The Aus Lecture on Evangelism
Delivered at The Craft of Preaching Conference, Luther Seminary, Oct. 3, 2016
Given that tonight’s event is described as a lecture, Michael and I figured there probably should be at least some small part of the evening that has the feel of being a lecture. So, this will be that lecture part that you had coming to you. So prepare yourselves to receive a talking to.
Now, I don’t mean to scare you, but I am going to say the word . . . EVANGELISM. The Aus Lecture (in which you’re now sitting) is intended to cover some aspect of Evangelism, which is surprising because—in my experience, growing up Lutheran, and now an Episcopal priest—Evangelism is a word that makes the people I know very uncomfortable. Combine the word Evangelism with the word Lecture, and boy oh boy, you’ve got a party!
Michael and I never made the claim to be evangelists. We were just two guys who wrote songs about Jesus and played concerts for a living. On the other hand, it is true that for 30 years we traveled around the country and the world, proclaiming the good news of Jesus Christ . . . which really does sound like evangelism, come to think of it. We even made our first concert tour riding bicycles . . . which really sounds like Mormon evangelism, truth be told.
So, what I’m trying to say here is mainly this: We never set out to be evangelists. But we did sort of back into it, in a way. Or, more accurately, looking in our rearview mirror, it seems clear to us that we were in fact “doing evangelism,” and it didn’t seem scary or intimidating at all. So maybe the first thing one has to do when considering taking on some of that evangelism stuff is to get rid of the images you have in your brain of people with angry signs and bullhorns, or people walking around the neighborhood with scary little tracts that have pictures of flames and screaming sinners in torment.
Set aside the images that come into your mind when you hear the word “evangelism,” and try replacing them with images that go with what the word means: The English word “evangelism” comes from the Greek word euaggelion. In the noun form, the word means: “gospel” or “good news.” In the verb form, it is to “announce” or “bring good news.”
If you remember nothing that we say or do tonight, I hope you will remember the definition of evangelism. To announce good news. And then, the next question might just be, “How do I do that?” I’m glad you asked. Though I don’t know how you do that, I can tell you how we did that, back when we were traveling around playing our little songs. Or, more accurately, I can tell you what we’ve identified as the three main components of how we’ve done that . . . through the miracle of hindsight, of course. The three important parts of what we did through music consisted of Content, Communication, and Community. (Whenever you list three things in a lecture, they should all begin with the same letter.)
We’ll get to Content in a couple minutes when I tag-team over to my trusty assistant Michael D. Bridges, but I want to focus on the Community and Communication parts first.
First there is Community. There’s an old saying, anything worth doing is worth doing in community. Now, granted, that old saying might only be 10 seconds old because I just made it up, but if it isn’t an old saying then it should be. (In memes, we should attribute it to Mark Twain or Winston Churchill.) But it’s true: Anything worth doing is worth doing in community.
The importance of music in building community is sort of obvious when you think about it. Church services have opening hymns; baseball games have national anthems and 7th inning stretches; blowing out candles is preceded by singing Happy Birthday. Getting a group of people to sing together is a sure-fire way to get a community of individuals gathered into one. (Whereas blasting rock music from overpowering speakers is not . . . just saying.) When a bunch of separate individuals all sing together, a community forms.
And you can get a sense of what builds community by looking at the opposite. Think of the things that keep people isolated from one another. For instance, a band keeping listeners in the dark (could there be a more apt metaphor?) In our experience, being able to see the people is just as important—if not more so—than having them see us. I know that’s not the way it’s usually done (and the spotlight union would have something to say about this, I’m sure), but just imagine if you and I were having a conversation and I was shining klieg lights in your face like a film noir interrogation. Or flip it around and ask yourself how valued you feel if I have spotlights on me while we're trying to have a conversation.
Plus, keeping the lights on in the room enables people to see each other (i.e. form a community). We once played in an auditorium in Michigan that was v-shaped, meaning the people on one side of the room could not see the people on the other side. (Think, “The Dating Game.”) What this meant, in the moment, was that any interaction was lost to half the room. “Hey, young person in the 20th row on the east side of the wall, cool hat. Sure wish people on the west side could see it.”
And the main point of ALL of that about Community is this: A group of people who feel united and on the same page feel supported in that moment in time. People who have arrived as strangers sometimes end up leaving as friends. Sometimes they end up married, truth be told! (The Lost And Found Matchmaking Service has been remarkably successful.) We maintain that a Community gathered is more fertile ground for a message of hope and salvation, and more ready to receive . . . The Communication.
In our experience, Communication needs certain components to work. Speaking for just ourselves, we’ve found those components to be something like music (duh), humor, transparency, and respect.
The first three (music, humor, transparency, which do not begin with the same letter unfortunately) are kind of obvious, if you’ve seen a Lost And Found concert. Even someone who hated our music would recognize that we tell jokes, play songs, and act like ourselves during a concert. Music, humor, transparency. But the respect aspect is something that took us a long time to understand, because it never occurred to us that we were doing it.
Well, here’s what I mean by that. At some point, after a concert, a pastor came up to us and said something like, “The reason I think our kids enjoy coming to your concerts is because you treat them all like they’re already in.” He meant a combination of “already saved,” and “already a part of the group.” We didn’t see that as even being a thing until he pointed it out. Because . . . well . . . they are in. We are in. It’s like we all got an invitation to a party. You came. So did we. How weird would it be if we talked to you—at the party—like you weren’t invited or didn’t come? Weird, right? When people feel included and respected, they are more apt to listen.
In the course of our travels and participation at various gatherings across denominations, we have seen lots of communicators communicating. Some effectively, some not. Ideally, you have a good communicator with good content. Sometimes, you see a bad communicator with good content, which is just kind of sad, and you hope they get better because the content was so good. Conversely, we have seen presentations where we say to one another, the best thing about that presentation was that they were unable to clearly communicate those awful ideas. And, of course, the most frightening combination of all is an effective communicator with scary content. That’s the kind of person who can convince an arena full of young people they are all going to hell, by using a series of humorous anecdotes and emotionally gripping narratives.
And speaking of an arena full of young people going to hell, approaching a group like they are out and you are in often leads to a little phenomenon we like to call The Prayer of Condescension. When we’ve provided music at events that are Primarily Denominations Other Than Lutheran (or, PDOTLs), the leadership often gathers before the event begins in order to pray The Prayer of Condescension. The crucial starting point for this prayer is the idea that the kids are not in. The kids do not have what they need to be loved by God. The kids are—quite bluntly—destined for hell. UNLESS . . .
Exactly. Unless the speaker is effective in delivering the message that will turn these kids around. And so, the Prayer of Condescension goes something like this: “Father God, we just come to you tonight asking for a clear pathway to save these precious kids from burning forever in hell . . .” And then it’s a list of everything that could go wrong, lest God forget to anoint those things to work properly, like the sound system, and the worship band, and the temperature of the room.
The goal of the Prayer of Condescension is that impediments would be removed so that the kids out there will be able to receive OUR wisdom. Because, the group of youth pastors and organizers have the thing these kids need, but the kids don’t know it. We have the message of salvation, see, and the kids, the outsiders, just need to get what we’ve got, the tremendous wisdom that only we possess. So, Father God, just let the sound system work, and the kids’ texting machines not work. Just let my words be clear, and everything else just be silenced. Let those outsiders become insiders like us, the wise ones gathered in this dark Convention Center concession stand, where popcorn butter and spilled soda soaking into our shoes are making our steps stick slightly to the cold cement as we walk to the brilliantly-lit stage where, Father God, your focus also will be. Amen. (Roll fog. Cue deafening worship band.)
And from that point, Michael I just pray that the speaker is a bad communicator, because—as we’ve seen—the content is definitely going to be harmful. And this is why Lutherans, and others, have a hard time imagining doing evangelism. The starting point for that kind of evangelism—the kind that assumes everyone is going to hell if we don’t get out there and stop them—is that some people are insiders, and some people are outsiders. And if you think that way, then you are forced to develop a really effective and convincing argument to explain why someone needs to get saved. Which we don’t have, because that is not how we think about people, or about God.
We were once playing at a small youth gathering in Michigan with a our friend Bart, who is—or who was—a Baptist speaker. And being a Baptist speaker, Bart took every opportunity holding a microphone to do an altar call. But his style was different from most that we’ve seen. Because Bart always took an approach that was more an enticement than it was a threat. Sort of more “come and be with the God of life” than “don’t go and burn in hell.”
So this little youth event was being held at a Lutheran church. And on Sunday morning, during the worship service, Bart used the sermon time to try and, you know, get a few kids saved. And, toward the end of his talk, he invited all the kids who wanted to get right with God and live a new life of joy and peace to come forward to the altar so he could pray for them. Every single kid in the room got up and joined Bart at the altar. Because every one of them considered themselves to be in need of God’s forgiveness. And every one of them considered themselves to be IN. What our friend Bart did not realize was that what he was really doing was what we all call Confession and Absolution. (And we do it every Sunday morning, Bart.)
From what we have seen, the first thing to remember about evangelism is that everybody is already in. You’re not trying to bring them something they don’t already have. You’re just reminding them of what God has already done for them. Evangelism is good news, right? And if you’re telling someone a bunch of stuff that doesn’t sound like good news, then you are not doing evangelism. The Good News is always good news.
Here endeth the lecture.
Tuesday, October 4, 2016
Friday, September 30, 2016
for Cheryl Bower, February 3, 1944 - September 23, 2016
Cheryl Bower, A Celebration of Life
Isaiah 25:6-9
Revelation 21:2-7
John 6:37-40
Preached October 1st, 2016, in celebration of the life of Cheryl Bower
Jesus says: “This is the will of him who sent me, I should lose nothing of all that he has given me, but raise it up on the last day.”
In the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Amen.
Most of you here today knew Cheryl better than I did, since I’ve only been at St. Timothy’s for a couple months now. And though I worked alongside Cheryl a few days a week, I did not really get to know her as so many of you did. But I did come to know some important things about her, and I want to tell you what I saw.
Of course, Cheryl was here on Sundays, since she was the organist and provided the music which so uplifted our spirits each week. But she was also here on Wednesdays, for our more intimate noon service. Each week when I came in to begin that noon service, I was always surprised to see her sitting in the pews. Until last week, when I was surprised not to see her among the congregation. Cheryl did not have to come to those Wednesday services, but she obviously wanted to. Hers was a quiet faith, steady and confident.
Each Sunday, following the sermon, we all stand together and say the Nicene Creed, the profession of our faith. Cheryl always stood up for that and faced the Altar alongside me right here. I never saw her stand during other parts of the service, but she always rose for the Creed. And she always spoke the words from memory. Hers was a confident faith, known and proclaimed.
And, speaking of Creeds, in a few moments, we will say a different Creed together: The Apostles Creed. We use this one at funerals because we use this one at baptisms. You could say it brackets our lives as Christians. And for the same reason, we light the Paschal candle and place it next to the baptismal font at funerals, to remind us that—as Paul says—we were baptized into Christ’s death, and this means we will also be raised in a resurrection like his. Cheryl’s was a Sacramental faith, lived out in the cycles and mysteries of the church of Christ on earth.
Today, we remember Cheryl’s faith: quiet, confident, and sacramental. And today we gather to celebrate the gift of Cheryl’s life in all of our lives. We come together to remember her faith in God, but also—more importantly—to be reminded of God’s love for her.
Though she is lost to us here, she is not lost to God. Jesus says: “This is the will of him who sent me, I should lose nothing of all that he has given me, but raise it up on the last day.”
Amen
Isaiah 25:6-9
Revelation 21:2-7
John 6:37-40
Preached October 1st, 2016, in celebration of the life of Cheryl Bower
Jesus says: “This is the will of him who sent me, I should lose nothing of all that he has given me, but raise it up on the last day.”
In the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Amen.
Most of you here today knew Cheryl better than I did, since I’ve only been at St. Timothy’s for a couple months now. And though I worked alongside Cheryl a few days a week, I did not really get to know her as so many of you did. But I did come to know some important things about her, and I want to tell you what I saw.
Of course, Cheryl was here on Sundays, since she was the organist and provided the music which so uplifted our spirits each week. But she was also here on Wednesdays, for our more intimate noon service. Each week when I came in to begin that noon service, I was always surprised to see her sitting in the pews. Until last week, when I was surprised not to see her among the congregation. Cheryl did not have to come to those Wednesday services, but she obviously wanted to. Hers was a quiet faith, steady and confident.
Each Sunday, following the sermon, we all stand together and say the Nicene Creed, the profession of our faith. Cheryl always stood up for that and faced the Altar alongside me right here. I never saw her stand during other parts of the service, but she always rose for the Creed. And she always spoke the words from memory. Hers was a confident faith, known and proclaimed.
And, speaking of Creeds, in a few moments, we will say a different Creed together: The Apostles Creed. We use this one at funerals because we use this one at baptisms. You could say it brackets our lives as Christians. And for the same reason, we light the Paschal candle and place it next to the baptismal font at funerals, to remind us that—as Paul says—we were baptized into Christ’s death, and this means we will also be raised in a resurrection like his. Cheryl’s was a Sacramental faith, lived out in the cycles and mysteries of the church of Christ on earth.
Today, we remember Cheryl’s faith: quiet, confident, and sacramental. And today we gather to celebrate the gift of Cheryl’s life in all of our lives. We come together to remember her faith in God, but also—more importantly—to be reminded of God’s love for her.
Though she is lost to us here, she is not lost to God. Jesus says: “This is the will of him who sent me, I should lose nothing of all that he has given me, but raise it up on the last day.”
Amen
Tuesday, November 10, 2015
On Race
Given my current touring schedule, it will be some time before I am in a pulpit again. Thus, it seems a good opportunity to reprint a few pieces I've written for various publications over the past few years.
The theme for the Fall 2015 Issue of Connect Journal was "Race," and my regular column is called "A View from Elsewhere."
Herewith my submission, with apologies for violations of contractual contracts etc . . .
The Hearts of the Fathers
So, I know the theme of this issue is “Race.” And in thinking on that topic, I keep coming back to something more fundamental, in a way: Parents. Here’s my story . . .
I grew up in a horrible town of great beauty and potential. An awful place that millions of people happily come to visit each year. As a tourist, you zip into town, you see the sights, and you flee before finding out what life is like for the residents. That’s kind of the best way to visit a scary place: See the good, and get out before the bad.
Since prohibition, this border town has had one foot in the underworld of the Mafia. However, with the 21st Amendment, the Mob has been on a bit of a slide, locally. The underlings and their descendants stuck around, but the big names moved on. This left the “soldiers” in a position of having mob-like mentalities, in average-Joe workplaces. A guy who once turned out pockets is now turning wrench. A fellow who once busted kneecaps is now busting rocks.
The children and grandchildren of these has-been big shots were our classmates. The kids came to school knocked around and knocked up, beaten and beating, furious and frustrated. It was just understood that minor disagreements were solved with fists and steel-toed boots, while more serious conflicts involved lead pipes and knives.
Each year, our high school lost somewhere between 3 and 10 children to some kind of violence or accidents. Every year. So, it was never surprising to any of us—or at least not to me. (My wife, who grew up in small-town Ohio still really can’t believe I’m not exaggerating when I tell her such things.) To those who grew up in that scary tourist mecca, it was just the way things were, and it never occurred to any of us to imagine a world where things were different. Violence, not intelligence, was how problems got solved.
In hindsight, it seems obvious how this all came to be: Fathers succeeded by lawbreaking and terror. When the Prohibition success went away, the lawbreaking and terror remained, but got funneled into labor unions and local government. This set the tone for the next generation, and I was born into the generation after that. Elliot Ness didn’t come to Niagara Falls. Robert Kennedy didn’t notice my neighborhood. No one stepped in to say, “This is not how society is meant to be.” Niagara just kept falling.
People who could get out got out. It’s a place to be from, but nobody ever moves back there. It is still unstable, dangerous, and just plain sad. The easiest thing to do is walk away, and that’s what we did. Sure, once in a while you go back and drive around Goat Island, marveling at the power of nature. But because of the power of habit, you’d never seriously consider moving back. The evil has been passed down for so long that no one knows any other way. It’s just the way things are.
Now I live in Cleveland, where Elliot Ness made his mark, and where the DOJ recently issued a scathing review of the Police Department. And somehow, this all seems connected to me. Parents, and kids, and violence, and fleeing, and race, and poverty. It all gets played out in the lives—and deaths—of children, but it comes from somewhere else. It starts in the home, and in our better moments, it starts to change in the home as well.
And he will turn the hearts of the fathers to the children, and the hearts of the children to their fathers, lest I come and strike the earth with a curse. —Malichi 4:6
The theme for the Fall 2015 Issue of Connect Journal was "Race," and my regular column is called "A View from Elsewhere."
Herewith my submission, with apologies for violations of contractual contracts etc . . .
The Hearts of the Fathers
So, I know the theme of this issue is “Race.” And in thinking on that topic, I keep coming back to something more fundamental, in a way: Parents. Here’s my story . . .
I grew up in a horrible town of great beauty and potential. An awful place that millions of people happily come to visit each year. As a tourist, you zip into town, you see the sights, and you flee before finding out what life is like for the residents. That’s kind of the best way to visit a scary place: See the good, and get out before the bad.
Since prohibition, this border town has had one foot in the underworld of the Mafia. However, with the 21st Amendment, the Mob has been on a bit of a slide, locally. The underlings and their descendants stuck around, but the big names moved on. This left the “soldiers” in a position of having mob-like mentalities, in average-Joe workplaces. A guy who once turned out pockets is now turning wrench. A fellow who once busted kneecaps is now busting rocks.
The children and grandchildren of these has-been big shots were our classmates. The kids came to school knocked around and knocked up, beaten and beating, furious and frustrated. It was just understood that minor disagreements were solved with fists and steel-toed boots, while more serious conflicts involved lead pipes and knives.
Each year, our high school lost somewhere between 3 and 10 children to some kind of violence or accidents. Every year. So, it was never surprising to any of us—or at least not to me. (My wife, who grew up in small-town Ohio still really can’t believe I’m not exaggerating when I tell her such things.) To those who grew up in that scary tourist mecca, it was just the way things were, and it never occurred to any of us to imagine a world where things were different. Violence, not intelligence, was how problems got solved.
In hindsight, it seems obvious how this all came to be: Fathers succeeded by lawbreaking and terror. When the Prohibition success went away, the lawbreaking and terror remained, but got funneled into labor unions and local government. This set the tone for the next generation, and I was born into the generation after that. Elliot Ness didn’t come to Niagara Falls. Robert Kennedy didn’t notice my neighborhood. No one stepped in to say, “This is not how society is meant to be.” Niagara just kept falling.
People who could get out got out. It’s a place to be from, but nobody ever moves back there. It is still unstable, dangerous, and just plain sad. The easiest thing to do is walk away, and that’s what we did. Sure, once in a while you go back and drive around Goat Island, marveling at the power of nature. But because of the power of habit, you’d never seriously consider moving back. The evil has been passed down for so long that no one knows any other way. It’s just the way things are.
Now I live in Cleveland, where Elliot Ness made his mark, and where the DOJ recently issued a scathing review of the Police Department. And somehow, this all seems connected to me. Parents, and kids, and violence, and fleeing, and race, and poverty. It all gets played out in the lives—and deaths—of children, but it comes from somewhere else. It starts in the home, and in our better moments, it starts to change in the home as well.
And he will turn the hearts of the fathers to the children, and the hearts of the children to their fathers, lest I come and strike the earth with a curse. —Malichi 4:6
Saturday, June 20, 2015
The Marriage of Julia and Mitch
The Marriage of Julia and Mitch
Song of Solomon 2:10 -13; 8:6- 7
John 15:9-12
In the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Amen.
You know, I think any time we hear the word “commandment,” we all tense up just a little. Because we think of a “commandment” as something against our will, or something we’re going to fail at. Either it’s a list of rules we can’t keep, or it’s some requirement that is going to take away our fun. The obvious example is the Ten Commandments, which we might have had a chance of keeping, if pesky Jesus hadn’t come along and ramped them all up with his talks to his disciples.
We’re not good with commandments, especially when we know we can’t keep them. That’s why the term makes us nervous. In today’s Gospel reading from John, which we just heard, Jesus uses the word “commandment” three times. And with such a short reading, that’s a lot! And, as is typical of John’s Gospel, there’s a lot of logic and if/then kind of stuff going on. John is often hard to follow for that very reason. Like you have to pick it apart to see what he is saying. And, as the priest, today it is my job to do the picking.
Jesus said to his disciples, “As the Father has loved me, so I have loved you; abide in my love.” That’s pretty straight forward, right? Jesus loves us like the Father loves him, and he says: abide in his love. Got it. So . . . How exactly do we abide in his love? Well, Jesus answers our question: “If you keep my commandments, you will abide in my love.” Uh oh. If and then are bad news, and I think it starts to make us sweat a little. Because now there’s a condition attached, right? And the condition is attached to our old nemesis, “commandment.” IF we keep Jesus’ commandments, THEN we will abide in his love.
We all know that Jesus’ commandments are a mile long right? And then, Jesus ratchets it up by saying, “I have said these things to you so that my joy may be in you, and that your joy may be complete.” So now, on top of if, then, and commandments, we’ve got long-term goals, right? We will abide in his love, IF we keep his commandments. And if we keep his commandments, our joy will be complete.
So there’s a lot riding on getting this right, right? We would like to abide in Jesus. We would hope to keep his commandments. And we certainly want for our joy to be complete. Okay. Alright. Let’s have it Jesus. What are your commandments? Seriously, just go ahead and give us the bad news.
And Jesus says, "This is my commandment, that you love one another as I have loved you.” Seriously? That’s it? Nothing about shellfish or coveting or gluttony? Nothing about adultery in our hearts and killing with evil thoughts? Just . . . love one another? Oh, wait. Love one another as you have loved us. You knew there had to be a catch, right? We’ve got to see what it means to love like Jesus loves. So, let’s consider the question: How does Jesus love us?
Ah. And this gets us right back to why we are gathered here today, and maybe why Julia and Mitch chose this verse for today’s reading. Jesus loves us unconditionally. Whether we are rich or poor. In sickness and in health. For better or for worse, you cannot make Jesus stop loving you. You’re stuck with him, whether you like it or not. Jesus will always love you.
So if we want to work backwards through the chain of John’s logic, it could go like this. Our joy will be complete if we follow the example of Jesus and love one another unconditionally. Do you want to be truly happy? Love people. Do you want joy in your own life? Love people. And here’s where it all comes back to today: Do you want Mitch and Julia to live a life filled with joy?
Then love them. Unconditionally. Support them in their love for one another. Forgive them, encourage them, and walk with them. And, if you do this, your joy will be complete, because you will love them as Jesus loves them.
Amen.
Song of Solomon 2:10 -13; 8:6- 7
John 15:9-12
In the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Amen.
You know, I think any time we hear the word “commandment,” we all tense up just a little. Because we think of a “commandment” as something against our will, or something we’re going to fail at. Either it’s a list of rules we can’t keep, or it’s some requirement that is going to take away our fun. The obvious example is the Ten Commandments, which we might have had a chance of keeping, if pesky Jesus hadn’t come along and ramped them all up with his talks to his disciples.
We’re not good with commandments, especially when we know we can’t keep them. That’s why the term makes us nervous. In today’s Gospel reading from John, which we just heard, Jesus uses the word “commandment” three times. And with such a short reading, that’s a lot! And, as is typical of John’s Gospel, there’s a lot of logic and if/then kind of stuff going on. John is often hard to follow for that very reason. Like you have to pick it apart to see what he is saying. And, as the priest, today it is my job to do the picking.
Jesus said to his disciples, “As the Father has loved me, so I have loved you; abide in my love.” That’s pretty straight forward, right? Jesus loves us like the Father loves him, and he says: abide in his love. Got it. So . . . How exactly do we abide in his love? Well, Jesus answers our question: “If you keep my commandments, you will abide in my love.” Uh oh. If and then are bad news, and I think it starts to make us sweat a little. Because now there’s a condition attached, right? And the condition is attached to our old nemesis, “commandment.” IF we keep Jesus’ commandments, THEN we will abide in his love.
We all know that Jesus’ commandments are a mile long right? And then, Jesus ratchets it up by saying, “I have said these things to you so that my joy may be in you, and that your joy may be complete.” So now, on top of if, then, and commandments, we’ve got long-term goals, right? We will abide in his love, IF we keep his commandments. And if we keep his commandments, our joy will be complete.
So there’s a lot riding on getting this right, right? We would like to abide in Jesus. We would hope to keep his commandments. And we certainly want for our joy to be complete. Okay. Alright. Let’s have it Jesus. What are your commandments? Seriously, just go ahead and give us the bad news.
And Jesus says, "This is my commandment, that you love one another as I have loved you.” Seriously? That’s it? Nothing about shellfish or coveting or gluttony? Nothing about adultery in our hearts and killing with evil thoughts? Just . . . love one another? Oh, wait. Love one another as you have loved us. You knew there had to be a catch, right? We’ve got to see what it means to love like Jesus loves. So, let’s consider the question: How does Jesus love us?
Ah. And this gets us right back to why we are gathered here today, and maybe why Julia and Mitch chose this verse for today’s reading. Jesus loves us unconditionally. Whether we are rich or poor. In sickness and in health. For better or for worse, you cannot make Jesus stop loving you. You’re stuck with him, whether you like it or not. Jesus will always love you.
So if we want to work backwards through the chain of John’s logic, it could go like this. Our joy will be complete if we follow the example of Jesus and love one another unconditionally. Do you want to be truly happy? Love people. Do you want joy in your own life? Love people. And here’s where it all comes back to today: Do you want Mitch and Julia to live a life filled with joy?
Then love them. Unconditionally. Support them in their love for one another. Forgive them, encourage them, and walk with them. And, if you do this, your joy will be complete, because you will love them as Jesus loves them.
Amen.
Wednesday, May 28, 2014
The Burial of Arlene Popelka
Burial of Arlene Popelka
Lamentations 3:22-26, 31-33
Psalm 23
1 John 3:1-2
John 14:1-6
Preached at St. Christopher’s by the River, Gates Mills OH, 5/28/14
In the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Amen.
I never had the pleasure of meeting Arlene Popelka. But I know a couple of things about her. Important things, in fact. Because the hymns and readings and choice of service we’re using today were all Arlene’s decisions. She had time to think about what it is she wanted you to hear today, as we remember her and commend her soul to God. In fact, Arlene had 104 years to think about what these lessons and hymns might be today! So I don’t take her choices lightly.
And what stands out to me is that she went with what was comfortable to her. She went with what she knew. So we read Psalm 23, in the King James Version. And we’ve sung Amazing Grace, and Rock of Ages. We heard the reading from Lamentations, which includes the phrase, “Great is Thy Faithfulness.” And if that hymn were in the Episcopal Hymnal, I’m sure she would have had us sing that as well!
But I think it’s telling that Arlene went with what she knew, especially in light of the Gospel reading. In the 14th chapter of John’s Gospel, Jesus is preparing the disciples for his departure. It’s a long farewell, which goes on for several chapters. And you could say, the main reassurance Jesus is giving to his disciples is this:
They do not need to be afraid, because they will be going with what they know. They will be going with the one they know. Jesus tells them not to be afraid, because they know the way.
Thomas steps in and says, “Lord, we do not know where you are going. How can we know the way?” And Jesus responds, “I am the way, and the truth, and the life. If you know me, you will know my Father also. From now on you do know him and have seen him.” So you see? They actually do know the way. They know the way because they know Jesus. And not only that, Jesus says, since they know him, that means they know the Father also.
Stick with what you know. That is what Jesus is telling them. This is his farewell address to them. Jesus will soon be leaving them. And he knows that they will grieve. They will worry about what will happen next. They won’t know what the future holds. This is why Jesus is telling them all this is advance, so they will remember it when he is gone . . . stick with what is familiar: Jesus. They will be okay, because the words of Jesus will be familiar to them, this blessing that they will not be afraid.
Which brings us back to Arlene. I’m not suggesting that she was sending us some coded message in choosing the readings and hymns today. But it says something that she went with what was familiar. And in doing so, she reminds us of the words of Jesus in today’s gospel:
Stick with what you know. Because the one you know not only knows the way but is the way. And the truth. And the life.
And that is why this morning, you are welcome to this altar to share in the sacrament and relish in what is familiar: the body and blood of our Lord Jesus Christ, poured out for all people, young and old, to strengthen us in the journey, to remind us of the feast to come, where with Arlene and all the saints who have entered into joy, we will at last know the Way, face to face, forevermore, and as familiar as we could ever hope or imagine.
Amen.
Lamentations 3:22-26, 31-33
Psalm 23
1 John 3:1-2
John 14:1-6
Preached at St. Christopher’s by the River, Gates Mills OH, 5/28/14
In the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Amen.
I never had the pleasure of meeting Arlene Popelka. But I know a couple of things about her. Important things, in fact. Because the hymns and readings and choice of service we’re using today were all Arlene’s decisions. She had time to think about what it is she wanted you to hear today, as we remember her and commend her soul to God. In fact, Arlene had 104 years to think about what these lessons and hymns might be today! So I don’t take her choices lightly.
And what stands out to me is that she went with what was comfortable to her. She went with what she knew. So we read Psalm 23, in the King James Version. And we’ve sung Amazing Grace, and Rock of Ages. We heard the reading from Lamentations, which includes the phrase, “Great is Thy Faithfulness.” And if that hymn were in the Episcopal Hymnal, I’m sure she would have had us sing that as well!
But I think it’s telling that Arlene went with what she knew, especially in light of the Gospel reading. In the 14th chapter of John’s Gospel, Jesus is preparing the disciples for his departure. It’s a long farewell, which goes on for several chapters. And you could say, the main reassurance Jesus is giving to his disciples is this:
They do not need to be afraid, because they will be going with what they know. They will be going with the one they know. Jesus tells them not to be afraid, because they know the way.
Thomas steps in and says, “Lord, we do not know where you are going. How can we know the way?” And Jesus responds, “I am the way, and the truth, and the life. If you know me, you will know my Father also. From now on you do know him and have seen him.” So you see? They actually do know the way. They know the way because they know Jesus. And not only that, Jesus says, since they know him, that means they know the Father also.
Stick with what you know. That is what Jesus is telling them. This is his farewell address to them. Jesus will soon be leaving them. And he knows that they will grieve. They will worry about what will happen next. They won’t know what the future holds. This is why Jesus is telling them all this is advance, so they will remember it when he is gone . . . stick with what is familiar: Jesus. They will be okay, because the words of Jesus will be familiar to them, this blessing that they will not be afraid.
Which brings us back to Arlene. I’m not suggesting that she was sending us some coded message in choosing the readings and hymns today. But it says something that she went with what was familiar. And in doing so, she reminds us of the words of Jesus in today’s gospel:
Stick with what you know. Because the one you know not only knows the way but is the way. And the truth. And the life.
And that is why this morning, you are welcome to this altar to share in the sacrament and relish in what is familiar: the body and blood of our Lord Jesus Christ, poured out for all people, young and old, to strengthen us in the journey, to remind us of the feast to come, where with Arlene and all the saints who have entered into joy, we will at last know the Way, face to face, forevermore, and as familiar as we could ever hope or imagine.
Amen.
Sunday, December 15, 2013
The Marriage of Louise Smyth and Steven Magers
The Marriage of Louise Smyth and Steven Magers
Song of Solomon 2:10-13; 8:6-7
Colossians 3:12-17
Matthew 5:13-16
Nazareth Hall, Grand Rapids OH
In the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Amen.
Now I know that the main reason you’ve all gathered here today is to hear a lengthy sermon from me that will leave you all champing at the bit to join your local Episcopal Church. But I am afraid I will disappoint, because I will be brief, be clear, and be gone.
As any priest knows, the world will little notice nor long remember what I say today. But what you will surely remember is this: Two young people have decided to bind themselves together, against all odds, to promise to live with and for one another until the day they die.
Now THAT is something to remember! It is something worth remembering, because it is worth noticing that people are still willing to hold hands and take a leap of faith into the unknown. And it is truly a leap into the unknown, like it or not.
They make their promises in good faith, trusting one another. And you have all gathered here as witnesses and cheerleaders, to help them along the way. Cheering at times when they need it, consoling and comforting in the times they need that. Sometimes things work out exactly as we planned, and sometimes things don’t work out quite as we expected. And having your support will make a difference for these two.
But here are the words I want to say to Steven and Louise this morning. They’re very good words, which is how you can tell they’re not my words. Jesus said, You are the light of the world. A city built on a hill cannot be hid. No one after lighting a lamp puts it under the bushel basket, but on the lampstand, and it gives light to all in the house.
Louise, Steven: You are the light of the world. You are proclaiming love, and commitment, and hope to all the world on this day. And along with everyone who has gathered with you today, I implore you to let your light shine, and give light to all the house.
Amen
Song of Solomon 2:10-13; 8:6-7
Colossians 3:12-17
Matthew 5:13-16
Nazareth Hall, Grand Rapids OH
In the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Amen.
Now I know that the main reason you’ve all gathered here today is to hear a lengthy sermon from me that will leave you all champing at the bit to join your local Episcopal Church. But I am afraid I will disappoint, because I will be brief, be clear, and be gone.
As any priest knows, the world will little notice nor long remember what I say today. But what you will surely remember is this: Two young people have decided to bind themselves together, against all odds, to promise to live with and for one another until the day they die.
Now THAT is something to remember! It is something worth remembering, because it is worth noticing that people are still willing to hold hands and take a leap of faith into the unknown. And it is truly a leap into the unknown, like it or not.
They make their promises in good faith, trusting one another. And you have all gathered here as witnesses and cheerleaders, to help them along the way. Cheering at times when they need it, consoling and comforting in the times they need that. Sometimes things work out exactly as we planned, and sometimes things don’t work out quite as we expected. And having your support will make a difference for these two.
But here are the words I want to say to Steven and Louise this morning. They’re very good words, which is how you can tell they’re not my words. Jesus said, You are the light of the world. A city built on a hill cannot be hid. No one after lighting a lamp puts it under the bushel basket, but on the lampstand, and it gives light to all in the house.
Louise, Steven: You are the light of the world. You are proclaiming love, and commitment, and hope to all the world on this day. And along with everyone who has gathered with you today, I implore you to let your light shine, and give light to all the house.
Amen
Sunday, December 1, 2013
STUFF 2013 your own figure 1-a
Given my current touring schedule, it will be some time before I am
in a pulpit again. Thus, it seems a good opportunity to reprint a few
pieces I've written for various publications over the past few
years.
I do not know the theme for the Fall 2013 Issue of Youthworker Journal, but was asked to write on the topic of "Creativity," and I have no regular column in that publication. ;-)
Herewith my submission, with apologies for violations of contractual contracts etc . . .
Creating Your Own Figure 1A
There are many movies I quote without ever having seen. In fact, it’s now a point of pride for me with my eldest daughter. She claims I can’t quote a movie I haven’t seen; I claim I don’t need to see the context to know the meaning. And now, there are movies I refuse to see on principle . . . Because I am a bad father apparently.
When my daughters get whiney, I say “There’s no crying in baseball,” and both daughters roll their eyes, knowing I’ve never seen that movie. No one ever asks other questions about these movies because they get my point. I don’t need to see a movie to quote it, see? The most ubiquitous example of this is “Chariots of Fire.” I can say, “I feel God’s pleasure when I run,” and everybody knows what I mean, and nobody ever says “Wasn’t it also great in that movie when . . . “ because apparently there was nothing else that happened in that movie. It’s a totally safe quote, and--my daughters notwithstanding--I have never been challenged on whether or not I have seen the entire film. A little slow-motion running and feeling God’s pleasure when you run sums up the movie’s impact on the popular imagination.
In my life as a traveling musician, I most often find myself quoting that line (or paraphrasing it) when someone asks about the spirituality of playing concerts. My soul is fed over the 90 minutes it takes to play a Lost And Found concert, and the reason is because I am doing what God created me to do. I am “in my element,” and using all my senses, and connecting to God and people in a very particular and inexplicable way with no idea how it happens. But the one thing I do know for certain is this: I feel God’s pleasure when we are playing concerts . . . And I will never watch the movie, “Chariots of Fire.” So nah.
But the actual act of playing the concerts is just one leg on the three-legged stool of the process. Most bands, or singer-songwriters have the same three legs on the stool of their craft. These are Creating, Editing, and Performing. And each one ties most-directly to a particular audience, I have come to find.
I write because I am driven to write. I need to do it for myself, and at least in the initial stage it’s because I want to say something. And sometimes no one else will ever hear that thing because the whole purpose of it was to get it off my chest, as it were. Once it’s out, I can go back to watching Supernatural, or whatever.
But then comes the editing side. This is where I take a step back and consider how this little created thing will impact others. Just because I needed to say it does not mean that anyone else ever needs to hear it, see? And, usually the thing I needed to say needs to be softened or molded or shortened for the benefit of others. Not everyone can write another “American Pie,” and it’s possible that no one should ever have written “Stairway to Heaven” . . . at least without some editing. You edit after writing for the sake of your audience . . . unless you were writing in the 1970’s, which was a magical time, when people could endure unimaginable amounts of sonic pleasure.
And, as I’ve already said, when I perform I feel God’s pleasure. That’s not why we play concerts, mind you. (Obviously, playing to empty rooms would get pretty old after a while, even if God were really super pleased by it.) But it is what keeps me going honestly. Having that ineffable sense that I am doing what God wants me to be doing when I am playing music drives the bus, to mix metaphors.
I create for myself. I edit for the people. And I perform to please God. You could imagine a chart like this:
(I should tip my hand and admit there will be no other charts. It just looks more official to have a name like Figure 1-A.)
Now, clearly, these lines do not run straight across at all times, but it’s where the main emphasis is for me. You could also think of it with the parts being interchangeable. Pick one from each column and switch them around and you can start to open whole new areas to think about. I won’t bore you by going through every possible combination (of which there are 27, if my math doesn’t fail me, which it usually does).
Running through those estimated 27 possibilities raises all sorts of new ways of thinking about these processes of writing, editing, and performing. While the chart as I have it is the basic structure of how I see my little musical world, mixing them up is a helpful reminder that they’re all intertwined and related and somehow combined into one messy whole.
So now you’re thinking, “That’s swell Mr. Piano Man. But what does it have to do with me and my 6 students meeting in the church basement on Wednesday night, huh?” I’m glad you asked that, because that was really the point I wanted to get to.
Perhaps you will find drawing up a chart like this will prove helpful in your own little postage stamp of ministry. For instance, do you feel God’s pleasure when you’re guiding your students through some Bible Study or discussion piece or what have you? Do you find yourself planning meetings and activities for the sheer pleasure of your own satisfaction in doing so? And, perhaps most importantly, do you edit to honor your students? Really consider how what you say will impact them for better or worse?
How does one “edit” for youth-group meetings? Again, glad you asked. Because aside from having a chance to use the label “Figure 1-A,” this was what I really wanted to get to in this whole thing. The creating and the performing are great and all, but I daresay the biggest and most important impact of what anyone does is in the editing.
How many times have you heard someone say something in public that makes you cringe? Or how many times have you looked back and thought, “I wish I hadn’t said that quite like that” after the fact? Many times the feeling of regret might just be the signal that you could have used a little editing before “performing.” Just because you have an idea (the need to create) and you will be leading a time with your youth (performing), doesn’t mean you should skimp on the preparation and reflection (editing). In fact, quite the opposite: Though the creation and performing might be the most enjoyable parts of what you do, the editing is probably the most important and crucial part of what you do.
Having a passion for youth ministry will cover you when it comes to creating and performing. But editing determines the lasting impact you will have on the students who pass through your care in the years ahead. I encourage you to think through what you’re saying and doing. Work toward “Sounds of Silence,” and away from, say, Rush’s “Xanadu.” Your words will be the hooks that your students will hang their theology on, at least for now. I encourage you to make them the best words you can find. And remember, the hills are alive with the sound of music. ;-)
George Baum is exactly one half of the band Lost And Found (www.speedwood.com) He is the father of two, the husband of one, and is an Episcopal priest in the Diocese of Ohio, which is a whole ‘nother story.
I do not know the theme for the Fall 2013 Issue of Youthworker Journal, but was asked to write on the topic of "Creativity," and I have no regular column in that publication. ;-)
Herewith my submission, with apologies for violations of contractual contracts etc . . .
Creating Your Own Figure 1A
There are many movies I quote without ever having seen. In fact, it’s now a point of pride for me with my eldest daughter. She claims I can’t quote a movie I haven’t seen; I claim I don’t need to see the context to know the meaning. And now, there are movies I refuse to see on principle . . . Because I am a bad father apparently.
When my daughters get whiney, I say “There’s no crying in baseball,” and both daughters roll their eyes, knowing I’ve never seen that movie. No one ever asks other questions about these movies because they get my point. I don’t need to see a movie to quote it, see? The most ubiquitous example of this is “Chariots of Fire.” I can say, “I feel God’s pleasure when I run,” and everybody knows what I mean, and nobody ever says “Wasn’t it also great in that movie when . . . “ because apparently there was nothing else that happened in that movie. It’s a totally safe quote, and--my daughters notwithstanding--I have never been challenged on whether or not I have seen the entire film. A little slow-motion running and feeling God’s pleasure when you run sums up the movie’s impact on the popular imagination.
In my life as a traveling musician, I most often find myself quoting that line (or paraphrasing it) when someone asks about the spirituality of playing concerts. My soul is fed over the 90 minutes it takes to play a Lost And Found concert, and the reason is because I am doing what God created me to do. I am “in my element,” and using all my senses, and connecting to God and people in a very particular and inexplicable way with no idea how it happens. But the one thing I do know for certain is this: I feel God’s pleasure when we are playing concerts . . . And I will never watch the movie, “Chariots of Fire.” So nah.
But the actual act of playing the concerts is just one leg on the three-legged stool of the process. Most bands, or singer-songwriters have the same three legs on the stool of their craft. These are Creating, Editing, and Performing. And each one ties most-directly to a particular audience, I have come to find.
I write because I am driven to write. I need to do it for myself, and at least in the initial stage it’s because I want to say something. And sometimes no one else will ever hear that thing because the whole purpose of it was to get it off my chest, as it were. Once it’s out, I can go back to watching Supernatural, or whatever.
But then comes the editing side. This is where I take a step back and consider how this little created thing will impact others. Just because I needed to say it does not mean that anyone else ever needs to hear it, see? And, usually the thing I needed to say needs to be softened or molded or shortened for the benefit of others. Not everyone can write another “American Pie,” and it’s possible that no one should ever have written “Stairway to Heaven” . . . at least without some editing. You edit after writing for the sake of your audience . . . unless you were writing in the 1970’s, which was a magical time, when people could endure unimaginable amounts of sonic pleasure.
And, as I’ve already said, when I perform I feel God’s pleasure. That’s not why we play concerts, mind you. (Obviously, playing to empty rooms would get pretty old after a while, even if God were really super pleased by it.) But it is what keeps me going honestly. Having that ineffable sense that I am doing what God wants me to be doing when I am playing music drives the bus, to mix metaphors.
I create for myself. I edit for the people. And I perform to please God. You could imagine a chart like this:
(I should tip my hand and admit there will be no other charts. It just looks more official to have a name like Figure 1-A.)
Now, clearly, these lines do not run straight across at all times, but it’s where the main emphasis is for me. You could also think of it with the parts being interchangeable. Pick one from each column and switch them around and you can start to open whole new areas to think about. I won’t bore you by going through every possible combination (of which there are 27, if my math doesn’t fail me, which it usually does).
Running through those estimated 27 possibilities raises all sorts of new ways of thinking about these processes of writing, editing, and performing. While the chart as I have it is the basic structure of how I see my little musical world, mixing them up is a helpful reminder that they’re all intertwined and related and somehow combined into one messy whole.
So now you’re thinking, “That’s swell Mr. Piano Man. But what does it have to do with me and my 6 students meeting in the church basement on Wednesday night, huh?” I’m glad you asked that, because that was really the point I wanted to get to.
Perhaps you will find drawing up a chart like this will prove helpful in your own little postage stamp of ministry. For instance, do you feel God’s pleasure when you’re guiding your students through some Bible Study or discussion piece or what have you? Do you find yourself planning meetings and activities for the sheer pleasure of your own satisfaction in doing so? And, perhaps most importantly, do you edit to honor your students? Really consider how what you say will impact them for better or worse?
How does one “edit” for youth-group meetings? Again, glad you asked. Because aside from having a chance to use the label “Figure 1-A,” this was what I really wanted to get to in this whole thing. The creating and the performing are great and all, but I daresay the biggest and most important impact of what anyone does is in the editing.
How many times have you heard someone say something in public that makes you cringe? Or how many times have you looked back and thought, “I wish I hadn’t said that quite like that” after the fact? Many times the feeling of regret might just be the signal that you could have used a little editing before “performing.” Just because you have an idea (the need to create) and you will be leading a time with your youth (performing), doesn’t mean you should skimp on the preparation and reflection (editing). In fact, quite the opposite: Though the creation and performing might be the most enjoyable parts of what you do, the editing is probably the most important and crucial part of what you do.
Having a passion for youth ministry will cover you when it comes to creating and performing. But editing determines the lasting impact you will have on the students who pass through your care in the years ahead. I encourage you to think through what you’re saying and doing. Work toward “Sounds of Silence,” and away from, say, Rush’s “Xanadu.” Your words will be the hooks that your students will hang their theology on, at least for now. I encourage you to make them the best words you can find. And remember, the hills are alive with the sound of music. ;-)
George Baum is exactly one half of the band Lost And Found (www.speedwood.com) He is the father of two, the husband of one, and is an Episcopal priest in the Diocese of Ohio, which is a whole ‘nother story.
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