The Cup of Blessing

 

The celebration of Holy Communion on Maundy Thursday evening during Holy Week is unique, even if your church administers the sacrament regularly and often. This time, it is the night when we most closely remember the actual Last Supper of our Lord before he went to be crucified. One such Maundy Thursday night ended in a way that gave it a special place in my memory.

It had been a very meaningful Maundy Thursday service and now it was late and everyone had gone home. I walked through the now-empty building as I usually do at the end of the day, readjusting thermostats and turning off lights and making sure all the doors were locked. As I walked back into the sanctuary, I noticed that the little glass cups from the Communion service were still there, standing up along the chancel rail as if in formation. Our people had gotten a little sloppy that evening, and the juice had spattered here and there, with little drops spilled along the wooden rail like the blood on the doorposts of the Israelites. In the bottom of each little cup was a crimson spot where the last dregs of the precious liquid lay. Since I didn’t want that grape juice to stay in the cups overnight, I decided to take them into the kitchen and wash them.

I didn’t mind. I felt I would enjoy the quiet time in the kitchen: no phone ringing, no emails to answer, no one demanding my attention. Just me and God in the kitchen. A nice mid-Holy Week respite.

As I spread out the cups to wash them, I thought of putting them in the dishwasher but decided against it. It seemed to me the best way to wash them was one by one, picking up each cup individually, washing it out, then turning it over to dry.

After I got started, I began to think about the medieval monk known as Brother Lawrence of the Resurrection. Brother Lawrence was a very godly man, a person who had given it all to go and live in the monastery and serve God all his days. He took his vows, made his commitment, and got his initial training in the kitchen. Now the kitchen was the last place Brother Lawrence wanted to be! He reportedly said to himself something like, “Oh, I could be so much more useful to God anywhere other than in this kitchen, peeling potatoes and washing dishes and cutting cabbage and boiling onions! Why me? Why here?”

We all want to be great for God and sometimes think we should get to choose our places of service. But we forget that even Jesus showed his greatness by washing the disciples’ feet and by giving his life for others. Brother Lawrence learned to practice the presence of God wherever God put him, and he found God in the kitchen. Likewise, that night in that church kitchen I found God unexpectedly among the dozens of tiny shot glasses stained with grape juice.

What happened was this: as I picked them up and began to wash them one by one, I counted them. There were about 110, and I was a little disappointed in the number. But continuing to wash them and place them on the towel to dry, the total number became less important to me. Gradually the cups began to look different, and as I handled them individually, I began to look closely at each little cup. It dawned on me that each and every cup represented a life, a person, a human being, someone I know, someone for whom Christ died. Suddenly the total number didn’t seem to matter as much. What mattered the most at that moment was each individual little cup and the beloved child of God who had partaken of its contents.

You’ve heard it said that sometimes we can’t see the forest for the trees. True, but the reverse is also true: sometimes we can’t see the trees for the forest! We see the numbers and the unified whole but we overlook the precious individuals that it contains.

I’m glad to be reminded that we have all the little cups that make the sacrament possible even in the pandemic, and that we serve and partake of Holy Communion individually, one by one. Christ died not just for the church but for each life, each soul, saying, “This is my body, given for you.” There is a cup with your name on it. Thanks be to God.

 

WIND, WATER AND SPIRIT

 The anticipation of fall means waiting for good sailing weather. Here is my 22-foot vintage sailboat Anastasia. Built in 1979, Anastasia is a bit weathered like me but is in very good shape. Her name, Anastasia, is the Greek/New Testament word for Resurrection. I have loved sailing ever since living in New Orleans for seminary and learning to sail on Lake Ponchartrain.

Water, wind, earth, and fire. Christine Valters Paintner reminds us that these are the four essential elements of the Creation (Earth: Our Original Monastery. Notre Dame, IN: Sorin Books, 2020, page 59). We can experience two of these – water and wind – in the ancient activity of sailing a boat.

Jesus reminded Nicodemus, "The wind blows where it will (John 3:8)." He was referring to the divine sovereignty and unpredictability of Spirit. Such is the work of God, as we await the fair winds of autumn.

Well-known preacher, teacher and writer Barbara Brown Taylor once said, “I think we’d like life to be like a train, but it turns out to be a sailboat.” And indeed, our lives do not always run along on predictable “tracks” but instead are subject to changes and course corrections. Living is often more like sailing a boat than riding a train. Sailing a boat requires paying attention to the wind and making the necessary adjustments in response to wind direction and strength, currents and weather changes.

Nicodemus thought life was like a train – you pick your train, you get on and ride, and you get off. But Jesus told Nicodemus life is not like that. Jesus said life in the Spirit is like watching the wind: “The wind blows where it chooses, and you hear the sound of it, but you do not know where it comes from or where it goes. So it is with everyone who is born of the Spirit.”

Indeed, this is not the only place where we hear that the Spirit of God is like the wind. In fact, the Hebrew word for spirit is also the word for wind or breath. Likewise, the New Testament Greek word for spirit is also the word for wind. So Jesus was making a play on words.

The Bible says that on the day of Pentecost when the church was born, the arrival of the Holy Spirit was “like the rush of a mighty wind” (Acts 2:2). When the living God answered Job’s complaints, he spoke to him out of a whirlwind (Job 40:6).

The wind is a wonderfully mysterious thing. You can sit on a beach or on a hilltop and enjoy its presence, feel it on your face, and wonder what sights it has seen and what lands it has visited. Wind can turn the mighty metal crosses on windmills, generate power, or blow away your house. Wind can propel sailboats, provided the sailor knows how to cooperate with the wind rather than fight it or try to control it.

For centuries the sailboat has been used as a symbol of the church, moved by the power of the Spirit’s wind across the waters of chaos. Even our church furniture and buildings are described in nautical terms such as nave, pulpit. Church architecture often features high ceilings designed to represent an upside-down boat. The Spirit is to the church what the wind is to a sailor.

Just as Jesus said the work of the Spirit is like the wind, spiritual life is a little like sailing a boat.

Sailing a boat is a matter of watching the wind, trying to see where it is going and from what direction it comes, and adjusting your equipment accordingly. You cannot control the wind but you can learn to observe it and respond to it. When you become adept at “reading” the wind you can know the pleasure of being moved along across the water by a power that is not your own.

Sometimes the wind changes direction (“the wind blows where it wills”). You can only prepare for that and adjust to it. You must simply be watching for subtle shifts in the wind’s strength and direction, be on the lookout for the rippling water which signals these approaching changes, develop a sixth sense of where the wind is. You are not going to “harness” or “capture” the wind, but you become in tune with the wind, adjusting your sails and learning to enjoy the ride. So it is with spiritual life.

There is a profound peace and exhilaration in moving along under the wind’s power, hearing the sound of it flowing across the sails and the singing of the water gurgling along the sides of our boat. Paddling takes a great deal of effort, and running motors make a great deal of noise. Our only effort in sailing is in keeping our equipment in tune and our sense of observation sharp.

I have often thought the practice of prayer finds a deeper dimension when we are not trying to control or manipulate God, but to cooperate with God as the sailor cooperates with the wind, observing the movements of both water and wind, respecting their power, and adjusting the trim of our equipment in response.

For reflection: Prayer is not always about our asking God to bless what we are doing; prayer at its best is when we ask what the Spirit is doing and we seek to be a part of that.

"The wind blows where it will (John 3:8)."

 

Unexpected Blessing: Annie’s Song and the Divine Feminine

One of the rare opportunities for pastors during this season of social distancing and digital worship is the chance we have to “attend” the services of other churches and to be led in worship ourselves. It’s like being a chef and having the opportunity to enjoy a meal that you didn’t have to prepare. I have been blessed by the work of some of my friends and colleagues and consider this a special gift.

The morning of April 26^th, just as I got home from sharing our own online worship service at First UMC – West Memphis, I turned on Facebook and saw a friend of mine who is a United Methodist pastor in Whitefish, Montana. Morie and I had met at an Academy for Spiritual Formation at Flathead Lake near Kalispell back in the fall. Their worship service was just about to begin as I got home.

As the service began, it became clear that we were joining Pastor Morie and his family in their home for worship. Morie’s spouse Erin brought out her guitar and sang, “Let Us Break Bread Together,” that great Communion song, and I began to get into the spirit of worship. The next thing she did caught me by complete surprise and touched me right to the heart.

Accompanied only by soft chords on her guitar, our worship leader began to sing John Denver’s “Annie’s Song” (1974):

You fill up my senses

Like a night in a forest

Like the mountains in springtime

Like a walk in the rain

Like a storm in the desert

Like a sleepy blue ocean

You fill up my senses

Come fill me again

Come let me love you

Let me give my life to you

Let me drown in your laughter

Let me die in your arms

Let me lay down beside you

Let me always be with you

Come let me love you

Come love me again

You fill up my senses

Like a night in a forest

Like the mountains in springtime

Like a walk in the rain

Like a storm in the desert

Like a sleepy blue ocean

You fill up my senses

Come fill me again 

As I heard her sing this song my eyes began to fill with tears. Growing up in the years when John Denver was active, I remembered hearing this song many times during his performing life and after his untimely death. He said he "wrote this song in about ten-and-a-half minutes one day on a ski lift" after having "just skied down a very difficult run" and being inspired by the beauty all around him and being moved to write this heartfelt ode expressing his love for his wife, Annie. 

When I remember this song, I remember that tragically, his marriage to his beloved Annie did not survive John’s troubled and volatile personality, and he himself would be gone all too soon.

Over the years I had often been brought to melancholy by hearing this song and remembering the circumstances, but now on Sunday morning, so many years after its release, I was hearing this lyric celebration of both nature’s beauty and romantic love now being sung as a worship song.

Hearing a young mom from the Rocky Mountain West singing this as a love song to God moved me in places too deep for mere emotion. I will never hear this song in the same way again.

Now most people who know me, know that I am a “man’s man.” After all, I eat animals and drive pickup trucks and all of that. I am in no way an expert on feminine spirituality. But as a trained spiritual director and student of nature, I also know that the divine feminine is active in all of our psyches whether we are male or female, and how we relate makes a difference in how we integrate our spiritual lives.

The saints and mystics of old would often refer to God as the divine Beloved, and now many contemporary Christian lyrics are love-song lyrics to God, as are many of the Psalms and the Song of Solomon/Song of Songs in the Bible. Bringing “Annie’s Song” into church and making it “God’s Song”’ is a beautiful way to continue the tradition. So, thank you, Erin, for this profound and delightful surprise. You have changed forever the way I will hear this song.

                        Come let me love you

                        Let me give my life to you

Let me drown in your laughter

Let me die in your arms

Let me lay down beside you

Let me always be with you

Come let me love you

Come love me again

Series for Eastertide During the Pandemic of 2020: 1 Peter: A Letter to a Church in Exile. Words of a Living Hope!

In the early 2000’s the leadership of our annual conference became so concerned about the continuing decline of our denomination and the larger church that they took a desperate measure: they called in a “consultant.”  Because of course they did. That’s what failing organizations DO – they hire “consultants.” They were careful to bury the consultant’s fees somewhere deep within the conference budget, so that no one would be able to tell how much of our people’s tithes went to pay this consultant, but I can assure you they don’t come cheap. If I had known fifteen years ago what I know now, I might have quit doing actual work a long time ago and become a “consultant” (said tongue firmly in cheek).

The first thing our distinguished expert consultant did was to suggest a biblical metaphor that he thought would capture and describe our current malaise in graphic, historical terms. He told us we were in the “wilderness,” much like Moses and the Israelites. We were leaving the old reality but not yet ready to enter and embrace the new. This sounded good on its face, but it was absolutely the WRONG biblical image. Any second-year seminary student who had ever read Walter Brueggemann or most any other reputable scholars could tell you the church is in EXILE, not the wilderness, having lost its cultural hegemony for some of the same reasons the Israelites did, and now finds itself exiled in a strange land.  So, we paid this consultant untold amounts of money to give us the wrong answer, and we are no better off than we were before.

The thing about being in exile is, there are always lessons to be learned from it. If the exile is endured in the short term but is not reflected upon and ends with a simple return to the past, the lesson is wasted.  Upon reflection we realize that there is no simple return to the past, no “back to normal,” and that after the exile is over, we will not be the same as before. Hopefully with God’s help we will be better, we will have learned what God wanted us to learn and we will not have missed the learning and the growth. 

Jeremiah told the exiles to “build houses and live in them; plant gardens and eat what they produce. Take wives and have sons and daughters; take wives for your sons, and give your daughters in marriage, that they may bear sons and daughters; multiply there, and do not decrease. But seek the welfare of the city where I have sent you into exile, and pray to the Lord on its behalf, for in its welfare you will find your welfare” (Jeremiah 29:5-7). In other words, learn to make the most of where you are until the time comes that the exile is ended. For after that, God still has great plans (Jeremiah 29:11).

The COVID-19 pandemic has placed the church in a different kind of exile. Rather than rush to return to “the way things were before,” as we all want to do, maybe we need to be still and ask God how God wants us to grow and what we should learn from this experience. The writings of the prophets and some of the letters of the New Testament (1 and 2 Peter, for example) speak of how to listen to God and have faith during time of exile. “If you invoke as Father the one who judges all people impartially according to their deeds, live out your time of your exile in reverent fear” (1 Peter 1:17).

Even as we begin to think about how we are going to safely “relaunch” when the time comes, let’s not lose the lesson of the present moment. Even now some of our churches are growing, and we are finding new ways to be in ministry. This is a time of challenge, but also a time of hope and a time of growth.

I hope you can join me in a series of reflections on finding life, love and hope even in times of exile.

First United Methodist Church West Memphis: Series for Eastertide 2020:

1 Peter: A Letter to a Church in Exile. Words of a Living Hope!

April 26                 I Peter 1:3-9                        “A Living Hope”

May 3                    I Peter 1:10-12                   “A Living Promise”

May 10                 I Peter 1:13-23                   “A Living Faith”

May 17                 I Peter 2:1-10                     “Living Stones”

May 24                 I Peter 3:14-18                   “A Living Spirit”

May 31                 I Peter 5:6-11                     “Living in God's
Pentecost                                                            Power”                                      

WALKING TOWARD A NEW PENTECOST: THE GREAT FIFTY DAYS 2020

Today is four days after Easter Sunday.  All of your pastors and worship leaders have pushed hard for the past three weeks to learn new skills and to make fast, adaptive changes in order to make Holy Week and Easter special for you in spite of the fact that we were not able to gather in our church buildings and worship in the traditional ways. So now Easter Sunday has happened, and the church is still the church and the old song that says, “The Church is Not a Building” carries a depth of meaning that no one could have anticipated. 

We know from scripture that the risen Christ spent forty days with the disciples before ascending back to heaven and commanding them to wait for the fulfillment of the promise. Then for another ten days they waited, so that after a total of fifty days after Easter Sunday, the church was born.

So now we find ourselves in that “in-between time” between Easter and Pentecost, pausing to catch our breath and regain our strength and prepare for whatever comes next. Like the disciples, we need to spend some time just walking with Jesus and let that be enough for now. Then, again like the disciples, we will be told to wait (Acts 1:4).

Pentecost this year will be Sunday, May 31^st, and none of us knows whether or not we will be again worshiping in church buildings by then or if we will be doing what we have been doing. What we do know is that the church will still be the church, and it will probably be different. 

When the risen Christ told Mary at the tomb, “Don’t cling to me,” he was telling her things would not go back to the way they were before. The earthly ministry of Jesus is over; what is about to take place is the ministry of the risen Christ in and through his disciples and those who would come after (you and me).

Like the disciples, we sense that something new is about to be born, and we do not yet know what that will look like. After all, it is Jesus who “makes all things new” (Revelation 21:5; 2 Corinthians 5:17).

Pentecost was full of surprises, and nobody knew what the new church was going to look like.  We might also be in for some surprises, but right now the thing for us to do is pay attention to some radical self-care, walk with Jesus, and wait to see what the Holy Spirit is going to do.

Please Let’s Stop Calling It “Virtual” Worship

“You can kiss your family and friends good-bye and put miles between you, but at the same time you carry them with you in your heart, your mind, your stomach, because you do not just live in a world but a world lives in you.”

― Frederick Buechner FaceBook post by Frederick Buechner from Mar 04, 2015

A note on digital and livestream worship in the early days of the coronavirus crisis:

After this first week of almost everyone being brave and creative in fast-learning how to offer devotions, Bible studies, and even worship services online, most of us pastors are reeling from the frenzy of acquiring so many new skills in such a short time. I deeply appreciate our staff and my tech-savvy friends in helping us to stay connected and take care of our people in new ways.  I’m enjoying the response we have received from our online experiences and am thankful for the availability of the technology to help us reach out when we cannot be physically present to one another. It is heartening to see so many of us finding new ways to be in ministry.

What I am not enjoying is the use of the term “Virtual Worship.” Also, “Virtual Communion.”  Hear me out.

I am aware that for my computer-literate friends the word “virtual” refers to something that exists in digital media or virtual reality, as in a virtual classroom, but is still considered to exist. But for the rest of the civilized world, the word “virtual” implies something that is not really real:

“vir·tu·al  (vûr′cho͞o-əl) adj.

1. Existing or resulting in essence or effect though not in actual fact, form, or name: the virtual extinction of the buffalo.
2. Existing in the mind, especially as a product of the imagination. Used in literary criticism of a text.”
American Heritage® Dictionary of the English Language, Fifth Edition. Copyright © 2016 by Houghton Mifflin Harcourt Publishing Company. Published by Houghton Mifflin Harcourt Publishing Company. All rights reserved.

Do you believe in the communion of saints? Do you believe in the mystical body of Christ?

As a Celtic Christian mystic, a bit of an existentialist, an old hippie and a pastor who happens to hold a doctorate in spiritual formation, I believe in these things. It matters less if you “believe” it intellectually/theologically than if you EXPERIENCE it spiritually.

I believe we worship a God who is not confined by space and time. I believe when we come to the Lord’s Table on World Communion Sunday or any other Sunday, that Jesus is present and so also are the Great Cloud of Witnesses from all ages, nations, and places.

This is why we are not going to pre-record our services and upload them later. I know, we had some upload traffic jams when everyone was trying to “go live” all at once; and it certainly is nice to be able to edit your work before sharing it. But a primary spiritual practice we teach is that of Christian Mindfulness, the art of being present in the present moment, which is really all we have and is the only place to find God. Jesus spoke almost always in the PRESENT tense (“I AM the resurrection and the life, etc.).  There is something special about worshiping in real-time with our parishioners and guests being aware that we are experiencing the present moment together with them spiritually, if not physically.

This is also why we will not be doing drive-by Holy Communion. Our Bishop has offered a temporary dispensation allowing either to dispense the pre-packaged units on a take-out basis or to consecrate elements from a distance and have persons partake of their own bread and wine at home. We will do the at-home option with adequate preparation for the worshipers beforehand.  We won’t be using the pre-packaged elements because 1) many hands will touch this; and 2) because that won’t be contemporaneous, and 3) people will have to get out and come get it, therefore defeating the purpose of the CDC directive to STAY HOME.

We believe the covenant community of faith is not bound by physical location, but that Christ is present in the bread in the sanctuary and in the bread at your table while you are saving lives by staying at home. It is not just our presence with each other but the Presence of the living Christ that transforms an ordinary meal into a sacrament. One aspect of this is as Will Willimon once pointed out, that God reveals God-self to us in the “ordinary stuff of life” – bread, wine, water. Christ is the unseen Guest at our meals, and when we experience that together, he is both Guest and Host.

So, call it an “Extension of our Table,” if you will, but please, let’s not call it “virtual worship” or “Virtual Communion.”  This is really, really, real.

“When you remember me, it means you have carried something of who I am with you, that I have left some mark of who I am on who you are. It means that you can summon me back to your mind even though countless years and miles may stand between us. It means that if we meet again, you will know me. It means that even after I die, you can still see my face and hear my voice and speak to me in your heart.”

― Frederick Buechner FaceBook post by Frederick Buechner from Sep 11, 2016

YOU’VE COME FAR, PILGRIM

 As an avid outdoors person and lover of wild things and wild places, Jeremiah Johnson has for many years been my favorite movie.  I have often thought of the subtle, almost archetypal spiritual imagery in the movie.  Prominent themes of dangerous journeys, life transitions, moving toward spiritual maturity (“higher ground”), great adventures, the wilderness experience as a symbol of finding one’s way in life, leaving behind painful memories and the value of a wise mentor are all features of the movie that are important to me in life and in the practice of ministry.

The first time we meet the main character, he is arriving at the headwaters of the Missouri River in what is now Montana.  He wears a military hat and is apparently a veteran of the Mexican War.  Having come from somewhere “back east,” he arrives here after having “said goodbye to whatever life was down below.” 

Throughout the movie it becomes evident that Johnson is on a solitary trek into the wilderness in search of a new life.  Of course, the wilderness motif is a powerful image of life transitions and is one which I sometimes use in spiritual direction..  This is an image most people can understand, even if they are not familiar with its frequent use in the Old and New Testaments. I might ask, do you ever feel as though you were in the wilderness right now, between one place and another, becoming prepared for the next stage in your life?

It also becomes evident throughout the movie that Jeremiah (a nice, biblical name) leaves behind some painful memories and experiences, some things that he wished had turned out differently.  Apparently, something has happened in his life that was so painful the he is determined to leave everything behind – everything – and start a new life in a new place far away from all the painful memories.  Often we encounter folks who have felt the need to relocate, find a change of scenery entirely in order to move toward healing from painful memories.  But even with this location change, some of these issues can remain unresolved until one does the inner work required.

The fact we are told he said goodbye to whatever life was “down below” suggests a change in altitude –  his new life is literally in the high country, reminiscent of the way the spiritual life is often thought of in images of ascent to higher altitudes, like Thomas Merton’s Seven Story Mountain, or Hannah Hurnard’s Hind’s Feet on High Places.  The trek of Jeremiah Johnson is more than a new beginning.  It is symbolic of the journey toward spiritual maturity, leaving the old life behind and discovering the new.  His odyssey is a metaphor for the stages of spiritual development. 

At first, Jeremiah is inept in his new surroundings.  An Indian sees him trying to catch a fish and laughs at him.  He has a hard time building a fire, finding food, and coping with his new life in general.  He is a novice.  Harsh winters, empty traps, elusive fish, hostile Native Americans, frustrate his new beginning.  Spiritual maturity comes at a price. 

Before long Johnson is discovered and befriended by “Bear Claws” Chris Lapp. Bear Claws is old, gray, and wise in the way of the woods.  He teaches Johnson the life skills he will need, along with giving him advice on how to deal with the Native Americans in the area.  He becomes the archetypal sage, the mentor.  He is also the archetypal trickster, from whom comes much wisdom!  When Johnson first meets Bear Claws, the old man says, “I know who you are; you’re the same dumb pilgrim I’ve been hearin’ for twenty days and smellin’ for three.”  Henceforth Johnson is referred to as “Pilgrim.”  After Bear Claws has mentored Johnson and taught him some high-country survival skills, Johnson sets off once again on his own.  Bear Claws is not out of the picture though: they will meet again.

Jeremiah’s journey from this point is fraught with danger and difficulty, unexpected twists and turns, sadness and sorrow.  By the time he sees his mentor again, he is battle-scarred and weary.  But he would not turn back, even if he could.  Another mountain man, by the name of Del Gue, suggests he might want to return to a town.  “I’ve been to a town, Del,” he says. You can’t go back.

At some point in our lives we are Johnson the pilgrim, and later we become Bear Claws, the wizened mentor.  As pilgrims we are seeking higher ground, and gradually learning the skills of life in the high country, then we get to companion others who are in the process of negotiating the wilderness and finding their way again.

Near the end of the movie, Johnson reconnects with Bear Claws, who still calls him “Pilgrim.”  “You’ve come far, Pilgrim,” he points out.  “Feels like far,” is the response.  “Were it worth the trouble?”  “Ah?  What trouble?” 

The journey is not often easy, but it is always worth the trouble.

“I hope you will fare well.”