Hope-filled Hospitality & Resurrection Readjustments

John 14:1-3

John 21:1-14

I have been experiencing some hospitality lately.  I’ve been meeting with people in coffee shops and making my way from house to house these past weeks and next weeks, being welcomed in for coffee, muffins, cake, parfait and tea, and lovely tables with beautiful cups and saucers and the most fun conversations.  There is something about sitting down across from someone and choosing to be present in the moment right now, giving each other your attention, listening to stories and eating and drinking together, that reminds us that we are not alone, that we are alive, that God is trustworthy and that we are blessed.

In this season of Eastertide we are spending some time in hospitality with the Resurrected Jesus, or, at least, with the disciples while the resurrected Jesus comes and goes here and there as he pleases, and they keep sitting across from him and getting their lives readjusted.

Mary at the tomb, Thomas in the upper room, Cleopas on the road to Emmaus, Then last week we saw Jesus appear to the disciples just as they were telling stories about him, and resort to eating fish in front of them to help them believe he was really there among them. Today we see him cook them some fish on the beach, and remind them of who they are meant to be.

Next Saturday, we will get to meet a group of people, most of whom have been church together for 20 years. They’ve weathered ups and downs, and right now are in a time of unknown and change.  They have unique strengths as a congregation, passions and interests that are different from ours.  They are grieving some loss, in the shadow of some death, and on the brink of some resurrection as well, navigating those waiting waters, those discernment days, asking God what is coming next.

And in two weeks they will worship with us for the first time. ‘Come have breakfast.’  we will say.  And perhaps, the week after that, as part of your Sabbath practice, you might decide to come worship with them, ‘bring what you caught and we’ll cook it and eat it together.’  And we’ll meet in the hospitality of God, who welcomes us all in and adjusts our lives to newness, again and again.

Because we are a people of resurrection. Yes, the Church big C, but this church, little c is a people of resurrection. We have seen newness too many times not to believe it.  God comes near and brings us new life - and it’s happening again.

And here is the lovely thing about it- it’s not what we do, it’s what God does.  These people need new life, and God is bringing them new life, God is making them into new life to us, and making us into new life to them, and together we will encounter God differently than we did before, as we begin to share the stories of resurrection that have sustained and changed us all, the times when Jesus has called our name, has met us in doubt, has calmed our fears, had challenged us away from our nets and summoned us into newness.

Now here’s the scary part. It means we will change. Things wont stay the same. 

Now that’s scary, for sure, but it’s only very scary if you believe things wouldn’t already be changing, if you believed you could keep everything the same for always, which we as human beings try to do with predictable regularity.  Just look at our disciples.

When things get scary and feel new and different, sometimes we go back to what was familiar to try to get our bearings.  We pick up old habits or step into old routines or roles, we hang out in the old places and call up the old friends who you never really had to be real with but who were good for when you wanted to forget for a while.  And maybe that’s ok, for a time, to hide in the familiar.  

But you can’t hide from newness forever, and resurrection is a pretty relentless thing – so even if you were to keep hunkering down like you’re still in what is past, going back to your boat and taking up your nets and finding yourself trying to do what you did when everything was familiar and predictable, and, if not comfortable, then at least understood – it wont be long before a few things happen.

First, it wont be long before the deadness of that seeps in. Before you discover what was is over and you can’t go back, and the night drags on and the nets stay empty and in the quiet of the inky water lapping around you, you begin to look within your soul and find that you are letting fear and avoidance steer the boat because it’s just too frightening to sit around in the indefinite mysterious and wait for God to show you what is next.

And that night can get mighty long.

So, when the dawn begins to crack over the horizon, and you begin to be able to see the outline of the people on either side of you, also in their own uncomfortable self-awareness after each and every agonizing drawing up of the empty nets, you begin to feel that you might need saving.  From yourself, from this moment, from the belief that there was anything there to go back to, from the anxiety that keeps you pinned to this seat, rocking in these gentle waves instead of back in the city, waiting with the scared and hopeful others, anticipating the next move of God. 

And then the figure strolls across the beach and calls out, Dear children, you haven’t caught anything, have you?  And you sigh, and with resignation you call back in a single word the entirety of this night of wrestling with emptiness, No. 

You are almost pleading for him to say, Come on in and forget it then! Better luck next time! Anything to get you out of this rut and make you face what’s really in front of you – which is this: Will you live in death or will you live in resurrection? Will you hang onto what was, or will you step fearfully and tentatively into whatever may be?  By the time the stranger’s voice breaks the morning air, you know what you will answer.

But instead the stranger calls out, Drop the nets down the other side! You will find some there.  And suddenly a new way opens up, an unexpected third route.  You feel your heart quicken and you stand and maneuver the nets down with the others, and they’re instantly bursting with fish, and the answer pulses through you and you feel yourself wanting to laugh and cry and scream and shout it out, It is the Lord! 

I will live in resurrection! I will live in abundance and new life and unexpected miracles and strange encounters and unknown moments!  Jesus is Risen! All bets are off- now and forever! Because even when you pretend like everything is what it was, you know it could never really be again, and now you can embrace what will be.

Then Peter, who should just by this point be called, “Peter, Peter, Peter…” does what everyone is feeling and shrieks in wonder and excitement and relief and hope.  He pulls on his heavy clothes and throws himself in the water – not able to stand one single minute more in this boat of giving up and going back, this boat of trying to forget and stay still, this boat of choosing the ease of death over the capriciousness of life.  And he is propelled toward the Risen one, swimming and straining to shore with all his might.

The rest of you figure, it’s a minute from the beach and we’ll be out of it soon enough, so you row your flopping, writhing, ridiculously abundant catch in to shore and fly off the bow as soon as you feel the ground scrape.

Bring what you’ve just caught! He calls, and you watch Peter lunge into the boat and grab the giant net, batting away help, dragging it all the way up the beach, expending his excess of adrenaline and leaving a deep and wide groove in the sand.

Come, Jesus says. Come have breakfast.

The warmth of the charcoal fire, the smell of sizzling fish, the welcoming arms, reaching out – come and be, come and sit, come and settle, come and eat and drink and be.

And nobody dares ask him who he is because you know that he is the Lord.  In the old way, someone would’ve asked.  Or knowing would have been simple and required nothing more of you than glancing.

But you’ve begun to learn this new way of knowing, this different way of grasping – this soul seeing that involves a feeling in the gut and not so much relying on the eyes for proof.  Everything is different – he’s different, you’re different, all of life pulses differently, and you are learning to be a resurrection people instead of a death people and you don’t even dare question, it doesn’t even occur to you to ask, because you know already, and you couldn’t explain it if someone asked how you knew, but there is nothing truer or more sure than the knowledge that God is in your midst right now, serving you breakfast.

After this Jesus and Peter have a conversation, a forgiveness-thing, a reconciliation and new life kind of thing, and Jesus keeps asking Peter if he loves him, and Peter keeps saying, you know that I do! And Jesus keeps on answering, then Feed my sheep.

If you love me, feed my sheep.  If you love me, feed my sheep.

And here you sit, with your shepherd, being fed and welcomed, seen and forgiven, embraced and at home, and you know that love is calling you to live the same. You don’t dare ask because you know that being a resurrection people isn’t a cold, distant unknown, that you have to figure out on your own, that takes away all the familiar and leaves you stranded and lost in frightening hypothetical “faith.”  It is a warm and nourishing unknown, that you are never on your own, that takes away all the familiar and leaves you connected and satisfied, and broken open with real gratitude and love.

Being a resurrection people means letting go of what we hang onto for cold comfort- the familiar that is no longer relevant but so hard to move on from because it’s all we’ve known.

We’ve been doing some purging in our house the last three weekends. Both the kids rooms and now their toys and our family room, as we adjust our home to their current and future ages and let go of where they were when those things were first set up.  But it is so painful that I can’t be in the room when they’re sorting and tossing and giving away.

Even though the kids have outgrown them or don’t play with them anymore, who they were back then seems to be tied to these things they loved back then, and it’s so hard to let go. Where are we going? What is coming next? Who will we be? How can we make room for the new if we are hanging onto the old so fiercely?

Or so thoughtlessly and inattentively that we’ve stopped seeing it and don’t notice that we’ve crowded out any possibility for new by surrounding ourselves with old and familiar – even when it isn’t serving us anymore?

Jesus sets them free that day on the beach, by awakening them again to the abundance of new life, the resurrection, rule-breaking, preposterously lavish grace of God’s future that reaches into the now and fills their silly nets with more than they know what to do with.  It drives them back to him, sends them to his side, so that he can feed them breakfast, and remind them in very earthy and ordinary ways that they are not alone, no matter what comes next.

Being a resurrection people also means that we are ready to stop, and laugh, and slow down, and receive the gift of hospitality from our Risen Lord, to eat and drink together and trust that God is leading us into what is next. It means letting love lead, and feeding sheep, and calling out, “come have breakfast!” and welcoming others to the meal.

Because there is something about sitting down across from someone, listening to stories and eating and drinking together, that reminds us that we are not alone, that we are alive, that God is trustworthy, and that we are blessed.

So I look forward to what happens when our community pats the cool sand next to us and says, sit down, warm yourself, pass the bread, let’s be resurrection people together.

Amen.

Thank you, Lake Nokomis Church

Every year I struggle to write my "annual report" for church.  This year, it suddenly stopped being hard when I realized I just really wanted to say "Thank you"...


Dear LNPC,

2013 marked my fifth year of sharing life and ministry with Lake Nokomis Presbyterian Church.  What a gift it has been to be on this journey together!   Stepping away for a three-month sabbatical gave me a chance to see you anew.  As I reflect on our year, I would like to share some observations and gratitude I have about you.

I am thankful for your bravery.

It’s quite something for a small congregation to send their pastor on a sabbatical and do most everything in-house.  You are a strong and wildly gifted bunch of folks, and a community that isn’t afraid to take risks.  You’re also brave in sharing real life with each other, in dreaming and in trying new things.  I can’t tell you how many times this year, upon hearing about the way we live out worship, hospitality and Sabbath, people have commented to me, with great respect in their voice, what a brave congregation you are.  And I whole-heartedly agree.

I am thankful for the way you welcome.

Young adults, retired adults, tiny babies and teens, busy children, tired parents, doting grandparents – you embrace each person where they are and appreciate the gifts they bring.  Everyone’s voice is respected and contribution is honored and celebrated. This is an incredible thing, and I am profoundly moved by it and grateful for it. 

This year we stood with so many as their journeys took them to new places.  We celebrated our graduates Lindsay (college), Maggie and Ben (high school) and Cyndi (seminary), we confirmed Ben and Andrew, and bid joyful and sorrowful goodbyes to Lee and Barb as they headed to Florida, and to Theresa on her move to Michigan, and blessed Cyndi as she was approved for ordination.  We baptized Soren, Svea and Sigrid, welcomed Andrea, Linnea, Jose and Will (this Sunday!) into membership, and honored the life of Sylvia with wonderful stories, laughter and tears.  And every week I watch you all warmly welcome one another, visitors and friends into this sacred space between us that the Spirit has shaped.  Thank you for receiving each other with an open heart.

I am thankful for your vulnerability.

‘nuff said.  It’s powerful.

I am thankful for your commitment and investment.

You are invest in each other, in this community. You stand by one another and keep showing up.  This is a defining mark of this congregation.

I am thankful for our little people, and the ways you support them.

LNPC continues to grow – we have begun to regularly have a dozen children in worship and Sunday school.  They have invaded our worship with joy and curiosity, and you have welcomed them with open arms. 

This year they have led us in worship by sharing their own learning every week, collecting for the food shelf, writing and leading offering prayers, sharing story on Christmas eve, guiding us through Advent with candle lighting and liturgy.  At LNPC children contribute with their artwork and singing, their prayers brought up and bravely shared right alongside adults’ and their small hands offering us communion.  Their insightful comments and happy contributions, tearful meltdowns and occasional giggly toddler laps around the sanctuary mid-sermon are all held in love by you.

Carolyn and Linnea shape Sunday school lessons that help our kids engage worship and encourage them to embrace their lives as part of God’s love in the world, and we get to hear about that from the children themselves.  For a short time this year we had a Church Nanny who supported parents and children in worship, but we unfortunately lost both Camille and our de facto children’s host Lee to out-of-state moves.   But we continue to adapt and embrace the changing needs and strengths of our congregation, and to be blessed by our children’s participation and leadership, even.  Watch in 2014 as they begin stepping into more roles, including ushering.

I am thankful for the care with which you tend our resources – our space and our gifts – both concrete and tangible, and what we each bring to the table. I spent some time on sabbatical in other church spaces, some of which clearly were filled with love and community like ours, but in need of some TLC.  It made me appreciate this about LNPC – you care for one another well, and take good care of that of we’ve been made stewards. 

In walking through our building, reflecting on our artist Mark’s basement studio, Field Regina Neighborhood Group’s office, the various yoga, women’s and parenting groups that meet in our space, Terry’s spiritual direction office “Storyteller’s Lodge," the times when our sanctuary hosted Trinity choir and orchestra concerts, the surprising number of community parties, and wedding and baby showers that fill Nokomis Hall and the many more incidents and ongoing experiences of offering our space to others, I recognize that sharing is important to us.  All this, and our building looks well cared-for, and looked after. 

Thanks to Kathy for that, and for all the countless volunteer hours people (like Dick and Gary and Aleta and many others) spend putzing on repairs and tidying up.  And to each person who pitches in on dishes or helps the kids’ straighten up, thank you.  We have a church building that feels like home. That’s part of our ministry of hospitality.

I am thankful for your flexibility and generosity.

These two things go hand in hand, and have to do with truly valuing one another.  You are great at adapting to the situation and the need.  Whether it is pulling out soup and bread for an impromptu meal, taking a baby into your arms to give a dad or mom or grandma a break, watching big sister when little sister gets hurt and needs help, giving each other rides, subbing for Meals on Wheels, offering a helping hand, you are a congregation that is willing to bend preset plans in order to stay true to one another in the moment.

I am thankful for your creativity.

Stunning handmade crafts, jams and banners, music and visual art, delicious food, and an eye for beauty and delight in life shines through at LNPC.  From our Lenten journey to the cross with candles and flowers to our Advent stars hanging from the ceiling, our stylish photo directories (Thanks, Ani!) and the lessons the children gave us in tokens and handouts, creativity enlivened our life together this year.

I am thankful for your resourcefulness.

LNPC operates on a shoestring found for a steal at Savers and spruced up with handmade embroidery.  This year you did great things with great resourcefulness; you specialize in homegrown and elbow grease!  I returned from sabbatical to find a brand new paved area in front of the church with a bike rack and public garbage can, beautifully installed by members and paid for by a grant. 

People contribute from their strengths and joy and generosity – garden planting, snow shoveling, inspiring children, preaching, praying, leading conversations in adult education, number-crunching, making music, listening, feeding kids from St. Joe’s at Movie Camp and people of all ages at Ham and Cherry Pie Dinner, secretly cleaning and organizing the nursery, collecting and sharing food and money for the food shelf or a friend of the congregation, visiting with each other, donating diapers, pitching in to cover unexpected expenses like boiler repair or sidewalk assessment,  leading liturgy, and turning strangers into friends.  You used what you have, and brought who you are, to being church together.   Thank you.

You give to others without knowing it.

The space of QuietWednesdays became a holy gift every week to a friend of the congregation who slipped in and spent hours in peace.  The service of blessing we shaped for twin babies embraced a neighborhood family in love.  I received inquiries about our worship and life together and shared what we’ve learned with congregations in Delaware, New Jersey, California, Georgia and Kansas.  We’ve been asked to share our story at a conference this coming March, to help congregations seeking inspiration and new vitality, and have been written about in several more articles this year.  The sabbatical task force is finding itself a source of encouragement and learning for several congregations on the brink of their own sabbaticals.  I have heard countless comments from visitors about the warmth of their welcome, and the inspiring way children are involved and empowered in our worship.  Our life together is a gift, and God uses it to bless others.

I am thankful for your questions.

For a whole three months this year, you sat in questions.  Where was I surprised by God this week? Where do I need rest?  In Lent you pondered what it is to confess.  We wondered through Advent and sat in the wonder at Christmas.  The children in Sunday school and adults in Adult Ed press into questions again and again without hesitation.  You are honest and willing to engage life thoughtfully and intentionally.  Faith is not a pat answer for LNPC, it’s a real journey of trust, and your questions keep opening us to the Spirit’s activity in our lives and helping us search for and join in God’s mission in the world.  Thank you.

I am thankful for your passion.

This little congregation is filled with people faithfully joining Jesus’ love in the world in inspiring ways.  We support each other in our causes and journeys, from Ben’s work helping congregations become more open and affirming of all and Carolyn’s work supporting women caught in domestic violence to Sue’s fiber and visual art and the amazing grandparenting regularly in our midst.  People at LNPC pour themselves into their lives with enthusiasm and gratitude, and share their passions with all of us, which inspires each of us in our own living.  Whether in adult ed, session meetings or coffee hour, there is no shortage of lively discussion and thought-provoking disagreement, ready laughter and dedicated listening.  PW Christmas party games, donuts with Dick and Jan, starry night walks on retreats, pie at Movie Night, and goodbye blessings all shared LNPC’s spirit of life and joy, and the desire that what we do matter.  I love how passionate you are.

I am thankful for the space you gave me.

It was incredibly difficult to step away from you for three months. The first ten days were easy – a breeze, really! - but after that it was hard.  You respected the space we had set up – I didn’t get a phone call, an email, a message of any kind for three months.  For twelve weeks I imagined you bobbing on a boat far out in the sea, sails open, merrily on your own, held by God and holding me in prayer.  For twelve weeks I sat in the expansive space held by God and you, and grew in trust, strength and peace.  I felt myself filling back up, rejuvenating, exploring my creative side, feeding my intellectual side, stretching my spontaneity muscles and letting them lead.  I got to rediscover presence –with my children, with Andy, with myself and with God.  I slowed way down, and came back to you awake and present.   I might have caved had you not been so gracious and firm about the boundaries of sabbatical.  Thank you.

I am thankful for your wisdom and realism.

This year LNPC has been facing facts about finances, seeking with transparency and practical approaches (cutting expenses and beginning to explore alternate forms of funding) to move into the future faithfully.  We begin 2014 with a strong commitment to strengthening our financial life. 

You’re good at knowing when to say yes, and ok with saying no.  This year we recognized the gift Saturday meals had been to the congregation under Cyndi’s leadership, and for a time many others stepped in to make meals to be shared.  We also recognized when they had run their course and that it was ok to let them go.  Then we were able to make meals on Saturdays for special events and as specific times of hospitality- a guest preacher, a goodbye party, a welcoming back of old friends. 

It is not easy staying in touch with where things are and being willing to respond in the present- far easier to fall back on “tradition” or be compelled by obligation.  You are honest and willing to talk about hard things, and it makes what we do continue to have meaning and significance. Thank you.

You understand God’s ministry and God’s Church to be far broader than ourselves.

This year we invited the possibility of sharing space and worship with Familia de Fe, and this opened up rich and challenging discussion about who we are, how we can best share what we have, and what it means to be church. Ultimately, they decided to nest elsewhere, but I was grateful for the discernment and intentionality that went into the beginning of that conversation.

We shared Family Camp this summer with Humble Walk Church at Bay Lake Camp.  The LNPC contingent was outnumbered three-to-one children-to-adults, and we had a wonderful long weekend with grandparents, parents and children, playing, praying, singing and swimming (with Barb Day leading the fishing crew). S’mores were consumed and skits were performed and it was the beginning of a much-anticipated annual summer tradition.

Four times a year we share worship at St. Joseph’s Home for Children.  Every time we go, we come away in gratitude and awe for the ways we experience God in sharing worship with them.  Most notably this last time, two young people asked for one on one prayer and conversation, and we frequently hear from staff how meaningful it is to them as well.  Our annual Movie Camp experience – led by Dean and Kirsten Seal and assisted by Westminster- has continued to be a simple and powerful way God uses LNPC in people’s lives.

I have served this year on an Administrative Commission to a congregation seeking to leave our denomination.  It is our life together that has given me words and prayers to shape our time in these sometimes very difficult meetings.  Despite differences that will ultimately divide us, we have found common faith and hope and the ability to appreciate each other’s humanity and faith in Christ.  It was a profound gift when the team from the departing church asked if they could lay hands on me and bless me as I set out on my sabbatical.  I have felt strengthened by our work together in compassionate communication at LNPC and the mission of hospitality that compels us to truly seek to know and be known.  It has shone a light into this conflict and kept us connected with these sisters and brothers in Christ.

This year I led two workshops on Sabbath at Luther Seminary’s Convocation in February, and Sue and Carolyn helped me set the space and share the story of our journey in tangible ways.  I also shared about Sabbath rest with a group of MOPS (mothers of preschoolers) in Owatanna and a Women’s group at Knox Church just up the street.  We continued our (now) tradition of a joint Ash Wednesday service with Edgcumbe Church, practiced writing and sharing our stories in a Lenten writing workshop with Marie Theilen, cooked and served meals at Our Saviour’s Housing, welcomed Boy Scouts from Texas and North Carolina to camp out in our building, and welcomed a new generation of servers and kitchen assistants to our 78^th Annual Ham & Cherry Pie Dinner. 

From supporting ARCretreat center and Tapestry Family Center to welcoming the baptismal class of Judson Memorial Baptist Church to talk faith with our confirmands, Diane walking in the TRUST Parish Nursing Fundraiser to Dee walking neighbors’ dogs- the ministry of God is relentlessly drawing us into the world in love and service to others, and LNPC helps us see and participate in God’s call – both together as a community and individually in all the many ways we are beckoned.  We are connected to all that God is doing in the world, and get to see that unfold in each other’s lives.  You live this out faithfully.  That is a true gift!

Thank you for a great year of worship, hospitality and sabbath together!

Kara

Faith back home and abroad

This weekend we explored the scriptures through conversation and discussion. Breaking the text in half, two groups dove into each part of this text from Mark 6:1-13.  The following is closing reflections on the two halves of the text.

Mark 6:1-6

He left that place and came to his home town, and his disciples followed him. On the Sabbath he began to teach in the synagogue, and many who heard him were astounded. They said, ‘Where did this man get all this? What is this wisdom that has been given to him? What deeds of power are being done by his hands! Is not this the carpenter, the son of Mary and brother of James and Joses and Judas and Simon, and are not his sisters here with us?’ And they took offence at him.

Then Jesus said to them, ‘Prophets are not without honor, except in their home town, and among their own kin, and in their own house.’ And he could do no deed of power there, except that he laid his hands on a few sick people and cured them. And he was amazed at their unbelief.

He left that place. The place where the hemorrhaging woman took her healing and Jesus blessed her for it.  The place where the dead girl came back to life and Jesus kept it a secret.   The place where we talked about “faithing” that after the question of faith – who then is this??? – comes the action of faith – help me, Jesus!  As though perhaps this One may be the one to ask that to.  

And we saw how that action, that longing sometimes looks like words – my little daughter is dying!, and sometimes it is just reaching out and hoping.

But now he’s in his hometown, among his home people. This is mom and dad’s world. This is brothers and sisters and long memory: mischief and mudpies, first steps, forged friendships, lost teeth and puberty, for the love of God.  So here’s Jesus with his peeps – the place and people that made him - in the nurture, not nature way – and he’s there with his disciples. His followers are seeing him mollycoddled, disregarded and ribbed. (Mom, please! You’re embarrassing me in front of my disciples)! 

We all know that the people who heard your voice change are going to have a hard time taking you seriously if you’re important and official now-  especially when the claim is that you’re from God and everyone knows you come from right down the street.

But even more than amused, when he comes speaking with authority and they see the deeds of power that he does -  they take offense. 

Just who does he think he is? What is he trying to pull?

And he could do no deed of power among them – except lay his hands on a few people and cure them. (which sound like deeds of power to me- and felt like it to the sick people who got cured). But it wouldn’t have mattered what he did.   He could do no deeds of power among them. They knew who he was, and he was one of them.   Those people were probably getting better anyway.  Their illness must have just run its course. It was all in their heads. 

As far as they were concerned- it simply couldn’t be. Period. He was limited by their unbelief.

Does faith allow God to do more in our lives? Very possibly. 

Does faith allow us to see the things God is already doing in our lives? Absolutely. 

Does even stopping long enough to look past what we think we already know, and ask the question of faith – wait, then, who IS this?  open us up to encounter God and be encountered- most definitely. 

Because without faith- without that question bubbling within us, the encounter can’t really happen.  We won’t be open to it, or recognize it even if it does. 

Does it take our faith for God to work in the world? 

For God to meet us, do we have to be willing to be met? 

For us to see God, do we have to be willing for God to look different than we might expect?  Faith is not a closed conclusion. It is an open awareness.  It is a willingness to be encountered by God. 

Can God do deeds of power among us?

Mark 6:6-13

Then he went about among the villages teaching. He called the twelve and began to send them out two by two, and gave them authority over the unclean spirits. He ordered them to take nothing for their journey except a staff; no bread, no bag, no money in their belts; but to wear sandals and not to put on two tunics. He said to them, ‘Wherever you enter a house, stay there until you leave the place. If any place will not welcome you and they refuse to hear you, as you leave, shake off the dust that is on your feet as a testimony against them.’ So they went out and proclaimed that all should repent. They cast out many demons, and anointed with oil many who were sick and cured them.

When we look at the second pericope – unified chunk – of our scripture, we see the disciples now being sent out, and ironically, doing deeds of great power.  Doing more, it seems, than Jesus himself could do in his hometown.

And, they are receiving hospitality from total strangers. In fact, the disciples don’t come bearing great power to dispense to others. They come in a very powerless form –needing a place to rest, needing coats for the cold, somewhere to use the bathroom, basic food and sustenance, when you get right down to it.    Help me, stranger.

Jesus sends them out needing fellow human beings.  And not just for what they provide, or as a ready audience for their message – this is not a commercial exchange, and people are never merely consumers and providers, individuals, numbers.  They are forced to rely on other people’s compassion and openness. They must allow themselves –and their need- to be seen and allow others to step up to meet it.  What an interesting way to kick off living the ministry of God.  You cannot do this alone.  You are not strong, invincible, independent.

And they need to stay with folks- to form relationships, not just bounce around getting what they can from people.  So not only do they need fellow human beings, they also need to join fellow human beings. And while they are there, God works through their connection – and people receive healing, wholeness and care in multiple ways.

This is faithing again.  As in, you’ve asked the question and continue to do so – you feel comfortable constantly reasking – who is the Jesus who meets me right now? Who calls me out? Who sends me to others?

But instead of “Help me Jesus!”  the question leads you to continue meeting God, and in their case, trusting that through love and generosity of strangers, God will provide. Trusting that through the story you have to share, God will connect with others.  

And the faith encounters you’ve had- where you must see God and be seen, lead you to see others and let them see you – sweaty, dusty, hungry, cranky you- and to be seen yet again by God in the strangers care of you.  It’s a lot easier to give than receive, and receiving keeps us human. It keeps us connected. It keeps us encountering and reencountering God in our lives.  This is what Jesus wants for the disciples.

Who is this Jesus?

The one who comes into this earth as vulnerable and needy as it gets, is raised in the loving care of these that God loves, and who likewise sends the message of God’s love and hope out through people, who must come vulnerable to share their lives with those who can care for them. 

There is great mutuality in this faith thing.  We need each other, God and people. This is a relationship, it wouldn’t do at all for one party to be absent, or be fine without the other. We belong to God, and in Jesus, God belongs to humanity as well.

This is how God arranged it. So we may know the interdependence of life.

Faithing presses us into this relationship.

Faith helps us belong to the love of God as we live out our belonging on earth. 

What does faithing look like for you right now?

How are you being called to press into belonging?

Reflecting on a year...

I always struggle to write my "annual report" as a pastor. It is so hard to put into words our life together in the past year, to succinctly wrap up what I sense God has been up to in us.  But the deadline comes around every year just the same, and somehow I feel able, in the end, to at least give a little snapshot after all.

So, here is my take on 2011 in the year of Lake Nokomis Presbyterian Church...

Thanks be to God.

A note to my congregation...

Yesterday, at the Presbytery of the Twin Cities Area meeting, the presbytery voted 206 to 56 to replace the wording of Amendment 10A in the Book of Order regarding ordination standards.  The change in wording was approved at the last General Assembly meeting, but required approval from a majority of of the 173 presbyteries in order to take effect.  Our presbytery was the 87th presbytery to vote for this change in wording, which means the change will go into effect July of this year.  The change in wording removes the wording "chastity in singleness and fidelity in marriage between a man and a woman" from our ordination standards - language that has been used to exclude those in same-gendered relationships from serving as deacons, elders and ministers of word and sacrament.  The new wording emphasizes the church's desire to "joyfully submit to the Lordship of Jesus Christ in all areas of life" and maintains that it is the job of the ordaining bodies - individual presbyteries and sessions - to prayerfully discern each candidates suitability for ordination.  (To see the full wording, and more explanation, see the PCUSA website).

For some, this is the culmination of a life-long struggle, and the change brings joy and relief. They feel the affirmation and support of their denomination in their calling as leaders in the Body of Christ, or elation for those they love and respect whose calling is recognized and upheld by this change.  For others, this is a great sadness.  It goes against their understanding of scripture and they feel a loss of trust in their denomination and alienation from what they hold to be true.  All of these people - those celebrating today and those mourning - are our sisters and brothers in the Body of Christ, and I find myself in the discomfort of simultaneously celebrating with those who rejoice and mourning with those who mourn.  We all long for belonging, connection, support, integrity and wholeness.  For some, this change contributes to these things, and for others, this change takes away these very same things.  
It has been my privilege to know faithful followers of Jesus, whom I admire and respect, who come out with different understandings of what following Jesus means in many areas.  It is also a delicious frustration of our faith that God has not just handed us a list of bullet points that answer every question or universally explain how to do this messy thing of being human, loving God and living faithfully.  Instead we get God in flesh: a sweaty, hungry, complex human being, loving and healing, teaching and fully sharing our place.  And we get a scrapbook of faith: stories and pictures and poems and descriptions and messages and snapshots of God's constant faithfulness through generations of human beings wrestling in their own times and places with the same needs and struggles we have today.  Neither of these is very clean cut or easy to explain or grasp. (God seems to enjoy paradox and ambiguity).
This means that for as long as there have been and will be a Church, God, who is "above all and through all and in all" will embrace in God's abundant welcome different understandings, interpretations and applications of Scripture, but continue to weave and grow us together in "one body, one hope, one Spirit, one Lord, one faith and one baptism."  (as gorgeously expressed in Ephesians 4). We are reconciled to God and each other not by our own great faith or beliefs, but by the death and resurrection of Christ Jesus.  I was drawn to the PCUSA because here I found a denomination that wrestles through difficult issues together - that allows one another the freedom and support to come to differing interpretations, conclusions and expressions of faith in Jesus Christ, within a commitment to listen to the voices of the past and of those next to us.  
I believe that in this covenant life, rather than by one certain, airtight answer or another, God's Spirit most often works in the tension in between, the messy discerning, the challenge of different voices and experiences, the places of doubt where we need to meet God and not just talk about God.  And that for however "right" any of us may be, we are also just as "wrong", and we need one another on this journey of faith. Most importantly, I believe we are guided by the Holy Spirit, and that Christ is still present, with us and for us, and we meet Christ as we are with and for one another.  This is God's Church, and God's ministry that we participate in; it began way before us and will go on far after we are gone.  We seek to faithfully join in here and now.
So, as unsettled and uncomfortable as it may be, I pray for the courage to continue celebrating with those who celebrate and mourning with those who mourn.  I pray that our little congregation may have the openness to live in God's hospitality and continue to extend that mutual and authentic welcome to others - regardless of their beliefs.  And I pray for the compassion to continue seeing one another as human beings, beloved sisters and brothers, chosen by God and knit together into this one, messy but beautiful Body.  
I invite you to come - in your joy or your grief, and in everything else besides - and sit with us together in the discomfort of the unknown (where the Spirit loves to act!), as the denomination moves forward and we seek - as God's people have always done - to faithfully follow our Lord and savior, Jesus Christ.

"Reconciliation" by Bert Monterona

For more:  The Presbyterian Outlook has links to a number of extremely helpful explanations and resources related to this vote and its implications.  It also as an often-updated page with Several responses to this vote from various groups.

Martha Stewart vs. God

I’m sheepish to admit that I went through my “aspiring to be like Martha Stewart” phase. I love to cook, (and mostly bake) lovely and delicious things,

and welcome people to my home and table. Except that my home has two big dogs and two little children and one introvert, and Martha doesn’t talk about how to make handmade centerpieces when the kids are crying and the dogs are running off with your supplies dangling out of their mouths, and the husband is dreading the impending house full of people.

The most extravagant meal I ever hosted was a five course dinner with a table full of eminent theologians, including Douglas John Hall. We had moved into our house just a few months earlier, and had not yet built our new, spacious kitchen, which was mapped out with blue tape on the floor of an empty room. The cramped kitchen had no dishwasher, almost no counter space, and room for two people to stand back to back, and was so small that our refrigerator was in the living room. I cooked for two days in this kitchen, running to the living room for ingredients and washing all the dishes by hand.  The day of the dinner I bought a new tablecloth, sent the kids and dogs to separate babysitters and set out the nice china. The evening was a blur, the food was delicious, and to make the joy of hosting complete, Douglas Hall told me, "That was the best cup of coffee I've had in America.” I spent three hours cleaning up after that meal, with stacks of dishes precariously towered around the tiny kitchen, but what an evening it had been.

Hospitality. I use to think it was Martha. Clean house, detail-oriented, Miss Manners perfection. And while I desired to offer that, not only was it an impossibility which I could never achieve, it also turned my stomach a bit, to be completely honest. For me that is too formal, too flawless. Flavor is in the chaos, the humanity and the humor. Seeing these famous and respected theologians holding wine glasses and chatting while standing on top of my blue tape counter tops and cupboards, or sitting with their hor dourves balanced on their knees, candles flickering light on their faces and reflecting off the refrigerator next to them is part of what made that evening so delightful. The laughter, stories and sharing, the meeting and knowing one another, leaving different than you arrived… Hospitality isn’t at all about Martha’s perfect details. It is much deeper, much more elemental and powerful than that. It is opening ourselves, our lives, our very being to others, authentically, mutually. And we can do this because God welcomes us to the table, turning strangers into friends, drawing us into the life of generosity and love that exists within the Trinity.

We are on a journey to deepen and discover anew hospitality in the life of our congregation. It is changing us and shaping us, making us see differently, feel differently, talk and think differently. Hospitality is transforming us: That we may welcome others as they are, and share our real selves with them, that we may embrace our flaws and delight in the texture they bring to the encounter, that we may know the reality of being welcomed with open arms and heart into the love and life of God, and extend that experience to others.

"Hospitality is salvation." Come to the table!

I love how Diana Butler Bass talks about it in this video clip.

image at top of post by Jan Richardson, www.janrichardsonimages.com, used with permission.

Journey of a Congregation

The church that I pastor is a very small Presbyterian congregation in South Minneapolis.  So much is happening in the life of our congregation and we are learning how to understand and tell our story.  This is one attempt to put words to part of our unfolding journey.

Lake Nokomis Presbyterian Church has been in a period of radical reflection and change over the past year. We determined to allow ourselves to break free from the ruts of habit while honoring our traditions, becoming open to new experiences and possibilities. We began by striving to put language and actions to the concepts and values that had been bubbling up within the congregation for years.

The three central practices that we have named and are using to guide us as we seek to meet God in our humanity are:

Worship - encountering the Triune God as we gather in community to explore who God is and what God is up to in scripture, our lives and the world around us.

Hospitality - living in God’s abundant welcome and welcoming others in authenticity and mutuality.

and Sabbath - practicing God’s rhythm of work and renewing rest. 

Desiring to live authentic lives before and with God, we are weaving worship, hospitality and Sabbath into our practice as a congregation and finding that we are being transformed in the process.

Worship has been central to our identity, and a source of delight for us for a long time.  Our exploration last year involved visiting very different congregations to experience different styles of worship, and spending an evening with local artists and musicians (from outside our congregation) to brainstorm with us how music and art function in worship, and how we could create authentic and creative experiences in worship and community.  We held long conversations about what we believe worship to be and how we live that out in our context.  Because we see isolation, brokenness, and lack of belonging as prominent experiences in the lives of people today, we desire that our worship extend a different kind of invitation, to participate in a place where all come to be real, to share pain and suffering, to rejoice together and hold one another in prayer.   We want to seek faith through doubt, hope through despair, and make worship a space for God to encounter us in our humanity.    

                   

 Hospitality is also central to who we are and who we wish to be.  While we are limited in finances and “manpower,” we have our physical space and our very selves to share.  We opened up a room in our basement to an artist in residence for studio space, begun offering our building more widely for community use (including helping to start a neighborhood job networking group), and we relandscaped our front yard to be a place of peace and welcome for the community.  We also began exploring how hospitality challenges us to be radically open to one another and to God, including hosting Rev. Nanette Sawyer, author of Hospitality, the Sacred Art and artist Shawna Bowman who explored the concept with us in a worship service and a mural.   Just recently, the Rev. Dr. Theresa Latini from Luther Seminary joined us as our Parish Associate, to help us explore more fully in all aspects of our congregational life, how to deepen our hospitality and openness to God, each other and the world.

Sabbath rest was an intriguing concept to us. We began exploring this as a congregation, including reading Wayne Muller’s book, Sabbath together, and spending a day with the Sisters of St. Francis at “Sabbath House” for a retreat focused around the concept of Sabbath.  Sabbath means setting aside time intentionally for rest, community, celebration, reflection, gratitude… By deliberately honoring time spent in being rather than doing, we move into a way of facing the world and our lives with eyes open and spirits ready.  We wondered what it would look like if we incorporated intentional Sabbath rest into our rhythm as a community. 

Through session meetings reformatted around worship, and a session retreat of prayer and exploration, then a series of small group and whole congregation meetings, we decided to radically alter our worship schedule.  We decided to gather for worship first and third Sundays in the manner we were accustomed to.   Second and fourth weekends we would gather on Saturday evening, which would shape a worship service to be a doorway into Sunday as a Day of Rest – with no Sunday service but instead exploring worship and faith in a variety of ways in our own lives.  Finally, we determined that fifth Sundays were to be somehow beyond ourselves, for others, connected to the larger community.  There was an opening to lead worship for fifth Sunday chapel services at St. Joseph’s Home for children just up the block from us – an emergency shelter and long term rehabilitation center – (chapel there is usually done by pastors volunteering from churches around the cities), and we arranged for our whole congregation to come and worship there with the children as our 5^th Sunday worship service.

This pattern has opened the door to more thoughtfully and intentionally create worship experiences using music, art, and practices drawn from a variety of Christian traditions (such as lectio divina, centering prayer, silence, a labyrinth, etc).  It has made us more deliberate and reflective about our connections to others and God's presence in our own lives.  We are excited about how this is shaping us, and are continuing to explore how to form our services of worship as experiences of deep hospitality – creating a worship environment and liturgy that embrace the whole person and creatively meet the God who enters in and brings life out of death.

We have been on this schedule since September 2009, and have found it to be incredibly enriching and challenging, forcing us to be intentional about worship and community, and to live into the concepts we’ve embraced both communally and individually.  We are on an incredible journey, and look forward to what God has in store for us in 2010!

Come to our Open House on February 10 to see some of the changes going on at LNPC!

 Friend us on Facebook - /LakeNokomis, or on our website at: www.lakenokomispc.org

(The image above has captured our imagination through this process and become a symbol for our deepening life in the areas of worship, hospitality and Sabbath.  It is called Mother Root, by Jan Richardson, and is used with permission.  See her work at www.janrichardsonimages.com)