I hurry past by St. Martin’s Cross, a fourteen-foot Celtic cross carved from a single slab and standing sentinel since the 9th Century, on my way into the sanctuary of the Iona Abbey. Fellow pilgrims are already waiting mutely in contemplation and from somewhere unseen a flute’s melody is calling us, the sheep outside, and possibly all creatures to pause before their Maker. I slip into an open seat in the choir stalls and open my ritual book to the morning praise. It is time to worship, but there is no rush. Indeed, that is the unspoken message of this place, this hallowed island. The rounded rocks along the shore during my morning walk had even glinted the message, “there is time enough for all things.”
The journey here attempted to prepare me for this. A nine-hour flight from the states, crossing from Edinburgh on the trains, waiting for the ferries, and the excruciatingly long bus ride across the desolate island of Mull on a one lane road, together uniformly declared that time was no longer master of all. Fellow travelers and I crossed to Iona on the Fionnphort ferry at dusk and walked the final mile to the cloisters of 15th century monastery. There we were welcomed with warm soup, the chatter of pilgrims meeting one another, and finally, the stability of evening prayers.
Perhaps that quality was already there when St. Columba arrived from Ireland in 563 CE. After all, the marble from the abandoned quarry on the south end of the island has been carbon dated at 2 billion years, a vast difference from the 290 million year old rocks just across the strait. Columba and his followers established a monastic life together, giving the hours of the day to God in prayer, work, and reading and copying the scriptures. From that base, they carried the gospel of Christ to the mainland and onto the continent. In response, pilgrims came. Chieftains and kings came. Bishops and commoners came. They came to meet God in this thin place.
I had come for the same reason. On a month’s sabbatical from my church, I wanted to delve into my Scotch-Irish heritage and the Celtic way of faith. Yet my journal from those first days at Iona reads, “the excitement of exploration and discovery is not what I am seeking, but a better sense of peace, wholeness, and companionship with God.” A stay at Iona offers that, without forcing it.
The members of the Iona Community welcome you into their paced life. There is time enough for worship, for meals in common, for assigned chores, for solitude, for sharing, and for enjoying the beautiful landscape. I was surprised how “at home” I felt in a strange place and with a different pattern to the day. But in giving myself over to the communal life, I began to experience the rhythm of abundant time. Breathe in; breathe out. Trust God, and let go. The tide goes out, and the tide comes in. Worship flows out into the world, and gathers into the sanctuary. Trust God, and let go.
Iona is an experience as much as it is a destination. You can find out more about the Iona Community at www.iona.org.uk. Their liturgy and music is published by Wild Goose Publications (www.ionabooks.com) and it’s worth a look. But for a taste of the Iona timelessness near to God, make the pilgrimage.
Friday, November 2, 2007
Monday, October 15, 2007
The Three Churches
Sermon: The Three Churches October 14, 2007 1 Peter 1:18-2:10
Stories have always been a part of my life. Perhaps the same is true for you. I hope so. Some of my earliest memories are of listening to stories. My Dad’s brother, Uncle Joe, had amazing ones. He would sit on our porch on week-end evenings and tell us about donkey races, the woman who got up out of her casket, or funny things that had happened.
Then there were the classic folktales told by my mother:
The Ugly Duckling, The Three Billy Goats Gruff,
Goldilocks and the Three Bears, The Boy who Cried “Wolf”,
Stone Soup, The Shoe-maker and the Elves,
Jack and the Bean-stalk, and Rumpelstiltskin, to name a few.
And of course there were the Biblical stories, which she knew how to make come alive. Once when I was five, my older brother and I were sick several days with the measles. My mother pulled out the sleeper bed from the sofa for the two of us to spend the day on. We did get to watch some TV, but what I remember was that on that sofa bed, the children of Israel escaped from Egyptian captivity. Using my little plastic army men, toy farm animals, and a great variety of other household items, she recreated the story of the plagues on Egypt and the Israelites’ escape across the Red Sea.
One good thing about stories is that once you have the basic form, you can pretty well adapt the story. I did this often with my girls. I’d have them name an animal and off we’d go with the tale.
There was one made-up story that was told often in our house. It is the story of Tony the Turtle. Tony was sad because all the animals on the farm seemed to have a job to do. But he couldn’t do anything, except walk “slowly and carefully.” The horse pulled the cart, the dog guarded the house, the chickens laid the eggs, and so on. But Tony the turtle just seemed to be in the way. However, one day, the cow called Tony over. Her leg was hurt and she couldn’t carry her bucket of milk to the farmer’s house. She needed someone who could walk slowly and carefully. She put the bucket on Tony’s back and off he went, not spilling a drop. Tony finally realized that even though he was different from the other animals on the farm, he had abilities that were important as well.
A couple of years ago, Lauren called home from Texas to tell us something funny. It seems she and her friends were sitting around talking about their childhood. As they spoke of their favorite fairy tales and bedtime stories, Lauren said, “yeah, like Tony the Turtle.” All her friends just stared at her like she was hallucinating. She’d thought Tony the Turtle was as famous as Barney the Purple Dinosaur! When her friends told her they had never heard of Tony the Turtle, she was aghast.
Well, if you read the Trumpeteer, you know my wife told a story in her church the other week. And since stories belong to us all, I decided to borrow it. It is the story of the three churches.
Once upon a time, in a place not too far away, there lived three pigs. Now these pigs weren’t just any pigs. These pigs were good ‘ole Methodist pigs – and these pigs were their mother’s pride and joy. But one day, Momma Pig called them together and said this: “You are good pigs – in fact, you are great pigs! But there is a time in all pigs’ lives when they must leave their home and do what they are called to do. You pigs come from a long line of church builders, and that is what you must do.” The pigs were saddened at the thought of leaving their mother, but each immediately began to think of the church he would build. So, they packed their bags and briefcases, and set off to their new adventure.
The first pig was the youngest – and he had much to prove. He wanted to be first to build a church. And he was quite the pleaser! He read his piggy Bible and saw where Jesus went about the towns and cities meeting the needs of people, healing the sick, feeding the hungry, teaching and guiding them. He decided that if he was going to build a church for others to attend, he must give them everything they wanted.
So he began to ask others what they wanted in a church. He was surprised to hear so many different things. The first piggy he met said she wanted a church that did a lot of mission work for unfortunate pigs. One said he wanted a church with a great praise band and contemporary worship. One said she wanted a church that was quiet and meditative. Another wanted a church that had a lot to give her children – one that wouldn’t require much from her. One said he wanted a church that held to tradition – that honored past glories. One said she wanted a church that had a great preacher – one who always held her attention during worship. He even found one pig who wanted to be able to drink coffee during worship!
One said he wanted a church that served great meals after every service. And one little pig who actually wore a watch said she wanted a church where the sermons never lasted over 10 minutes! Soon, the church was built – and somehow the youngest pig was able to provide all the things everyone wanted.
But one day, the Big Bad Wolf came to church. He looked at the pig, who was weary from trying to please everyone, and said, “I am going to huff and puff and blow your church down.” No, No, said the youngest pig, not by the hair of my chiny, chin, chin – here have a latte and enjoy the music!
But, the wolf huffed and he puffed – and he didn’t have to puff a whole lot – he just puffed dissatisfaction throughout the church. And very soon, the church came tumbling down – because pigs who worry only about what they want, easily become dissatisfied.
The middle pig was a pig who liked to have things in order; who liked everything black and white. When he was a little pig, he worked very hard to stay in the lines when he colored. And this pig was determined not to make the same mistake as his brother. He wanted to build a better church. He read his piggy Bible and saw where Jesus taught about doing the right things. He loved reading, and re-reading the Ten Commandments. So, he decided it would be best to build a church that had absolute beliefs and truths.
Soon this pig was surprised to find there were so many beliefs – so many that he decided he better build a bigger church. And he wrote a whole book with a lot of rules and a lot of beliefs that they were to live by. Rules like:
-only pigs could attend their church – in fact,
-only pink pigs could attend church;
-only pink pigs who had made no major mistakes could attend;
And the rules went on and on. There were so many rules and truths, that the membership of the church was small and much of the members’ time was spent looking at all those who didn’t measure up. The second pig said, “Now I have a church that will last.”
The Big Bad Wolf heard about this church and decided to visit. And although it was obvious he wasn’t a pig, nor was he pink, he forced his way in. He looked at the middle pig, who now had a deep furrow in his brow from judging and keeping rifters out, and said, “I am going to huff and puff and blow your church down.”
No, No, said the middle pig, not by the hair of my chiny, chin, chin. Not by the rules of right of order, and not by our set of Biblical beliefs! But the wolf huffed, and he puffed – but this church was sturdier than the last. Blowing dissatisfaction into the church did not really work. So he huffed and puffed again – and he blew pride and judgment! It was amazing how quickly the cracks came, and how they got bigger and bigger - and soon the church came tumbling down.
Then it was time for the oldest pig to build his church. Being the oldest, this pig had more life experience and more wisdom. He knew he must find something different with which to build his church. He had spent much of his childhood with his grandfather, who was the greatest church-builder of all.
The oldest pig read his piggy Bible, and he was impressed with what Jesus said about loving God with everything you are, and loving your neighbor as yourself. After a lot of thought, he decided to find pigs who truly cared about others. Now, this took longer, because there were some who said they loved others, but their actions proved a different truth about them. He decided he better watch these pigs and not simply take them at their word.
When he found a pig who loved God, and truly loved others, he would ask him or her to come to a particular spot on a particular day. The number of pigs he invited was not really large, but they all seemed excited about getting together. The Big Bad Wolf, who had already destroyed two churches, decided he would show up at their little gathering as well.
The day came when all the pigs who truly loved others gathered – and the third pig was surprised that there were more pigs there than he’d expected. He found that those pigs he had invited – who truly loved – came to the gathering bringing others – bringing pigs of all types – little pigs, pink pigs, brown pigs, dirty pigs, clean pigs, fat pigs, thin pigs – all very different, but all loving others.
They came that day, to that appointed place and said, “Where’s the church?” And the third pig smiled and said,
I am the church. You are the church.
We are the church together.
All who follow Jesus, all around the world –
Yes, we’re the church together.
Well, the Big Bad Wolf just laughed and laughed – and he huffed and puffed – and he blew and blew. But the pigs ignored him. He huffed dissatisfaction, but the pigs were too busy singing, “I am the church, you are the church, we are the church together.”
Then the Wolf puffed pride and judgment. But the pigs brought out fried chicken and macaroni and green beans and biscuits and strawberry shortcake and began sharing with one another. They even fixed a plate for the wolf, as they shared what they had with neighbor pigs who didin’t have anyone to care for them.
Once again, the Wolf huffed and puffed, and blew and blew – but no one paid him any attention. As far as I know, the Wolf is still huffing and puffing today – blowing dissatisfaction and pride and judgment wherever he can. But the pigs-who-love keep coming back. And when they come together, they sing,
“I am the church. You are the church.
We are the church together.
All who follow Jesus, all around the world –
yes, we are the church together."
And that’s how this story ends.
Notes: "The Three Churches" story written by the Rev. Cynthia C. Taylor, 2007. Lyrics to "We Are The Church" by Richard R. Avery and Donald S. Marsh, 1972 copyright Hope Publishing Company.
Stories have always been a part of my life. Perhaps the same is true for you. I hope so. Some of my earliest memories are of listening to stories. My Dad’s brother, Uncle Joe, had amazing ones. He would sit on our porch on week-end evenings and tell us about donkey races, the woman who got up out of her casket, or funny things that had happened.
Then there were the classic folktales told by my mother:
The Ugly Duckling, The Three Billy Goats Gruff,
Goldilocks and the Three Bears, The Boy who Cried “Wolf”,
Stone Soup, The Shoe-maker and the Elves,
Jack and the Bean-stalk, and Rumpelstiltskin, to name a few.
And of course there were the Biblical stories, which she knew how to make come alive. Once when I was five, my older brother and I were sick several days with the measles. My mother pulled out the sleeper bed from the sofa for the two of us to spend the day on. We did get to watch some TV, but what I remember was that on that sofa bed, the children of Israel escaped from Egyptian captivity. Using my little plastic army men, toy farm animals, and a great variety of other household items, she recreated the story of the plagues on Egypt and the Israelites’ escape across the Red Sea.
One good thing about stories is that once you have the basic form, you can pretty well adapt the story. I did this often with my girls. I’d have them name an animal and off we’d go with the tale.
There was one made-up story that was told often in our house. It is the story of Tony the Turtle. Tony was sad because all the animals on the farm seemed to have a job to do. But he couldn’t do anything, except walk “slowly and carefully.” The horse pulled the cart, the dog guarded the house, the chickens laid the eggs, and so on. But Tony the turtle just seemed to be in the way. However, one day, the cow called Tony over. Her leg was hurt and she couldn’t carry her bucket of milk to the farmer’s house. She needed someone who could walk slowly and carefully. She put the bucket on Tony’s back and off he went, not spilling a drop. Tony finally realized that even though he was different from the other animals on the farm, he had abilities that were important as well.
A couple of years ago, Lauren called home from Texas to tell us something funny. It seems she and her friends were sitting around talking about their childhood. As they spoke of their favorite fairy tales and bedtime stories, Lauren said, “yeah, like Tony the Turtle.” All her friends just stared at her like she was hallucinating. She’d thought Tony the Turtle was as famous as Barney the Purple Dinosaur! When her friends told her they had never heard of Tony the Turtle, she was aghast.
Well, if you read the Trumpeteer, you know my wife told a story in her church the other week. And since stories belong to us all, I decided to borrow it. It is the story of the three churches.
Once upon a time, in a place not too far away, there lived three pigs. Now these pigs weren’t just any pigs. These pigs were good ‘ole Methodist pigs – and these pigs were their mother’s pride and joy. But one day, Momma Pig called them together and said this: “You are good pigs – in fact, you are great pigs! But there is a time in all pigs’ lives when they must leave their home and do what they are called to do. You pigs come from a long line of church builders, and that is what you must do.” The pigs were saddened at the thought of leaving their mother, but each immediately began to think of the church he would build. So, they packed their bags and briefcases, and set off to their new adventure.
The first pig was the youngest – and he had much to prove. He wanted to be first to build a church. And he was quite the pleaser! He read his piggy Bible and saw where Jesus went about the towns and cities meeting the needs of people, healing the sick, feeding the hungry, teaching and guiding them. He decided that if he was going to build a church for others to attend, he must give them everything they wanted.
So he began to ask others what they wanted in a church. He was surprised to hear so many different things. The first piggy he met said she wanted a church that did a lot of mission work for unfortunate pigs. One said he wanted a church with a great praise band and contemporary worship. One said she wanted a church that was quiet and meditative. Another wanted a church that had a lot to give her children – one that wouldn’t require much from her. One said he wanted a church that held to tradition – that honored past glories. One said she wanted a church that had a great preacher – one who always held her attention during worship. He even found one pig who wanted to be able to drink coffee during worship!
One said he wanted a church that served great meals after every service. And one little pig who actually wore a watch said she wanted a church where the sermons never lasted over 10 minutes! Soon, the church was built – and somehow the youngest pig was able to provide all the things everyone wanted.
But one day, the Big Bad Wolf came to church. He looked at the pig, who was weary from trying to please everyone, and said, “I am going to huff and puff and blow your church down.” No, No, said the youngest pig, not by the hair of my chiny, chin, chin – here have a latte and enjoy the music!
But, the wolf huffed and he puffed – and he didn’t have to puff a whole lot – he just puffed dissatisfaction throughout the church. And very soon, the church came tumbling down – because pigs who worry only about what they want, easily become dissatisfied.
The middle pig was a pig who liked to have things in order; who liked everything black and white. When he was a little pig, he worked very hard to stay in the lines when he colored. And this pig was determined not to make the same mistake as his brother. He wanted to build a better church. He read his piggy Bible and saw where Jesus taught about doing the right things. He loved reading, and re-reading the Ten Commandments. So, he decided it would be best to build a church that had absolute beliefs and truths.
Soon this pig was surprised to find there were so many beliefs – so many that he decided he better build a bigger church. And he wrote a whole book with a lot of rules and a lot of beliefs that they were to live by. Rules like:
-only pigs could attend their church – in fact,
-only pink pigs could attend church;
-only pink pigs who had made no major mistakes could attend;
And the rules went on and on. There were so many rules and truths, that the membership of the church was small and much of the members’ time was spent looking at all those who didn’t measure up. The second pig said, “Now I have a church that will last.”
The Big Bad Wolf heard about this church and decided to visit. And although it was obvious he wasn’t a pig, nor was he pink, he forced his way in. He looked at the middle pig, who now had a deep furrow in his brow from judging and keeping rifters out, and said, “I am going to huff and puff and blow your church down.”
No, No, said the middle pig, not by the hair of my chiny, chin, chin. Not by the rules of right of order, and not by our set of Biblical beliefs! But the wolf huffed, and he puffed – but this church was sturdier than the last. Blowing dissatisfaction into the church did not really work. So he huffed and puffed again – and he blew pride and judgment! It was amazing how quickly the cracks came, and how they got bigger and bigger - and soon the church came tumbling down.
Then it was time for the oldest pig to build his church. Being the oldest, this pig had more life experience and more wisdom. He knew he must find something different with which to build his church. He had spent much of his childhood with his grandfather, who was the greatest church-builder of all.
The oldest pig read his piggy Bible, and he was impressed with what Jesus said about loving God with everything you are, and loving your neighbor as yourself. After a lot of thought, he decided to find pigs who truly cared about others. Now, this took longer, because there were some who said they loved others, but their actions proved a different truth about them. He decided he better watch these pigs and not simply take them at their word.
When he found a pig who loved God, and truly loved others, he would ask him or her to come to a particular spot on a particular day. The number of pigs he invited was not really large, but they all seemed excited about getting together. The Big Bad Wolf, who had already destroyed two churches, decided he would show up at their little gathering as well.
The day came when all the pigs who truly loved others gathered – and the third pig was surprised that there were more pigs there than he’d expected. He found that those pigs he had invited – who truly loved – came to the gathering bringing others – bringing pigs of all types – little pigs, pink pigs, brown pigs, dirty pigs, clean pigs, fat pigs, thin pigs – all very different, but all loving others.
They came that day, to that appointed place and said, “Where’s the church?” And the third pig smiled and said,
I am the church. You are the church.
We are the church together.
All who follow Jesus, all around the world –
Yes, we’re the church together.
Well, the Big Bad Wolf just laughed and laughed – and he huffed and puffed – and he blew and blew. But the pigs ignored him. He huffed dissatisfaction, but the pigs were too busy singing, “I am the church, you are the church, we are the church together.”
Then the Wolf puffed pride and judgment. But the pigs brought out fried chicken and macaroni and green beans and biscuits and strawberry shortcake and began sharing with one another. They even fixed a plate for the wolf, as they shared what they had with neighbor pigs who didin’t have anyone to care for them.
Once again, the Wolf huffed and puffed, and blew and blew – but no one paid him any attention. As far as I know, the Wolf is still huffing and puffing today – blowing dissatisfaction and pride and judgment wherever he can. But the pigs-who-love keep coming back. And when they come together, they sing,
“I am the church. You are the church.
We are the church together.
All who follow Jesus, all around the world –
yes, we are the church together."
And that’s how this story ends.
Notes: "The Three Churches" story written by the Rev. Cynthia C. Taylor, 2007. Lyrics to "We Are The Church" by Richard R. Avery and Donald S. Marsh, 1972 copyright Hope Publishing Company.
Friday, October 12, 2007
Cowboy Evangelism
Most Christians, I suppose, if asked what comes to mind when you speak of evangelism and Colorado Springs, CO, would think of the broad-based radio ministry there called Focus on the Family, James Dobson’s religious-political organization. When I think of evangelism taking place in Colorado Springs, I think of a ranch and little known cowboy who practices what we call life-style evangelism.
Drive out to the Garden of the Gods and take a couple of lefts and you’ll end up at the Flying-W Ranch. Most of the open land there has been gobbled up by sub-divisions now, so the ranchers at the Flying W have taken to selling their beef in plate-size portions instead of on the hoof. They have a simple, barn-like structure filled with long picnic tables in a room that will seat about a 1000. During the summer the place fills up quickly. People go through the lines and get their Bar-B-Que, beans and potatoes on tin plates. There’s baked chicken if you want it instead, but they’ll laugh at you. Chickens and cowboys don’t jive, ‘cause you can’t rope a chicken.
After everyone has eaten the Flying-W Wranglers come on stage, five men who play and sing western songs. The one on the bass is Scotty Vaughan, a six foot, two, pure cowboy who does most of the talking and tells the jokes between the songs.
Scotty told one about his grandfather who as a teen wanted to drive a stagecoach. He was turned down over and over and finally a grizzly old coach driver took him on. He was told to be the look-out and not to talk. He sat there and looked and looked and finally he saw riders off in the distance behind them. There’s a couple riders behind us, he told the driver. How far away? Said the driver. Maybe a couple miles, said Scotty’s granddad. See, that shows you’re nothing but a green-horn, said the driver. Out here, we tell distance by saying how big the person is. Well they’re this big, said the boy, holding his fingers about an inch apart. Forget em said the driver.
The young man kept looking, and he then told the driver. They’re closer. How close. Well now they’re this big, spreading his fingers on one hand as far apart as they would go. Just leave em alone, but watch em, he was told.
Watch them he did and finally he said. They’re closer. And? Well, how they’re this big he said using to hand to indicate about 12 inches. Keep watching. It wasn’t long an he said, Now they’re this big, ( 36 inches) and this time the driver said, get your rifle out and shoot them.
He picked up his rifle and took aim, but there weren’t any shots fired. The driver shouted at him, I said shoot them. The young man took aim again, but still did not shoot. What’s wrong with you, the driver asked. Shoot them. I can’t, said his granddad, I’ve know em since they was this (fingers apart) big, he said.
After the laughter dies down, Scotty goes on with his story. I like that story a lot, he says, cause it’s a lot about me, in a way. See, I was a late-bloomer, he says to all those people every night. I didn’t become a follower of Jesus until I was in my mid-thirties. There were a lot of bad things in my life that I couldn’t get rid of on my own, cause I’d gotten so used to them. They started out as little things, but they kept getting bigger and bigger. I tried to change my ways, but I couldn’t on my own.
It took turning my life over to Jesus and following him, and that’s true for anyone. I couldn’t do it on my own, and neither can you. Then he introduces a song he wrote, called Circuit Riding Preacher.
Night after night in the midst of music and laughter, Scotty Vaughan tells his own story of needing Jesus and the transformation Jesus brought to him. That’s evangelism, that’s Focusing on the Lord and letting our own story name the name of the Savior before others.
Drive out to the Garden of the Gods and take a couple of lefts and you’ll end up at the Flying-W Ranch. Most of the open land there has been gobbled up by sub-divisions now, so the ranchers at the Flying W have taken to selling their beef in plate-size portions instead of on the hoof. They have a simple, barn-like structure filled with long picnic tables in a room that will seat about a 1000. During the summer the place fills up quickly. People go through the lines and get their Bar-B-Que, beans and potatoes on tin plates. There’s baked chicken if you want it instead, but they’ll laugh at you. Chickens and cowboys don’t jive, ‘cause you can’t rope a chicken.
After everyone has eaten the Flying-W Wranglers come on stage, five men who play and sing western songs. The one on the bass is Scotty Vaughan, a six foot, two, pure cowboy who does most of the talking and tells the jokes between the songs.
Scotty told one about his grandfather who as a teen wanted to drive a stagecoach. He was turned down over and over and finally a grizzly old coach driver took him on. He was told to be the look-out and not to talk. He sat there and looked and looked and finally he saw riders off in the distance behind them. There’s a couple riders behind us, he told the driver. How far away? Said the driver. Maybe a couple miles, said Scotty’s granddad. See, that shows you’re nothing but a green-horn, said the driver. Out here, we tell distance by saying how big the person is. Well they’re this big, said the boy, holding his fingers about an inch apart. Forget em said the driver.
The young man kept looking, and he then told the driver. They’re closer. How close. Well now they’re this big, spreading his fingers on one hand as far apart as they would go. Just leave em alone, but watch em, he was told.
Watch them he did and finally he said. They’re closer. And? Well, how they’re this big he said using to hand to indicate about 12 inches. Keep watching. It wasn’t long an he said, Now they’re this big, ( 36 inches) and this time the driver said, get your rifle out and shoot them.
He picked up his rifle and took aim, but there weren’t any shots fired. The driver shouted at him, I said shoot them. The young man took aim again, but still did not shoot. What’s wrong with you, the driver asked. Shoot them. I can’t, said his granddad, I’ve know em since they was this (fingers apart) big, he said.
After the laughter dies down, Scotty goes on with his story. I like that story a lot, he says, cause it’s a lot about me, in a way. See, I was a late-bloomer, he says to all those people every night. I didn’t become a follower of Jesus until I was in my mid-thirties. There were a lot of bad things in my life that I couldn’t get rid of on my own, cause I’d gotten so used to them. They started out as little things, but they kept getting bigger and bigger. I tried to change my ways, but I couldn’t on my own.
It took turning my life over to Jesus and following him, and that’s true for anyone. I couldn’t do it on my own, and neither can you. Then he introduces a song he wrote, called Circuit Riding Preacher.
Night after night in the midst of music and laughter, Scotty Vaughan tells his own story of needing Jesus and the transformation Jesus brought to him. That’s evangelism, that’s Focusing on the Lord and letting our own story name the name of the Savior before others.
Wednesday, October 10, 2007
Why I Support "Women in the Pulpit" Sunday
Being a Caucasian male, I was born into a position of privilege. I have never had to fight for recognition, opportunity or inclusion simply because of the color of my skin, or my gender. I was raised in a home with a strong protestant work ethic, so all my life I have deemed it normal to work hard for whatever gains you get in life. But when the metaphorical race of life began, I got to start from the Start Line, not meters behind as others have had to do. My efforts were multiplied simply because I did not have to expend energy defending my right to be in the race in the first place.
We know that in Christ there is neither male or female, slave or free, Greek or Jew, but in the reality of daily life, we all apply those distinctions (and others) to determine one’s significance and potential. Sometimes such biases are made obvious through bigotry and exploitation, but most often they are subtly entrenched in the attitudes and behaviors of people. We go right on living as if our prejudices and stereotypes are the norm, unless we are made to see them in the light of the gospel of Christ.
I grew up in a Holiness tradition with a fundamentalist, literal view of the Bible. So I have wondered what opened the windows for me, to let fresh light fall upon the revelation of God’s word. Perhaps it was my parent’s way of combining a fervent devotion to God with a rigorous academic searching of the Scriptures. I do know that my readiness to accept women in ministry came more from Scripture than it did from experience. I simply never saw a woman in a pastoral/preaching role until I went to seminary.
But I did understand from early on that Mary choosing to “sit at the feet of Jesus” didn’t simply mean she was neglecting kitchen duties. She was choosing to take the position of a disciple, a role basically forbidden to women in that day. And Jesus blessed her for her choice. It did stand out that women were the first to proclaim the resurrection and that they were seen as colleagues by the Apostle Paul. Even with a fundamentalist background, I had little trouble understanding that Paul’s instructions to the Corinthian women to be silent in church was pastoral advice for a specific situation, not an edict for eternity. God had laid the foundation in my life by giving me a hunger to study the Word so much, that I would push past literal summations.
Upon this foundation were laid the experiences of being in ministry with women. Hearing the Word proclaimed, being challenged in discussion groups, and praying with female colleagues, confirmed what the scriptures had prepared me for; that we are all co-laborers in God’s vineyard with each bringing our unique set of charismata (gifts) and life-lessons. If God is big enough to use any one of us for God’s purpose, then God is surely big enough to use all of us, as different as we may seem to one another.
I support Women in the Pulpit Sunday because the journey is not over. Being intentional about how our tradition honors the Scriptures by making a place for women, on an equal basis with all others in ministry, makes us confront the misled biases of our culture. Hopefully most of our churches have moved beyond simply giving recognition to women in ministry just on “their Sunday” in the year. Hopefully we are moving to where the ministry of women is expected and encouraged rather than excused. Celebrate the gifts of women in ministry on Women in the Pulpit Sunday, and hopefully, we will get to where the new norm of inclusive service replaces the old norm of privilege.
We know that in Christ there is neither male or female, slave or free, Greek or Jew, but in the reality of daily life, we all apply those distinctions (and others) to determine one’s significance and potential. Sometimes such biases are made obvious through bigotry and exploitation, but most often they are subtly entrenched in the attitudes and behaviors of people. We go right on living as if our prejudices and stereotypes are the norm, unless we are made to see them in the light of the gospel of Christ.
I grew up in a Holiness tradition with a fundamentalist, literal view of the Bible. So I have wondered what opened the windows for me, to let fresh light fall upon the revelation of God’s word. Perhaps it was my parent’s way of combining a fervent devotion to God with a rigorous academic searching of the Scriptures. I do know that my readiness to accept women in ministry came more from Scripture than it did from experience. I simply never saw a woman in a pastoral/preaching role until I went to seminary.
But I did understand from early on that Mary choosing to “sit at the feet of Jesus” didn’t simply mean she was neglecting kitchen duties. She was choosing to take the position of a disciple, a role basically forbidden to women in that day. And Jesus blessed her for her choice. It did stand out that women were the first to proclaim the resurrection and that they were seen as colleagues by the Apostle Paul. Even with a fundamentalist background, I had little trouble understanding that Paul’s instructions to the Corinthian women to be silent in church was pastoral advice for a specific situation, not an edict for eternity. God had laid the foundation in my life by giving me a hunger to study the Word so much, that I would push past literal summations.
Upon this foundation were laid the experiences of being in ministry with women. Hearing the Word proclaimed, being challenged in discussion groups, and praying with female colleagues, confirmed what the scriptures had prepared me for; that we are all co-laborers in God’s vineyard with each bringing our unique set of charismata (gifts) and life-lessons. If God is big enough to use any one of us for God’s purpose, then God is surely big enough to use all of us, as different as we may seem to one another.
I support Women in the Pulpit Sunday because the journey is not over. Being intentional about how our tradition honors the Scriptures by making a place for women, on an equal basis with all others in ministry, makes us confront the misled biases of our culture. Hopefully most of our churches have moved beyond simply giving recognition to women in ministry just on “their Sunday” in the year. Hopefully we are moving to where the ministry of women is expected and encouraged rather than excused. Celebrate the gifts of women in ministry on Women in the Pulpit Sunday, and hopefully, we will get to where the new norm of inclusive service replaces the old norm of privilege.
Tuesday, October 9, 2007
The Main Thing
What good would it be to fix a special dish and leave out the main ingredient – such as a macaroni and cheese casserole without the cheese? Suppose you order a delicious steak with all the fixings. The waitress brings you a plate with a nice baked potato, a salad and some very good garlic bread, but no steak. Would you be satisfied with your meal? Many of you know I love ice cream. If I ordered a vanilla Sundae with caramel and nuts and received a dish with only the toppings, I definitely wouldn’t be a happy camper!
Or let’s leave the area of food. A friend invites you to go deep sea fishing. You arrive at the dock and everything is ready, so out you ride several miles to find the fish. With a high tech locator you are successful and then your host says, “Oops, forgot to bring the fishing poles.” You’d probably consider tying a line to him and using him as bait!
We could pick a lot of examples. (I started to include women going to a sale who leave their purses behind. Then I realized most women I know wouldn’t let a little thing like that stop them). The point is – it’s senseless to leave out the main element in a recipe or activity.
And yet, how often do we let this happen in our faith walk? We can easily go through the motions of faith, and leave Christ out. We can attend church, participate in a Sunday School class, do mission projects, serve with our time and talents, study the Bible, and even partake of the sacraments without cultivating a relationship with the Savior. Like the illustrations given above, all those are good things, but what’s the point without the main ingredient?
If you’re one of those just living off the fixings or toppings, you are missing so much. If you’ve gotten too busy, or too self-sufficient, or even too important to keep your relationship with Christ alive and growing, then you’re probably headed toward emptiness, if you don’t already feel it inside. As challenging as it is to live an authentic Christian life, it’s simply impossible if you don’t keep the main ingredient the main thing.
Maybe it is time for a fresh start for all of us, a time to keep the main One the main thing.
Or let’s leave the area of food. A friend invites you to go deep sea fishing. You arrive at the dock and everything is ready, so out you ride several miles to find the fish. With a high tech locator you are successful and then your host says, “Oops, forgot to bring the fishing poles.” You’d probably consider tying a line to him and using him as bait!
We could pick a lot of examples. (I started to include women going to a sale who leave their purses behind. Then I realized most women I know wouldn’t let a little thing like that stop them). The point is – it’s senseless to leave out the main element in a recipe or activity.
And yet, how often do we let this happen in our faith walk? We can easily go through the motions of faith, and leave Christ out. We can attend church, participate in a Sunday School class, do mission projects, serve with our time and talents, study the Bible, and even partake of the sacraments without cultivating a relationship with the Savior. Like the illustrations given above, all those are good things, but what’s the point without the main ingredient?
If you’re one of those just living off the fixings or toppings, you are missing so much. If you’ve gotten too busy, or too self-sufficient, or even too important to keep your relationship with Christ alive and growing, then you’re probably headed toward emptiness, if you don’t already feel it inside. As challenging as it is to live an authentic Christian life, it’s simply impossible if you don’t keep the main ingredient the main thing.
Maybe it is time for a fresh start for all of us, a time to keep the main One the main thing.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)