Traveling in Place

Bearing the Light in Advent

Yesterday in church, we lit the first candle on the Advent wreath.  Of all the greens that adorn the sanctuary during this time of year, I suppose none draws as much attention as the Advent wreath.  With its candles, we mark the time leading up to Christmas, and call attention to the virtues of hope, peace, love, and joy.  With its greens, we remember that these gifts are eternal, as is the life made possible by the One whose birthday we anticipate.

I’ve heard several stories about the origin of the Advent wreath, and I have found that, as with the season of Advent, no one is really sure how this tradition began.  We do know that in 1839, a German Lutheran pastor named Johann Hinrich Wichern made a wreath with a wooden cartwheel and greens.  Wichern was the founder and headmaster of Rauhes Haus, a residential institution in Hamburg for poor boys.  He designed his Advent wreath to teach the boys the meaning of Christmas.  He used four white candles for the four Sundays of Advent, and red candles for each of the other days leading up to Christmas. 

Where's the Compassion?

My, how far we have come (or gone backward) in such a short time.

Only 25 years ago, President Ronald Reagan supported and signed into law an immigration reform bill that granted amnesty and citizenship to every illegal immigrant who had resided in the United States for five years or more.  Republican Senator Alan Simpson, co-author of the bill, is proud that he played a role in ending the exploitation of undocumented workers.  “Anyone who is here illegally is going to be abused in some way, either financially or physically,” he said.  “They have no rights.”  In a 1984 debate with Democratic challenger Walter Mondale, Reagan proclaimed, “I believe in the idea of amnesty for those who have put down roots and live here, even though sometime back they may have entered here illegally.”

That’s right.  The hero of the modern Republican Party, patriarch of modern American conservatism, favored amnesty for illegals.

Now, only a quarter century later, “amnesty” is considered the worst form of heresy in the Republican Party, and Democrats avoid using the word for fear they’ll be labeled un-American.

Everyday Thanksgiving

Years ago, I sat in on one of my children’s elementary school classes for a special presentation by a local artist, Eli Thomas.  Thomas is a prolific painter from the Onondaga tribe of Native Americans, whose sovereign nation lies south of Syracuse.  The school invited him to meet with youngsters just before the Thanksgiving break.

One of the paintings he shared with the students was of a boy sitting in the deep woods next to a waterfall. His small figure was near the lower right hand corner of this colorful scene teeming with the life of the forest. “This is a picture of a boy giving thanks for everything you see here – the waterfall, the birds, the animals, the trees, and the sky,” he explained, pointing to each of the features he named.  Then he asked the children, “What is the next big important day on our calendar?”  They all answered enthusiastically, “Thanksgiving!”  And I thought to myself, “Now this is going to be interesting.”

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.

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.