Connected at the Table

Now more than ever, we are looking for ways to stay connected. From how we connect with our jobs and clients, or with school, or with family and friends, connection is critical. And in my circles, how we stay connected as the church is an ongoing conversation. 

First, I want to say that I believe that every church in our area is trying, most more than they have ever done, to stay connected with members. From live streaming in our living rooms to preaching in empty sanctuaries into a cell phone propped up on a stack of hymnals, churches are doing their best to be the church, the whole body of Christ.

These stories inspire me and give me hope, so thank you!

And then I have seen some amazing and creative ways that churches are seeking to maintain connection. I love seeing the stories of the members of the church, not just the pastors, working alongside one another to bring connection in new ways that 6 months ago we would have never even thought about. 

These stories inspire me and give me hope, so thank you!

And all of this is tiring, as well. 

I talked to a church member a few months ago who asked me how I was liking all this vacation time I’m getting since I’m not working preaching now. And she was serious. For me personally, this season has been more exhausting than anything I’ve ever done in ministry. But most of the members in the two churches I serve have been incredibly supportive of me and my family during this time. I can’t put into words how thankful I am for my wife, Heather, also. She is the one who makes sure that the tripod is level and the angle is right every Sunday morning. She handles a virtual welcome and announcements and then hands it over to me to preach as she sits and prays for me. And she has been right by side every Wednesday night Facebook live Bible study, Sunday night Children’s ZOOM, Monday night youth ZOOM, and all of the other special video services we have done since February. I know that this isn’t the case in all clergy families, but I could not have done all this during this Covid-season without her. 

And now, as the number of cases in our county continue to rise, and the possibility of being back together in-person for worship keeps getting pushed further back, we continue to seek connection.

And as much as the innovative and creative ways of connection have inspired me and given me hope in our church, it is something else that gives me a deeper hope for the future of the “church”. 

Hugh Wallace, a member at Telford UMC, takes his laptop to Jackie’s house every Sunday morning (and took Jackie a mask since he didn’t have one). Jackie doesn’t have internet access, or a computer, or a smartphone. He is disconnected from all of the online worship opportunities. But now is connected because of Hugh. 

The kitchen table has become a place of worship, again. 

The table has truly been extended, again.

And all because one person took a laptop to another person’s house so that they could worship together. So that they could have church together….so that they could be the church together. 

I am amazed by all of our creative ways to stay connected, but perhaps the “house church” or the “kitchen table church” is what inspires me most right now. And it doesn’t take a lot. It just takes a Jackie who has a need, and a Hugh willing to do something about it.

The Superabundant Grace in the Leftovers

We have a ritual that we go through every week in our house. Heather and I go through the refrigerator and throw away all the leftovers that we kept for the week, the things that we brought home from the restaurant because we didn’t eat it all and we didn’t want to be wasteful and throw it away there, so we brought it home to throw it away here. The casserole from Sunday lunch, or sometimes just the things we thought we needed and so we bought them, only to never use them and have to throw them away. Then of course there are the things our kids have stuck in the fridge and forgot about.

The story in Matthew chapter 14 of Jesus feeding the 5000 with 5 loaves of bread and 2 fish is a great illustration of the grace that can be seen in the leftovers.

If there’s anything I know for certain right now about the world we are living in, is that there is a lot of uncertainty. When will our kids go back to school? What exactly will that look like? When can we come back to in person worship? What will that look like? When can we sing in public again? When will we be able to just hug someone again? When will there be a vaccine? When will this end? Like many of the psalms, we ask, “How long, O Lord?”

Today I invite you to read Matthew 14:13-21. It’s a familiar story that if you’ve been around church much you’ve probably heard before. It’s a favorite in our Sunday school classes and when more people than we anticipated show up for a potluck so we pray for Jesus to multiply our fishes and loaves as our counters are full of meatloaf and macaroni and cheese.

But at the heart of the story, there is a dilemma. There is a problem that arises.

It is the uncertainty of scarcity. It’s about not having enough, or at least feeling like we don’t.  When survival determines our mindset we lose sight of God. Gregory Jones, the Dean of Duke Divinity School, says this is when we “become practical athiests rather than Spirit-inspired people of hope”.

I think we live in a culture of not-enough.

Have you ever said there’s just not enough money? How many of you didn’t get enough sleep last night? Or felt like you didn’t get enough done this past week? Have you ever thought you didn’t have enough time to do what was needed? Or maybe that you don’t have enough skills to do it anyway? Or as we get older have you thought that there just isn’t enough time in general?

The mindset of not-enough will lead us to a mindset of uncertainty because of the scarcity we see, but the reality is that there is a certainty—and we can see it in the abundance of the leftovers.

I don’t think God shows up in amazing ways when we have too much. Maybe because that’s when we are more focused on our own security, but I have seen God show up many times in amazing ways in times of shortage.

Jesus is showing the need to recognize the responsibility to meet the needs of those around him, those around us.

And then Jesus invites his disciples into the work of distribution, as he gave to the disciples and then the disciples gave to the people.  And over 5000 were fed. And not just fed, did you catch that word in verse 20?

They were “satisfied”. It’s the same word Matthew used in describing the beginning to the sermon on the Mount in chapter 5, what we call the beatitudes.  There in verse 6 Jesus says “blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness, for they will be filled…or, satisfied.

Filled to brim, stuffed, over-flowing.

With 12 basketfull left over!

Some biblical commentators say there was 12 baskets to represent the 12 tribes of Israel, and lots of books have been written on meaning of the leftovers.

But I see this as an example of the greatness of the miracle, thousands of people fed because Jesus took care of them with what others brought to him.

I see in this an example of what Sam Wells, called “superabundance”. This extravagant generous grace of God to not just provide the bare minimum of what is needed, but to be so divinely generous that our uncertainty of scarcity is replaced with the certainty that Jesus will provide.

Or as Paul put it in to the Philippians, “my God shall abundantly satisfy all your needs according to his riches in glory in Christ Jesus” (Philippians 4:19).

Because of his compassion, Jesus did something that the people could not do on their own.

Because of his compassion, Jesus continues doing something that the people could not do on our own.

God’s superabundant grace is extended to us as well, and we are invited to come hungry, and to be filled…to be satisfied.

            Today I pray that you see this superabundant grace of God in your life as well. God will provide your needs, and God will ask you to participate in the distribution to help provide the needs of others as well.

           

 

 

 

The Dualism of "Good Faith" Lamenting

“Why are you cast down, O my soul, 

and why are you disquieted within me?

Hope in God, for I shall again praise him,

My help and my God!” 

Psalm 42-43 provides a unique framework and insight into the question of innovative pastoral leadership in the Psalms. In fact, the refrain above, sung in 42:5, 42:11, and 43:5 asks, and answers a critical question framed with “why” and “hope”. As I have reflected on this Psalm I believe that it provides in its cohesion a fresh understanding that is much needed in today’s pastoral leadership as it hearkens back to the prophetic callings of the Old Testament prophets themselves. In the asking of the question, and in the answering of the question, there is reflected a model of holding complex ideas in tension together, rather than just separating them as opposites, such as the question of why and the answer of hope.

We live in a society of either/or. It has to be either this way or that way, and if it is not one way or the other then it must be a luke-warm compromise. I believe that this is not always the case. In fact, this Psalm (I will be referring to Psalm 42-43 as a singular unit of the psalter since originally these 2 Psalms were one unit based on their cohesive theme and the refrain mentioned above) helps guide us into a way of thinking, or perhaps remembering, grounded in conversation and question. 

As the opening verse of this Psalm paints the picture of the deer (actually the female hart), longing for the cool water of the flowing streams I am reminded of the opening of Augustine’s Confessions, “Thou madest us for Thyself, and our heart is restless, until it finds repose (rest) in Thee.” Each of us is longing for what will fill the desires of our souls, where we find our purpose and passion, our raison d’etre. This longing and searching can lead us to many places, and take us down many paths. Augustine, while taking many paths that led him away from God in his younger years, came to know the reality that our restlessness is made restful-ness only when we settle into God as that true rest. And likewise the psalmist turns that searching toward the “living God” (42:2), and places thirsting for God as the source of comfort and the source of “hope” that the properly-ordered life is moving toward, even in the midst of pain.

Dean Gregory Jones said that “too often we put things against each other that need to be and rather than or.” Holding things together in tension rather than just placing them against each other is a leadership need in our church today, even in our larger society today. The placing of differing views as polar opposites creates a space in between the two, a divide that is a gulf-like chasm that seems difficult to find a way around. The current state of our United Methodist Church is an example of this. And in many cases there simply is no way around, but perhaps that is because we do not need a way around, we need a way together. More of a bridge, rather than another path. That is where the dualism of the psalm offers cohesion as a bridge to come together. Even in the print layout this is seen. Two Psalms that are different on the pages of our Bibles, one numbered “Psalm 42” and the other divided by a separate number, “Psalm 43”. We see by looking at them that they are not the same. And yet when we read them we see that they go together. They are cohesive, not in their identical nature, but rather in their thematic purpose and flow. They complement one another. My wife is not identical to me, but she is the perfect complement to me. In some ways, I don’t make sense without her. And this gets to a point of innovative pastoral leadership that I see as critical today, and that is seeing the complementary aspects of another, rather than only focusing on the divisive aspects.

“My tears have been my food, 

Day and night, 

While people say to me continually, 

“Where is your God?” (Psalm 42:3)

As I read these verses I am reminded of times in my own life where my only sustenance seemed to be grief and pain. The painful imagery of tears being the source of nourishment could provide the food for a soul which is embittered and full of sorrow. And this theme is fairly prevalent in life, and so is a prevalent reflection in the psalter as well. The psalms of lament are the largest category of psalms in the Bible (perhaps this speaks to the amount of lament we might face in our own lives), but Ellen Davis writes that “when you lament in good faith, opening yourself to God honestly and fully--no matter what you have to say--then you are beginning to clear the way for praise..toward the time when God will turn your tears into laughter.”

Can one be miserable and joyful at the same time? Can there be wails of lamenting and a strong hope in the same breath? Can there be justice delivered and mercy extended in the same situation? Can we maintain aspects of the past while at the same time embracing a newness of an unknown future? And the answers are Yes! Pastoral leadership that can speak the language of cohesive dualisms do not focus on the polarizing divide, but rather begins with seeking to allow “opposable thinking to hold them together in tension”.

Dean Gregory Jones writes that “traditioned innovation is a way of thinking and living that holds the past and future together in creative tension...our feet are firmly on the ground with our hands open to the future.”

Two great places to begin in seeking to help our churches, our community, and our world, hold together hard things in tension is through conversation and remembrance. 

This psalm is a seeking answers through the medium of conversation. “Why are you cast down, O my soul?” I think of the many times that I have asked myself questions like this, and the answer was obvious, because of what was happening to me, that’s why! It’s the situation that is going on around me or where I find myself that has caused a downcast soul within me! And for the psalmist writing here this was true as well. Commentators write that the psalms of Korah are “about how to face exile in hope and continued service born of loss.” Their identity (the descendants of Korah) and even functional societal roles were relegated to a past ancestral action of Korah. The lament is a holy conversation with God, trusting in His justice (verse 43:1), safety (verse 42:9, 43:2, 43:3), and steadfast love (42:8).

And it is in the act of remembering that the psalmist is able to boldly proclaim, “Hope in God”. The post-exilic people hearing and singing this psalm could only remember the stories of the good old days of being among the throng of people heading in a procession to the temple with singing and shouts of thanksgiving (42:4), and hopes to one day be able to do that again (43:4) (and so do we!). And in the remembering there is hope. 

This past week my wife showed me a Facebook memory of a picture of her and our middle daughter, Hannah. The picture was from a year ago, but we haven’t talked to Hannah or been able to have any contact with her since December 19, 2019. She left a note and left home and asked us not to be in her life until she was ready. 

And so we wait. 

We lament. 

We send texts and messages but get no response. 

We feel downcast. 

We check her bank account activity to ensure she is still alive. 

We pray. 

And we remember, as the psalmist did (42:4). 

As my wife, Heather, showed me her Facebook memory she said, “I’m glad I have those memories”. Even in the pain there are memories of joy, and even in the waiting, there is hope. There is an eschtalogical hope in Psalm 42-43 that rises above the situation and allows hope in pain to be held together. And that is “good faith lamenting” lived out in cohesive dualism in the psalms, and in life.