We'd like to think…

the unrest in the Middle East is about freedom, democracy, and the rule of law. As Americans it fits into our cultural narrative and colors the way we see things. Several weeks ago, though, I saw something telling on television, a spokesman for some Egyptian protesters with a dark spot on his forehead. My guess is that many people simply passed it off as a birthmark or something of the kind. I’m not sure.

Very devout Egyptian Muslim men may have a dark spot on their forehead which can come from repeated touching of the forehead to the ground in prayer. Besides being a mark of piety it can be also be a political statement of sympathy for an increasingly “Islamic” culture. It would be good to notice, as well, the large number of women in burkas seen at these protests. Again such dress can be a symbol of Muslim piety or a political statement about the desire for a more “Islamic” society, especially in countries where the full burka has not been the usual garment.

Suffice it to say even the President and his staff may be preparing for Islamic States emerging as the current governments in some parts of the Middle East. Instead of something we would recognize as democracy the protests may be the first events in the replacement of corrupt dictatorships with repressive Islamic regimes. The effect of this on religious minorities could be catastrophic and the idea of more well armed and oil wealthy Islamic governments will certainly make the world a much more complicated place.

One can still hope that the people in the streets will somehow be able to take a leap out of their culture, their history, and their religion to establish genuine democratic institutions. Yet the odds are probably very slim that any group of people have that kind of “hops” and going backwards requires so much less effort.

 

Imagine the uproar…

if the working title for this proposed ABC program had been “Good Muslim Bitches”. It’s open season on the faithful and why should we expect to be immune? We have only one powerful and eternal option, overcome the evil directed towards us with good.

Lent is war…

its as simple as that. If you want to push forward expect a push back. If you wish to draw closer don’t be surprised if something is thrown in your way. If you desire something higher beware the hands on your ankles. And then there’s the stuff you do yourself…

Be a jerk…

and you’ll die sooner.

Beware jocks and mean girls: you may be more popular in high school, but according to a new academic paper, it is the smart kids and conscientious glee-club types who will live longer. Not only that, they will suffer fewer diseases before they die. Only the good die young? Guess again.

I had an odd feeling today…

one that I hadn’t felt in years. Most of the people who know me know that I have a tendency to keep my hair very short, a number 1 1/2 on the clippers for those in the business. Yet for years my wife has wanted me to let it grow a bit and so I decided I should give it a try, after all she’s the one who HAS to look at me. Walking in to a store today I felt something weird on top my head, it was the wind blowing through my hair just long enough to catch the breeze. First time in years and it took a few seconds to figure out what was happening.  : )

I remember my first…

pastorate, Tabernacle Baptist Church in West Allis, Wisconsin. I still think about them, pray for them sometimes, and hope I didn’t do too much damage along the way because I really did love them.

Yet I was fresh out of seminary, loaded with ideas, could speak a bit, and was ready to be, as I look back at it, a one man revival. Tabernacle was a big church waiting to happen, a theory or two away from filling the pews. All it needed was for me to come riding in with the cavalry, the signature barely dry on my diploma.

I meant well. I really did. You’re doomed if you don’t pursue ministry with at least some idealism. I loved my new calling. I loved being a pastor. Sunday mornings were highlights of my week, still are, and things started out well.  The church began to grow.

Somewhere along the line, though, idealism started drifting into obsession. Every word of conversation, almost every waking thought, and my whole identity were being absorbed. My long suffering wife asked me not to speak about the parish from at least Friday night to Saturday evening so we could have some kind of day off. I usually didn’t make it. I burned bright but short, around two years and there was no more left to give and off we moved to another parish in Kansas where for the most part everything repeated but this time for only a little more than a year.

It was humbling to drive home from Kansas, spirits down, tail between my legs and no place to live outside my parent’s basement. I’d like to think that it was about persecution, about suffering for the Gospel, and in part I suppose that was true. Yet it would be more than fair to say that I did myself in with my obsession masked as spirituality, my sermons at and not for, and a failure to understand the most important thing.

It’s not your church.

I know people call it that when they ask you “How’s your church?” Yet it never was and never will be “yours”.  You don’t own it. The people are not yours. It’s past and its future are not yours. All you really have is your books, your vestments, and hopefully an understanding of all of this simple fact to help you along the way.  Unfortunately there are some of us who have to learn this through pain and hopefully we didn’t get burned out of serving the church altogether in our struggles.

Wherever I go and whatever I do, however the future unfolds it’s not my Church. It’s not the Bishop’s or the people’s or the non profit corporations, none of us own it in any sense that matters. We are all just temporary managers of eternal things, things that are so much larger and more important than any one person or moment that thinking otherwise is like banging your head on a wall, it only feels good when you stop.

 

 

 

I understand…

the world being crazy. The idea of it even makes an odd kind of sense to me. When the Church goes crazy, or seems to, that’s a whole different thing. I count on the church to be sane, wise, deep, and clear in a way that I never expect politicians or the heads of corporations to ever be. It’s the whole kingdom of God thing. Just those words mean that it should be different, better, and something other than the world.

Alas, that’s not always the case. It seems that at any given moment we can be as petty, political, and downright stupid as anything in the world. Kingdom of God or not we can be a bunch of knuckleheads precisely because the whole Church is filled with knuckleheads like me.

How I wish it was different. How I wish that the Church could be some kind of refuge, some kind of place of peace where the cruel world was outside the door never to come inside. I guess that’s why we have the eschaton, the day when all things will be as they were meant to be. I guess that’s why we get glimpses and pieces of that day now but never the complete package. The creation groans and we groan along with it even as we stand about the altar.

Perhaps that’s what our hope really is. We see the seeds and anticipate the plant. We catch a glimpse and faith fills in the rest of the picture. We have moments and those moments help us imagine eternity. A taste previews the great banquet and a few notes let us hear the future, eternal, song.

I’d like more, but I can live with that if I have to and wait with a kind of joyful sorrowing anticipation for the rest.