day.

Though I can’t speak to the value of liturgical rhythms in the same way that someone in their eighties or nineties could, I’m now at a point in life where I can meet Advent as a friend. It wasn’t always so, though I always enjoyed popping open the little paper doors of the Advent calendar. There were years I was impatient for Christmas itself – or impatient for the arrival of my own December child. There were other years I wanted to set a match to the whole thing and watch it burn into ash I could smear on my forehead; some years, by mid-December, I wanted only the lament of Lent and could barely stomach the thin, brittle glass of the ornaments on the tree, my soul in curving shards.

Over time, Advent has become an anchor. Whatever the state of the world, whatever the state of me, I run or crawl into the immovable wall of Revelation in the Flesh. It is the fact of it that breaks me. This tender joy tears the mighty from their seats of power. This blast of Light is inescapable and I must sit with it even if it infuriates me or illumines me. How dare this Beauty exist in the realness of time and space; it is unbearable. It’s not fair: not in a world of cancer wards and barefoot refugees and one person bashing the skull of another. Six pounds, nineteen inches of the Infinite. The Word Made Vulnerable – as vulnerable and defenseless as a newborn. “Into the violence,” whispers the Trinity, “defenseless Love will be born.” If God had asked my advice, I would have tried to find a polite way to suggest how irresponsible this move was. Thankfully, God did not.

Joy and grief are such fragile states; such vulnerable places to be. No one wants joyful times to end; and grief carves us hollow and brings us to the manger empty-handed, distracted, exhausted. In all seasons of human experience – whether December arrives to find you cheerfully lighthearted or hollow or more tired than you’ve ever been – in all seasons of experience, Advent will anchor you to God Who Gets Down on the Floor with Us and Learns to Roll Over, to Joseph and Mary’s cheers. It isn’t ever more sophisticated than this. It is always as safe as this. In joyful years and hard years, the belly-laugh or tightened throat, Advent gives your hand something to grip as you wait. And the path always ever only leads to a defenseless newborn. “Here,” Mary says; “would you like to hold Jesus for a moment? I need to get something to drink.” You hesitate and sit in the rocker and uncertainly accept his snug form into the crook of your elbow. “There,” God says; “I didn’t approach Elijah in the wind or fire or earthquake, but in the still small whisper; and I come to humankind now, small enough to wrap my hand around your pinkie finger.”

In the waiting, slowly, watching can begin. In the watching, you will find over the years that the Light shines in the darkness, and the grim boil of darkness cannot overcome a helpless, sleeping newborn, watched over by the animals he sang into existence. Come, all you who are tired and heavyhearted, and he will give you rest.

Featured image courtesy Evelyn Semenyuk via Unsplash.

Hope Is Not a Luxury: The Essential Anchor

According to the church calendar, we are in the season of Eastertide which marks the 50 days between Easter Sunday and Pentecost. I like the idea of Easter being more than just a morning or a day but a whole season in which we celebrate Jesus’ resurrection and what it means for our lives. There are many angles from which we can look at the topic of hope and explore what it means to live hopefully.

Let’s focus on a couple of verses in Hebrews 6 that use the symbol of an anchor to describe hope. “We have this hope as an anchor for the soul, firm and secure. It enters the inner sanctuary behind the curtain,  where our forerunner, Jesus, has entered on our behalf.” (Hebrews 6:19-20a, NIV)

Maybe it would be helpful to touch on a definition of hope. Sometimes we can get a little fuzzy about the difference between hope and faith. Here are some definitions that help me keep them separate in my mind:

Faith involves trust. When we have faith, we are trusting in someone or something.  Having faith means that we trust God’s promises to be true, largely in part because we trust God to be true.

Hope is confident waiting. Hope allows us to wait confidently for God to keep his promises.

Here’s an example that all the teachers and students will like:

The last day of the school year is coming up. In my county it is Friday, May 21st. That is the day my home turns into a frat house. Teachers and students can have faith in that. It hasn’t happened yet, but they are confident it will. They have faith, based on the promise of the school calendar and a history of the county adhering to the calendar.  

Hope is what fuels the end-of-the-year excitement and planning. Hope is what drives students and teachers to countdown the days and plan what they are going to do first. Hope gives a vision of what summer life will be.

Hope turns the last few weeks of school from a march through time into a journey toward summer! Can you sense the difference I’m talking about?  Faith gets us there, but hope makes it a much fuller experience.

After sitting with this for a while, I wonder if we might be operating with a deficit of hope.  Maybe some of us are going through the motions of faithful living without the benefit of hope.

I want to share with you the story of how this sermon came together. I have a process of preparing. I wrote a sermon, but I didn’t like it. I started over. I stayed up late and wrote another version of the sermon which was a bit better – but still not great. Then, in the quiet of my house, I heard, “You struggle to hope. You are having a hard time communicating about hope, because you struggle to hope.” So I called it a night and went to bed. I woke up the next morning and while I was making sandwiches, I heard, “Tell them you struggle to hope.” You want me to begin a sermon on hope, by announcing that I struggle to hope?!  Yes!

So, I am telling you that I struggle with hope. It makes sense based on my story. Wounded by people who should have known and done better. It’s like I was programmed at an early age not to hope for things – things I should have been able to count on. 

God has healed me and is healing me, but I didn’t even realize until this week that life had snipped the wires in my soul that were connected to hope. The good news is when God shines the light on something in your soul, it’s usually because God is ready to work there.

The first thing I’ve learned while wrestling with hope is that hope is essential. Hope is not a bonus. Sometimes we are tempted to think hope is a nice extra or a soft emotion that feels like a luxury more than a necessity. But in reality, hope is a very powerful force that God gives to those who believe. It turns the Christian life from a heads-down march toward eternity into abundant life.

In his first letter to the Corinthians, Paul boils down the essentials of the Christian life to faith, hope and love – the big three. Paul writes that we can’t do the Christian life without hope.  By putting them together, he is saying that hope is as indispensable as faith and love. It’s not the “frosting on the cake” for those lucky enough to be predisposed to hopefulness. Hope is mixed into the cake batter. It can’t be separated out.

But here’s more good news. God has promised to provide everything we need. Just like faith and love, hope is a grace, a gift. God can restore the ability to hope.  We don’t have to work it up or manufacture it within ourselves. We can ask and God will give it. In fact, I believe God is always offering us what we need. So: is there something that needs to be healed so that you can receive God’s hope?

We don’t get the option of putting hope in the “bonus” category for super-Christians, or for naïve Christians who just haven’t learned to lower their expectations yet. We are all called to hope.

How might this happen?

You must be connected to the anchor.

Let’s go back now to Hebrews 6: “We have this hope as an anchor for the soul, firm and secure. It enters the inner sanctuary behind the curtain,  where our forerunner, Jesus, has entered on our behalf.”

The Bible uses a lot of figurative language. Have you ever noticed how timeless most of these word pictures are? We still plant with seeds. We still care for animals. Potters still work with clay, and we bake with yeast. Those pictures would translate for thousands of years.

And here, Scripture offers us another image. Hope is like an anchor. The basic design and function of anchors have not changed very much since Hebrews was written. It’s not complicated. You find something heavy, tie a rope to it, and toss it overboard!

So when the writer of Hebrews mentions an anchor here, we all get an instant picture in our minds. It almost immediately begins to speak to us at a deeper level. Reading the “anchor” entry on Wikipedia was almost like reading a devotional! “An anchor prevents drifting due to wind or current.”  That preaches, doesn’t it? “Without an anchor, a craft will drift in whatever direction the current is going. Anchors allow a boater to stop rowing or park the boat. Anchors can be used as an emergency brake to keep from crashing into other vessels or obstacles.”

Here’s something that makes the anchor a great symbol for hope. It’s not enough to be convinced an anchor is a good idea, or even just to buy an anchor. It’s not enough to bring your anchor with you on your boat trip. You have to be connected to the anchor before it’s any use.

It would be ridiculous to toss an anchor overboard that wasn’t connected to the boat! The anchor would do exactly what it was meant to do – it would sink to the bottom and stay there. But without a connection, it does the boat no good.

You and I have to be connected to our anchor. And the writer of Hebrews wants us to know that we aren’t just connecting to the universe or some unspecified force of goodness as our hope.  Hebrews chapters one through five lay out the case for who Jesus is. By the time we get to chapter six, there should be no confusion. We are called to place all of our faith and hope in Jesus. Jesus is our hope; Jesus is the anchor.

Just believing that Jesus is Lord, though, is like buying an anchor and putting it in the boat.  But in order for an anchor to work, it has to be connected. And we have to be connected to Jesus through trust to receive the promise of anchoring hope.

What is your connection to Jesus like? Connection isn’t formed by having information about him. We must have personal trust. Think of the ways you are connected to the people you love.  You may anticipate what they are thinking. You recognize the sound of their voice. You are comforted by their presence. You enjoy just being together and look forward to seeing them.

We can be connected to Jesus in similar ways. If you are struggling with hope or anything else promised to believers, check the connection. It might be that you are tossing your anchor overboard without a rope attached. Your church family stands ready to help you form this connection. We love to walk with people as they form trust with God.

Sometimes, the first step is to disconnect from other things you’ve been using as an anchor.  Humans crave all sorts of things to provide security. It might be wealth, education, skills and abilities, health. Eventually, all these temporary anchors prove to be insufficient. At some point, our boat will get too big, or the water too deep, or the winds too strong, and these anchors will fail. 

What are you using as an anchor? Anything less than a living hope in Jesus won’t be strong enough.

When an anchor is connected by rope, a boater doesn’t attach it once and then walk off to never think about it again. Rope isn’t indestructible. It can rot if it’s not tended to. This connection between the boat and anchor needs care and attention just like anything that you want to last. Take some time this week to sit with that image; ask God to help you see what you need to notice about your connection.

And when that connection is strong, we can confidently throw our anchor overboard, knowing it will hold us in place even if we lose sight of it. Are you willing to lose sight of the anchor?

Look at Hebrews again: “It enters the inner sanctuary behind the curtain where our forerunner Jesus has entered on our behalf.”

This is a reference to the Old Testament temple design that created a space called the Holy of Holies, where only the High Priest would enter to meet with God on behalf of the people. It was separated from the public space by a curtain. What happened behind the curtain was hidden. The writer of Hebrews says when we lower our anchor of hope in Jesus, we lose sight of it. It enters into the inner sanctuary where the High Priest – Jesus – is at work.

I hear two things in this description:

First, we don’t always get to see what God is doing. It may be hidden out of sight from us. What’s the question we deal with the most – why? Why expresses our desire to see what’s happening under water or behind the curtain. But this image of the anchor helps us. Boaters learn to trust the anchor is working, even though they can’t see it. Only in the most shallow, clear water can you see your anchor.  But who wants to stay there? The good work happens in the deep places.

The same is true in our life of faith. The good work happens in the deep places: the places where we can’t see the bottom. That’s where we begin to trust the mystery of God’s work.  God challenges us to learn to live in the unknown of the deep. Don’t get nervous, lose hope, and move back to the shore.  Hope reminds us of what is happening beneath the surface that we can’t see.

Second, we need to be willing to move our anchoring spot from where we want to be to where God wants to go. Here’s a tough question one writer asked: “Are we hoping or merely wishing?” 

Wishing is focused on getting what we want. Hoping is anchored in what God is doing. 

One commentator writes, “The wings of hope were given not that we might flutter near the earth, but that we might rise to God. Do not let yourself be so absorbed by anticipations of what you are going to do and where you are going to be tomorrow that you have no space to think of what you are going to do and where you are going to be through eternity.”  (Alexander MacLaren, Expositions on Holy Scripture)

Wishes just “flutter near the earth.” Wishing wants things. Hope connects us to Jesus – who he is and what he is doing.  What will it look like to hope more deeply? To release our anchor beneath the water line – into the “Holy of Holies” – where God dwells?

This is what it means to have an anchored soul. And what does an anchored soul look like? It looks like Jesus.

We watch him as he walked from the deprivation and temptation of the desert all the way through the abandonment and suffering of Holy Week. The winds blew and the current pulled. He was hungry. He was harassed by Satan. His friends betrayed him. He was misunderstood and falsely accused. He suffered pain and humiliation. Not robotically: he wasn’t numb or immune to reality. He asked questions. He needed comforting. But his anchor held.

We contrast that with Peter. His was an unanchored soul until the Spirit came to rest on him at Pentecost. Jesus had shared with him God’s plan, but he couldn’t wait confidently. When the winds picked up around him, he swung from violence to deceit to despair. He was all over the place. He was an unanchored soul.

An anchored soul may face challenges without rethinking the whole plan. An anchored soul waits gracefully. An anchored soul doesn’t panic when God’s plan doesn’t come with a briefing manual. An anchored soul holds steady.

To hope for something can feel very vulnerable. We all know what it feels like to be disappointed when things we hoped for didn’t work out. Maybe you’ve had the wires cut to the part of your soul that hopes.

Are you willing to trust God to reconnect them? To hope isn’t a sign of weakness or naivete. It is a courageous choice. This is the point where we decide how we are going to respond.

Maybe you didn’t know God has offered to anchor your life.

Maybe something about your connection to your anchor needs attention.

Maybe God is inviting you into deeper waters and you’re testing the unknown.

Community is a great gift when we are struggling to hope. That’s one reason why God invites us to gather together. Sometimes we need the community to hold us while we struggle with hope.

Can you let someone pray for you? I’m going to. I’m going to respond to my own teaching. I feel like God invited me too while I was making sandwiches. I want to be more hopeful. I want to receive the grace of hope, and this feels like a good place to start.

Featured image courtesy Grant Durr Photos via Unsplash.

Gathering in Worship Again: Ways to Mark Change

As many congregations return to gathering in new or partial ways after a period of virtual worship, there are both logistical challenges and shepherding challenges. Essentially, widespread change has occurred in a condensed and contentious time. Some shared rituals in worship function as rites of passage, like funerals; the loss of sharing these rituals as a community has at times been devastating. For many, the past 12 months have been marked by uncertainty, frustration, fear, loss, anxiety, stress, and relief; but not only are we, in the midst of life, in death; we are also, in death, in the midst of life. Babies have been welcomed, weddings performed, new vocations discovered. In liminal times of emotional complexity, humans crave communal markers to express the cry of the heart and to clarify seasons and meaning. Symbols can carry layers of meaning when life experiences are so tangled that mere literal words struggle to hold the weight. In Christian worship, these symbols aren’t only functions of community expression; they are received as means of grace that reveal the very heart of God. Not every Christian symbol is a sacrament, but many moments in embodied Christian worship have the capacity to serve as means of grace.

As believers begin gathering in person again, what are some practical ways a community can bear witness to the loss and hope woven throughout the past year? Surveying the sheer scope of change – good or bad – that individuals and communities have endured, how is room made for lament, celebration, and the exhaustion in between? Finding ways to mark change sits peacefully with the reality that everyone – individuals, communities, regions, countries – will re-enter familiar patterns at different paces, due to varying needs and conditions.

What are some recurring cries of the heart expressed by Christians and non-Christians, leaders and laypeople alike? Many are echoed in Psalms of lament. Gathering again stirs a variety of responses among people. There may be:

  • Relief, celebration, joy
  • Grief at the empty spaces of those who have died
  • Grief at the loss of daily rituals and companionship
  • Fear that accommodations for the disabled or home-bound will be forgotten
  • Distrust of others fueled by differing perspectives
  • Impatience for places and practices to look like they used to
  • Fatigue of tragedy and bad news
  • Relief at return to familiar space and practices
  • Guilt from surviving or experiencing the pandemic relatively unscathed
  • Anxiety from uncertainty in social interaction
  • Gratitude for the ability to begin gathering again, even with adaptations

Thankfully, there are some helpful liturgical resources from The Episcopal Church, the Church of England, and the Methodist Church in Britain that provide some markers to guide worshipers through the fog. From the inability to write in a coffee shop to the death of a loved one, from losing a business to losing facial expressions to educational upheaval, there is space to mark changes big and small, yet not-so-small. Jesus wept over the dead and heard the cry of the falling sparrow alike; and people who live alone, and people who live in families with children, all have something they’ve lost and found in the past year. There is room in the heart of God, and there is space in the worshiping community, for all of it – tragic fatality and kids’ disappointed plans alike.

The Liturgy of Gathering Again: Lament, Remembrance, Thanksgiving

The loss of usual funeral rituals has stolen the opportunity for loved ones to receive the healing honor of community witness. Not only have families of the deceased been affected, but communities themselves have endured the loss of sharing in these rituals. Some communities have lost many – so many it’s difficult to keep track. Health care workers sometimes lost the in-person support and services of hospital or hospice chaplains, finding themselves end-of-life witnesses. At the same time, many people have been limited in ways they can express thanks and gratitude for the many health care workers who labored often behind the scenes in very difficult circumstances.

The Church of England has shared valuable resources and reflections on opportunities to hold general services of lament, specific services of remembrance or memorial, and services of thanksgiving. For instance, on remembering and memorials, the counsel in one guide prompts that,

“The two main elements that memorial services and remembering events need to offer are opportunities to mourn and to give thanks:
• Acknowledgement of suffering, loss and death
• Gratitude for all who have helped in so many ways
• Thanks for survival, health and wellbeing
• Thanks for the life of the individual(s) who has died”

There are also insights on the value of services of restoration – a time of worship designed to bridge worshipers from crisis and loss toward renewed trust for the future. “Naming the unexpected gifts of this crisis as well as its challenges, celebrating the rediscovery of the importance of the local, and the resurgence of neighbourliness will enable the journey of renewal and restoration. Consideration may be given to bring an act of worship to focus in some sort of symbolic act of restoration, entrusting ourselves to the God who leads us into his future.”

The Timing of Gathering Again: Scattered & Together

Depending on the region or specific community needs, some congregations have not yet begun to re-gather, or haven’t started gathering again fully. One resource from the Methodist Church in Britain provides a service guide called “Beyond Exile: A service to celebrate a return to public worship.” Adaptable for local circumstances, it includes liturgy, planning notes, preaching notes, and new hymns for “a returning congregation” for situations that include congregational singing. From this service, one excerpt from the “litany of lament” questions,

“We thought we knew how the world was meant to be. We would see colleagues, friends and loved ones again, and we would embrace, laugh and share stories as we always have. How can we sing the Lord’s song in a strange land?

And now, we know something new. We know that the world is not ours to control, and that our plans are confounded by the smallest microbe. God is teaching us a new song, for a new land.“

For places with many restrictions still in place, when believers may still be scattered or unable to provide in-person support, the Methodist Church in Britain also has adapted prayers for “the dying, the bereaved, and those who cannot attend a funeral.”

The Visual Cues of Gathering Again: Re-Entering the Public

This global moment invites people of all walks of life to re-engage with the practice of public mourning: not as a maudlin display of self-importance, but as a healthy tool of communication. But it’s been decades since people regularly wore the formerly common black armbands, like the character George Bailey when his father died in the film, “It’s a Wonderful Life.” A black piece of fabric around the upper arm is a visual cue to strangers and acquaintances alike: be kind, tread gently, this person is grieving, give some extra grace for a while. A more modern version is a simple black silicone band marked with words like, “I’m grieving” – just enough to remind the wearer and others that all is not well.

Sometimes, biblical phrasing like, “sackcloth and ashes” or “weeping and gnashing of teeth” is used figuratively – few Americans would grieve now wearing scratchy cloth or ashes. But grief and lament are not antithetical to faith. They are emblems of love, that “greatest of these.” They do not betray a lack of hope or trust; they hope and trust in God’s character, willing to express without repression. Demonstrating grief is Christlike: Christ, who groaned at Lazarus’ death, who wept over Jerusalem. (Tish Harrison Warren’s uncannily timed Prayer in the Night: For Those Who Work or Watch or Weep is a gift for the grieving and those who love them.)

For those who re-enter worship or public gathering with other infirmity, like ongoing health risk, there are other visual cues available to communicate simply with others. Wrist bands like Social Bands quickly cue an individual’s risk and desire for physical engagement. Ongoing consideration for others may well be one of the strongest notes of public witness that Christians can sound right now – consideration regardless of one’s own assessment or perception of risk.

At a basic level, hospitality is in part anticipating the needs of another and proactively preparing for them. Welcoming the jubilant alongside the dazed and shell-shocked means providing space and opportunity for both to bear witness to the changes in the lives of the other. In gathering, all are invited to bring the cries of their hearts to God in worship, receiving the same shared grace that offers hope, comfort, and celebration to each vulnerable heart.

Featured image courtesy Luke Carliff via Unsplash.

Make a Path for God’s Comfort to Arrive

“Comfort, comfort my people, says your God. Speak tenderly to Jerusalem, and proclaim to her that her hard service has been completed, that her sin has been paid for, that she has received from the Lord’s hand double for all her sins. A voice of one calling: ‘In the wilderness prepare the way for the Lord; make straight in the desert a highway for our God. Every valley shall be raised up, every mountain and hill made low; the rough ground shall become level, the rugged places a plain. And the glory of the Lord will be revealed, and all people will see it together. For the mouth of the Lord has spoken.’ A voice says, ‘Cry out.’ And I said, ‘What shall I cry?’ ‘All people are like grass, and all their faithfulness is like the flowers of the field. The grass withers and the flowers fall, because the breath of the Lord blows on them. Surely the people are grass. The grass withers and the flowers fall, but the word of our God endures forever.’ You who bring good news to Zion, go up on a high mountain. You who bring good news to Jerusalem, lift up your voice with a shout, lift it up, do not be afraid; say to the towns of Judah, ‘Here is your God!’ See, the Sovereign Lord comes with power, and he rules with a mighty arm. See, his reward is with him, and his recompense accompanies him.” – Isaiah 40:1-10

Comfort. It is such a simple word. Yet, when spoken in certain contexts, it becomes profound. The year 2020 has been one such context. Whether it has been the violence and racial injustice in American towns and streets, the divisions over the national election, or the murder hornets, there hasn’t been much comfort this year. This is to say nothing of the disruptive pandemic we are in. Some people have lost their jobs, others their businesses, still others, their lives. Some readers probably have had Covid, the experience of which, I am told, makes comfort a distance memory. Others have had to care for a loved one with Covid or watched a loved one die from it. During such tragedies, we normally find comfort in the presence of friends and family, but Covid has robbed us even of this. After the year we have had, what would we give to hear that simple word spoken to us: comfort.

The uncertainty and sense of hopelessness of the current moment approaches the context in which these words from the prophet Isaiah were first spoken. The people of Israel, to whom he addressed his message, were in exile in Babylon. They had been forcibly removed from their native land years before. Their homes and crops had been destroyed, their temple burned to the ground, and their king killed along with the rest of the royal line descended from David. Having been rescued from slavery by their God over 1,000 years before, they found themselves back as slaves in a foreign land. “By the rivers of Babylon,” laments the Psalmist, “we sat and wept when we remembered Zion . . . How can we sing the songs of the Lord while in a foreign land?” (Psalm 137:1, 4). The lament of the people of Israel must have had an additional layer of bitterness; they knew their own unfaithfulness caused their exile. The writer of Lamentations writes, “After affliction and harsh labor, Judah has gone into exile. She dwells among the nations; she finds no resting place…The Lord has brought her grief because of her many sins” (Lamentations 1:3, 5). The people of Israel were experiencing the covenant curses for their centuries of unfaithfulness and idolatry: namely, the loss of God’s presence, for which humans were created. Exile. Death.

And then, spoken in the midst of their darkest days, comes that profound word, comfort. “Comfort, comfort my people,” says the Lord through the prophet. Yes, even in exile, even in their unfaithfulness, they were still his people. “Speak tenderly to Jerusalem,” he continues, “and proclaim to her that her hard service has been completed, that her sin has been paid for, that she has received from the Lord’s hand double for all her sins.” If we could put this message more simply, it would be, “It’s over!” Or maybe even, “It is finished.”

What amazing words of hope and comfort! Those of us living through 2020 may understand a bit the unspeakable joy these words would have brought the exiles. How many internet memes and discussions are devoted to what we all will do, when this pandemic is over? How wonderful will it be, to be among friends and family again without fear, without masks? How lovely will a simple hug or handshake seem then? To eat at a restaurant, to go to a movie, to go back to work. We long after ten months of a pandemic simply to be able to leave our homes; the Israelites were in exile for 70 years; more than anything, they wanted to just go home.

But the completely unexpected truth about this prophecy is its proclamation that the end of exile would not consist in the Jews going back to their homeland, back to the place where they assumed God was. Rather, exile ends by God coming to them. The prophet says, “A voice of one calling: ‘In the wilderness prepare the way for the Lord; make straight in the desert a highway for our God. Every valley shall be raised up, every mountain and hill made low; the rough ground shall become level, the rugged places a plain. And the glory of the Lord will be revealed, and all people will see it together. For the mouth of the Lord has spoken.’” The highway was not for them to leave; the highway was for God to come.

The Jews didn’t grasp these words when they were first spoken. And so sometime later when they were released from Babylon and a remnant returned to Jerusalem to rebuild the temple, they thought that their exile was over. It wasn’t. Roman soldiers marched in the streets, David’s throne was still empty, and no one saw the glory of God. Most significantly, though they had returned, comfort remained far from them. Their disappointment must have been like ours will inevitably be, when 2020 turns to 2021, and we realize the pandemic has not ended. A random year change or a lighted ball dropping from a building or a presidential election can’t fix anything. The only thing that can fix a broken and hurting world, an exiled and a quarantined people, is God showing up in our midst. And for that, they would have to wait.

Like the exiles, we are in a period of waiting right now, the season of Advent. In the cultural mind with all its cherished traditions, Advent always gets mixed up with Christmas. But the celebration and feasting that is Christmas doesn’t actually start until December 25th. The season of Advent is less about celebration and more about exile, and the Church’s song in this season is less the joyous herald angels singing and more the lamenting cry, “Oh come, oh come Immanuel!” The words of this cherished Advent hymn are not far from the song of the exiles, “By the rivers of Babylon we sat and wept when we remembered Zion.” Thus, Advent focuses us not only on Christ’s first coming 2,000 years ago but also on the hope of his second coming. We are reminded in this season that though Christ has already come, all is not well. Our world is still broken and hurting and we still long for Christ’s full presence. And so we wait.

Thanks be to God that unlike the exiles, we are waiting in this season with the confidence of the children of God, and the comfort of those who know that although not all is well, exile has indeed ended. It didn’t end because the Jews went back to Canaan or because they rebuilt the Temple. Its end is not found in the ceasing of pain or death or in the absence of rulers opposed to the purposes of God. These things are still very much a reality, as 2020 has made all too apparent. Rather, as Isaiah prophesied, exile ended when God came to us, in the very midst of our darkness, in Jesus Christ, the light of the world. It is for this reason that all the Gospels launch readers into John and Jesus’ ministries with the quotation from Isaiah 40 about the God who comes on a highway in the wilderness. About the God who speaks comfort. We know, then, that God is with us in the waiting.

No matter how dark these days are, take comfort in the Gospel’s promise that “the light shines in the darkness and the darkness has not overcome it” (John 1:5).

Featured image courtesy Alexandre Dinaut on Unsplash.

Edgar Bazan ~ Fishing through the Disappointment of Empty Nets

It was after Easter. The disciples were told to wait for Jesus in Galilee. But did they have to wait by sitting and doing nothing? “I’m going fishing,” said Peter. And why not? It made perfect sense. Fishing was their livelihood. They may as well make some money while waiting. So they all piled into a boat and shoved off. The disciples were out on the water all night, but they didn’t catch even one fish. They weren’t using poles, hooks, and worms; they were dragging their net through the water. If there were fish in those waters, their net would have caught them. But nothing was caught; not one fish.  

Consider the account in the Gospel of John:

“After these things Jesus showed himself again to the disciples by the Sea of Tiberias; and he showed himself in this way. Gathered there together were Simon Peter, Thomas called the Twin, Nathanael of Cana in Galilee, the sons of Zebedee, and two others of his disciples. Simon Peter said to them, ‘I am going fishing.’ They said to him, ‘We will go with you.’ They went out and got into the boat, but that night they caught nothing. Just after daybreak, Jesus stood on the beach; but the disciples did not know that it was Jesus. Jesus said to them, ‘Children, you have no fish, have you?’ They answered him, ‘No.’ He said to them, ‘Cast the net to the right side of the boat, and you will find some.’ So they cast it, and now they were not able to haul it in because there were so many fish.” – John 21:1-6

It was early dawn, and they were tired, likely exhausted, when a voice from the shore calls out: “Do you have any fish?” We know this was Jesus – but they didn’t. So come on, Jesus, really? He didn’t ask because he didn’t know; was he messing with them? Maybe. I can see the frustration of the disciples having to answer this question, forced to admit their utter defeat: “No!” they called back, certainly with disgust.

Friends, you and I have fished in those same waters, haven’t we? When we put everything into a marriage to make it wonderful, but in the end, our net came back empty. When we invested blood, sweat, and time into a job, but the company downsized and our net came back empty. We have fished all night in those very same waters – building relationships with family members only to be hurt, putting our money into “safe” investments only to learn they weren’t as safe as we were told, putting our time and energy into building up our congregation only to see the numbers and giving drop.

In many ways, this is our story too. Our moment of “fishing” happens when we are trying our best to make a living, raise a family, and do good. But just like the hard-working disciples, our nets come back empty.

It is hard, it is discouraging, and it is understandable, even fair, to get upset.

But that’s when the miracles happen: when we are prime to listen and do whatever it takes to make things right.

Back to the story. As Peter and the others just kept casting the nets, again and again, Jesus finds them. They weren’t looking for him, nor did they know it was him when they heard his voice. The disciples did not recognize him. In their defeat, frustration, anger, helplessness, and whatever else was there with them in the boat, Jesus comes to them and gives them instructions on what to do to make things right.

You see, their eyes were closed, but not their ears; even if they couldn’t recognize, see, or feel Jesus’ presence, they were able to hear his voice. “Cast the net on the right side of the boat, and you will find some fish.” Had they known that it was Jesus, they certainly would have done as he told them. But they didn’t know. And so we see their faith taking over.

Here is the key to this particular situation: Jesus gave them both command and promise. “Cast the net…and you will find.” They acted in faithful obedience because that’s what faith does. It hears and obeys, even when that which is called out seems utterly foolish. And Jesus basically said, “if you do what I say, you will be blessed.”

This is very similar to what Jesus said in Luke 6:46-49:

“Why do you call me ‘Lord, Lord,’ and do not do what I tell you? I will show you what someone is like who comes to me, hears my words, and acts on them. That one is like a man building a house, who dug deeply and laid the foundation on rock; when a flood arose, the river burst against that house but could not shake it, because it had been well built. But the one who hears and does not act is like a man who built a house on the ground without a foundation. When the river burst against it, immediately it fell, and great was the ruin of that house.”

The teaching here in Luke is that if we do what Jesus says, even as we face challenges, we will outlast them and become fruitful. If you build your life on my commands and teachings, you will be blessed. This is a promise for all who hear and follow Jesus’ teachings, the same kind of teaching we find here with the disciples. They have empty nets but then act out in faith according to what Jesus asked them to do.

In the same way, Jesus gives us both command and promise. “Cast your net,” he commands, “on the right side of the boat and you will,” he promises, “find some fish.”

This is an amazing word of hope for each of us today. You may be ready to abandon all hope, pack up, and leave. You may be ready to give up on your spouse, your children, your faith, or whatever else may be empty right now. But if it is God directing you to do something about it, God will do a miracle. If God is directing you to approach your challenges in a different way, then listen and follow through, because you are *this* close to a breakthrough.

I understand that sometimes you just have to move on from the empty nets, but I also know that often we miss the blessing of having full, packed nets – healed relationships, successful jobs, fulfilling lives – because we give up rather than act on faith on what God is asking us to do.

If God is directing you to act, it is because there is a promise on the other side. God does not make empty promises. The nets may come up empty from time to time, but God’s Word is never empty and always accomplishes its purpose.

You may be asking, how do I know what to do? I can see the disciples wondering the same thing when Jesus told them to throw the nets on the right side. The right side, where is that? Haven’t we been fishing correctly? What does he mean by, “the right side of the boat”? The right side is where Jesus directs your life and has attached his promises. To fish on the right side of the boat is to live following the footsteps of Jesus.

Here is the thing about God’s promises and the reason why sometimes we have a hard time receiving them: it is not just about faith but alignment. It is not enough to believe right but to live right. For many, lack of faith is not the issue, but alignment with God is. Perhaps the challenge is not that we don’t know how to believe, but that we don’t know how to follow.

You see the point here? Perhaps our nets are empty not because we lack faith but because our actions are not reflecting of it. We may say we believe and love God, but we may treat others with contempt, and that is where the lack of alignment causes us to come up empty time and time again. That is why we lose opportunities in life for success. That is why we lose people we love. That is why we keep going from relationship to relationship, job to job, church to church, because we are not doing what we are told. We keep fishing on the left side, doing the wrong thing.

So when Jesus says, throw the net on the “right side of the boat,” it is about both believing and realignment. And the beautiful thing is that, once we take action, we will find the blessings in our lives.

I finish with this.

There isn’t a marriage here, a relationship here, that cannot be strengthened, benefited, saved by following the instructions of Jesus for our lives. There isn’t a financial crisis, a health problem, a job issue, a concern of any kind that God will not lead us through as we faithfully listen to his voice and act on his wisdom.

The bottom line is that God’s promises stand sure and steadfast, but they are not given just anywhere and everywhere. Had the disciples let out their net on the left side of the boat, it would have come back empty.

In the same way, our nets will continue to come back to us empty until we learn to trust the call and invitation of the Risen Christ. God’s true blessings for your life, marriage, and family will grow as you build your life on Jesus’ teachings.

My friends, the invitation today is to listen to Jesus and follow his instructions. No more empty nets.

Featured image courtesy yue su on Unsplash.

Karen Bates ~ Wait for God’s Goodness

In a recent conversation, the idea being discussed centered on what it means to wait on God. One person in the group asked, “how do you know when to give up?” The other members of the group immediately looked at me. I asked, “why are you all looking at me?” Someone replied, “you are the pastor! You should have an answer.” The person scoffed when I said, “you never give up when you are waiting on God. It doesn’t matter if you are waiting on a promise, something you requested, something you need — whatever it is, if God says, wait — wait. It is important to trust God’s timing.”

That’s something I have experience with. During a season of unemployment, I knew God had promised me that I would return to work, that I was not to panic but to trust him. It was easy to trust God while I was receiving unemployment checks. But as the deadline for the checks to end neared, I tried not to panic but kept reminding God that bills were still due.

God provided — from expected and unexpected sources. One person who didn’t know me put money in my hand and said, “God told me to give this to you.” When I tried to explain, the person said I owed no explanation. “And please, do not send me a thank you note. Thank God. It is from him.” I waited until I got to my car to count the money. It was enough to cover my car payment, insurance, and gas for several weeks. And while I thanked God, I reminded God again: I need a job. After the unemployment checks ended and I still wasn’t working, I was always asking for prayer. God reminded me to stop asking and to wait.

One of my favorite verses of scripture is Psalm 27:14: “Wait on the Lord: be of good courage, and he shall strengthen thine heart: wait, I say, on the Lord.” However, that Scripture is what I quoted to other people who were waiting. My morning prayer turned into me asking God for courage to wait and to strengthen my heart to believe. When my belief in what God has promised me wanes, I often consider the father whose child was possessed by a spirit described in Mark 9. The truth is, sometimes I’m the father — “Lord, I believe; help my unbelief.” I don’t always know what it takes to believe God for what he has promised. Unbelief is easy; belief takes faith — and sometimes patience.

The beauty of waiting is not always evident. In the waiting, I am often consumed by thoughts about what happens if. What if God’s promise doesn’t come true? What will people think if I said God would do it and he doesn’t? What happens if? God has gently reminded me more than once that the onus for what he has promised is not on me. It is on him. God will do what he says — in his own time.

There is a beauty in waiting, but it is not shown while we wait. The beauty is revealed when you review what God has done in you while you were believing and waiting.

The father’s request — and Jesus’ promise — was healing for the boy. Even when it looked as if the boy was dead, the father continued to believe. Don’t stop believing if life was promised to a situation that appears dead. I wonder how the father felt in those moments when his son was on the ground, and some thought the boy was dead? I’m sure those moments felt like years. However, the good news is that the promise came to be: “Jesus took him by the hand and lifted him up, and he arose.” ( Mark 9:27)

As I was waiting and praying for the job, I talked to an employment counselor. The counselor said it would be at least four to six weeks before I would be working. I had been without an income for five weeks at that time. However, God’s timing is perfect. The job opportunity God had for me opened much sooner. I applied for the job during the third week of July and was working in the second week of August. Never give up on what God has promised you. Keep believing, keep the faith, keep trusting, and keep waiting. Wait on the Lord, and if you must, pray, “Lord, I believe; help my unbelief.”

Michelle Bauer ~ Rewriting a Story Gone Wrong

The story of Ruth and Boaz in the Old Testament starts with a tragedy – actually, a series of tragedies.  Ruth’s life is not living up to her expectations. She is a childless widow, living in a foreign land, dependent on the favor of strangers. Enter the Redeemer – the one who can rewrite the ending of a story gone wrong, buying back tragedy and making way for restoration.

To redeem means to buy back, to free from distress, or to make something worthwhile. Boaz enters the story and works to buy back Ruth’s suffering and pain. He offers care and protection to Ruth. Hopefully, his character might remind you of someone else – Jesus’ protecting, providing, loving, and redeeming.

Do you have an ending that needs to be re-written? A story of suffering that needs to be redeemed?  

Let’s look at an excerpt from Ruth 1:

There was a famine in the land. So a man from Bethlehem in Judah, together with his wife and two sons, went to live for a while in the country of Moab. The man’s name was Elimelek, his wife’s name was Naomi, and the names of his two sons were Mahlon and Kilion. And they went to Moab and lived there.

 Now Naomi’s husband died, and she was left with her two sons. They married Moabite women, one named Orpah and the other Ruth. After they had lived there about ten years, both sons also died, and Naomi was left without her two sons and her husband.

When Naomi heard in Moab that the Lord had come to the aid of his people by providing food for them, she and her daughters-in-law prepared to return home from there. Then Naomi said to her two daughters-in-law, “Go back, each of you, to your mother’s home. May the Lord show you kindness, as you have shown kindness to your dead husbands and to me. May the Lord grant that each of you will find rest in the home of another husband.”

Then she kissed them goodbye and they wept aloudand said to her, “We will go back with you to your people.”

But Naomi said, “Return home, my daughters. Why would you come with me? Am I going to have any more sons, who could become your husbands? Return home, my daughters. No, my daughters. It is more bitter for me than for you, because the Lord’s hand has turned against me!” At this they wept aloud again. Then Orpah kissed her mother-in-law goodbye, but Ruth clung to her.

“Look,” said Naomi, “your sister-in-law is going back to her people and her gods. Go back with her.” But Ruth replied, “Don’t urge me to leave you or to turn back from you. Where you go I will go, and where you stay I will stay. Your people will be my people and your God my God. Where you die I will die, and there I will be buried. May the Lord deal with me, be it ever so severely, if even death separates you and me.”When Naomi realized that Ruth was determined to go with her, she stopped urging her.

So the two women came to Bethlehem. When they arrived in Bethlehem, the whole town was stirred because of them, and the women exclaimed, “Can this be Naomi?”

“Don’t call me Naomi,” she told them. “Call me Mara, because the Almightyhas made my life very bitter.I went away full, but the Lord has brought me back empty. Why call me Naomi? The Lord has afflictedme; the Almighty has brought misfortune upon me.”

So Naomi returned from Moab accompanied by Ruth the Moabite, her daughter-in-law, arriving in Bethlehem as the barley harvest was beginning.

In what ways did Ruth and Naomi suffer? They were widows in a patriarchal society, in which the livelihood of women depended on fathers, husbands, or sons.

Do you have a story of suffering, too? Which pieces of your story have you come to terms with, and which pieces seem to defy meaning or purpose? What might it look like for God to buy back your story when your life doesn’t seem to have hope?

Why do you think Ruth was determined to go to Bethlehem with Naomi? What things did Ruth choose to leave behind? Have you had to leave anything behind in order to pursue a new chapter of your life? Is there anything you need to set aside but are unwilling to? Talk to God about how to let go.   

Naomi stated that God caused her pain. How do you approach suffering? How does it affect your idea of God?

The beginning of the barley harvest seems to be a symbol of hope in this chapter of the story. With all that you may have endured, what signs of hope are you able to see in your story?

Naomi and Ruth may have been tempted to think that their story was over – that nothing good could come from it. We have the perspective to know that their story was far from over. God was about to write a totally new, beautiful chapter.

Can you envision your story being rewritten partway through? How does the experience of suffering make it difficult to hope for a good future? What has gone wrong for you? Are you ready to ask today how your story can still get a new ending?

Elizabeth Glass Turner ~ Valuing Your Pastors: Snapshots of Clergy Appreciation Month

It is October, which for pastors is Clergy Appreciation Month. Recently I polled clergy on their experiences of Pastor Appreciation in the midst of ministry. The results managed to surprise me.

I was curious to know answers to what I thought was a fairly straightforward, simple question: what’s one of the most meaningful gifts or gestures you received for Pastor Appreciation? As an afterthought, I included – or an awkward gift or gesture?

It was surprising to see the percentage of clergy who have never experienced any organized appreciation initiative, alongside the number who (though technically counted as having received Clergy Appreciation) received maybe one or two cards, years prior.

The point of surveying clergy was not to reinforce an idealized perspective of pastors. I’m rarely surprised by pastors, though it happens from time to time. But for every self-promoting or self-aggrandizing or corrupt or predatory pastor I’ve known, I’ve known many more who continue to show up week after week because they love God and they want people to see God, love God, and love others.

However, clergy burnout rates in North America are quite high, while available Sabbaticals are often under-utilized; a number of pastors leave ministry, and clergy mental health is frequently under assault. Recently, a tragic case of a high-profile pastor’s suicide hit the news. The factors contributing to burnout, clergy drop-out rates, and mental health struggles are complex, and no one event or initiative is a cure-all. Congregations should have high expectations for their pastors’ integrity, hard work, and growing maturity and leadership. Congregations have a right to expect to be treated with care, honesty, character, and respect.

But some of the gestures clergy have pointed out as most meaningful also reflect the particular challenges they face:

  • A pastor who receives a perceptive personal gift feels seen and known in what is often a lonely role
  • A pastor whose kids are included as recipients in Clergy Appreciation sees the hidden family cost and sacrifice being noticed and honored
  • A pastor who receives a deliberate daily prayer initiative senses renewed energy to face daily spiritual battles for which they crave Divine wisdom and insight
  • A pastor who receives specific notes mentioning examples of the impact of their ministry fights the fear that they’re not making any difference through the waves of criticism, tragedy, and pressure they encounter in the pews

In my informal poll, I reached out to North American Protestant Christian clergy, weighted heavily toward Wesleyan Methodist pastors working in local congregations (District Superintendents, Bishops, or General Superintendents were not included this time). They represent regions across the United States. The group includes both women and men in active pastoral ministry as solo, senior, or staff pastor or chaplain. Among responding clergy were Caucasian, Black, and Latino pastors. Pastors from multiple denominations responded, including AME Zion, AME, United Methodist, Wesleyan, Nazarene, and Episcopalian. Congregation size varied, as did denominational form of organization – congregational voting on a pastor vs episcopal appointment by a Bishop.

  • Roughly 65% of respondents have experienced some kind of recognition, gift, token, or event for Clergy Appreciation month, which is good. However, this ranges from getting a Hallmark card or gift certificate once or twice from individuals in a congregation, to organized events, lunches, gift baskets or sporting events tickets, to each staff member receiving a thousand dollars in gift cards.
  • About 20% of respondents had never served a congregation that observed Clergy Appreciation month but had received formal, organized recognition or appreciation at other times or milestones, like a milestone anniversary year at a congregation or when the pastor was moving away.
  • About 15% of respondents had never served a congregation that organized a formal recognition or appreciation initiative, either during Clergy Appreciation Month or at any other time.

Regardless of the monetary value of gifts, respondents repeatedly affirmed that some of the most meaningful gestures were personal, or illustrated what each member was able to give in their own capacity, or expressed the specific impact a pastor’s ministry had made.

Further, a couple of respondents explained that Clergy Appreciation is rarely or never observed in some particular contexts: church planting (where a congregation is new, not yet established, and often is completely unaware of Pastor Appreciation month), and chaplaincy positions (where a clergyperson is appointed outside of a traditional congregation in settings like hospitals/hospice, law enforcement or fire departments, athletic teams, or the military). For chaplains and church planters, there may be a higher likelihood of falling through the cracks, despite their roles being particularly heavy with crisis encounters (chaplains) and with entrepreneurial launch risk (church planters).

An aside: not all clergy want Pastor Appreciation recognition – sometimes they fear it looks self-serving to visitors, or they’ve grown to dread resentful comments about needing a salary at all or interactions that feel quid pro quo. Most pastors wouldn’t want the kind of “PreachersNSneakers” attention some celebrity pastors have been receiving about the perception of their wealth or what they do with it. But the vast majority of pastors serve congregations of fewer than 500 members, and the majority of those serve in churches with 200 members or fewer, so it’s unlikely the rural Illinois pastor down the street is rocking a $4,000 pair of shoes while layoffs are occurring across town.

While certainly care should be exercised, pastors as effective leaders must work toward being able to inhabit a place of comfortable, appropriate vulnerability. And that’s what being willing to receive something is: you are allowing yourself to be impacted by another person. This is a vital trait for clergy to exercise, who so often are the ones in the position of giver – giver of time, resources, counsel, insight, and leadership. When you let people give, it breaks down walls and barriers easy for wounded clergy to keep up; it reinforces to congregations the value of expressing and communicating gratitude, positivity, and appreciation; and it allows people to give from whatever scant resource they’re able. If you tell a church you don’t “need” anything from them, you’re robbing the five-year-olds of the opportunity to practice showing gratitude through their Crayola art. You’re telling the 85-year-old that she can’t do anything valuable for you, that she has nothing of worth that you need. And you’re telling people with limited income that their banana bread doesn’t have a point – when maybe that’s the best thing they have to give. So let them give it. Or else never preach on the feeding of the 5,000 or the widows’ mites again.

Here, then, are a few takeaways from pastors’ responses on what Clergy Appreciation gestures have been most meaningful (or sometimes most awkward). They’re relevant to leaders like District Superintendents or Bishops, active and retired pastors, and laypeople wondering where their congregation falls compared to other churches.

Pastors’ experience of Clergy Appreciation Month varies so widely it seems almost solely shaped by individual congregational lay leadership.

Church size, area of the country, denomination – none of these determine the likelihood of whether or to what extent a congregation will observe Pastor Appreciation. No one leadership style or pastoral personality or temperament seemed to shape the likelihood of whether or not a particular clergyperson had received gestures of appreciation. Sometimes length of tenure appeared to have some correlation – the longer a pastor had stayed in once place, the more likely they were to have been honored in some organized or deliberate way.

Pastoral Appreciation habits on a church-by-church basis seems further illustrated by the fact that some churches don’t observe any formal recognition of Clergy Appreciation Month in October, yet have a healthy practice of regularly encouraging their pastor at other times of year. Yet rather sadly, for at least one minister, a congregation with retired denominational leaders and pastors attending was the only church they served that hadn’t recognized Clergy Appreciation (perhaps illustrating the principle that, “a prophet has no honor in his own hometown”).

When denomination, region, and church size don’t significantly determine whether or not a congregation organizes regular Clergy Appreciation initiatives, the spectrum of experiences is quite wide. Lay leaders exercise a great deal of influence and leadership, and factors like congregational culture and health likely inform attitudes, proactive communication, and a sense of pride, ownership, and gratitude.

Consider some statements from currently active pastors:

“I did not even know it was Pastor Appreciation month. I do not think I have ever received a gift for it. Is that weird?”

“I only recall having received one gift from a lay person at one church I’ve served. It had a gift card, which was nice!”

“Church plant congregations have no idea about Pastor Appreciation month!”

“The best was tickets to an NFL game. It was on a Sunday, so the church gave us the weekend off! It was really nice.”

“My church decided to make Pastor Appreciation a really big deal one year (I had been at the church for six years). Normally, I might get a card or a gift certificate from random church members. This particular year, they gave me a different surprise every Sunday during October. The first week at the end of the service they gave me a big bucket full of goodies. One week, they gave me a big box full of notes of encouragement. So very thoughtful. They also bought a new desk for my office, repainted it, re-carpeted it, and redecorated it. They also gave me a framed picture of my face made out of words that describe me.”

“They gave each of us and the lead pastor over a thousand dollars’ worth of gift certificates to the dinner theater, the fanciest steakhouse, and a bed and breakfast.”

There are a couple of dynamics likely to produce an awkward Clergy Appreciation experience.

There are a multitude of ways to show appreciation with sensitivity, creativity, and personality, as some beautiful examples below show. However, a couple of situations can create awkward Clergy Appreciation experiences.

When a congregation recognizes a Senior Pastor to the complete exclusion of other staff members, it can be awkward for everyone. Consider these experiences:

“Only recognizing senior pastors makes it look like the congregation doesn’t think the other pastors are doing ‘real’ ministry.”

“My church has this sweet sign, Our Pastor is #1! A bit awkward though since it’s singular, and we have two pastors on staff.”

When themed gifts pile up for clergy who have to pack and move regularly. While teachers receive apple-themed decor, keepsakes, ornaments, dishes, and more, pastors sometimes have a similar challenge.

“My spouse gets awkward ones all the time. Just random crosses and church-y things that will collect dust.”

“Please, no more crosses or Bibles. I’m set!”

When social insensitivity potentially sours a well-intended gesture, pastoral appreciation shifts from being relaxing to presenting new challenges to be solved.

“It was great when people offered to watch our kids so we could have a date night – until it was a person we were not comfortable letting care for our kids. Declining was awkward in those moments.”

“One thing I’m aware of in our social media age is that some pastors are going to be in pain as they watch other churches shower their pastors with gifts, and then watch their church go silent. Pastors, out of a sense of excitement and gratitude, post it on social media. Sometimes, despite the good intentions, I wonder if it leads to comparisons as one pastor compares his $25 gift certificate to another pastor’s trip to Hawaii.”

Sometimes the awkwardness has a more sinister edge, so if your pastor seems a little wary during Clergy Appreciation month, remember occasionally there are circumstances going on behind the scenes, as with one respondent in active ministry:

“I have a stalker who is sending me things. The Superintendent is about to have a cease and desist letter sent.”

Despite the number of ways expressions of gratitude can become awkward, take them as helpful notes but don’t let them keep you from showing appreciation to your own pastor. As you’ll see below, even a short note can stick in the clergy mind for years and encourage a tired pastor to keep going.

The most meaningful gifts were personal, reflected individual ability to give from the resources they had, or included notes about how their ministry mattered or the impact of their work.

No one goes into ministry for the salary; still, it is moving to see what moves the average minister. Consider these creative gestures from a variety of congregations of varying size, with varying resources, and why they mattered to the pastors who received them:

“One year, our board planned an entire weekend of services including kids’ church, youth, preaching, music, scheduling volunteers. Our staff was invited to simply come and participate. It was amazing to come without responsibility and be a part of our morning worship services. It truly was a gift of time and appreciation. Imagine a whole week that our staff was able to realign our efforts because we didn’t have to plan weekend worship services. It was great!”

“I personally appreciate the thoughtfulness more now than I did in years past. Having gone through a tough pastorate, acts of service and love mean more to me than they once did.”

“One of the most meaningful gifts I have received for Pastor Appreciation month was a picture of my grandmother framed with a poem written by one of my members. My grandmother passed two years ago during Pastoral Appreciation month. The gift made me cry.”

“Honestly the money and gifts are always appreciated. But when people have written about the difference one has made in their lives…those make everything so worth it.”

“Our church does prayers for your pastors for the month of October with a prayer prompt each day. A lot of the cards and notes I get say that people are praying, and I believe they are, especially with the prayer prompts. They include our family in the prayers so that means a lot.”

“I had a church member who knew that I like deer meat, but also that I don’t like to hunt. He killed a deer and called me to pick it up, but all I had to transport the deer was my small compact car. So I stuffed this deer carcass into the trunk of a Corolla to have it processed. It was all pretty crazy! But it was an incredibly kind gesture.”

“The most meaningful was an appreciation lunch; there wasn’t enough in the budget to give cash gifts, but the members still wanted to show their appreciation. They decorated the hallway and tables with signs. The children made cupcakes for us. The most meaningful part was the gesture from the kids who made cupcakes, because it was the sense that everyone has the capacity to give – they gave from their hearts and their own means.”

“The most meaningful – I think what people have said in the cards they give me when they express their appreciation for my ministry, and the support they offer.”

“When I was single, one congregation brought me meals every day for a month.”

“This year they gave me a gigantic card that had lots of color and glitter, it was so me! I think that’s what I like best, it is so hard to get surprises past me, and they always seem to do it.”

“We’ve also had people get our kids gift cards, to take the family out for dinner – Steak n Shake and Wendy’s – it made them feel special, that they could ‘plan’ and ‘prepare’ dinner.”

“My most used gift – someone gave me and the other pastor each a large Yeti cup with our names on them. I used it all the time and never worried about losing it on Sunday.”

“Stained glass from old church windows (when they remodeled or repaired windows). We have these from two different church buildings. I get emotional just thinking about it.”

“I remember my children lighting up when they found a basket filled with goodies on the porch. It makes me happy when my kids feel loved.”

What a variety of ways to express appreciation for clergy.

Who can you thank this month? If you’re a layperson, have you thought about the pastoral staff at your church, or chaplains in your region? If you’re a pastor, have you thought about your District Superintendent or Bishop and how you can express appreciation without coming across as overly ambitious or self-serving? If you’re a District Superintendent or Bishop, have you thought about the chaplains or church planters in your care who are less likely to be recognized with organized efforts of appreciation?

This month, who can you thank?

And if no one has said it, or is likely to say it –

Thank you. For all you do, seen and unseen. For not giving up or growing embittered or coasting. For offering the gift of character and integrity. For carrying a spiritual burden for the people under your care. For not laughing at the Sunday Schoolers’ macaroni art. For staying calm while someone your parents’ or grandparents’ age sobs on your shoulder in grief. For accepting your 385th decorative cross with a smile. For carrying the knowledge of the heartbreaking Scandal that’s About to Hit before anyone else learns of it. For taking on seminary debt and still having criticism leveled at your preaching by people who themselves are terrified of public speaking or have never preached 52 times a year. For plunging that one toilet, again.

You are seen, and appreciated, and celebrated.

Thank you to all the clergymembers who took a few minutes to share their experiences.

Featured photo from justmeasuringup.com/kidsthankyoucards

Edgar Bazan ~ Unmet Expectations

Isn’t it true that life will not always turn out the way you want?  Maybe you don’t get the promotion you think you deserve or you are struggling with your health. Maybe your marriage doesn’t turn out the way you imagined even though you feel you have worked hard for it and done everything you possibly can.

The truth is that we get disappointed when our expectations of what life is supposed to be are not met, even as we pray and pray, asking God, seeking his face, saying, “Do you even hear me? Are you with me?”

What are we to do in these situations?

Unmet expectations are one of the hardest things we have to deal with as people, and perhaps even more so as Christians. We have a tendency to write out our own life plans and then expect God to make it all happen. 

For example, consider the expectation that if we study hard in school and get a good education, we will be able to get a good job, earn good money, and then have a good life. Or if we come to church, say our prayers, serve people, and offer ourselves to God, everything will be blessed, exempting us from the bad. But life sometimes does not turn out the way we had hoped it to be.

Now, you think you are alone in this? That it all happens to you, or only to people who are not strong enough in their faith? Think twice.

The Bible is full of examples of how the people of God often have unmet expectations and how difficult it could be for them to deal with that. The story of Elijah the prophet is one of those times:

Now Ahab told Jezebel everything Elijah had done and how he had killed all the prophets with the sword. So Jezebel sent a messenger to Elijah to say, “May the gods deal with me, be it ever so severely, if by this time tomorrow I do not make your life like that of one of them.”

Elijah was afraid and ran for his life. When he came to Beersheba in Judah, he left his servant there, while he himself went a day’s journey into the wilderness. He came to a broom bush, sat down under it and prayed that he might die. “I have had enough, Lord,” he said. “Take my life; I am no better than my ancestors.” Then he lay down under the bush and fell asleep.

All at once an angel touched him and said, “Get up and eat.” He looked around, and there by his head was some bread baked over hot coals, and a jar of water. He ate and drank and then lay down again.

The angel of the Lord came back a second time and touched him and said, “Get up and eat, for the journey is too much for you.”  So he got up and ate and drank. Strengthened by that food, he traveled forty days and forty nights until he reached Horeb, the mountain of God. There he went into a cave and spent the night.

And the word of the Lord came to him: “What are you doing here, Elijah?”

He replied, “I have been very zealous for the Lord God Almighty. The Israelites have rejected your covenant, torn down your altars, and put your prophets to death with the sword. I am the only one left, and now they are trying to kill me too.”

The Lord said, “Go out and stand on the mountain in the presence of the Lord, for the Lord is about to pass by.”

Then a great and powerful wind tore the mountains apart and shatteredthe rocks before the Lord, but the Lord was not in the wind. After the wind there was an earthquake, but the Lord was not in the earthquake. After the earthquake came a fire, but the Lord was not in the fire. And after the fire came a gentle whisper. When Elijah heard it, he pulled his cloak over his face and went out and stood at the mouth of the cave.

Then a voice said to him, “What are you doing here, Elijah?”

He replied, “I have been very zealous for the Lord God Almighty. The Israelites have rejected your covenant, torn down your altars, and put your prophets to death with the sword. I am the only one left, and now they are trying to kill me too.”

The Lord said to him, “Go back the way you came, and go to the Desert of Damascus. When you get there, anoint Hazael king over Aram. Also, anoint Jehu son of Nimshi king over Israel, and anoint Elisha son of Shaphat from Abel Meholah to succeed you as prophet. Jehu will put to death any who escape the sword of Hazael, and Elisha will put to death any who escape the sword of Jehu.  Yet I reserve seven thousand in Israel—all whose knees have not bowed down to Baal and whose mouths have not kissed him.” – 1 Kings 19:1-18

Who is this prophet, Elijah? Personally, I think that Elijah is one of the most interesting people in the Bible. He is one of only two men that have never known physical death (Enoch being the other). He is one of two men that appear in both the Old and New Testaments. He appeared in the time of Ahab and also with Moses on the Transfiguration mount as they spoke with Jesus. At the time of Jesus’ crucifixion, the people thought Elijah would come and rescue him. Elijah was chosen by the apostle James to illustrate for us the might of a person of prayer.

By all accounts, he is an outstanding man of God, but in this chapter, we find him at an awkward moment, where he is neither heroic nor courageous. Instead, we see a broken human, like many of us would find ourselves at times.

Let’s see what caused Elijah to go from hero to someone who gave up and wished to die.

The books of 1 and 2 Kings are about the story of God’s people in relation to God’s covenant, about kings who kept the covenant or disregarded it altogether. King Ahab was a bad king who did not care about God’s covenant, and Elijah’s ministry took place during his reign in Israel. Ahab was self-centered, an easily influenced king who had married a pagan priestess named Jezebel. Jezebel was evil.

Elijah had become Ahab and Jezebel’s target. For them, he was no more than a troublemaker. We read,

“Ahab told Jezebel all that Elijah had done, and how he had killed all the prophets with the sword. Then Jezebel sent a messenger to Elijah, saying, “So may the gods do to me, and more also, if I do not make your life like the life of one of them by this time tomorrow.”

Why would Jezebel despise Elijah so badly? They have a history together. First, Jezebel was persecuting and killing the prophets and priests of God – of whom Elijah was a part – because they were in opposition to her kingdom. And second, Elijah humiliated Ahab and Jezebel by mocking, defeating, and killing their prophets: 450 prophets of Baal, and 400 prophets of Asherah (1 Kings 18:19).

This defeating of the pagan prophets was a powerful display of God’s power and Elijah’s faith; it was a demonstration that Jezebel’s gods were powerless and the Lord was alive and on Elijah’s side, but it also made Elijah the primary target of this evil monarchy. He thought after winning the epic battle against the prophets of Baal and Asherah that Ahab and Jezebel would be stunned, repent, and convert from their evil, but instead comes a message from Jezebel, who said, “I swear to Baal, by tomorrow morning, you will be dead!” This takes Elijah totally by surprise; as a result, he seems to fall apart at the seams.

So we have this hero of faith, a valiant man about whom the Bible says, “the hand of the Lord was on Elijah,” a man of not only faith but also courage. However, after Jezebel sends word to find and kill him, this happens: “Then he was afraid; he got up and fled for his life…” After the miraculous and overpowering victory over the prophets of Baal, we find this same man afraid and running for his life.

“No! This isn’t what’s supposed to happen,” we can almost see Elijah crying out in this way. He thought he was done, because things did not go the way he expected.

What’s happening here? Elijah experienced a huge letdown. Even more, he experienced it in the midst of being faithful. He was wondering what he did wrong and if he was the person that he thought he was, if he was the right person for the job. Perhaps he thought to himself, “I did something wrong; it is my fault,” or, “I have been let down by God.”

In verses 9 and 10 we can see Elijah’s struggle:

“Then the word of the Lord came to him, saying, “What are you doing here, Elijah?” He answered, “I have been very zealous for the Lord, the God of hosts; for the Israelites have forsaken your covenant, thrown down your altars, and killed your prophets with the sword. I alone am left, and they are seeking my life, to take it away.”

If I were to paraphrase this, it might go, “I have given everything to God, I did my best, all that I could and it wasn’t enough. I am a complete failure.”

This is what’s going on inside Elijah’s head. He was so broken he even went so far to say, “It is enough; now, O Lord, take away my life, for I am no better than my ancestors.” He can’t seem to find a way out beside escaping his challenges, giving up, running away, and hiding in a cave –literally.

Can you see the drastic change? First, he defeated hundreds of evil men, and now he wishes to be dead. Isn’t this what happens to us too? The way we feel and see ourselves when we are going through struggles?

When Elijah defeated the prophets of Baal and Asherah, he experienced a degree of satisfaction and contentment, and his expectations were met. But when they were not met, he experienced anger, sadness, and fear, and this happens to us too: anger because you are mad that your expectations were not met and start looking to blame someone for it, whether others, yourself, or God. Sadness, because you grieve the loss of what did not happen. And fear, because you are afraid that your expectations will continue to go unmet.

Steven Furtick speaks of this when he writes about the “expectation gap” as the space between our expectations and our actual experiences. This gap is what we suffer as frustration that is caused by unmet expectations and goes something like this: “This isn’t what marriage was supposed to look like.” “I thought this job was going to be different.” “I never thought my kids would act that way.”

We have been there, overcome with frustration and left with nothing but unmet expectations. How are we supposed to respond? Do we tough it out and get on with life? Do we just lower our expectations? Or is there another way?

This brings me to our hope: look for the provision of God in the middle of unmet expectations. God’s plan for us may not meet our finite human expectations, but it will certainly and ultimately exceed all of them.

This is exactly what God showed Elijah. The prophet couldn’t see it because of the cloud of disappointment he was under. So God showed Elijah the big picture when,

There came a voice to him that said, “What are you doing here, Elijah?” [He was in a cave.] He answered, “I have been very zealous for the Lord, the God of hosts; for the Israelites have forsaken your covenant, thrown down your altars, and killed your prophets with the sword. I alone am left, and they are seeking my life, to take it away.” Then the Lord said to him, “Go, return on your way to the wilderness of Damascus; when you arrive, you shall anoint Hazael as king over Aram. Also you shall anoint Jehu son of Nimshi as king over Israel; and you shall anoint Elisha son of Shaphat of Abel-meholah as prophet in your place. ”

Can you see this? Can you hear? God was up to something, a lot more than what Elijah had realized. God was not denying his prophet’s challenges and emotions but was telling him, “we are not done yet, I get how you feel, but see, what we are doing together is much greater than just winning a battle; it is much greater than your personal victories. We will win together … everything.”

What God is doing in our lives is much greater than an unmet expectation. When things seem impossible, with God, there is always the element of surprise, the possibility that something greater is going to happen and change everything.

Here is a profound truth: God’s thoughts, his desires for us, far exceed our wildest expectations. We need to learn to see and define our place and purpose in life from the big picture perspective as opposed to the immediate emotions and challenges we are facing. It is at this moment when we are in the midst of volatile emotions, noise, and distractions, that we hear God’s voice telling us: I am working in the background a far greater victory for you; your unmet expectations will become surpassing expectations.

My friends, our unmet expectations are not dead ends. Don’t let go of God and don’t let go of yourself. Practice a stubborn faith and hope!

And here is the key to this: our focus shouldn’t be on getting what we want from life or this world, but on living to the fullest of our potential, listening and following God. You see? There is a shift here, from, “getting what we want,” to “pursuing what God wants.”

It is not easy; in fact, it might be the hardest thing we ever do, but our love for God will be our greatest strength which will carry us through however far and however long we need to go.