"Hoc Est Meum Corpum" means "Hoc Est Meum Corpum!"

Eucharistic theology created with QuizFarm.com

You scored as Luther You are Martin Luther. You'll stick with the words of Scripture, and defend this with earthy expressions. You believe this is a necessary consequence of an orthodox Christology. You believe that the bread and wine are the Body and Blood of Christ, but aren't too sure about where he goes after the meal, and so you don't accept reservation of the Blessed Sacrament or Eucharistic devotions. Luther 88% Orthodox 63% Calvin 38% Catholic 31% Zwingli 13% Unitarian 0%

Dilbert on Health Care

I'm at a continuing education event at Luther Seminary this week, working through next year's lectionary in the Gospel of Matthew and other readings. This morning we're talking about Matthew 6 and the ethics of Matthew 6.25: "Do not worry about your life, what you will eat or what you will drink, or your body, what you will wear. Is not life more than food, and the body more than clothing?" As we've talked about work and worry and how to be aware of the context in which our people work and live, I was reminded of this brilliant Dilbert from a few weeks ago:

Husker Pain

One thing I neglected to mention in the weekend report was another disheartening loss for our beloved Cornhuskers. As painful as this season has been, I think it's even more painful to hear about the low-class assholes who booed and chanted at Defensive Coordinator Kevin Cosgrove's son in a high school football game in Lincoln. That kind of idiotic, juvenile behavior betrays everything I have ever loved about being a Husker fan, and I hope I never hear of something like that again.

Having said that, it's tough to watch the evasiveness and confusion coming out of the north stadium locker rooms: the constant non-answers and parsing of questions is just exhausting for fans accustomed to accountability and honesty. Sam McKewon of the Nebraska StatePaper has another great article about the mess that is Cornhusker football today: read it here.

Ah, for the days when we could chant, "Big Red in the Orange Bowl" and actually think it would happen. Maybe someday we'll get there again.

Fat Man Running!

Yesterday was the Siouxland Half-Marathon in Sioux City, IA. I ran at the invitation of our friends Jessi and Jared, who live in nearby Elk Point, SD; they invited a bunch of their friends to run with them, and we thought it sounded like a good chance to get home for a couple of days with my folks as well. All in all, it was a GREAT weekend - we got to see some of my family and friends, I got to watch my high school football team extend their winning streak to 20 games (defending Nebraska Class C-2 State Champs!) and I hit both of my goals for the run, even with precious little training. So, here's the weekend report.

We begin our coverage with a cute baby picture:


I'm happy to report she is not falling down the stairs...often.

Anyway, on Friday, we ate lunch with my mom at the hospital where she works, then drove over to see my Grandma Janke at her senior living community. We had a very nice visit: even Ainsley enjoyed the chance to see her great-grandma.


Friday night was the big Wakefield - Laurel football game. Wakefield was undefeated and ranked #1 in the state in most polls, while Laurel was also undefeated and ranked #6 in at least one poll. The game was every bit as good as it was supposed to be. My dad and I watched most of it from the north end zone, with my youngest brother and his girlfriend for the second half, and we saw most of the scoring for the evening up close. Wakefield prevailed 14-6, preserving a win streak that dates back to the start of the 2006 football season. Go Trojans! I will say this: it's a tough year to be a Husker fan, but getting this close to a high school football game reminded me what competition, heart and guts looks like. Boy, was I impressed with the kids on both teams for the way they sold out time and time again in pursuit of victory. You wonder sometimes how the game can look so different at the next level, and also what the difference is like at field level - would I see the game the same way if I could be that close in Lincoln? Hard to say. Anyway, if you need a boost of excitement, get thee to a good high school football game - it'll cure what ails ya.

I would be remiss if I didn't note that the only reason I got to watch said football game was because a certain someone who is short and has only two teeth was being a bit of a pill on Friday (no, Cletus, I don't mean Great-aunt Gladys). Our beautiful little one woke up five times Thursday night-Friday morning, wouldn't go down for her morning nap and basically scared us into cancelling a much-anticipated dinner date with LutheranHusker and his family. I'll admit that I was happy to be going to the football game as an alternative, but it would have been doubly nice to see friends instead. *sigh* Maybe over Thanksgiving, guys?

Saturday morning was the big race. I got up early, had some breakfast and left for Sioux City. The marathoners were divided into sub-4 and 4-hour+ groups. I pulled into the parking lot just as the 4-hour+ marathon group was toeing the starting line. This was one part of the race that I thought was just not well-planned. I realize that it's tough to run a marathon, but putting us slowbies at the starting line before the sun comes up? Come on, folks, give the runners the respect they deserve for trying to do this and start everyone at the same time.

Beloved and my dad headed for Sioux City later, and caught up with me at about mile five or so. Here's some pictures they took while waiting for us to get to them.


That's my girl, waiting for poppa!



Beloved, Ainsley and my dad at their post, waiting for us to get to them.

The half marathoners started at about mile 13 on the marathon course and ran to the same finish line. After a fairly flat first mile, we turned into Big Stone State Park for miles 2-4. By the time we got through the park I thought we had actually CLIMBED the "big stone:" those hills were KILLER and we were only getting started! I can't imagine what the marathoners did when they hit those half-mile, 6-10 degree hills at mile 17-19. Talk about hitting the wall. Anyway, Beloved and Dad had to wait for us on the other side of the park since they shut down the roads, so we got to them on our way downhill.


I was running with our friends Nora (l) and Jessi (r) when we got there. Beloved couldn't quite get the digital camera to shoot motion shots, so I got cut out of this one. But you can see in the picture below that we jogged right on by and kept movin' right along (I'm the widebody on the right).


Beloved did get a couple of nice shots as they zoomed past in our car on the way to the finish line. At this point we were still doing great and having fun with our 9:00/mile pace.



Somewhere around mile 9 we went into this bizarre grass alley that took us from an asphalt highway onto a concrete sidewalk, a loop around a park and back toward downtown Sioux City on a concrete road. Then we moved onto a concrete running path for a good portion of the last few miles. All that concrete really wears on your feet and joints, and I found myself really laboring to keep the pace going. But here's a first for me: I ran through two stitches by focusing and managing my breathing. Before yesterday, I never would have tried to keep up my pace, but I wanted to stay with my friends and I managed to do it. That was pretty awesome.

Of course, it was also pretty hard. To make matters worse, most of the last two miles traveled down a rather ugly stretch of 2nd Street that just seemed to last forever. It was the worst closing stretch of any race I've done so far - really miserable, as you can tell from the picture below, taken when Beloved shouted, "You're almost there!" about 400 yards from the finish:


We did finish strong, though, and wonder of wonders, the idiot boy calling out finishers actually got all three of our names right (who the bloody hell hires a high school kid to announce finishers for a marathon?). Here we are, coming down the chute and crossing the finish line.



AND even though I hadn't trained particularly well, I managed to break two hours:


Congrats from the Jessi the Ironlady, who could have run much faster but chose to stay with her friends (cause she's awesome):


Jessi's husband Jared finishing - Mr. Incredible crosses the finish line!


Daddy getting Ainsley all sweaty and not caring a bit!


Nora, Jessi, Daddy & Ainsley celebrating another fun run:



And, the whole gang: Ross, Dawn, Jessie, Jared, Jessi, yours truly, and Nora, all finishers. We rock!


And now, public pronouncement of the next goal: Grandma's Marathon, Duluth, MN, 21 June 2008, sub-4 hours or bust!

Big News from Lincoln

Monday Meme

What Kind of Reader Are You? Your Result: Dedicated Reader You are always trying to find the time to get back to your book. You are convinced that the world would be a much better place if only everyone read more.
Obsessive-Compulsive Bookworm
Literate Good Citizen
Book Snob
Fad Reader
Non-Reader
What Kind of Reader Are You? Create Your Own Quiz

Well, DUH.

Monday Madness

First, a shout out to David Hayward at naked pastor for the excellent cartoon to your right!

It's been an incredibly busy week here in Barrett. I've been all over the place and done lots of stuff. Somehow I managed to get some good running in last week, but Friday morning was the last time I ran and today I'm going to have to work to get myself out the door for one more hard workout before the Siouxland Half-Marathon on Saturday.

I didn't preach yesterday. I invited Pastor John Lee from the Northwestern Minnesota Synod staff to preach, and boy, was it a good sermon. I really enjoyed the chance to receive good news instead of proclaim it - and I also enjoyed giving Beloved a chance to listen to a sermon instead of watching Ainsley.

Friday-Saturday was our Synod Council retreat, around which I managed to assist in the wedding of our massage therapist, who is also a friend. (yes, there were many jokes on that subject this weekend) Yesterday we had worship and then I ran off to Alexandria for our Fall Conference Gathering, after which I ran over to movie night with our youth at the home of one of our church families. We watched Evan Almighty, which is an even better movie than the first in the series. Like my friend LutheranHusker said, "I'm not convinced that Morgan Freeman is acting. Have you ever seen Morgan Freeman and God in the same place? I'm just saying..." Great movie and a great day, but tiring.

Today is my personal day. In some ways I suppose it should by a Sabbath for us, but lately it's been our get-everything-done-that-we-couldn't-do-during-the-week day. So, I'm into the second load of laundry, I'll be sorting the recycling in a few minutes, and later I've got to rotate the tires on my Jetta and check to see if Beloved's car needs an oil change (I think it does). The house needs cleaning, the Friday and Sunday papers need reading, the baby's got an appointment to get her cold checked out later this afternoon, and I've got ironing to do while Heroes is on tonight. BUT we do get a bit of a Sabbath this week: we're going to Nebraska Thursday-Saturday to see my folks and run in the aforementioned Siouxland Half-Marathon. Hopefully I'll get to spend some time in a tractor cab on Friday helping my dad with corn harvest - that would be FUN.

It's also Environmental Blog Action Day. I went to climatecrisis.net, the website for the movie An Inconvenient Truth, and I took a carbon footprint test. I discovered that we are average at best and possibly a bit higher than average in our energy consumption, even when you figure in that we've purchased some of our electricity through wind farms, we drive fairly efficient cars and we're trying to limit our travel. But folks, when your house requires as much oil to heat as ours does, and you regularly drive 30 miles for work and groceries and other stuff, those carbon emissions add up quickly. So I'm hoping to find some ways to do better over the winter. Yes, Mr. Carter, I'll put on a sweater (Beloved will probably be wearing two, and gloves in the house to boot)! But I do take climate and environmental issues seriously, and I hope my readers do, too (yes, I meant BOTH of you...).

In other news, my beloved Cornhusker volleyball team is still ranked #1 and hasn't lost even a set since the Stanford game back in September. They are devouring opponents and I can't wait to watch them defend their national title this year. What was that? The football team? Do we have a football team? ;-)

I'm tired, and Ainsley is keeping us busy today, but life is good. This is our Monday Madness. As you were...

This Doesn't Happen Much Anymore

The Child is sound asleep in her crib.

The wife is in town for a 5th Quarter that will last until late.

I'm not preaching Sunday - someone from the Synod Staff is preaching to kick off our stewardship program.

I have the second disc of Battlestar Galactica, Season 1 from Netflix. And beer.

hee hee hee hee hee!

Friday Five: The B-I-B-L-E

Does everyone remember the old Sunday School song?

The B-I-B-L-E,
Oh, that's the book for me.
I take my stand on the Word of God,
The B-I-B-L-E.

I have been working on an expansive language version of the Psalms and the Liturgy of the Hours/Divine Office/Breviary. (For you non-liturgical gals and pals, that's a set of prayers for morning, noon, evening, etc., mostly consisting of Psalms and other biblical texts).

So I have been thinking a lot about the Bible recently, and how we encounter it as God's Word--or don't--in our lives, prayer, and ministry. (Great minds think somewhat alike this week, as yesterday's Ask The Matriarch post dealt with ways to help as many people in a community as possible engage with a scriptural text in preparation for Sunday worship).

So, in that spirit, I offer my first Friday Five. I'm looking forward to hearing everyone's experience and reflection on these B-I-B-L-E questions:

1. What is your earliest memory of encountering a biblical text?
This is going to sound really funny, but I my earliest memory is the Zacchaeus story and, of course, the song that accompanied it in Mrs. Eaton's Preschool Sunday School class. The reason I remember it, though, is that my middle brother was always small for his age and I always thought of MidBro when I thought of Zacchaeus (because they were both wee little people in my young mind).

2. What is your favorite biblical translation, and why? (You might have a few for different purposes).
I'm a dedicated user of the New Revised Standard Version. I think it balances scholarship, vernacular and poetry as best as one could hope. Sometimes it gets a little clunky, but proper reading and attention to context (not to mention a good dose of Biblical education on the part of we pastors for our congregations) should alleviate any serious problems.

3. What is your favorite book of the Bible? Your favorite verse/passage?
Romans 8 has been my "life passage" ever since Pastor Roger, the executive director at Nebraska Lutheran Outdoor Ministries, spent an entire summer preaching on it, especially verses 31-39. Today, I'm also challenged by and enamored of Ecclesiastes, that wonderful Eeyore of an Old Testament text.

4. Which book of the Bible do you consider, in Luther's famous words about James, to be "an epistle of straw?" Which verse(s) make you want to scream?
I don't have as much problem with the Bible as I do with the way we interpret the Bible. I think Luther overreacted to James, to be perfectly honest. If one book DID make me want to scream, it would be Revelation - so many people think it's a puzzle or mystery to solve, rather than a word to comfort, challenge and sustain us as we look to the creation's fulfillment in God's good time. The millions upon millions that have been wasted on the Left Behind series and other such nonsense makes me scream, for sure!

5. Inclusive language in biblical translation and liturgical proclamation: for, against, or neutral?
I'd say neutral on the whole. I have no problem with the NRSV (which OT Professor Makr Throntveit of Luther Seminary has been known to joking refer to as the "Neuter Revised Standard Version") replacing "brothers" with "brothers and sisters" and the like - I think that's a responsible rhetorical move. But I'm not so wild about removing every gendered pronoun in reference to God - sometimes the result is clumsy and actually draws more attention than the original. I do agree with one of my homiletics professors that God the Holy Spirit seems beyond gender, and God the Creator might be a more accessible title than God the Father, but Jesus as Son of God doesn't leave a lot of room for debate. :-)
I will say this about liturgical proclamation: I do scream when people in my denomination think that there's some sort of conspiracy on the part of our liturgical writers to lead people into heresy by seeking non-gendered language. One gentleman accused our new hymnal of being "intentionally inaccurate" by using a Psalm translation that tries very hard to be non-gendered. The intention, of course, is to be accessible to the widest possible audience. Do we miss the mark sometimes? Possibly - but wouldn't the forgiving response be more fruitful? If I remember right, Paul had something to say about the fruits of the Spirit, and gossip-mongering was not on that list!

Bonus: Back to the Psalms--which one best speaks the prayer of your heart?
Oh, so many to choose! Do I go with Psalm 121, my grandmother's funeral psalm? How about Psalm 46, on which Brother Marty's great hymn, A Mighty Fortress Is Our God, was based? Maybe Psalm 8 with its wonder that God should even notice humankind? For today, though, I'll go with Psalm 139, Beloved's favorite and mine as well. I've always thought that The Voyage of the Dawn Treader was the best of Lewis' Narnia Chronicles because of the way it alludes to the image of "sailing past the edge of the sea;" for a landlubber like me, it seems a most exotic voyage, and one I wouldn't want to take without my God to watch over me.

The image is the frontispiece of the Gospel of John from the Saint John's Bible.

It's Way Too Early To Be Thinking This Much...

But it's 7:00 and this is the only time I'll have to check email and blogwander today, so I did. And I'm glad I did, because Ross had some excellent thoughts on the relevance of grace to Joe and Jane Average today.

I'm reminded of what my seminary professors told me: "They won't care how much you know until they know how much you care." While this is definitely true, if it is ONLY true for the pastor of a congregation, you've got a recipe for disaster. NO ONE can be the emotional linchpin for a congregation, especially not the pastor; it's just impossible for one person to carry that emotional burden. But if everyone in a congregation sees the well-being of the world around them as their duty and their joy, then we can begin to make grace relevant in ways the world might have never imagined.

As I said, it's way too early to be thinking this much. I need to stretch and get going for my run. But here I am...

Grey Day Runnin'

So, even though yesterday was so very, very grey, I did manage to get out for a five mile run. With 20 mph winds I revised my normal five mile route so that I wouldn't hit the wind head-on more than a quarter mile or so. But even a side wind of that magnitude affects your pace. Even so, I finished in a decent 49:00 - not flying, certainly, but not shuffling, either. And surprisingly, very little huffing and puffing; I probably could have stepped it up more had the weather been more cooperative.

So, next Saturday's half-marathon may not be a complete disaster. I haven't trained nearly as well as I'd hoped; only one run of more than seven miles, and now it's far too late to throw one in. But if I can break two hours I'll feel okay about things. Frankly, it's becoming more of a pleasure race than anything else; I was invited in by our good friend Jessi and a few of their friends are in the race, too. Maybe we'll just pack up and smile and jog 13 miles together? Should be fun however it works out.

Today we went to the gym in Alexandria for our normal Wednesday morning workout, and I felt really good - stepped up some weight sets and got a mile in on the treadmill before and after the weight session. Kinda fun working out with Beloved again - we haven't done that since we were dating back at Luther Seminary. Tomorrow I'll run again, then maybe a bike ride Friday morning before a seven-miler Saturday, if I can fit it in before or after our Synod council meeting.

And that's the running update from Barrett.

Grey Day, Good Article, Cool Song, Cute Baby

It's a grey day here in Barrett. And yes, I do mean grey. I find the American spelling of the word just doesn't convey the feeling of grey; rhymes with "fey," and maybe some time in a dictionary would help us on that one, too. There's poetry in this grey day somewhere, but I don't think I'm going to get to it today: it'll be a day for desk work and reading for me.

Jon Meacham had a brilliant op-ed piece in the New York Times on Sunday - check it out. Boy, do I wish I could make the point as well as Meacham does; he's a good writer whose strong faith does not require switching off his brain or denying the power of a fully engaged intellect.

Anyone wanting to hear one of the coolest Celtic songs I've heard in a while should go here for a free mp3 download from the Sligo Rags. "The Whiskey Never Lies" is a GREAT song.

Yesterday was a decent day. It was cold, rainy and windy, so we didn't go outside much. Did the laundry, caught up on some TV shows, read the newspaper, cooked a good supper (pork roast in the crock pot with potatoes, carrots and pineapple - Caribbean jerk seasoning to give it that extra little bit of punch) and went to bed after Heroes. A good day off, in other words.

Oh, and we played with the baby. Duh. :-)

Blogger has a new video post thingy - figured I'd give it a shot.

Monday Stuff: Thankful

It's been one of those periods of craziness that just doesn't seem to stop. We were out of town Friday and Saturday, busy with baby showers, hospital visits and the like in the Twin Cities, so I didn't have time to do the Friday Five last week. Now I've got a little time and a little energy, so here goes:

This one is going to be veeeery simple: List at least five things (people, places, graces, miracles...) for which you are thankful. You may elaborate as you wish, or keep it simple.

1. Beloved and Ainsley. I'm blessed with a stupendously awesome wife. Early Sunday morning was a little surly at our house, for several reasons, but she just lets me be surly because she trusts that I'll come to my senses and apologize before too long, which always happens. I'm not thankful only for that, but for many other things; it just seemed the most contemporary thing for which to offer thanks. As for our Child, I am continually amazed at how much I love being a daddy. Last night we hung out while Beloved went to work with her high school youth. I fed Ainsley pureed vegetables and oatmeal, played guitar while she 'sang' and put her to bed, and felt like it was the best day EVER. Totally weird.

2. My iPod. During our driving this weekend, I was able to switch effortlessly back and forth between "Storyhill" to keep the Child from melting down to "Black House" by Peter Straub and Stephen King when the family was asleep. I have podcasts for my running and most of my CD collection at the touch of a wheel. No, I don't use it to tune out the world around me, but it is just freakin' cool to know I'm carrying several thousand songs/podcasts/books in my pocket.

3. Heroes. I LOVE this TV show. The characters are noble, the plotline is fascinating and I just love the overall look and feel of this show. Best of all, I think we've just scratched the surface. Lost is becoming too enigmatic, 24 is a torture-fest and I'm just annoyed at Grey's Anatomy; I think I have a new favorite show!

4. Quiet, Rainy Mondays. It's icky outside today, so I think the only thing for which we'll be venturing out will be our mail and my run, whenever that happens. I'm hoping everyone gets a chance to catch up on our sleep today - Ainsley is already down and I'm going to head in that direction momentarily.

5. The Oregon Ducks. I never, ever thought I'd say this, but at this point I'm glad we're a multi-team household. My beloved Huskers have been replaced by a bunch of zombies, and not the crazy-violent 28 Days Later zombies, either; the slow, shuffling Night of the Living Dead zombies who are more pathetic than they are scary or dangerous. Thus the major cause of Sunday morning surliness - a 41-6 drubbing at the hands of the Missouri Tigers that frankly wasn't as close as the score indicates. I'd sure hate to think how mediocre we'd be without Stevie P the AD on the watch. Thank goodness we can watch the Ducks and hope that they keep their top 10 season alive.

By the way, Sam McKewon of the Nebraska StatePaper has an excellent article giving his suggestions for how to handle the present crisis if you're not a fan of the current regime. Take a look.

Sermon for the 19th Sunday after Pentecost: "Two Weeks of Blake"

Preaching Texts

Let us pray: God of all hopefulness, come to the aid of Your people. We cry: “Increase our faith!” We do not know how You will answer our prayers. But we do believe You will answer them. Give us faith, strength, hope and love enough to do Your will and walk in Your ways, to the glory of Your holy name. Amen.

I met Blake my second summer as a counselor at Carol Joy Holling Camp in Ashland, Nebraska. Blake was an Omaha kid, with a chip on his shoulder as big as Chimney Rock. Every week the staff paid attention to see which of our kids were going to be the ones with what we called the “too cool for camp blues;” Blake had those blues and then some. He came to camp wearing black boots, black shorts and a black t-shirt from a major heavy metal band’s latest tour. He had long hair that flopped into his eyes, which never, ever met yours directly unless he was challenging your authority. I didn’t do a lot with Blake when he first arrived at camp because he wasn’t assigned to my bunkhouse. But later that first afternoon, he was assigned to my village, and so I spent the better part of that first day of camp herding Blake into the activities and games we used to help our villages get to know each other better. It was a sign of things to come for the week.

Blake was a challenge, maybe the greatest challenge I ever had as a camp counselor. If I said something was blue, he said it was red. During our Bible study hour, it was next to impossible to get Blake to pay attention and participate with the rest of the group; he was often goofing around with whatever he could find or busily tormenting whoever sat next to him while I was working with other campers. But during a nature hike or canoeing or arts & crafts, where Blake’s natural curiosity could have been indulged, he often sulked, sitting with his arms crossed and his head down in a sullen glare.

However, what made Blake a truly exasperating camper was his intelligence and his unusually mature perception of the church and the people around him. When Blake could be corralled into Bible study, he asked questions and suggested interpretations of the stories we were studying that went far beyond the average 13 year-old’s understanding. He took Bible stories and interpreted his home congregation in light of them, especially when he could use the faith of Jesus or Old Testament figures like David or Abraham to show the emptiness and pettiness that ran rampant in his home congregation. He wouldn’t sing in worship, but he told counselors that he wished his home church had half as much passion and energy in its own worship services. One day, he bluntly asked me what I would do if I discovered that everything I had been convinced was true about the faith turned out to be false. He was provocative, cheeky, sullen, rebellious and infuriating, and I breathed a huge sigh of relief when my week with Blake was over on Friday afternoon. I felt like I’d been doing more sparring than counseling during my week with Blake, and even though I thought that maybe I’d done some good work with him, I was anxious to return to working with campers who would be a bit less demanding and a bit more receptive to our ministry.

The next summer I spent another week with Blake, who by now had another year’s worth of ammunition stored up and ready for when he came back to camp. It was more of the same, and the only difference was that Blake was taller, smarter and even more confident. His questions were more probing, more antagonistic to the faith, and even more disrespectful of his church, his fellow campers and his counselors. I and the other counselors at our campsite spent a week alternating between holding our tempers in check and being amazed at the insight Blake had into the faith he was so brilliantly rejecting. By Friday afternoon, I felt again as though I’d been sparring far longer than I should, and though I had grown to like Blake in spite of his behavior, I was happy to call it a week, too.

As I sat in our staff meeting after all the campers had gone home, I thought that at the very least someone ought to give me a pat on the back for what was now two weeks of Blake in the past two summers. After all, I was the one who had kept him from completely disrupting the program over those two weeks. I was the one who had danced with his questions, allowing his curiosity to be encouraged while refusing to be baited into speaking ill of the church, his pastor or his family. I had been strong enough to let Blake question my faith without being insulted, and I thought that on the whole I had been a good role model to Blake, a Christian who admitted the faults of the church yet upheld the goodness of God. I felt, honestly, like it was time for some recognition. But none came. Our program director never mentioned the great work I’d done. No counselor ever came up to me and said, “Hey, man, nice job.” And Blake himself? I never heard a word of thanks from him. He didn’t say goodbye either of the summers I was his counselor, and a year later, when I was a site manager and Blake came back to a different site, he only said “Hey,” when I ran into him while talking with his counselor. It was as if the work I’d done just fell off the face of the earth.

This is, I believe, the darker side of the life of a Christian. Our history as a church is filled with the heroic tales of those who’ve done great deeds of faith throughout the years. The apostles gave their lives for the sake of the faith, and we read about their great faith in our Holy Scriptures. The early church had great theologians like Justin Martyr, XX and XXX. St. Augustine’s writings inspire us several thousand years after he is dead and gone. In our church, Martin Luther resides just beneath Christ himself, sometimes a little too close, to be perfectly honest. But how many Christians over the years have done great deeds of faith that have gone completely unrecognized? The vast majority of the great deeds of faith never once get recognized – and the lives of great saints never receive the honor they might receive, because no one really knows what God can and has accomplished through them.

In our reading today, Jesus instructed his followers to forgive and forgive and forgive and forgive, with no thought of reward or consequence. He told his followers to never, ever give another Christian an opportunity to fall away from the faith, that indulging our desire for revenge and pettiness carry with them a heavy consequence if another Christian falls into sin because of our actions. Finally, when Jesus’ followers couldn’t see how they could be those kind of people, they cried out to Jesus, “Increase our faith!” And Jesus told them that they had little faith to begin with if they had to ask for it in that way.

You know, no one ever told me it would be hard to be a Christian. That was a notion of which I had to be disabused, and very rudely, through my experiences in the church and in the world. No one ever told me that sometimes no one would thank me for my work – because it’s what is expected of me if I’m a follower of Jesus. No one ever told me that forgiveness was going to be hard. No one ever told me that when I feel more like staying angry with someone, I was still expected to forgive if I was going to call myself a Christian. No one ever told me that the results of my good works would be so hard to discern. No one ever told me that recognition for being a follower of Jesus would often be nonexistent. Do you ever feel the same way? Do you ever feel like all the work of honestly following Jesus isn’t worth the reward you get from your neighbors? Of course you do – because it’s what happens. Following Jesus is a hard, narrow road. As Paul said in our reading from 1^st Timothy last week, faith is a good fight – it doesn’t come easy.

When you read the letters of Paul, you learn to look for the rhetorical devices Paul uses to make his point – they’re often the opposite of what Paul is saying. So when Paul tells Timothy “I am grateful to God – whom I worship with a clear conscience…” Paul is accusing Timothy of ungratefulness and a clouded conscience in his worship. For what reason? We don’t know just yet, but Paul is getting to it. Paul says, “I am reminded of your sincere faith, a faith that lived first in your grandmother Lois and your mother Eunice[1] and now, I am sure, lives in you.” We should read that as, “Timothy, you’ve been raised for better faith than you’re displaying now – where is the faith that should live in your love and actions?” Paul: “God did not give us a spirit of cowardice, but rather a spirit of power and of love and of self-discipline.” We read: “Timothy, you’re afraid, weak, unloving and self-pitying: get a grip!”

Sometimes, as Paul said, we suffer for the gospel. This isn’t suffering that comes from looking for people to antagonize; genuine suffering for the gospel comes from living the truth Jesus has taught us. Suffering for the gospel comes from forgiving sins when we don’t feel like forgiving sins. Suffering for the gospel comes from being a patient teacher and role model to kids (and adults!) who just don’t seem to care, much less understand what you’re teaching. Suffering sometimes means surviving in thankless situations – caring enough to do what God has commanded simply because, as Bonhoeffer put it, “only the obedient believe, and only those who believe obey.”

So, what is it that Jesus is saying in today’s gospel reading. Is Jesus saying that recognition doesn’t matter? Is Jesus saying that living for recognition will leave us hollow in the end? Is Jesus saying that the life of discipleship is not a life for the faint-hearted or the weak? Yes, I think Jesus is saying all of those things; but Jesus also says that there IS a goal, that there IS a point to the life of discipleship. Recognition is not the goal – FAITH is the goal, the means by which everything else, good and bad, can be endured. Faith is its own reward – we live right when we live in faith, regardless of recognition or not. We are God’s slaves, and as we take on the duties of a slave, God creates in us the desire to do what is commanded simply because it is commanded, not out of our desire to be recognized for what we do. When Jesus commands us to forgive, He does so because forgiveness is the way of life for the followers of Christ, the way in which faith can become genuine and real, both for the one who forgives and for the one who is forgiven. “Increase our faith!,” the disciples cry, and Jesus responds: “Forgive, even when it is a thankless task, and you will find your faith strengthened beyond what you thought was possible.”

There is one who does watch, who does see our struggle and our hardship and knows what it means to suffer for the faith. God knows. God watches. God sees us struggle. God bears the burden with us. Two weeks of Blake taught me, years later, that when God and I know the truth of what has happened, the world’s recognition matters little. Do I hope that Blake feels the same way I do about our time together? Of course I do. Do I hope even more that I gave Blake an opportunity to grow in faith and love and become a follower of Jesus in his own way? Of course I do. But is that up to me? No – it’s up to God and Blake. My concern now is what it means to God and me to live in this moment, in this place, with a whole new day’s worth of sins to forgive and life to cherish. Will anyone say, “Thank you,” for what you do in service to the world in God’s name? Maybe not. But will God see what you do? Definitely.

Mustard bushes are notorious for taking root in places no one thought they could. Their seeds are small and they are more a weed than anything else – they work into cracks and dry ground and take root tenaciously before they grow. Is this the faith to which Jesus is inviting us – a thankless, tenacious, dry-ground faith that goes unrecognized? Possibly. But God sees. God knows. Hold on to that dry ground in which you’re planted, even if it’s a thankless task, and rest assured that your work is not in vain. Let us pray:

Help us to slow down, O God, so that the seeds of our faith may take in the nourishment you offer and grow into the fullness of the grace you provide. Bless us on this special day and hover in our midst as we join hands with all your children in this place and around the world - to remember you, to break the bread, to share the cup, to give thanks.

May your Spirit be with us, this day and every day. Amen[2].

---

[1] My brothers and I, having a mother named Eunice, hear this verse loud and clear – because our mom is a woman of deep, abiding faith, and we’re very grateful for the faith she and our dad have instilled in us. Love you, Mom!

[2] http://revgalblogpals.blogspot.com/2007/10/sunday-prayer.html

Growing Up

I stopped growing up
quite some time ago.
Somehow my body knew when to say,
"That's enough."
and then I no longer had to jump
up
for the potato chips
on top of the fridge -
I could reach them all by myself.

I watch my little one
growing up
and I feel as though I have suddenly
started growing up again.
I am not the unremarkable guy
looking into the eyes of my peers;
I am a colossus who stoops and swoops
a little girl
skyward with squeals of delight.
Together we are a giant -
she, perched on my shoulders and giggling;
me, dancing and praying,
"Don't ever grow up."

The books are climbing the bookcases because
the baby is climbing toward the books.
The inexorable march of
swaddling blankets to
bassinet to
crib to
playset and now
the walker
is pulling me back to my unremarkable self;
until comes the day when I am
no
longer
a
giant
but a man, fallible and balding, paunchy and somewhat embarrassing.

But I will remember these sweet, small days:
the colossus who wrestles with the child until we are both
breathless and giggled out;
the giant who comes in the night
bearing bottles and a fresh diaper;
the king of the house who bends his knee
to serve these ladies whom he adores.

All this begun by one tiny breath,
one blessed wail,
a hand to clutch my fingers
and eyes to melt my heart.
We are growing up together,
my little one and I;
and we shall never,
ever
stop.

Thanks to Milton for the post that inspired this poem.

Friday Five: "I Don't Know Why You Say 'Goodbye,' I Say 'Hello.'"

ReverendMother is dropping out of the Friday Five business as she readjusts some priorities (kudos to you, RM, for doing what seems best for you!). So today's Friday Five is: On Endings and Goodbyes:

1. Best ending of a movie/book/TV show
Hands down, it's the end of the Lord of the Rings by J.R.R. Tolkien. I can't imagine a more beautiful, poignant way to end such an epic tale. (I won't recount it here to save the spoiler from those of you who haven't had the pleasure as of yet.) In the 1990's I was in the University of Nebraska Wind Ensemble and we played Johan de Meij's Symphony 1: Lord of the Rings which ends, not triumphantly or with a flourish, but with the stately calm and grace embodied in Tolkien's lyric writing. Best of all, Peter Jackson ended the movies in the same way. Brilliant and moving.

M*A*S*H's TV finale would earn a strong second, with Quantum Leap coming in there somewhere as well. Oh, and the ending of Stephen King's The Dark Tower was better than I had expected, especially since the story took a really unfortunate turn in book 6 of the series.

2. Worst ending of a movie/book/TV show
I hated the Seinfeld finale, the Cheers finale and frankly I think someone oughta pull the plug on ER but no one knows how. Also, Robert Jordan recently died, leaving his multi-volume opus The Wheel of Time unfinished. That seems bad form to me - dying before one's work is completed! :-)

3. Tell about a memorable goodbye you've experienced.
1997: my last summer as a staff member at Nebraska Lutheran Outdoor Ministries. Bawled my frickin' eyes out during our last worship service. I spent five of the best summers of my life working there, and I couldn't believe it was time to go. It was the right time, and I moved on to where I was supposed to be, but there will always be a part of me that just longs to be playing my guitar singing "Dance With Me" or "Day Is Done" while a campfire burns under an open Nebraska sky.

4. Is it true that "all good things must come to an end"?
For us in the life we're given, yes. We move sequentially through time, and Einstein was right: time is relative. We begin and we end, and nothing has made that more clear to me than the birth of my daughter. I'm more than a little trepidatious at the thought of bringing someone into the world and knowing that I won't be there for her at some point, but I'm also awed at the blessing of raising a child in God's creation. Someday I will die - as will everything I love.

Now, having said all that, what kind of Christian would I be if I didn't remind my readers that God's love never ends?

5. "Everything I ever let go of has claw marks on it." --Anne Lamott
Discuss.
Yeah, there's some truth to this as well. Some of those claw marks are what made me realize I had to let go - and some of them I left when my clutching hands could no longer hold what needed to be free.

Bonus: "It isn't over until the fat lady sings." I've never loved this expression. So propose an alternative: "It isn't over until ____________________"
At the risk of giving the "it-sounds-like-a-squirrel-but-I-bet-it's-Jesus" answer, how about this:
"It isn't over until God wipes away every tear from our eyes, and death will be no more."

Tolkien had a good one, too:
"The grey rain-curtain turned all to silver glass and was rolled back, and he beheld white shores and beyond them a far green country under a swift sunrise."

Yeah, that'll do.

Baby Ainsley 365: Buggy

First, the pictures:


Daddy and Ainsley went out for a run together on Monday - because Daddy's getting fat! Seriously, a colleague looked at me at our annual Pastors' retreat last week and said, "You've gained some weight this year, haven't you?" Sad - just sad. But true.

And this is a picture of what we see every morning when our little princess wakes up each morning.


We've been standing by ourselves since Friday - next thing you know she'll be driving...

So Ainsley caught a bug somewhere last week and it got really bad yesterday and today. She's snotty and miserable and maybe teething and just a bit of a pain right now. AND now Daddy has the bug as well. Last night I cancelled a Bible study because I just felt terrible - achy and feverish and miserable, in bed by 9:00. This morning I had a great workout at the gym and the day's been downhill from there. Came back home for a service project with our confirmation kids, during which Baby A refused to let me put her down for more than thirty seconds - my arms, already sore from weights, were just aching by the time we got done. Then, while I was training our first year students for acolyte duty, she started coughing and gagging a little bit. I picked her up and patted her back, and she proceeded to throw up.

All.

Over.

My.

Shoulder.

This wasn't cute little baby spit-up, either - my shoulder looked like I had a vomit epaulette. Lovely. Still, it didn't even come close to what AJ's cousin Q did to Beloved when we were in Oregon for Brother-in-law's wedding: that stuff was chunky.

Thankfully, the baby's day ended by falling asleep in my arms while I gave her a final bottle after her bath. No matter how awful my day is, there's nothing that beats that moment. Nothing.

Still, I hope I don't have to do it again at 3:00 tomorrow morning - there is such a thing as too much of a good thing...

Sermon for the 17th Sunday after Pentecost: "Real and Messy"

Preaching Texts

I will admit that, like many preachers, I’ve struggled with the Gospel text this week. This parable, as well as the verses that surround it, is one of the most confusing passages in scripture for me. Now I know I’m not supposed to say that – I know I’m not supposed to comment on the Bible as if it were a novel under review. But it’s the truth: I honestly don’t know how to understand this parable. I’m not the only one, either. At our Synod Leaders’ retreat this week, we spent a lot of time going over this parable with our two guest speakers. Frankly, I’m not sure the discussion was always that helpful. I remember leaning over to one of the pastors from Fergus Falls and admitting that I was thinking about preaching on Amos this week and avoiding the mess entirely.

Deciphering what Jesus meant to say in this parable is a tough nut to crack. Was the manager merely shrewd, or was he corrupt? The manager said, “I’m too weak to dig, and I won’t stoop to begging.” Jesus insisted all along that beggars and laborers were as much children of God as anyone else – does this parable invalidate all of what Jesus said? Under the accusation of squandering the rich man’s property, the manager confirms the accusation by squandering even more in an attempt to cover his butt for the time he gets sacked. But at the end of the parable, Jesus tells his disciples to be faithful and honest in all things, whether it’s a little or a lot. How again is all of this supposed to work?

I’ve read several attempts to decipher the meaning of this parable, some old and some new. Some look closely at the Greek to find an escape hatch; others use socio-economic policies of the time to try and determine how the manager might have been working for his master's benefit. An Episcopal preacher for whom I have a lot of respect says that this is a story about how the shrewd manager actually freed the peasant farmers from their oppressive debt to an incredibly wealthy landowner. These are all valid attempts to make sense of a very difficult parable – but none of them rang true to me this week. This is one of those moments in the story of Jesus where I'm not really sure what's going on, but I don't want to try to escape the uncertainty by changing the rules of the story – that seems false to me.

Philipp Melanchthon, the Greek and Latin scholar who was Martin Luther's most trusted colleague during the Reformation, once said that "to know Christ is to know His benefits." So, if that's the case, let's take a look at this parable in terms of benefits, shall we? The landowner doesn't really gain any benefits, other than possibly in the goodwill of his debtors. Important, but not essential to the story. The manager gains the benefit of shelter and protection, but at the cost of his honesty; even though the landowner says he's been shrewd, the manager has in fact squandered his master's property. But the debtors – they are the ones who gain benefits clean, aren't they? The end result for the debtors is forgiveness; their debts have been significantly reduced. Even if it's unfair – even if it's a cheat – even if the manager did it to save his own skin, the debtors have in fact found their burden lessened and now may walk that much more free. It's messy, it's not fair, it's bad economics – but it's also a gift to the debtors which they couldn't have gotten for themselves.

A Presbyterian colleage of mine in Alexandria, VA wrote in her blog this week about some conversations she's had in the church over the years:

Sweet Church Lady to me at recent event: I sat beside ___ (another church lady) the other day and she wouldn't stop criticizing you at the women's luncheon.
Me: So what did you say?
SCL: Oh, I would never say anything. I wouldn't want to make waves.

Church Leader: Would you pray for my daughter? She's back in rehab again.
Me: Of course I will. Shall we add her name to the prayer list?
CL: Oh, please don't. I couldn't face my friends if they knew. I've never told them about D's problem.

Church Officer: I think ___ (another officer who is a recovering alcoholic) might be drinking again.
Me: Do you think we should go talk with him?
CO: Oh, no. I wouldn't want to embarrass him.

As a child of the 1960s, I remember dressing up in patent leather shoes and donning a bow in my pin-curled hair for Sunday School and worship where I would join dozens of other little girls dressed just the same. Little boys wore little jackets and ties. Moms and Dads also donned their Sunday Best. And everybody filed into their pews and smiled at their neighbors and worshipped the LORD and went home.

At home, there might have been marriage/addiction/financial/mental health/sexual problems. But - God forbid - we disclose such family secrets, especially in church. We wouldn't even tell the pastor unless we were desperate.

As late as the 1980s when I served as a summer intern in a NY church, I met a family who disappeared for the summer, only to return my last weekend. They asked to speak with me and shared that their only son had died of AIDS in another state.

Me: Oh my gosh. I am so sorry. I didn't even know he was sick. And no one said anything to me.
Grieving Mom: We didn't tell anyone he was sick. That's why no one told you.
Me: ? Well . . . would you like to have a memorial service here after the pastor's back from sabbatical?
Grieving Mom: Oh no! Please don't tell anyone. We can't tell people about it. It would be too embarrassing.
Me: (long pause) So . . . you aren't going to tell your friends that your son died . . . because it would be too embarrassing?[1]

We have a choice when it comes to forgiveness – we can take it real and messy, or we can take it false and clean. The Pharisees, who had been grumbling about Jesus dining with sinners, wanted their forgiveness clean – so clean, in fact, that Jesus once described them as “white-washed tombs, which on the outside look beautiful, but inside they are full of the bones of the dead and of all kinds of filth.”[2] Jesus came to forgive sinners – and we were so offended at the thought that we crucified Him for it. In that sense, we are all Pharisees – all people who try so very hard to maintain that no, we’re not messy, we’re not sinful, and we don’t need forgiveness like that. If we just maintain the illusion that everything’s okay, no one will notice that we’re covered, head to toe, in our failings, our disappointments and our sins. Real and messy, or false and clean: how do you want it?

Perhaps the manager really was squandering his master’s property; we’ll never know if the accusation was just or unjust. What we do know is that the people to whom he offered forgiveness of their debts took that forgiveness without a second thought. When you’re under the load of an unpayable debt, you don’t question whether or not you’re too proud to accept the gracious gift that lifts the burden: you take it. What Jesus offers us is the same reckless, squandering gift. We owe God a debt for our sins that we could never repay. But Jesus offers to forgive the debt: no payment, no required sacrifice, just forgiveness and mercy. The question is: are we honest enough to accept the grace He offers?

I’d much rather be the pastor of a bunch of real, messy, forgiven sinners than the pastor of a bunch of false, clean, white-washed Pharisees. I don’t want to revel in our sin, but to admit that yes, I am messy and in need of forgiveness is a great relief and freedom for me. To be real and genuine, to say that I make mistakes and I cannot be what God has created me to be, that is a great relief and freedom for me. To be real and genuine, to admit that without the squandering grace of a Son who cannot resist giving his Father’s forgiveness away dirt cheap, that is a great relief and freedom for me. I cannot pay the debt I owe for my sins. Can you?

If Jesus offers you forgiveness, I suggest you take Him at His word and accept it. Take it as the free gift of a manager who is recklessly giving away His Master’s property. Stop pretending that you can stay clean when you’re up to your neck in your sins and burdens. Put away all your false pretenses to righteousness and purity on your own, and let the gracious Son offer you the new, clean garments He washed in His own blood, the garments of forgiveness and mercy. Let it be squander if it’s squander: you are free, regardless. Amen.

---

[1] Jan Edmiston. “What We Talk About When We Talk About Life” http://churchforstarvingartists.blogspot.com/2007/09/what-we-talk-about-when-we-talk-about.html

[2] Matthew 23.27

Baby Ainsley 365: My Daughter's Morning

My Daughter's Morning

My daughter's morning streams
over me like a gang of butterflies
as I, sour-mouthed and not ready
for the accidents I expect

of my day, greet her early:
her sparkle is as the edge of new
ice on leafed pools, while I
am soggy, tepid; old toast.

Yet I am the first version
of later princes; for all my blear
and bluish jowl I am welcomed
as though the plastic bottle

I hold were a torch and
my robe not balding terry.
For her I bring the day; warm
milk, new diaper, escapades;

she lowers all bridges and
sings to me most beautifully
in her own language while
I fumble with safety pins.

I am not made young
by my daughter's mornings;
I age relentlessly.

Yet I am made to marvel
at the durability of newness
and the beauty of my new one.


"My Daughter's Morning" by David Swanger from Wayne's College of Beauty. © BkMk Press, 2006.