Traveling in Place

Grieving with Hope

This week, our church remembered and celebrated the life of one of our members who passed away over the weekend.  Following our usual practice, the deacons served a meal in the fellowship hall after the service.  Two lines of people with plate and flatware in hand patiently made their way down either side of a long row of tables crowded with dishes of food that people had brought to the kitchen before the service.  Whipped jello salad with marshmallows, tossed salads, macaroni and cheese, cold cuts, cheese, rolls, meatballs and sauce in a crockpot, creamed vegetable casseroles, scalloped potatoes, several varieties of beans, oven-roasted chicken, lasagna, and more (including dessert!) provided an overwhelming abundance.  The sanctuary just about filled up for the memorial service, and nearly everyone in attendance stayed for the meal.  There was plenty for everyone.

Nothing speaks of Christian fellowship quite like a church potluck dinner, especially when it follows a funeral.  There is never a shortage of food.  There is never a shortage of hands in the kitchen to make sure the near-empty dishes are replaced by more food, the tables are set, and the drinks are easily accessible.   Nor is there a shortage of spirit.  I do not recall ever being at a post-funeral church meal where people were quiet and reserved.  They’ve all just been to a worship service honoring a loved one who has passed from this life to the next.  They’ve cried, they’ve laughed, they’ve sung of their faith, they’ve drawn strength from scripture, and they’ve been reminded of our belief that God has conquered death through Christ.  We come to these long tables full of lovingly prepared food after we have celebrated the gift of life and the promise of resurrection.  The sadness has not receded, nor the grief diminished.  But we have drawn strength from one another, knowing that death is never the last word, however it comes.  We have affirmed that our bond with one another is stronger than death’s power. We are a people gathered by God’s loving arms.  God has committed to be with us for better and for worse.  And now, in this time of need, God feeds us in abundance.  The meal we share is communion in the deepest sense of the word.  This is why grieving family members come away from the table with broad smiles.  They have received more than comfort.  They have been nourished by the strength of God’s love expressed in the body of Christ.

What About Mormonism?

For the past couple of months, I’ve been asked two questions with increasing regularity: 1) Is Mormonism a cult?  2) Is Mormonism a form of Christianity?

Of course, there’s no secret about why I’m getting these questions.  There is at least an even chance that a major political party will, for the first time in American history, nominate a Mormon for President.  This would be another one of those “firsts” in the recent American history (following JFK as the first Catholic President, Sandra Day O’Connor as the first female Supreme Court Justice, Barack Obama as the first black President, etc.) that cause some to applaud the still unfolding American dream, and others to bite their lips in anxiety.

I can answer the first question very simply.  No, Mormonism is not a cult.  It is too big and diverse to be a cult.  It’s been around nearly 200 years and has matured into a religious denomination of over 14 million people worldwide.  Mormons do not all believe exactly the same thing.  There are liberal Mormons, conservative Mormons, and fundamentalist Mormons.  If Mormonism were a cult, there would be no spectrum of beliefs.

Jesus vs. Religion?

The video inserted below has been viewed nearly 16 million times on YouTube.  It features Jefferson Bethke, a 22-year-old evangelical Christian, reciting his own rap poem that maintains Jesus came to “abolish religion.”  Bethke reflects the antipathy toward organized religion that is shared by many (most?) young adults in America – including those raised in Christian homes.  

 

It’s easy to criticize Bethke for this video.  He’s an active member of the Mars Hill Church in Seattle, Washington, one of the nation’s premier megachurches.  He says he “loves the church,” but hates religion.  How is that possible?  Once you’ve organized a group of people who share the same basic belief system, you have religion – even if it’s “non-denominational.”  It’s also fair to ask, “If Jesus came to abolish religion, why was he an observant Jew?”  He attended synagogue services and participated in all the major festivals on the Jewish calendar.  In other words, he was religious. 

But I don’t want to dismiss Bethke’s provocative verse out of hand.  He’s got a point.  In fact, if you substitute the word “law” every time he uses the word

Why Dr. King Stirs My Soul

I was only a toddler when Martin Luther King gave his “I Have Dream” speech in front of the Lincoln Memorial.  I wasn’t even born when the Montgomery Bus Boycott catapulted him to the forefront of the Civil Rights movement.  But when I see the grainy black-and-white newsreels of King, especially when he’s speaking from the pulpit of a black Baptist church, I am instantly transported to a place that seems far away yet, judging from how deeply his words and cadence move me, is still very close to my heart.

On the occasion of the Martin Luther King holiday, as our nation pauses to consider the indelible mark Dr. King made on our history, I’ve been remembering the First Baptist Church on Cordell Street.

You see, I grew up in a typical Southern town.  The year I entered first grade was our school district’s first year of busing and integrated classrooms.  But every other aspect of life was strictly segregated, none more so than churches.  My family attended the First Baptist Church on Main Street, right at the major crossroads downtown.  But, as in many other Southern towns, there was another First Baptist Church – the one for the black folks.  Their church was located on Cordell Street, far off any path my family or any other white residents ever traveled.

The Other Epiphany

This Friday, January 6, is “Epiphany” on the Christian calendar.  Because it does not fall on a Sunday, only the most liturgical traditions will hold worship services, and only the most observant will attend.  The rest of us may or may not have observed Epiphany last Sunday.  Since it was New Year’s Day, and the readings for the second Sunday of Christmas lent themselves well to a reflection on the transition from old to new, I suspect many congregations, like my own, did not.

The first Sunday after Epiphany is the time to remember Jesus’ baptism and renew our baptismal vows.  Since this occasion has become one of the more moving worship services of the year for our congregation, Epiphany, at least this year, gets short shrift.

Or does it?

In Western Christianity, Epiphany is the time to remember the visit of the Persian Magi to see the Christ child.  It is therefore an extension of the Christmas season, inviting further reflection on gift-giving, as well as on the revelation (“epiphany” means “revelation”) of Christ to the Gentiles.  Tradition has bolstered the Magi’s Gentile identity by refashioning them as “three kings” from across the Orient.  But in Eastern Christianity, Epiphany has always been about Jesus’ baptism.  And since Eastern Christianity (which traces back to the church at Antioch) is older than the Western tradition (with roots in Rome), our remembrance of how Jesus was revealed to be “Son of God” at his baptism actually reflects the oldest understanding of Epiphany.

Not in the Bible

Recently, White House Press Secretary Jay Carney rallied behind President Obama’s push for a jobs bill by appealing to Holy Scripture. “I believe the phrase from the Bible is, ‘The Lord helps those who help themselves,’” he said.  Ouch.  I’m not sure how this statement supports Carney’s point, but even if it does, it is nowhere in Scripture.  At least the White House noted Carney’s error in its transcript of the press conference.

But a lot of people don’t know that Carney was wrong.  According to a Barna Group survey reported by Religion News Service, 75% of all Americans believe that the proverb, “God helps those who help themselves” comes from the Bible.  Actually, the phrase as we quote it first appeared in the writings of English political theorist Algernon Sydney in 1698.  Sydney may have been paraphrasing George Herbert, who wrote in 1651, “Help thyself and God will help thee.”  The saying became popular in America when it appeared in Ben Franklin’s Poor Richard’s Almanack in 1739.

The proverb fits well with the American philosophy of self-reliance, but it actually runs counter to the teachings of Scripture.  It implies that God’s favor must be earned, which is in direct contradiction to the New Testament teaching that we are saved by grace and not by works.  It also clashes with numerous biblical texts that command God’s people to give freely to the poor without expecting anything in return. 

“God helps those who help themselves” is not the only phrase mistakenly attributed to the Bible.  Here are a few more bits of verbiage that are often, and mistakenly, quoted as Scripture.  In each case, I have cited (as far as I have been able to ascertain) the correct attributions.

What the Penn State Scandal Illustrates

The scandal at Penn State University has provided plenty of fodder for journalists, columnists, and local newspaper letter writers.  The revelation that assistant football coach Jerry Sandusky raped an untold number of young boys is disgusting.  That other members of the coaching staff witnessed this criminal activity and either turned the other way or only met the minimum requirements of the law is infuriating.  That the name of coaching great Joe Paterno, known for decades as one of the “good guys” in college football, has been forever tainted is deeply disappointing.

There’s no debating the awfulness of the situation.  How many young boys have been traumatized for life and deprived of any kind of justice for the crimes committed against them?  What does this say about the subculture of big-time college athletics that protects players and coaches from public accountability?  What’s wrong with the law in Pennsylvania (and other states) that allows witnesses to this kind of unspeakable abuse to meet their legal obligation without crossing even a minimum threshold of moral responsibility?

I hope these questions are being raised with sufficient outrage to produce needed change in the law and in college athletics.  Here, I want to address how this tragedy demonstrates the reality of sin in the human experience. 

Keeping Awake

I’m a little disappointed, but mostly relieved, that 11/11/11 has not brought more dire warnings about the end of the world.  A movie called “11/11/11” opens in theatres today announcing that “the end is near.” Other than that, I haven’t heard of any apocalyptic preachers seizing on the numerological significance of this date.

Not that apocalyptic frenzy is receding.  A steady diet of panic and predictions has become a regular feature of American life (as opposed to an occasional eccentricity). Rapid cultural, ethnic, technological, and economic change suggests the decline of one age and the beginning of something new.  Since we don’t know what the next age will look like, it isn’t surprising that many of us are laser-focused on the end of what we do know.  This reminds me of Jesus telling his disciples that he would be rejected and killed, and on the third day, would rise again.  The disciples heard the part about rejection and death loud and clear.  They even tried to prevent Jesus from going to Jerusalem in order to keep him out of danger.  They couldn’t get beyond the warning of suffering in order to hear the part about resurrection.  Similarly, in this time of cultural transition, a lot of us are more focused on what we’re losing than on the possibilities of what is to come.

Communion: Feast of Grace

Ten years ago, on the night of September 11, 2001, our church held an impromptu worship service.  With only a few hours to plan, I knew right away that the most important thing we could do was share communion.

So we did.  We sang hymns, we prayed, I offered a brief meditation, and then I invited everyone in that full sanctuary to receive the bread and cup.   Folks seemed to be waiting for the opportunity.  They came forward eagerly.  Many were tearful.  Nearly everyone looked shell-shocked.  Repeating that familiar liturgy of faith and receiving the central symbols of our faith was deeply comforting and moving.

One of those who came forward was my oldest son Aaron.  At the time, he was 13.  He had spent the whole school day glued to the TV with his classmates.  Like the rest of America, they tried to comprehend what had happened as they watched video loops of falling towers and dust-covered people running for their lives.

Anointing: Touch of Grace

Readers may want to couple this post with an earlier one entitled “Baptism: Sign of Grace.”  I plan to write a post on Communion in the near future.

Anointing with oil, an ancient spiritual practice with New Testament roots, has only in recent years become fairly common practice in Protestant churches.  It is not a sacrament, though it bears an unmistakable sacramental quality.  Nor is it limited to those who are physically ill or dying, as in the Catholic practice of “extreme unction” (otherwise known as “last rites”).  It is shared with all the faithful.

Anointing is a cherished practice in my congregation.  Once a month, during Sunday worship, I invite people to come forward to receive this ancient symbol of God’s hospitality.  Usually, two-thirds to three-quarters of the congregation responds.  They make two lines down the center aisle of the sanctuary, and wait patiently for their turn to be anointed.  As I or one of our deacons makes the sign of the cross on their foreheads with olive oil, we say: “In the name of Jesus Christ, I anoint you with oil, so that you and those near to you may know the grace of God.”