Two Worlds, One Job!
Between two worlds... Between two worlds...If you have followed my blog for any length of time you will have seen this nagging theme of “between two worlds” threading itself through much of my writing. In fact, during Lent of 2016 I wrote a whole 40-day blog series under this title (it was actually only 39 blogs since I was just too tired one day. An almost perfect Lenten discipline!).Two days ago the unthinkable happened.
My two worlds were invited to come together. I just accepted a position with the Presbytery of the Cascades (the 97-church district that covers Western Oregon and a small slice of Southern Washington and Northern California) to become the Presbyter for Vision and Mission. To the outside world the language may sound clunky, but essentially it is the head of staff executive position in charge of seeing the church through the next few years of deepening our mission and creating a unified vision that will pull our congregations forward for the next generation or so.It is a sobering position given the general decline of our mainline Protestant denominations and the shifting patterns around religious affiliation and loyalty. But more than that, it represents the engagement of my two worlds that have often been awkward dance partners in my professional life. As I have described in the past I have often felt like I have one foot squarely planted in the life, the rhythm and the rituals of the church and the other foot planted in the secular spirituality of our communities where the Sacred can be found just as easily out on the hiking trail, waist deep in the river, or with a coffee cup and a Sunday paper in hand at an bustling outdoor café.
For years I have either felt this need to choose one or the other or bring them together at the risk of alienating myself from both communities. It happens all the time. If I try to make room in the church for the nature-loving spiritualist who trades out the name of God for the concept of the Sacred I get puzzled looks and questions like, “I certainly respect their brand of faith, but what does that have to do with church?” And if I let slip too early that I happen to be a minister with my hiking, biking, snow-shoeing buddies I can feel the air suddenly grow cold between us as if I had a bad case of garlic breath.But this new position gives me the opportunity to bring these two worlds together. In fact that is what I am supposed to do. Last year our presbytery had a net loss of 5.8% and 850 members. Unfortunately that pattern has been going on for many years and seems to be picking up speed. I think the Presbyterian Church is finally ready to acknowledge that our future is not in doing church better but is in understanding the spiritual needs and lives of those whose closest association with church is admiring the stained glass windows while walking their dog across the street.I know that there were many reasons for my selection as the new Presbyter ("Executive" in secular terms). Among them my broad range of experiences as a minister including interim positions, new church development, legacy/closure work, and solo pastorates. I also co-moderated the East Portland Vision Plan, a 25-year plan for the quarter million people in East Portland, to improve infrastructure, the economy, parks, bike lanes, traffic patterns, community-building and political clout.
But I believe a big part of this invitation is that for years I have lived in the awkward space between two worlds, between the rich historic traditions of the church and the experimental spiritualities emerging in our communities. Quite honestly it would have been easier on my mental health and pocket book to have settled into one or the other rather than to straddle two worlds, but my love of both left me no choice but live in the space between. The sacrifices, the occasional suspicions and the months on food stamps were all worth it.I do know that this invitation to lead the Presbytery is no perfect and final panacea. It will still be a struggle to introduce these different worlds to each other and get them to find common ground and learn to trust and enjoy each other. There will still be initial suspicion and awkwardness. This is not like winning the lottery, but more like finally being accepted to race the Boston Marathon. It's not a magic pill, but the terrain has changed. What has changed is now my livelihood is based on building those bridges whereas before I risked my livelihood in my attempts to build those bridges. Now I am rewarded for the risks whereas before I often suffered for the risks. It is, at least in my heart and soul, a monumental shift.I have been writing about my experience of living in two worlds for over five years. Now it is two worlds and one job.Maybe there really is a God!
Vertigo: Coincidence or Holy Kick in the Butt?
One of the things on which I have been able to pride myself over the years is my health. While I have sometimes struggled to keep consistent work, put roots down long enough to build relationships and establish a community the one thing I have always been able to say is, "At least I have my health."
That is, until two weeks ago. I was suddenly awakened at 5:30 a.m. feeling like someone had just pushed the button to start a whirling, spinning carnival ride in my room. The room spun, sweat started oozing out of every pore of my body and a few minutes later I staggered to the bathroom to lose the contents of my evening's dinner. I expected that to be the end of violent episode imagining that I had a bad case of food poisoning. But it didn't end. After vomiting (sorry for all the yukky details) the nausea continued and I was too weak to even crawl back to my bed.I spent the next three hours trading places between the bathroom floor, my head hanging over the toilet bowl and a couple of desperate crawls back into bed. I was supposed to be leading a retreat for participants who had come as far as away as Australia and New York City to New Mexico as I helped them "Explore the Landscape of the Soul." Instead they found me in a near delirious state in my room--the vomiting and sweating taking me to the next dangerous level of dehydration (which is a serious issue at 6500 feet in the desert).I will save you all the details, but I spent the day in the Emergency Room an hour away, my two weeks of courses were promptly cancelled in order to get me home to heal. But then I suffered another attack three days later, the night before I was to fly back home. Another night in the ER and then five days of recovery at the home of new and very generous friends before having the strength to fly home again.
I have titled this post "Vertigo: Coincidence or Holy Kick in the Butt." Both ER doctors diagnosed the same thing--I had an extreme case of vertigo. I used to think that vertigo just meant dizziness, but I have now learned that it is a whole lot more than that. It is a sudden violent attack on your equilibrium that can cause vomiting, sudden falls, and the inability to walk or even crawl. It is completely incapacitating. And the doctors have assured me that it is most likely a random attack.But I have subtitled this post "Coincidence or Holy Kick in the Butt" because I am not completely convinced that these episodes were completely random as the doctors had indicated. From a physical standpoint there was virtually nothing to point to. I had flown in from nearly sea level to 6500 feet, but just a week before I was in the Mile High City of Denver as well. I was reasonably well-hydrated as I had started drinking extra water even before my arrival. I wasn't suffering from congestion, a head injury or repetitive motions (all potential causes of vertigo). The doctors said that that is just how vertigo is--often completely random and coincidental.Yet I wonder.I wonder because I do believe the body has a way of sending messages when it needs to and "vertigo" would not be a far off description for what I had been feeling. I have written many times over the years of my feeling of "living between two worlds" which was actually the title of my 40-day Lenten devotional blog last year.
The past few weeks packed all those issues into a short time period. I spent May and the first week or so of June making sure the congregation I am serving in Grants Pass, Oregon was well-prepared for a three-week absence on my part. Then I flew off to Colorado for a 3-day job interview where my book Alone and my thoughts on the future of the church dominated much of the conversation. By the following Wednesday I heard that I was not the candidate chosen for the position. Without even a moment to let that loss sink in I then made my final preparations for the two one-week retreats in New Mexico titled, "Exploring the Landscape of the Soul" and "Health, Hope, and Hospice: Redefining Congregational Decline."The spiritual and professional vertigo is this and I have been trying to name it and negotiate my way through it for years. Within the space of just a few short weeks I played my role as a pastor of a pretty traditional Presbyterian church. A week later I was interviewing for another traditional position, but because of the public nature of my writing I found myself trying to soothe concerns that emerged in a book that exposed my spiritual wrestling (Some church members don't like their pastors wrestling too much!). Then I immediately prepared and flew off to lead "spiritual but not religious" people in the language of soul for one week to be followed by a week-long workshop for pastors serving seriously declining churches. Not only was it a crazy schedule, but it had me shifting constantly between worldviews, beliefs, and language.The spiritual and professional vertigo is this: I am constantly dancing between two different worlds depending on who I am talking to at any particular moment. Many people in the church are wary of the same spiritual wrestling that the "unchurched" find attractive in me. And those who find the sacred outside the walls of the church are often wary of my professional association with the church. In both places I have to overcome suspicions where one group is concerned that I am too religious and another group is concerned I am not religious enough.It is something that I have wrestled with for more than twenty years, but the last few weeks exaggerated the subtle spiritual schizophrenia as I flew from place to place and state to state shifting my language, my head, my heart and my soul in order to be present to those who find God on Sunday in a sanctuary and to those who experience the sacred in the magical landscape. It is a dizzying enterprise!The doctors told me that the vertigo was completely random. In fact they wouldn't be surprised if it never showed up again. But I wonder. I wonder if my body and soul was telling me something. I wonder if my spiritual vertigo exhibited physical symptoms this time. I wonder if there was a message in those episodes, "Brian, despite your best intentions and noble motives, you can't keep dancing between two different worlds. Eventually it will crack you. Eventually you'll start to spin out of control."Maybe the vertigo was, as the doctors told me, just a one-time random, terrifying and unsettling coincidence.Or maybe it was a holy kick in the butt with a deeper message.I don't know for sure, but I sure as hell better be listening.
The Need to Be Known
Between Two Worlds Day 40 (of 40)I arrived about fifteen minutes early for the rehearsal to the Good Friday Ecumenical Service held at St. Luke's Episcopal Church in Grants Pass. Father Todd was meeting with one of the other participants but I wanted to have a little quiet space to myself. Dismissing myself I said, "I'll just spend a little time in the chapel until everyone else arrives." "Good idea," replied Father Todd, "since you are the keynote preacher it might be nice to gather your thoughts."Just around the corner from the sanctuary was a small chapel, nearly a copy of the rectangular sanctuary, but 1/20th the size. Eight dinky pews, four pews per side, that were only big enough for two Mama Bear-sized people or three skinny teenagers. I sat in the front pew as close to the wall as possible so as to avoid any unnecessary detection from worshipers filing in early.
Immediately it hit me as I sat there. I felt known in the miniaturized space. As I reflected on so much of what has emerged in our conversation I imagined having a space very much like this right in the middle of downtown Portland or some busy business and retail district. I wondered how such a space would transform the feeling and spirit of a place if right where people were the busiest and most harried there was a dinky little chapel that invited people, "Come, sit, and be." I wondered what kind of miracles might take place if ten or fifteen people (the chapel only held sixteen) gathered in that space and shared stories, prayed, cried, laughed, and really came to know each other.Just next door to this chapel was the much larger sanctuary--also beautiful and inviting in its own way. But it was easy to distinguish how each space made me feel. In the larger space I was afforded anonymity. I could sit in one of forty pews among a hundred plus people and hide away in my own little private world. In the smaller chapel the anonymity was lost, but a delicious intimacy was floating in the air. There I felt known.
We finished our Good Friday services and I walked a few blocks to get some lunch before preparing for the evening's Good Friday service at another church. Just before finishing my lunch a young man sat next to me while getting some take out containers. With an overly enthusiastic tone he said, "Hi Debbe," to the waitress and she mimicked the same cheerful enthusiasm shooting back, "Well hello there, Steven." Steven got his take out containers and Debbe sent him on his way saying, "There you go, love" and he smiled broadly and said, "Thank YOU, love." On the way back to his table I heard him tell his table mate, "She called me love." I laughed at his innocence and delight.Debbe leaned over to me and said, "I just met Steven yesterday. When he came into today I said, 'Hi Steven' which just shows how much of an impression he made on me with the dozens of people I meet every day. And Steven said, 'And you're Debbe, right?'"This scene is probably repeated hundreds of times every day across the country in some establishment or another. But just after having come from my experience in the little chapel it struck me how powerful it is to be known. I felt it in the intimacy of that chapel and Steven and Debbe were nearly giddy with having each other know, recognize, and remember their names from a one-time meeting from the day before. It was a minor moment with a major message.As a pastor I spend the first two months in any new call simply trying to remember people's names. People think that I have a knack for remembering names, but I don't think it's some special gift. I think it's just that I know how important it is be known and to be called by name. So I work at it.It's a big scary world out there sometimes. There are more than seven billion people in the world. And most of us on this side of the ocean are traveling 100 mph doing "very important" things.Isn't it nice when just one person knows, really knows who you are?
Reflections...
Between Two Worlds Day 39 (of 40)Reflections...We're coming to the end of this "Between Two Worlds" Lenten conversation. Of course I imagine it will continue in some form as the themes will continue to permeate my blog, our thoughts and questions, and our ongoing dialogue. Whatever this thing is that we are all in isn't going to go away or be solved by one series of blog articles. I have a feeling we are in the for the long haul on this.It does give me a chance to reflect a bit, however. There are a few things that have risen to surface that I think bear highlighting.The intimacy of small groups
At the beginning of this series I was struck by how often you had expressed how important small groups in intimate settings were for you. Some of you said that while you went to church your real spiritual community was a group of friends that had been meeting for years on a regular basis--sometimes monthly, sometimes weekly. In those sacred gatherings you were finding intimate connection, support, a common commitment to growth and values, and the simple sharing with those who knew you best.Religious demographers have been telling us this for many years--that the real experience of church for many is not in the mega church worship service, but in the small groups where people can be more vulnerable and honest with other. I think that is called "family," in the best sense of the term.The return of religious mysticismThe second thing that is abundantly clear to me is that we are either returning to a resurgence of religious mysticism. I hardly need to say anymore about that since the theme surfaced over and over again in this conversation. I have a feeling that I will be spending more time introducing you all to the history, writings and tradition of religious mysticism. Did you know that the Sufi mystic poet, Rumi, is actually the most purchased and read poet in America right now, even topping the great Walt Whitman? The point is that without our really knowing it we seem to have a hunger and a yearning for the "direct experience of God" which is the purest definition of mysticism. No longer are we just satisfied with "right belief" or the adopting of a religious moral code. We want to taste, feel, see and touch the Sacred.The Trump Post
Finally (and you would never know this), I was struck by the energy around my "Playing My Trump Card" blog. On my blog I can track the amount of traffic and that post generated a 250% increase above my average traffic and quickly became the most read blog post since I started this project two years ago. When I wrote it I wasn't sure how it fit exactly with my "exploring the landscape of the soul" theme for my work. I knew it had to be written, but I wondered whether I was detouring somewhat from my essential mission. It did remind me that was why I returned to the pulpit after a nine year hiatus into human service work ten years ago. I missed being able to add a voice of reason, moral clarity, truth and vision to the complicated issues of our day.I am really glad that I wrote that post. Many people thanked me for saying what needed to be said, for saying what they had wanted to say, and for stepping into the ring of this terrifying Trump phenomenon. But it did surprise me a bit that I used my "Pedal Pilgrim" stage to do that. I have a feeling that rather than it being a one-time thing I will discover the connection between my soul work and political and cultural commentary. I am just not quite there yet. Your thoughts are welcomed!As you receive this churches will be preparing for Good Friday and Easter services. While not all of my readers will be doing the same, I am struck by how deeply the themes of Holy Week are woven throughout my blogs. Good Friday and Easter are just the narrative forms of that ongoing human reality of despair and hope, death and resurrection, and "letting go and letting God" as the bumper sticker states. No other narrative better captures this great transition we seem to be living in.I am absolutely convinced that history will one day call our time "The Great Letting Go."
Everything Is Holy Now...
Between Two Worlds Day 38 (of 40)
When I was a boy each week; On Sunday we would go to church; And pay attention to the priest; He would read the holy word; And consecrate the holy bread; And everyone would kneel and bow; Today the only difference is; Everything is holy now; Everything, everything; Everything is holy now
Those are the opening lines to Peter Mayer's song Holy Now that reader Susan forwarded to me as we have explored this changing, shifting and evolving world of religion and spirituality. "Everything is holy now," writes Mayer. In many ways that single line captures the delight and the struggle of our time.
Diana Butler Bass, a well-known speaker and author on religion, says that the story is not that mainline Protestant churches are dying; the story is that God has just moved. Of course she doesn't mean this literally as if God had set up camp in our churches for centuries and finally got bored in our cramped spaces. What she means is that we moderns no longer look to the heavens to experience the divine. We look for the Sacred Presence right here where Main Street meets Wall Street and where our private and public lives often collide.As a pastor it almost feels sometimes like the rituals, beliefs and language of the church are like training wheels for the spiritually inclined. We practice prayer and praise. We learn how to be generous and love our neighbor. We celebrate sacraments where we tell the story that God is not far off, but present in the breaking of bread, the sharing of vows, and giving thanks for the gift of life. But I have met many people who no longer feel the need for the support of the church in order to live a life of prayer, praise, generosity, and with an eye for the everyday sacred. It's as if they have adopted Mayer's song singing, "Once the priest consecrated the holy bread...Now the only difference is that everything is holy now...every meal and every breath is a holy gift now."
I wonder what this means for the church. If God is just as present outside the walls and the tradition of the church will the church one day lose its purpose. Or will we still need priests, pastors, spiritual directors, churches and sanctuaries where we can share the good news saying, "Guess what? God has come home. God is right here. God is as close as your next breath."Will folks want to come to church to hear that message or will they leave church because of that message!I wonder what future God has in store for us.
Religion and Fly Fishing
Between Two Worlds Day 37 (of 40)"In our family, there was no clear line between religion and fly fishing."
That is the opening line to Norman Maclean's movie A River Runs Through It. I was pondering Dee and Dave's responses to my post yesterday--Dee beautifully describing a mystical faith where she feels no separation or division "between two worlds" and Dave who shared that he felt some momentary guilt for not being in church on a Sunday morning when he realized that he was actually sitting in God's cathedral while fishing at Lost Creek in its unadulterated splendor.Both of the posts forced me to name more precisely the source of this nagging between-two-worlds feeling. Both Dee and Dave expressed beautifully that they have found a way to integrate the many experiences of their lives in such a way that the "oneness of God" is felt equally both inside and outside the church walls. In their own ways (actually Dave more literally) they have made real Norman Maclean's profound statement that in his family "there was no clear line between religion and fly fishing."
The line reminds us that union with God and participation in the Sacred Rhythm doesn't just happen when sitting on hard pews, singing the doxology and praying the Lord's Prayer; God can just as easily be experienced and found wading waist deep in a frigid river, pounding the pedals up a mountain pass, or pondering a sunset over a meadow erupting in wildflowers. The line reminds us that all good religion should be as soulful as a fly fishing expedition and that all fly fishing is as sacred as stained glass windows adorning a church entrance.So why, if the Divine Presence can be found in all places and in any place, do I continue to wrestle with this "between two worlds" theme? It has less to do with my personal life and spirituality and more to do with my professional calling.Like Dave I treasure my experience of God both when I am riding my bike through a canyon and when I am singing "How Great Thou Art" with a hundred other faithful voices. I can bridge those two worlds easily in my own mind and heart. I also have enough religious training to recognize that Dee, Dave, myself and many other readers have been describing the return to our mystical traditions (even if the word mysticism makes them nervous!). In many ways what is happening right now is not a new thing, but a return to a very old thing. John Shelby Spong would say that we are finally correcting a detour that Christianity took 1600 years ago when our faith became more doctrinal and lost the experiential core of it.Dee and Dave hinted and even suggested that there doesn't need to be two worlds and a wall of separation between the experience of God while kneeling in church and the experience of God while kneeling in front of a recently caught four-pound rainbow trout. I agree.There doesn't need to be two worlds, but not everyone who hears the sentence, "there was no clear line between religion and fly fishing" immediately say, "Oh, I so get that!" In fact, some even find it threatening and I have the scars to prove it.In some ways this theme "between two worlds" is about bridging the gap between those who see very little difference between religion and fly fishing and those fish on Saturday and pray on Sunday.
A Little Lenten Slip up
Between Two Worlds Day 36 (of 40)How many days did you go before tripping up on your Lenten journey? I am not sure how many of you still honor that tradition of giving up something for Lent--be it chocolate or smoking or swear words. Traditionally, Christians have either given up something as a form of penitence (I like to say that it is making room for God) or added a spiritual discipline.
This year as I feared the voice that emerged during my last pilgrimage going underground I committed to blogging every day of the 40-day period of Lent which runs from Ash Wednesday through Easter, excluding the Sundays. Although I had a number of days where I nearly broke my discipline it wasn't until this past Sunday where I was forced to choose between sleep or writing. I chose a glorious night of sleep! But I now have to live with a not quite so perfect Lenten commitment.I might have chosen to slow down the pace of this blog series a couple of weeks ago. I could feel myself honoring it as a discipline even as my soul was hinting that maybe it was time to slow down. And I began to feel that my posts were actually running ahead of your ability to read them. It occurred to me that you, my readers, probably had your own lives and that my posts weren't the center of your day!
But as we near the completion of this "Between Two Worlds" Lenten-themed conversation I want to say "thank you." Six weeks ago I could feel that voice disappearing that was so clear as I rode out of Thessaloniki along the Aegean Sea on my Rome to Rumi pilgrimage. The demands and the concerns of the institutional church were pushing my other voice aside.I do love my work and I am uniquely qualified and professionally well-situated to walk with congregations experiencing transition, conflict, decline, and organizational grief. But there is a fresh new world emerging that I can't quite yet see, but have tasted. Like a good drug (of which I am too much of a goodie two shoes to have ever tried) that gets imprinted into our memories, my soul yearns to get its next fix of those rich mystical, God-experiences that often get lost in the corporate life of institutional church.
I say thank you because in your listening, your responding, your honesty and your vulnerability I have found a way to balance and attend both to my emerging voice and my love of transitional ministry. Our conversation has included those who of you who have a deep commitment to the church. There have been respondents who either left the church or who never grew up in it. Some of you have flirted with both sides of that line having left the church and come back with a new set of eyes and a softer heart. And some of you have a very well developed spiritual worldview that is completely divorced from anything we might call organized religion.But I say thank you to you because this is a gift to me. I remember years ago telling a congregation that I believed that the future of Christian community wasn't going to be either the church, as we know it, or the emerging forms of spirituality. I said that the future of Christian community, I believe, will come out of the conversation between the two. I still believe that and what we have going on here are the kernels of a conversation and a reformation that will only continue to grow in coming years.I neglected my blog post yesterday like a smoker who snuck one cigarette or a sugar addict who couldn't resist the candy bowl this one day during Lent. We are in the final week of Lent where the narrative of winter and spring, death and resurrection, and dead bulbs and erupting flowers plays out. I will continue to blog on this "Between Two Worlds" theme the rest week (unless, of course, I falter again!) and then slow it down to a pace that both you and I can keep up with! I don't want to lose the freshness, the honesty, and the vulnerability of our conversations.For now, though, let me express my gratitude for your part and your help in the recovery of that voice that was so fresh and clear eighteen months ago as I rode along the Aegean Sea toward Istanbul and the home of Rumi, the Sufi mystic poet.Thank you. I believe we are part of what is and what is to come.
What Do You Really Feel?
Between Two Worlds Day 34 (of 40)"I want to know what you have to say," writes Jen who reports that she goes to church. I believe that she is a member of the church where I am currently the interim pastor.
Her comment gives me an opportunity to reflect on this "Between Two Worlds" theme. She is clearly responding to my post where I said that I feel that my voice over the years has become more constrained in the pulpit. I can clearly point to the change. Over the years I have felt this subtle shift where the sign of good sermons was not theological integrity, but whether there were "more butts in the pews" as a former elder used to put it (or fewer people were exiting the pews!). Based on that reasoning it appears that the quality of preachers has fallen--vast percentages of churches are in decline which can only mean one thing, right?! Seminaries just don't put out good preachers anymore!Jen also added, "I would love for you to preach a few sermons on how you really feel and not what you think the congregation would be comfortable with..." And this is where it is really important for me to make the distinction between feeling constrained and preaching "how I really feel." Because the fact of the matter I do preach what I really feel each Sunday.
All preaching is done in the context of a relationship. It is contextual. It is like the difference between talking about sex with your teenager and talking about sex with your best friend. They are two completely different conversations. Your teenager doesn't need to know the juicy details that you share over lunch and drinks with your best friend. The teenager has one set of questions that has to do with boundaries, safety, health, consequences, etc. Your friend is wanting to share the intimacy and trust that goes into a best friend relationship. Same topic; two very different conversations.One of the things that I have been clear about in my relationship with my current congregation (of which Jen is a part, I believe) is that I am speaking to two very different communities. My preaching is to a congregation in a specific part of Oregon, in a very specific time of transition, with a very specific set of questions and concerns, with a very specific age and theological demographic, and in a very specific evolving denomination called Presbyterian. My blog is to a community of people all across the nation who are exploring the next great emerging form of spirituality and religious community.The two are asking very different questions. One wants to know how they are going to get new people, pay their bills and survive for another generation. The other is asking what the future looks like and how do we get there. One prefers to hold onto what they have; the other has or is ready to let go of what was in order to welcome what will be.Personally, I wished that the Church was making the latter question a higher priority. But that is not my call. As an interim pastor I am like the counselor who simply creates the safe space for a congregation to tell me what's important to them. My role is not to impose a future on them, but to gently invite them into the future of their choosing. The fact of the matter is thousands of churches are now finding themselves asking, "How are we going to survive?" rather than "What is our mission to the community and to the world?" Of course, I don't blame them. It's a little hard to think about serving the community when you are worried about keeping the doors open. Isn't this human nature? I would be hesitant to volunteer my time at a free meal program if I was hungry myself or couldn't afford the gas to get there. Nonetheless, I wished congregations were less worried about staying open and more focused on what God had in store for them next.
To Jen I would reassure her that I am saying what I really feel from the pulpit on Sundays. My point is that my prophetic voice is expected from my readers, but can be a threat to my congregation. Preaching always occurs in the context of a relationship. If I don't take enough risks in my blog I lose my readers. And if I take too many risks in the church I lose my congregation.Two different communities. Two different conversations. Two different kinds of work. Both of which I love and both of which I believe exist under one Sacred Canopy.
The Loss of the Prophetic Pulpit
Between Two Worlds Day 33 (of 40)After many weeks of thought, yesterday I finally stepped into the moral and political fray that is now our run-up to the election of a new president. I hesitated especially because when I speak I never only speak for myself. As an ordained minister my views will also always be seen as representing the Church to some extent or another. As readers pondered and opined about our current state of political theater/reality TV one reader asked, "One has to wonder, what does the Church have to do with all of this?"
Yesterday when I wrote I wasn't sure exactly why in my blog themed "Between Two Worlds" I felt compelled to reflect and write on the phenomenon we now know as Trump. Today as I pondered Sylvia's question I was reminded almost immediately that it has been the slow erosion of the power of the pulpit that propelled me to my first pilgrimage and subsequent blogging.It would be a gross generalization to say that this is true for all churches. However, one of the clear trends that I have experienced is that as churches have declined and become concerned about survival they have abandoned their commitment to the prophetic voice of the pulpit. A pastor dare not offend 10-15% of pledging members in a church where just surviving year to year is the top priority.In many ways my blog is my attempt to have the freedom to restore the power of the pulpit where I can speak freely, truthfully, and as prophetically as the times call for. I believe this is one of those times.Below is an excerpt from my book ALONE: A 4,000 Mile Search for Belonging where I first acknowledged the shift in the power of the pulpit (you can order that book at http://www.pedalpilgrim.com/book). I was raised in a time when the Church was the moral pulpit and voice for the community. To be a pastor meant to speak to the broader society and act as America’s conscience. That had changed. Now to be a pastor means to speak only to the religious faithful. My obligation was no longer to the theological integrity and voice of ministry; my obligation was now to those who paid my salary, whose greatest concern was how to save the Church, pay the bills, and meet the pastoral needs of those sitting in the pews. I had finally remembered. I got into this preaching business because I was moved by the faith and commitment of religious leaders who used their theological ideas to serve humanity. Somehow, over the years, the pulpit had turned into a voice-box for the religiously faithful—and somehow I’d got caught in that shift. I believed in the power of the pulpit, but now the pulpit was owned by those more concerned about the survival of the Church than being the conscience of the community. Page 297
Playing My Trump Card
Between Two Worlds Day 32 (of 40)I don't know if I am diverging from my Lenten theme or not. But I find myself compelled to use my voice--as pastor, writer, blogger, spiritually sensitive person, American, and world citizen--to raise my concerns and alarm over the mobilization of the Trump army. I have thought long and hard about this for many weeks. As a pastor I feel strongly about that uneasy alliance between faith and politics. On the one hand, my Christian faith compels me to promote the values that I believe a morally healthy society requires. On the other hand, I generally draw the line at endorsing or denouncing any particular candidate.But I believe that we are playing with a completely different animal here. The fact of the matter is Trump hasn't given me enough of a picture of his political platform for me to either agree or disagree with him. This isn't about denouncing him for policies that I feel will not be best for America. No, this runs much deeper than that. If I disagreed with his policies, but found that he was playing by the rules of democracy and political dialogue I could easily retreat to my usual rule--preach about values without telling people how to vote.I need to be honest here. I am truly alarmed about the growing momentum of Trump-ism. Here is my concern. Trump has refused to follow the rules of a presidential candidacy. During the debates he repeatedly interrupted other candidates when he was challenged, yet he had that nasty double standard of raising his hand when others attempted to interrupt him, sternly firing back, "Excuse me, I am talking right now." Unfortunately, the debate moderators were either unwilling or unable to stop him and he was able to dictate the tenor of the debates. And he has made being a playground bully into an adult art form.
But the real concern is this. I am not seeing any sign that this man will graciously accept defeat, if and when that comes. Today he is beginning to set the stage for his army of supporters to go into full riot mode if he doesn't get his way. He is warning us that if he has the most delegates going into the convention, but is denied the nomination that he fully expects there to be riots. He knows exactly what he is doing--giving permission for his followers to resort to violence while claiming that he himself does not endorse it. It's like letting your pit bull loose in a mall and then saying, "I didn't bite anyone!"It is looking entirely possible that he may win the Republican nomination by completely legal means. But if that happens and he loses to either Hillary Clinton or Bernie Sanders will Trump finally bow out respectfully? Will he stand before his followers offering a graceful concession speech saying, "We fought one hell of a fight. We may not have won, but we certainly sent a message to Washington." I hope that he has someplace in that twisted soul of his to bow to the majority vote, if and when it comes. I hope that his ego can take a seat for just a moment and let the will of the people dictate our future.I am seriously concerned though. I have seen no signs of his ability to do this. What will he do if he loses the presidency, but he also has 50 million people who are angry as hell and who want to "make America great again." Will his ego allow him to tell his followers, "Let's get back to work and try again in four years." Or will he gather his growing army and tell them, "Let's show America who is boss. No one tells me I am a loser!" So far the latter seems to fit his character better.I am not sure what all this has to do with our conversation on the theme "Between Two Worlds" except that the pulpit has always been a place where truth could be spoken. No matter what other competing interests there were the rest of the week, for twenty minutes on Sundays, the pulpit was reserved for "hearing what God has to say to us today." And my emerging work is largely about honoring the language of the soul--and quite honestly my soul is feeling violated, threatened, scared, and mobilized.Will Trump make America great again? Or will he make himself great on the backs of women, immigrants, the disabled, Muslims, refugees, and losers like the rest of us.We need to be careful. We need to be watchful. We need to be ready.
Official Book Launch! Yippeeeeee!
Between Two Worlds Day 31 (of 40)
Alone: A 4,000 Mile Search for Belonging is now available!
After four and half years since that incredible little bike ride around the West, three different church positions including three moves, and eighteen months of writing, rewriting, and rewriting again I am pleased, proud and relieved to announce that the book is available.ALONE chronicles my 4,000 mile bike ride through Oregon, Idaho, Montana, Wyoming, Colorado, Utah, Nevada, and California in 2011 as I sought to reconnect with the people and the places of my past after three devastating years of personal and professional loss. It captures my grief, my struggles and my discoveries as I sought my place in the world again.You can order the book by going to http://www.pedalpilgrim.com/bookThank you all for your support, patience, and belief in me. A special thanks goes to the people of Eastminster Church in Portland who took this pilgrimage with me in their hearts.
DIY Religion (Part 2)
Between Two Worlds Day 20"If I have to have a label..."Evonne's response to my post from yesterday about the expanding and changing labels that we use to describe our religious identity forced me to write the second half of my post.
Over two years ago I wrote a letter to the editor in the Eugene Register about the religious labels we use to define ourselves. The impetus for the letter actually originated six years prior when I was first signing up for a Facebook account. The profile page asked for my religious identity and I immediately recoiled. I realized that the most obvious choice would be to simply write in Christian. I am a Presbyterian pastor. I was baptized. I regularly participate in the Lord's Supper and I do have a thing for this Jesus character. Christian made the most sense.But I wasn't able to simply write in Christian. I knew what I meant by the term, but I had no idea if others would put me in the Jerry Falwell camp or the "I can't wait to save you" crowd. I spent a full six months working out a label that would more accurately pinpoint my actual Christian faith. I came up with the agnostic Christian mystic.But Evonne's comment reminded me that my letter to the editor actually began with the values that I identity with. It only ended with my own little identifier after I said, "But we live in a world that needs labels and if Facebook says that I have to have a label THEN I would be comfortable saying that I am an agnostic Christian mystic."The truth is I too am uncomfortable with having a label at all. For those who need and want a label I have found a way to fill in the short blank that calls for something slick and clean. But the truth is I am identifying myself more by the values that have emerged from my Christian faith than by the pithy label that I have worked out for myself.If the world needs a label I would be willing to tell you that I am an agnostic Christian mystic. But at my funeral what I really want to hear is that Brian was a man of compassion, honesty, truth, abiding presence, wit, grace, strength, perseverance, faith, and curiosity. Don't say that I was a Christian. Say that I tried to live like Christ.Thanks Evonne for the reminder!
DIY Religion
Between Two Worlds Day 29 (of 40)
If I heard the comment right I think the Rev. Deborah Wright said, "Where I live in Marin County (just north of the Golden Gate Bridge) all the Jews and half of the Christians are also practicing Buddhists. They don't see a conflict between the two." One would have to check the actual statistics to see how close to the truth that is. But Deborah, I am sure, was not trying to convince us of a certain percentage. Rather she was making the point that we are entering a new world where the lines between religions are dissolving away.I am still thinking about the presentation I attended on Friday on adaptive change as it spoke directly to my Lenten invitation to explore the theme "Between Two Worlds." I once had a person observe that my sermons have occasionally highlighted some of the similarities between religions. He wanted to know when I would preach on what was distinct about Christianity.
The comment reminded me of the battle over the Black Lives Matter slogan. Folks have cried out, "Shouldn't the slogan be 'All Lives Matter?'" Of course that should be the underlying assumption and goal, but isn't it interesting that it takes a "Black Lives Matter" protest to get us to say "All Lives Matter." If we who are white had been the first to stand up and shout out "ALL LIVES MATTER! ALL LIVES MATTER!" in response to the imbalance of arrests and incarcerations of African Americans it would have been heard differently. But only in response to the Black Lives Matter movement it sounds like we are once again being defensive and just not getting it, STILL!!!But I digress...only slightly. My questioner wanted to know when I would preach on what was distinct about Christianity in response to the occasional sermons that highlighted the similarities between religions. My thought was, "Well, that's what you get the other 45 weeks of the year!" I don't have to yell "Christianity Matters" every week. That's the working assumption as soon as you walk into a Christian church.But the truth is the language, spiritual practices, beliefs, traditions and histories of other religions are sneaking their way into my sermons and writing more and more--almost by osmosis. The lines are dissolving whether I like it or not.
Deborah says in her area that it's more likely for someone to say they are Buddhist Christian than to claim being Presbyterian Christian or Episcopal Christian. For those of you who have read my blog for quite some time, you know I have been working with the quirky combination of "agnostic Christian mystic"--blending my ongoing openness to the "I don't know" of faith, my Christian values, and a preference for the experiential side of faith found in mysticism.Quite honestly, even as anxious as I am about my livelihood in this time, I am almost giddy about what is emerging. As a pastor, I just can't wait to provide space for people to explore, affirm and name their own unique, particular and quirky faith. I want to help you come to that point where you will proudly say:"I am an evangelical Presbyterian pantheist?""I am a social justice-loving, born again Baptist?""I am a Star Wars influenced Christian with a Native American thread."It all sounds crazy. But part of the beauty of our time is that no authority (not even an ordained Presbyterian minister or a Catholic pope) can tell you what to believe. Even if we did, you would still believe what you wanted to anyway. Right?!Religion is slipping into DIY territory.
Noah and the Whale
A young man bent over a crossword puzzle yells over to the clerk at the Subway sandwich shop, “Hey Julie, blank and the whale?” Julie, who was making my sandwich at the time blurts back, “It’s Noah and the whale.” I nearly laughed out loud before catching myself and saying, “Do you mean Jonah and the whale?” “Oh yeah, that sounds right. Shows you how much I know,” she giggles. I give her a little education and tell her it’s “Noah and the flood or Jonah and the whale.”I just left a short presentation on adaptive change in our congregational and denominational worlds. I brought my failing laptop with me to begin my blog post before heading back into a full day of worship and meetings that will take me until nearly 10:00 p.m. I was just getting ready to sit down and write about what the presenters, Jim Kitchens and Deborah Wright, both Presbyterian pastors, had to say about how adaptive change models can help us negotiate from world to another. Then Julie blurted out “Noah and the whale” and made my point better than I could about the changing world.Jim used a wonderful analogy in his part of the presentation. He explained that just a few years ago (I’m being very kind!) he played high school football. He said if you want to understand what adaptive change is like imagine playing football for a full half and then heading into the locker room to rest and re-strategize for the second half. Then imagine that your team runs out of the locker room and you discover that the football field has been hydraulically shifted and the lines repainted to now serve as a baseball field. You are still playing ball. You are still on grass. You are still entertaining a stadium of spectators, but everything else has changed. There are nine players to a side rather than eleven. The ball is more like an orange in size rather than a misshapen watermelon. And now there are nine innings rather than four quarters. Plus the uniforms are less like armor.Sometime in the last forty years we went in for half time and came out and the world was different. Shoot! Even the young people don’t know that it was Jonah that got swallowed by the whale rather than Noah. Didn’t Julie know that Noah had a big fish tank on the ark with both a boy and girl whale in it swimming around in circles in the cramped space? I swear, these young people don’t know anything! The church went in for halftime and came out and the field was different and the rules changed.But I loved Jim’s image of the football field and the baseball field. Both are sports. Both use grass fields. Both use balls. And both are entertaining unless it’s the Oakland Raiders, of course. Eighteen months ago I did a spiritual pilgrimage that I titled “From Rome to Rumi.” That is exactly what I was doing—traveling between two religious worlds that are about the same business, but look and act very differently. This Lent I am working with the “Between Two Worlds” theme. It’s just the thing that is in the air these days.This is my commitment to you. I will continue to go back and forth between the football field and the baseball field until we all know how to play the new game. I will continue to cross back and forth over the bridge that both separates and connects our traditional religious institutions with the re-emergence of religious mysticism and emerging spiritualities. Shoot—I’ll even build an ark and give Jonah and the whale their own room, if I need to.
A Sign from God (or just Walter?)
Between Two Worlds Day 27 (of 40)
A quote from RUMI on a Christian Church street sign? There is hope yet!Actually the accompanying picture was sent by Walter, a former member of Eastminster Church in Portland, Oregon—the church I was pastor of that technically closed but has lived on under a new name and resurrected ministry. I am tickled at the idea of a Christian Church quoting a Sufi Muslim mystic from 800 years ago. More than that, I took it as a personal message:“Keep going Brian. Trust the process. You are producing fruit, even if you don’t get to see it.”Years before I helped the congregation erect that sign never imagining that one day a quote from Rumi would be broadcast to the 25,000 drivers per day that pass by.I certainly can’t claim too much credit for the theological direction of Parkrose Community United Church of Christ (http://www.parkroseucc.org) where my former Eastminster members continue to go to church and call it their own. But I do wonder if laid the groundwork for it happen. Years before the 2012 closure and legacy deal I taught a class titled An Introduction to Christian Mysticism. Partnered with that class I preached on a handful of different mystics from the pulpit introducing the congregation to St. Francis of Assisi, St. John of the Cross, Teresa of Avila and Thomas Merton, to name a few. I remember when one person came off the street because of this sign mentioning Thomas Merton. A few weeks later she joined the church.
We didn’t make the language of mysticism a big deal. But I do remember that both conservative and liberal members were able to relate to the experiences that were the source of mystical writings. Three years later I took my slightly over-ambitious 4,000 mile cycling pilgrimage around the West. For the first time in my life I found myself writing about some of my experiences using the poetic imagery of mysticism to capture my experiences. Simple descriptions weren’t enough to describe playing with God in a lightning and thunderstorm or standing far above Lower Yellowstone Falls and wanting some way to become one with the violent rush of water. My head told me it was foolish. My soul wanted to feel what the water felt.But PCUCC saw an opportunity and Eastminster, I believe, was ready to invite another group of faithful spirited Christians to take the reins of the church. Nine months later the deal was done. Eastminster officially closed, but the community lived on in a new form.
Since then I have continued to explore this return to/resurgence of religious mysticism that I believe will eventually become our common language again. I preached another series on the Christian mystics in my next church, then went on a pilgrimage to visit the site of Rumi’s Tomb in Konya, Turkey, and have flirted with some mystical themes in my current church. But honestly I have sometimes wondered if I am speaking in an empty canyon where my words echo on forever but no one but me actually hears them. Or I wonder if people hear the words, but they fall flat like well-spoken French that sounds lyrical but no one actually understands.So for now I am going to take the picture of the sign that I helped erect, in front of a church that once I pastored, for a community of people to whom I introduced mysticism as a personal message from God (or Walter) that says, “Keep going Brian. Trust the process. You are producing fruit.”A Christian Church quoting a Muslim poet and prophet? Maybe there is hope for us yet!
Book Announcement #2
Between Two Worlds Day 26Dear Readers,
The book is coming, I promise!We weren't satisfied by the quality of print on the first version. We receive a second hard copy proof from the printer/publisher on Friday. Keep your fingers crossed. Any day now (really!).Below is the book description that will go on Amazon.com. Full details will be available the hour it comes out.Amazon DescriptionIN 2011, PROPELLED BY A GROWING sense of dread, Brian Heron embarked on an epic 4,000 mile bicycle adventure through some of America's most challenging terrain. A series of personal and professional losses left him feeling that his world was crumbling at an alarming rate. His wife of twenty five years had suddenly left one night. Eighteen months later his mother-in-law, with whom we was especially close, died after a four year struggle with dementia. A year after that his stepmother died unexpectedly during a routine, but risky open heart surgery. If that wasn't enough he was leading a church through a process of closing and putting in place their legacy in the community. He was working himself out of a job. In a short period of four years both his personal and professional life were disintegrating like a sand castle facing high tide.Replacing Forrest Gump's running shoes for a bike, he felt compelled to set off. Searching for a feeling of belonging he decided to return to the towns, to the people and the places that had shaped him. He would return to the town of his birth, Bozeman, Montana, where his parents had divorced and his mother disappeared from his life. He would spend a few days in the town of his childhood, Loveland, Colorado, that was the source of his most formative years and painful memories. He would ride through his old college campus where his life most made sense, if only for a few years. And he would return to Northern California where most of his adult life took shape with family, theological education, friends, and serving the community in various capacities.Along the way he would pedal across the rugged Rocky Mountains of Colorado, survive the lonely and desolate desert of Nevada in the heat of August, and negotiate his way through the jungle of California freeways. He would find himself in the belly of the whale in a drug-infested, paint peeling, shitty motel feeling completely alone and abandoned by the world and God. He would battle thunder and lightning storms, 100 degree heat, cars and semis, an especially bold buffalo, and his own personal demons. He would face the truth of his life, the reality of his dissolving profession, and the losses that life had thrown onto his path.New York Times bestselling author of the William Shakespeare's Star Wars Series, Ian Doescher, writes of Brian's book, "Alone is a compelling journey of personal discovery, religious questioning and spiritual awakening. At times deep, at times sad, at times funny, Heron invites the reader to ride along each day of this remarkable adventure. When it's over, you'll feel each of the 4,000 miles in your own soul."Join Brian as he follows the pilgrim path on an adventure of personal healing, the renewal of strength and hope, and the rediscovery of his unique place in the world. Take the journey with Brian, look into the pages of your own life, and learn to honor the wounds and the delights of your own yearning soul.
The Languages of Love...
Between Two Worlds Day 25 (of 40)
"Nobody really believes she’s an ordained pastor in the ELCA. Maybe it’s the sleeve tattoos or the fact that she swears like a truck driver. Either way… she’s fine with it."
That is a quote about the Reverend Nadia Bolz-Weber, a Lutheran pastor in Denver. Two weeks ago I was teaching a class on "The Revolution of Grace" and I read a whole chapter of Nadia's book Pastrix to the class. It's a great story of redemption, grace in action, and a modern extension of Jesus' preference for the outcast and discarded of our society. Nadia spent her early adult life on a path of self-destruction, a fact that she was aware of and wore proudly--that is, until she discovered that her drinking wasn't any more adorable than the other alcoholics in an AA meeting that she had been invited to.But there was a problem with the story. While I believe that she tamed her language down a little for the book, there was still enough in there to make me nervous about shocking my Presbyterian faithful. Hers was an authentic story of gospel redemption, but would the language be a barrier to hearing it, I wondered. I was thankful when after reading some sections where she said fuck and bitch that my class didn't march me straight out into the parking lot and pull a Trump on me by taking my coat and leaving me shivering in the cold. Actually the group handled it pretty well. But a few people wondered whether her newfound faith had really taken. If she was serious about her faith wouldn't she also have cleaned up her language? was the question.
This interchange was on my mind all day today as I thought about my post from yesterday when I talked about some "crazy shit" in the Bible. I have been around enough teenagers and young hip adults to know that for them that off color combination is just a fun way of saying, "That's some pretty outlandish claims there!" But I also have been around enough good Presbyterians who are often a generation older than me to know that a swearing pastor is an oxymoron. The two just don't belong in the same body.The truth is I don't lace most of my conversations with four letter words as if a sentence isn't really complete without them. But I do lace a blog here and there with a little well-placed profanity when it naturally pops into my mind, I think it will have a little stronger impact and will connect with those for whom profanity is as common to them as it is for the swearing, tattooed good reverend, Nadia Bolz-Weber.I write this today because I spent the day worrying that the casual use of profanity may have pushed a few of my readers too far. For those who get the whole "crazy shit" reference I felt really good about my blog. I let them know that I too didn't have rose-colored glasses on when it came to scripture and that the Bible must sound pretty wild and far fetched to the casual reader. Yet I think I made my case that its very outlandishness is what convinces me that there is a God-experience hidden in there. Its crazy claims aren't a reason to dismiss it, but rather to take it even more seriously than ever. I love this crazy...well you know what I mean.
I am reminded again in this "Between Two Worlds" Lenten conversation that bridging that divide is very tricky. Nadia Bolz-Weber tells an amazing story of redemption yet her own street language is a sign to some that she hasn't really gotten the whole Christian thing yet. It is as if she "got saved" yet never said goodbye to unredeemed life. Yet to her own people her rather unpolished language is probably a gift rather than a barrier. Her new found master's level, seminary sophistication could be as offensive to her clan as her street mouth might be to my Presbyterian clan.I live somewhere between these two worlds. Every blog post is an attempt to build a web of understanding and connection between the people of the institutional church and the people "on the loose" who are experimenting, exploring and adopting emerging forms of spirituality. I want to build bridges. But I worry sometimes that in my attempts to speak to people on both sides of the river bank that all I am really doing is getting all wet.
The 'Crazy Sh--' Hermeneutic
Between Two Worlds Day 24 (of 40)I couldn't believe the thought that came into my head this afternoon. Once it grabbed a few brain cells I couldn't get rid of it. Carley had asked me to say more about preaching using the mystical lens. My Bible professors would either be rolling in their graves or it would quickly send them there if they heard me say this. But the thought that wouldn't go away was, "Carley, I've gone to using the 'crazy shit' hermeneutic."
Let me explain. No matter how you slice it there's a lot of crazy stuff in the Bible--virgin births, burning bushes, seraphim and cherubin, people floating up into the sky, and corpses coming back to life. I have never taken the Bible very literally. Even in my early days of weak sophistication I didn't know how to read these stories, but I also was skeptical enough to wonder about their factuality--which shouldn't be surprising as I grew up with an engineering father.Eventually my wondering gave way to more certainty as I began to read the Bible more metaphorically. That satisfied my rational side while also giving me a way to speak to the spiritual realities of our lives. No, Jonah wasn't really swallowed by a whale, but who hasn't experienced trying to run from God (or Life) only find that God has a way of marching you right back to where you started! That's preachable!Preaching metaphorically worked for me for a long time. I didn't have to take texts literally in order to still ask the question, "What is God's message to me and to us here?" It didn't really matter whether I took the Bible at face value or read it metaphorically. The same question applied in both cases. But what both had in common was the belief that God was saying something to us through the text. I haven't abandoned this, but it's shifted.A few years ago my basic question changed. I started asking, "What was the experience behind the text that inspired the writers to come up with a bunch of crazy shit?" In my early years the crazier the stuff the less believable it was. The more outlandish the claims (think of the six-winged winged dragons of Revelation) the more I had to dig to find the message in the writing. I found myself avoiding the crazier-sounding texts.But about twenty years ago I had my first of a handful of mystical experiences--experiences where I got lost in nature, or an experience, or even another dimension. I have never been able to describe those experiences adequately. I am usually at a loss for words with regard to them. I know the feeling. I know it's true, but finding the words to describe these rare occurrences is almost impossible.
The best I ever came up with was how I described an experience in Greece where I was climbing a mountain trying to outrace a nasty thunderstorm as the sun was disappearing. At one point I stopped as I rounded a switchback and the sunset looked at me directly and without words just said, "I am honoring you tonight. You are strong and beautiful." I heard her silent voice clearly. Later as I wrote about it, all I could say was that the "sunset was bowing to me as much as I was bowing to her." It makes no rational sense and trying to convince someone else that the sun actually singled me out to bow to me would be an exercise in futility. Yet no one will ever convince me otherwise that that night the sunset and I exchanged a knowing look. We were both beautiful and took a moment to acknowledge that and bow to each other.
I share this because those mystical experiences have changed me. I see in the Bible the same struggle to find words for an experience that isn't really meant for words. How do you explain that in Jesus you actually see the face of God? How do you write about the fact that Jesus just keeps showing up even though he was certifiably dead?More and more I don't look for what God's message is to us in a Biblical text. Rather I look for the mystical, God-experience that must have been there for those writers to write all this crazy shit. The crazier the writing the more I find myself digging and trying to unlock the experience behind the text like searching for hidden treasure. The crazier it is the more I am convinced that something mystical, miraculous, awe-inspiring, and life-altering has happened.I am no longer satisfied with just saying, "Here is what God might be saying to us." Now I want to use the preaching moment to give a little sample, a little taste, a small sip of God's nectar and hope that they will beg for more, much more, much, much more.
What a Trip!
Between Two Worlds Day 23 (of 40)A funny thing is developing. Ten months ago I took a new position in a church in southern Oregon in a congregation that had just emerged from a period of conflict and loss. I had just emerged from a period of unemployment. You will remember that my blog posts slowed to barely a trickle.There was good reason for this. This congregation didn't need any more controversy and I didn't want to jeopardize having a regular paycheck again. It felt good to pay for groceries with real cash again rather than food stamps.But now nearly a year into this position an unexpected and funny development is emerging. I have shared with the leadership of the church that the most difficult aspect of the work there is preaching--not because preaching has always been a challenge for me (it hasn't, generally it's just a lot of fun), but because the diversity of the congregation finds me nearly every week trying to find something meaningful to say without losing people on either end of the theological spectrum. There is a soft split in the congregation on what we might term a fundamentalist/progressive continuum.In the early months I tried to preach safe sermons. You know what I mean--sermons where just about everyone could agree. Yes, God does love us all. Yes, no matter how much change there is in the world Jesus will remain central to our Christian faith. Yes, God really does want us to "do justice, act with kindness, and walk humbly before our God." (Micah 6: 8)But my energy to find neutral and agreeable sermons started to run out this last fall. (I am sure some of you are surprised that I could hold my tongue that long!). As I ran out of safe and universally agreeable sermons I found myself faced with how to preach to the congregation without splitting it. I knew that if I leaned too far one way or the other on the fundamentalist/progressive continuum that people would start falling off the boat with no one to catch them. The Catch 22 dilemma pushed me into a third direction unfamiliar to everyone (better to offend everyone than just one side!)My sermons have shifted toward preaching the Bible through the mystical lens--essentially all that means is that I seek to help people experience the Biblical text rather than just understand it or look for its meaning. I want people to feel it, taste it, desire it, and hunger for it.
And as I said an unexpected thing is happening. Nearly no one had much prior exposure to the language of mysticism, but they do know what it is like to experience God and to feel Christ's presence in their bones. They do know what it is like to experience a Sacred presence at the rawest and most vulnerable turns of life. I have a feeling that if I introduced mysticism as a concept, I would get a glassy-eyed look from some and a frown from others. But rather than teaching about mysticism I am just giving out little free samples. And a funny thing is happening--they are coming back for more.My journey toward religious mysticism has had many stages. But I am wondering if another stage is about ready to blossom. And for once, I wonder if it won't be another solo journey away from community, but this time in community and with community.What a trip this has been!
When the Song Sings Us
Between Two Worlds Day 22 (of 40)Most mornings I dedicate a good 45 minutes or so to some quiet reflection and writing. For the past few months I have been reading Mark Nepo's The Book of Awakenings, 365 short meditations. On Thursday I read one that really stuck with me. Here is one portion:
"Before we live what's next, it always seems like there is some answer we need to arrive at. But daring to enter, we are humbled to discover, again and again, that the act of living itself unravels both the answer and the question. When we watch, we remain riddles to be solved. When we enter, we become songs to be sung."
I took a big deep breath when I read that line, "We become songs to be sung." I think about where I was over twenty-five years ago when I first entered the ministry. I wanted to excel at playing the part of the pastor. It was a role in the community and I did the best I could not only fit into that role, but to play by its rules. The role had a set of responsibilities as well as boundaries. I had taken vows to serve in the capacity of a Minister of Word and Sacrament. In seminary I remember being told to be careful that we didn't put too much "I" into our sermons and into the role. Like soldiers, we were serving a greater purpose and personality had to take a back seat.These days I can't even tell the difference between my personality and my role as a minister. In fact I would hesitate to too narrowly define myself as a minister. Now I am some complex mixture of writer, pastor, community agitator, spiritual pilgrim, overly-ambitious cyclist, and blogger. And more importantly I feel that I am employing all the I-ness I have into my role. Instead repressing the "I" part of me to do the role I feel like all I have is "I". The role and my personality has melded into one.I write this because somewhere in the soup of the past two decades I went from feeling like the idea of playing a role dissolved away. Nepo's comment captured how I feel these days: "I feel like I am allowing myself to become a song that is sung." I am not even in charge of the song. Some spirit larger than myself is singing me. I feel almost out of control in the same way that a writer feels like the story is writing her rather than the other way around.As I thought about this subtle shift that has taken place I was struck by Nepo's comment that this feeling of becoming a song to be sung happens when we choose to enter life rather than just watching or observing from a distance. Observing is safe and sterile. Entering and engaging is risky and messy. It's one thing to approach life as a spectator; a whole other thing to step into the ring.What is worth stepping into the ring for you?What is so important to you that you are willing to take the risk to be hurt, to lose, to make mistakes, to look like the fool?