Traveling in Place

Learning to Listen in a PowerPoint World

For nearly 18 years, I have taught in the religious studies department of a local college.  The classroom experience has changed dramatically since I began.  For the first few years, I walked into class with nothing more than my lecture notes and a box of chalk.  I taught by speaking, asking questions to generate discussion, and occasionally writing terms or drawing visual representations of ideas on a blackboard.  Some days, I left with chalk marks all over my clothes.

Chalk dust went away with the advent of whiteboards.  I was glad for that.  Not only did I not miss the chalk, but the blackboards sometimes got so dirty that they were impossible to erase.  When I tried, I was just moving dust around, some on the board, some in the air.  I’m glad to be rid of that mess.

Within the last decade, all the classrooms have been upgraded with the latest in digital technology.  Now, the “teaching station” in the front of each classroom contains a control panel for at least one computer, a DVD player, a document camera, one or two projectors mounted into the ceiling, and drop-down screens.  There are also ports for flash drives and laptops.  I bring my own laptop, from which I project PowerPoint presentations that include the main bullet points of my lectures, images relating to the material, and questions for class discussion.

I can’t just walk into a classroom and start talking anymore.  Now, I have to boot up the system and make sure the projector is on, the screen is down, and my laptop is properly installed.  This usually takes only a few minutes. 

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.

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

The Return of Winter

Snow is falling heavily today.  This morning, some locations reported two inches per hour.   This wouldn’t normally be news in a Central New York January, but we haven’t seen any significant snowfall this season before today.  Tree limbs are thickly flocked.  Traffic lights are hanging at a 45-degree angle in a stiff wind that sometimes gusts to 40 miles per hour.  Since the snow is falling too quickly for the plows to keep up, the roads are sloshy and slippery, and visibility is down to a few hundred feet.  Snow is forecast to fall steadily for the next 24 hours.

In many other parts of the country, this would be time to close school, shut up shop, and hunker down at home.  We’d be doing the same thing if this were a monstrous nor’easter dumping a couple of feet of snow.  But it’s not that at all.  This storm is just the return of winter to the Snow Belt – finally.  School is open, traffic is flowing (albeit slower than usual), consumers and cashiers are moving with a sense of urgency, but not frantically.  The plow drivers are feeling their oats for the first time in nine months.  We seem to have been rustled out of our post-holiday slumber.  Normal life has returned.

In a post last month, I intimated that many residents here reflexively complain about snow, as if the less snow the better.  The ideal winter, to hear some people talk, would be no winter at all.  Florida, in other words.  Some of us have a different view.  We appreciate having four real seasons.  We believe that heavy snow is preferable to hurricanes, tornadoes, and earthquakes.  We also recognize that a snow-blanketed ground lightens up otherwise dark days.  On sunny days, the snow sparkle under a cobalt winter sky is breathtaking.

Christmas Sunday

Note: This post was updated on 12/26/11

Christmas doesn’t fall on a Sunday very often – only ten times every 100 years, but not in regular intervals.  (The next time will be in 2022, and then, not again until 2033.) This makes no difference to Catholics and high-church Protestants who always hold worship services on Christmas Day.  But going to church on Christmas morning is a bit of a novelty to most Protestants, including me.  I love our Christmas Eve services, especially the late one that ends with the lighting of the Christ candle at midnight.  Because we “sing in” Christmas with that service, we don’t normally worship together the following morning.  But when Christmas falls on a Sunday, we don’t cancel church.  We hold only one service.  The crowd is small, but those who come want to be there.

One reason Christmas Day worship is nice is that some carols are written specifically to be sung on Christmas morning.  For instance, the third verse of “O Come, All Ye Faithful” begins, “Yea, Lord, we greet Thee, born this happy morning,” and “Good Christians Friends, Rejoice” includes the line “Give ye heed to what we say: Jesus Christ is born today.” 

And then there are the words of Henry Wadsworth Longfellow set to music in “I Heard the Bells on Christmas Day.”  Longfellow penned this poem in the depths of the Civil War, contemplating the dissonance between the gunshots of war and the

Why the Pink Candle, Pastor?

This year, more people than ever have asked me to explain the meaning of the pink candle in the Advent wreath.  Why not four purple candles?  What’s so special about that third Sunday of Advent?  I regard this interest as a positive sign that folks are paying close attention to the visual symbols and practices of Christian worship. 

For more on the origin of the Advent wreath, I refer you to an earlier post entitled "Bearing the Light in Advent."  Here’ what I have learned about the pink candle.  In the Middle Ages, Advent was a season of penitence – a somber time of fasting and brooding over one’s sins.  On the third Sunday of Advent, Christians paused from this rather severe observance to notice that the time for repentance was nearing an end and the festival of Christmas was fast approaching.  That Sunday was called “Gaudete” Sunday, or “Rejoice” Sunday. 

Of Leaves, Cats, Fires, and Church Ministry

Earlier today, I completed another seemingly futile session of mulching and moving leaves.  This is the time of year when nature’s big color show ends and the leaves fall faster than homeowners can clear them, which engenders a feeling of helplessness.   No matter how hard and quickly you work, the slightest breeze sends thousands more leaves to the ground before your rake or lawnmower has passed over a fraction of your yard.

Sometimes pastoral ministry feels like this.   No matter how hard you work, nothing ever gets completely resolved.  Regardless of how many hours you spend trying to keep up with various challenges and needs, you never seem to catch up.  In his book on pastoral leadership, Anthony Robinson quotes a long-time pastor as saying that leading a congregation can be like “herding cats.”  It is impossible to corral everybody into serving the same mission with the same level of commitment.  We all have our own struggles, and we look to church, not only for what we can give, but also (and maybe primarily) for what we can get.  We look for hope, encouragement, guidance, and even a glimpse of eternity that will put our problems into perspective.  Many folks in church are using all their energy just to keep from drowning in their own difficulties.  Others may be swimming just fine, but are so accustomed to being anxious that they haven’t learned how to appreciate the bigger picture.  When I am preparing sermons, I try to keep in mind how people’s hurts and hopes will affect the way they hear me.  But I have to remind myself to let the text of scripture set the agenda, because I cannot possibly speak to every concern represented in the congregation. 

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.”

Baptism: Sign of Grace

I was there to hear your borning cry, I’ll be there when you are old.

I rejoiced the day you were baptized to see your life unfold...

So goes the chorus to John Ylvisaker’s beloved hymn that takes us through the stages of life from the perspective of God, who remains faithful even when we “wander off to find where demons dwell.”  God is with us when we “discover the wonder of the word,” should we “find someone to share our time,” and in “the middle ages” of life when we are “not too old, no longer young.”  And “when evening gently closes in and we shut are weary eyes,” God is there with “just one more surprise.”

At our church, we sing Ylvisaker’s hymn each time we baptize a child.  We know the hymn well, so we sing it robustly, but at every moment along the way, a few of us have to drop out momentarily, choked up and teary-eyed, while we get ourselves together.  The beauty of the song is enhanced by the experience of singing it.  We carry the tune for each other, making sure our voices fill the sanctuary even though some of us have had to stop singing.