“Are we rowing for shirts, coach?”

As a sophomore in College, I decided to try my hand at rowing on crew, and quickly discovered that this was more than a total body experience.

Rowing begins with understanding that the lightweight, narrow rowing shell will easily flip- if the team does not work together, and that if you do not row cleanly, your oar may pluck you out of the boat! So by beginning with using only arms, rowers learn to move the shell by adding more and more muscle groups to pulling the oar- until they approach mastery of full pressure, slide seat competitive rowing.

But rowing is not an individual experience, and strength and skill alone will not win races, for all eight oars must catch, pull, release, feather and recover in one graceful and balanced yet powerful motion for the shell to gain sufficient speed to win. The rower loses oneself as he or she synchronizes every thought and sinew with the other seven rowers; and kinesthetic poetry whooshes across still water.

“Are we rowing for shirts, Coach?”

There is a cost. When I was rowing, confident men’s teams would bet their jerseys on their races, so a victory on the water gained each of us as many as five opposing team’s shirts, a loss cost us our shirts.

Coach always had the same answer to our question: “Are you kidding? Of course you’re racing for shirts!”

When you just might literally lose your shirt, it changes motivation and calls all manner of questions into play – Have I prepared for this? Do I really have what it takes? Are my teammates committed too? Can we endure the suffering we all know will come? Will victory justify the sacrifices?

Jesus challenges us in this week’s lesson (Luke 14: 25-33) to consider how much this discipleship race will cost us. How committed are we to this following Jesus event? Why are we on this team to begin with? Are we allured by the handsome company, the calm and misty waters of dawn workouts, the adrenaline rush of divine presence, the beauty of worship and the cool feeling we get among Christian friends? Do we want to be part of a team at all? . . .

. . or is there more: are we on this team to win shirts?

Winning shirts takes total commitment and stunning focus. Winning rowers fix their eyes on the neck of the rower seated before them, breathe deeply and pull; they do not allow their eyes out of the boat once the race is on, even for a moment. What has distracted your faith, your leadership, your mission, your church? Maybe it’s time to let it go. Then Focus! Breathe! Pull!

Jesus asks us this week for an attitude check. “Are you with me?” he asks. “I’m going to lose my skin and win the world in this race.”

Carrying this cross of discipleship behind Jesus costs everything; and wins more.

Peace, perseverance and divine focus be with you this week!

-PC

Note: This posting was originally composed for the Oregon Synod Book of Faith website. Go visit for other great devotions!

Luke 12:49 fire

I rejoice!

I rejoice in the hard work of the the christian* church this week as we feel the fire of grace, mercy and forgiveness burn and divide!

I rejoice with those whom we no longer circumcise before we call them "Brother" or "Sister" or "Sibling" in Christ.

I rejoice with those whom we have learned foreign cultures and sub-cultures to hug.

I rejoice with scholars who think and wonder and caution and dare!

I rejoice with pray-ers who pray and parents who weep!

I rejoice with those whom proud and wealthy institutions have called "unclean" and sent missionary teams to "help.." but whom we have now learned to cherish as equally God's work, then

I rejoice with those who scratch their (our) collective theological minds to deal with our own digestion issues.

I rejoice that the gospel burns, terrifies and divides, then reconciles even you and me!

I rejoice with those learning to un-circle wagons and roll new places with courage and cost.

I rejoice!

I rejoice with God who is huge and absolutely sufficient!

I rejoice!

Sing, Good-News christians* around the world, sing and dance!

*intentionally neither capitalized or capitolized...

Taking flak

“Well Pastor, you don’t take flak unless you are over the target.”

“I’m excited!” my young parishioner continued, reminiscing about his previous Air Force training. “It means we’re doing something here!”

Sunday morning we had visitors in our Adult Sunday School class. Now this isn’t so unusual, as we’ve had visitors of various sorts all summer long at 9:00 on Sunday mornings. It isn’t that we are advertising anything fancy or novel, we simply read the second lesson from the Lectionary and reflect on it. But it’s also God’s word we give audience to, and God’s word creates, re-orders, and sets the oppressed free to live. Not everyone wants people free.

So we are regulary a forum of the aging faithful, the young developmentally disabled, the substance abuse recovering homeless, the mentall ill, and you and me. (Perhaps that is a redundant sentence?) But on Sunday we had unusual visitors. They came in slightly late and they came in silently and angrily. We welcomed them to the table that welcomes everyone, offered them coffee and continued reading Colossians.

They had no names and wanted no coffee. They didn’t open the Bibles we offered, but steely waited for our reading to interface with their script, then took off into Moses and Holiness and Perfection! The one who spoke had eyes that burned through me and she trembled as she seethed. The second time she commanded our open conversation I let her run- for maybe eight minutes or more.

After all, at our table, you can rant. You can seeth, you can say whatever you like. And, if you are interested, you can ask any question – because we so deeply believe that it’s the work of the Holy Spirit to create faith- faith that usually has lots of questions and emotions. We believe that God’s word opens the process, and your experience matters deeply. She didn’t ask any questions; She wanted to fight.

We decided to love, and I’m not sure how she took it. Eventually she ran out of things to say and fell silent while we waited for her.. ten, fifteen, twenty, thirty seconds. She never reached her crescendo.. “shall we continue reading the lesson?” I asked after it was good and clear that she had emptied herself and the silence was thick..

We did, and Colossians answered the thread of perfection, practice and holiness she had woven her quilt together with. “No,” God gently spoke, “it’s Jesus, just Jesus.” We read slowly, so as not to miss a word that wrapped us in the arms of Jesus; and she had nothing left. We prayed and went upstairs to worship.. (they fled.)

What, we wondered, has just happened?

Love did not visit us on Sunday morning at 9:00. No, Love was waiting for visitors. Perhaps this is what invited the attack. God is love, and we follow Jesus, the great lover of the worst kind of sinners. And our reputation is growing – we’re the church where everyone is welcome and anyone who wants Jesus gets Communion. We’re the church where teenagers skate on the steps by the front door. We’re the church with the Bible studies that don’t flinch from deep questions. We’re the church that initiated a new cooperative ministry that brought a non-white, non-traditional, non-male Methodist pastor with corn-rows into our leadership. That’s us.. Love, and hope and total expectation that God moves among us in beautiful new and old ways..

But God is not alone, and Jesus’ work is opposed even now. When we go public with God’s shameless execution of the law on the cross as he opens his arms to us, we too unravel fear and all the institutions based on fear.

But they don’t unravel peacefully – for they aren’t made of peace, but violence; violence that instills fear – fear that enslaves, clones, and intimidates. Fear is the only tool Evil brings. And fear wanted a fight she could dominate! Sorry. We take the cross.

So we had fearful visitors. Direct hit! I kinda hope they bring friends next time… but then again, ministry is easier and more peaceful if they stay away.

Nah…!

But hold the press.. The discussion can't stay stuck here, in them and us. No, not if we're serious about us, and about Jesus. Because if we were so fine, Jesus wouldn't have needed to tread our earth, and we wouldn't have seen him crucified and risen.. but he did, and we did.

Them- in all their misunderstood motivations and meanings, in their frustration and anger, in their ranting.. has to be us too. They are no less beloved of God than we, no less sinful, no less welcome into forgiveness, no less precious in God's eyes than pastorman, there leading the good little welcoming Lutheran Bible study. No they are us, and their anger is ours (God forgive and bless us all!) Unless we start seeing things that way, we aren't ever welcoming, aren't family, aren't truly the Body of Christ that fully winces when our fingers get pinched.

We visited and were visited on Sunday; we who try to understand and follow. Now what?

Peace be with you and on your house!

Too near the cross for comfort

Mamma said there'd be days like this..

The Shirelles sang well.

This month I spent three weeks traversing Eastern Washington and Oregon visiting my mother in intensive care after a surprise late night diabetic reaction nearly claimed her life, and then just as nearly claimed her personality. While she was unresponsive for several days, I made a quick round trip back home to bury a woman just her age, then a week later unplugged life support on a rowdy, fun loving three year old who's body lost a quick bloody knuckles game with E-Coli.. then a few days later his great grandpa lost the same game, and we buried them on Thursday and Friday, bippity, boppity boop. June.

Mamma said there'd be days like this, there'd be days like this my mamma said...

Tears will be close for months, I think. These things make me tender in a way no movie can match. And they make me feisty. I have real questions for God about justice and mercy, when cute little three year old boys die. I have questions that wail with the bereaved mother at 2AM in the hallway of Doernbecher's Children's Hospital as the doctors, hospital administrator and counselors wish to gather us for a family meeting, and they are so relieved to see me, the calm pastor in his soothing clerical collar present to ease the scene, as Mamma wails, "I can't go in there, I know what they're going to say; nooooooooo!" And I feel anything but calm and soothed inside with my breaking heart pounding with love for this family and also desperately aware of my own child, sleeping at home an hour and a half away... Questions, God.. Questions.

Don't let them start, for they spiral - one on top of another, growing, racing, connecting, accusing, into a vortex of dissatisfaction.

Or maybe let them go - for they spiral - one on top of another, growing, racing connecting, accusing, into a cruciform paradox.

"Hey," says the voice at the other end of my lament.

"I lost my son too; Hurts doesn't it?"

God showed Job all of creation, and he told him he was right to complain about losing his whole family.

Job's friends were wrong to blame the victim. They get rebuked.

Job gets eyes to see, and his mind can't take it.

God shows me the cross and lets me wail with the women.

My eyes see Jesus, dying with Dominic, and my mind can't take it. "He's mine," says the Lord, pulling him through the cross into eternity, "you said as much when you baptized him."

But he was ours too, and we're not done with him! . . . And maybe when you get close enough to the cross to wail with the women, it's gonna be hard to see beyond the pain.

Tonight I believe that it's easier to be a theologian than a disciple. Theologians get vexed by paradox- and while this can be a very maddening experience, it is still sterile and remote. Theologians see God in words and concepts, in books and diagrams. Disciples get biotoxins, uncleanness and bodily fluids on their hands- experiences that are neither sterile nor remote. Disciples see God in three year olds with tubes draining (and supplying) normal and improvised orifices. Disciples touch, wipe tears, hold, hug and smell. And we discover that God weeps too.

Maybe I wouldn't trade June away. I liked being that near the cross, even if it left me tender. Something holy happened there...

And maybe tenderness is desirable?

Mamma said there'd be days like this, there'd be days like this my mamma said.

Peace.

Denial is the first stage

Sometimes God speaks outside of scripture; sometimes God laments in newsprint.

The local paper tells me that that our local district will work with 1.2 million less dollars this next year, as our student population gently grows. Did your paper say something similar?

In response to Oregon’s state budget curse, local schools are cutting 11 jobs in a heroic effort to reduce their budget by 3.5%. Last year our impoverished district made big cuts. Now we are cutting more.

3.5% cuts equals 3.5% less teaching capacity. When you fire janitors, teachers must do the mopping. When you fire administrators, teachers must do the administration. To be very clear: we’re looking at 3.5% less teaching next year.

We can try to appease ourselves by asserting that the fat is simply being trimmed and that our schools and teachers will be more highly motivated next year.. with 3.5% less.

We can try to appease ourselves.

People who are not familiar with educating today’s American youth make these appeasing claims;
People who want to believe that all students come to school equally ready to learn from safe, comfortable, balanced homes like their own make these claims;
People who try valiantly to expose the waste in the system and who don’t want to waste any of their hard earned money on schools make these claims.
People who don’t want to waste their money on kids make these claims.

Kids.

People who don’t know make these claims.

Denial is the first stage of grief, then comes anger, then bargaining, then depression, then acceptance.

The local paper tells me that the school board voted unanimously to cut these eleven jobs in the fall. I know these people on the school board – and I know that many of them have kids in these schools that will now have 3.5% less teaching capacity. What a wretched choice we have forced them into! How long will they volunteer to serve?

These schoolboard members need our praise, our prayers and our support. They also need to hear our contrition (that means feeling sorry for what we have done.) We’ve pickled them with our public policy and hung them out for public abuse with a no-win forced play. Shame on us.

3.5% less for our kids, and nearly every household in town has two or more cell phones, two or more cars, cable TV, internet, green lawns, and a pantry full of expensive, pre-packaged junkfood- And no money to spare for education. 3.5% less for our kids. . . and the list can easily go on!.

3.5% less. Denial is the first stage of grief, then comes anger, then bargaining, then depression, then acceptance.

Maybe we’re at acceptance, but I hope not- I’m (edited)!

Okay, okay. Does God speak, as I began the post, in newsprint- and if so, how?

God (of scripture) has an unashamed love affair with the children, the weak, the alien who recently moved to town, the unhealed, and the powerless. God (of scripture) twice crashed the kingdoms of God's people when they didn't share God's love with these groups because God (of scripture) can't stand having God's name being associated with societal injustice. (Check Luke 2:46-55 for a quick synopsis of Isaiah and the prophets)

God (of scripture) may not be who many voters know; it's been true for thousands of years.

When the children suffer because the parents are intoxicated with wealth and power, clouds often gather in Heaven.

Denial is the first stage.

No handlebars

"I can ride a bike no handlebars.. no handlebars.."

I met two a new bands this weekend; bands I really liked. The suggestion came from the back seat on the way home from a youth retreat, where two Sophomores were splitting an ipod. "Hey Pastor, I think you'll really like this one. Why don't you tune the stereo to our ipodradiostation?" I complied with the request and they were instantly surprised by the bose subwoofer behind them. "Woah.. cool!"

"I can ride a bike no handlebars.. no handlebars."

The band is Flobot, they sing rap and hip/hop. I usually hate rap and hip/hop! But this band uses violins & trumpets & accordions & ska. And, well . . they hand it over!

"No handlebars" is all ethics. What if you take arrogant male juvenile stupidity all the way to the White House and put it in charge? What if?

If?

"Flobot" - and my other new favorite band, "Cage the Elephant."

Leave it to the latest pagan bands to ask the really tough Christian questions.

Go boys!

Recipes

I just returned from a most exhilarating weekend with two hundred high school students at 3500 feet in the North Cascades, three hours from civilization. What happens when you take six busloads of hormonally alive teens to a very remote place in the mountains, mix in thirty youth directors, parents, pastors and planners, add a truly gifted Lutheran hip-hop/rap artist, (I know, that sounds like an oxymoron!) a pool hall, bowling alley, sauna, great food, ice cream, God’s Word, Sacrament and the Holy Spirit?

Good question, really.

That’s why we went, and that’s why we will go again. Because if faith development was scripted we could just print and mail out books; and we would. But it isn’t, so we go. . .

What happens on a retreat? Which part is the most important? Is it the worship times? The “prayer around the cross?” Sharing Holy Communion with kids from all around the Northwest? Is it small groups? Servant events? Mealtime? Bedtime devotions, song sessions with other churches? Is it deep faith conversations with youth leaders? Is it the guest speaker, or the pristine setting? Is it new friendships? Is it Rustyburgers, or adding wild complication to the timeless classic roadtrip game, “Slug Bug?” Is it narrowly avoiding adding fresh deer hides to the Pastor’s bumper on the way home?

More good questions. I imagine the answers will be different for each of us. That’s why we went, and that’s why we will go again. Because if faith development was scripted we could just print and mail out books; and we would. But it isn’t, so we go. . .

Faith development is so much like good parenting: The doctrine, philosophy, teaching and strategy are all important, but the real fruit of both faith development and parenting is borne in the unscripted times together: in the car, after the meal, before the session, passing firewood, passing gas, during free time . . . in the still and quiet moments and in the ruckus, as long as we are together! And like good parenting, the whole investment is done in love and hope; for there is no guaranteed outcome to our work- only irresistable odds!

That’s why we went, and that’s why we will go again.

I’m convinced that this is why Jesus was not an author, but a friend; not a lawyer but a lover. (Though he was divinely quotable and wonderfully competent in local law!) Jesus went on retreat with the crowds and savored the travel time, taking questions and conversations from the back seat as they came. He sang, laughed, relaxed, ate, cried, worked, “redirected” and rejoiced us through our wonderings into faith. No doubt, Jesus knew the playlist on Peter’s ipod.

That’s why we went, and that’s why we will go again. Want to come along?