Get it Together, Church

I read and reread Bishop Elizabeth Eaton's letter about the Orlando shooting about a half dozen times this morning, and I am left with the same question.

Your words about coming together and admitting where we have "othered" and start working towards a better world - the Kingdom of God are great.  But will I be able to serve in any ELCA church as an openly gay man in a relationship?

No.

Not with our policy of "bound conscience" - the very same policy that allows for the discrimination of women and people of color in our churches, by the way.  Not to mention any number of other possibilities for discrimination which range from physical ability to age.

And all of this discrimination seems to be legally sanctioned by the church.  Each congregation has the ability to turn away a pastor because of any number of these different reasons, because they are "bound by their conscience to not have a pastor that fits into each of these categories because they aren't sure if this candidate is living the appropriate moral life to be a pastor" (I'm paraphrasing many of the excuses I've heard over the years.)

And frankly, I don't know that this policy is going anywhere anytime soon.

Because in 2009, this policy was upheld by the ELCA when it reached a decision that openly LGBTQ clergy could be ordained even if they were in a relationship, but each congregation could make that determination for itself.

And while many were elated that the possibility existed for the first time within our denomination, I felt that it was essentially a step forward and a step backward.  For while LGBTQ folk could become pastors, they could not be comfortable or confident that every church in the ELCA would welcome them as one who has heard God's call - to the point that we still have the designation Reconciling in Christ as a way to identify which congregations will allow LGBTQ pastors.

There was no acknowledgement that sexual orientation had no bearing whatsoever on someone's ability to be a pastor.  That sexual orientation in all of its expressions is not inherently sinful.  And that, most of all, the church still doesn't feel that "it's ok to be gay."

Which is another way of saying, we don't really know what to do with you, but we're not entirely ready to say you are not "other," but we know that we ought to.

Or, in my more cynical moments, "we are more concerned with having a falsely united church that will weaken the gospel, than letting you know that you are God's chosen child and can experience the same call to ministry that any straight person does."

So, if the ELCA is going to be serious about moving forward, I have some thoughts on the matter.

1) Stop requiring pastoral candidates to self identify on the RLP (Rostered Leader Profile).  My gender has absolutely no bearing on my ability to pastor folks.  Neither does my sexual orientation.  Or age.  Making me put this information on the page before the congregation gets the opportunity to meet me (on paper and in person) puts an unfair bias towards me, whether good or bad.

1a) Yes, I'm aware that this means more congregations will assume they are getting paperwork from straight, white cis men, but only by continuing to reverse these expectations will they change.  See also, why feminism is important.

2) Require congregations to say more than "we didn't feel like it was a good fit."  I don't know if I entirely agree with the placement process of our UMC and Catholic sisters and brothers, but I do think that a congregation is able to get away with a lot of discrimination by using those words.  That reason for a good fit could be because the candidate is a woman.  Or black.  Or may be in a wheelchair.  Failing to give reasonable and concrete reasons why the congregation does not feel the Spirit is moving in this direction only legitimizes discrimination that our country claims to not tolerate in any other aspect of the workforce.

3) A resounding statement from the ELCA that revolutionizes and radicalizes our churches by saying, we do not feel that there is inherently anything sinful about the existence of LGBTQ folks.  That being gay, or bi, or transgendered or gender queer does not have anything to do with sin before God and before others.  And that to be a part of the ELCA means to be able to say that, the same way that we confess that we believe in God the Father.

3a) Again, this extends to those who are also "othered" such as people of color, women, folks who are differently abled, older folks, younger folks, etc.

I know this is radical.  I know this will not happen overnight.

I also know this will, to put it bluntly, piss off a lot of people.  The ELCA may lose a lot of members and congregations who cannot abide by any of these (but mostly 3 and 3a).

This does not mean it should not be done.

To not do what is right, even out of fear that others will leave, is not a good enough reason to not do it.

*Disclaimer, not comparing the struggle of LGBTQ folks with the struggle of black people in America ahead*

Abraham Lincoln could have not freed all slaves in the Emancipation Proclamation, and doing so may have prevented the Civil War.  That does not mean he should not have done it.

To do what is right, especially when the Gospel is concerned, is going to make folks angry.  It's going to make people leave.  But that does not mean we should not boldly proclaim the Gospel.

Will we, as a church, do what is right?  Will we proclaim the Gospel boldly, even though folks will get upset and leave our buildings?  Or will we continue to try and walk a middle ground, trying to appease both sides and angering everyone, becoming more and more lukewarm with each passing moment?

I hope, I pray, that we will be empowered to proclaim God's Gospel, regardless of consequence. "Empowered to do this thing by Christ who strengthens us."

Sin is Sin

These two guys walk in to a church, ok.  And the one guy is dressed in a sharp suit, smells good, looks good.  He’s got a short, neat haircut with a perfectly groomed beard.  On his left wrist, he’s got a Rolex the size of a pocket watch with a wedding band to match.  You can almost smell the money oozing off of him.  The other guy is obviously homeless.  As soon as he walks in you can tell it’s been awhile since he’s used deodorant.  If you were to get close, but you probably wouldn’t, you’d notice the outline of dog tags under his shirt.

Which one do you say hello to first?

Honestly, which one do you smile at?  Which one do you kindly ask how his weekend is going?  Which one do you try to get to know and be extra friendly with?  And then which one do you kindly ignore and hope they go away?    

I’ll tell you which one I choose.  As much as I hate to admit it, especially considering what James just wrote to us this morning, I spend more time with the guy in the suit and tie.  I naturally gravitate to him.  I want him to like me, I want him to like this church, and I want him to continue coming here.  I don’t think I’d make this decision consciously, but if I’m going to be truly and deeply honest with myself, of the two, he’s the one I go to.

And then I need to hear these words from James and I need to ask myself why?  Why am I avoiding the person that looks probably a lot like Jesus did during his ministry?  Why am I avoiding the very person that Jesus would have sought out on his travels?  Why am I gravitating towards the person that would likely have shunned Jesus’ message to “sell all that he has and give it to the poor?”  

And if I’m going to be honest, it’s because going to the richer person is easier.  It’s more comfortable.  It’s not going to result in me getting dirty.  It’s not going to result in me risking my social standing.  It’s what the world expects me to do, and I feel absolutely no qualms about doing it.  It’s more acceptable for me to ignore the homeless person and hope he goes away than it is for me to treat him like a person, welcome him into the building, offer him some money, and sit and talk to him for a while.  It’s more acceptable for me to ignore him than it is for me to love him.

And if I’m not loving him, if I’m not loving my neighbor, then what am I doing calling myself a Christian?  Isn’t that part of the greatest commandment?  That I love God with all my heart, soul, and mind AND love my neighbor as myself?  At best by ignoring him I am apathetic towards him, which feels so much worse than outright hating him.  At worst, by ignoring him, I am causing him harm.

Either way I’m breaking God’s commandments and living in sin.  I’m living into a broken relationship with this person that I’m not particularly interested in mending.  And if I’m doing that, I might as well have killed him - I’ve broken the relationship and refused to repair it or restore it.  That’s why James says, perhaps counterintuitively, that there are no gradients of sin.  Sin doesn’t operate like our legal system.  There are no 1st degree or 2nd degree offenses.  All sin is a break in a relationship.  And all sin that is unrepented of is considered to be murder - because you’ve killed that relationship with that person: their life is cut off from yours.  

Bear with me, I know this sounds counterintuitive.  Trust me, I was a philosophy major who loved his ethics classes.  I really want one evil to be lesser than another because it makes the world a better place.  I want to say well of course lying is better than killing - it just makes sense, according to this world.  But what if we looked at sin in a way that was different from our current legal system?  What if we looked at sin the way we look at cutting string?

Once you make a cut of thread, you can’t undo it.  No cut can be any less thorough than any other cut.  I can’t half-cut a piece of thread, once I start that whole thing is cut into two pieces.  Sin is kind of like that.  Each sin cuts the thread of our relationships.  Now sin can cut the relationship in lots of places.  But certain sins can’t cut more or less than other sins.  

Especially for God.  Because God doesn’t see sins as individual acts that we do, God sees all sin as something that breaks relationships between the Trinity and between humanity.  That’s part of why we word our confession the way that we do.  We’re not confessing to this sin, this sin, and this sin, but for all the complete breaks in relationships that we need God to help us mend.

It’s confusing, I know.  It doesn’t quite make sense, I know.  It’s not how the world views things, I know.  But bear with me.  Because it only gets weirder.  Remember how I said God’s weird?  Well, here’s a piece of that.  

So we’re a part of God’s world, and when we play by God’s rules, our sins aren’t any better or worse than say, Hitler’s sins.  Because, remember, God doesn’t qualify or quantify sin.  For God, it’s all a break.  This sounds bad, I know.  We like to think that we’re at least a little better than Hitler, but remember sin is sin.  It’s all equally bad.  But wait, there’s more.  Because God isn’t content to let us sit here in our sin.  Instead of judging us, God offers another way.  Instead of divinely punishing everybody, God chooses mercy.  To quote James, mercy triumphs over judgement.  And Lutherans say James doesn’t have good news!

God chooses to redeem us in our sin.  God chooses to offer us mercy and grace time and time again even when we make mistakes and love ourselves more than our neighbors.  And because God doesn’t qualify or quantify sin, that offer of love and mercy and grace goes to every single person on earth.  Even Hitler.  To each and every person, which means each and every person is worthy of being welcomed into the kingdom of God.  Every one.  Rich and poor.  Black and white.  Republican and Democrat.  Liberal and conservative.  Male and female.  These binaries aren’t exclusive, instead all are brought into the church.  

Which is to say, James isn’t saying kick the rich person out of the church.  Instead, he’s saying to welcome the poor person in.  The rich person gets treated well 24/7/365, so they can wait a little bit to be welcomed into conversation, instead start with the person who is mistreated and abused.  Let them know that they are welcome and that there is nothing they have done, are doing, or could do that would keep them out of the kingdom of God.  Thanks be to God!  Amen.  

Disillusioned by the Light of the Cross

So in my last post, I talked about what a gift disillusionment can be.  That it's really only in the disappointment we experience from one another, that we are truly able to see each other - as we are.

I think it's time we start doing the same thing for God. 

Can we let God disappoint us?

Can we let God show up and say "I'm not who you think I am."

Doesn't this happen time and time again in scriptures?

God chooses the dishonest brother, Jacob, and uses him to create a great people.

God chooses Moses - a murderer, and someone who was raised as an Egyptian to deliver the people out of slavery.

God chooses Rahab.

God chooses Solomon (not David's rightful heir, but instead a child of Bathsheba).

God chooses shepherds to be prophets.

God chooses a virgin to bear Christ.

And when God becomes flesh, Jesus does nothing but let people down who place tons of expectations on him.

He comes to Jerusalem as a king, and is killed.

That's not very God-like is it?

God is so opposed to people coming up with ideas about them, that he refuses to give them a name past "I am who I am."

Basically God is telling the people, "Don't put a label on me, cause I'm not going to live into that label.  I'm bigger than that."

And even though God tells us that, we are still really good at putting labels on God.

The Israelites created a golden calf to represent the God that delivered them out of Egypt.

The Israelites turn sacrifice into the only way to worship God.

The Pharisees turn following the Torah as the only way to live as God wants us to live.

We turn good fortune or coincidence into God's blessing.

We turn tragedy into God's punishment.

We spend our time chasing a God that will make us rich (the US dollar).

We spend our money creating God's kingdom on earth (what that looks like depends on if you're a Republican or a Democrat)

We create a God who loves those whom it easy for us to love.

We create a God who hates those whom are different from us.

And then I see Jesus on the cross, and I doubt the whole system.

Why would this God whom I've created in my image willing die because of sin?

Why?

And we can try and explain it away, by using facing words like penal substitution or atonement theory that simply fits into the system I'm living in to. (That'll be another blog post, I'm sure)

Or is there a better, more excellent way?

What if God on the cross is supposed to throw this image of God into doubt and turmoil?

What if I'm supposed to be thinking that things don't add up?

What if I'm supposed to be disillusioned in the light of the cross?

That God is telling me (and the rest of the world) that our view of God isn't what we thought it was.

God shows up and tells us that there's more to God than we thought.

God tells us again and again, that God is bigger than that.

That on the cross, all of my ideas about God should be thrown into question.

My doubts and questions about the system?  They are the questions of a vengeful God.  They are doubts about a God who wants to see pain and suffering.  

My doubts keep me from turning God into another golden calf.

My disillusionment is the very thing that allows me to see God more clearly.

They tell me that God isn't what I thought. 

Instead God is love.

God is sacrificial love that transforms all of creation, bringing all things into a renewed relationship with the very creator of the universe.

 

That's something that I don't need to understand or grasp to understand it's a gift.  

That's something that I don't need to understand or grasp to know that it means I can't live the same way I was living.

That's something that I don't need to understand or grasp to know that I am loved, and am freed to love.

That's something that I don't need to understand or grasp to know that it's something I can keep coming back to, time and time again.

And each time, I might bring different ideas about God with me to the cross, and each time Jesus will be there reminding me about the love God has for me, and for all people, and for all time.

Running with Spirituality

My first sermon on internship was on Hebrews 12:1.

Therefore, since we are surrounded by so great a cloud of witnesses, let us also lay aside every weight and the sin that clings so closely, and let us run with perseverance the race that is set before us, (NRSV)

And in this sermon, I talked about how much I hated running.  That I could think of few things worse than having to run for any distance or length of time.

And even though I've made some changes in my life that appear to be "healthier" than what I was doing before, and even though one of those changes has been to start a Couch To 5K program, I still am not a huge fan of running.

I even bought sweet running shoes.  Courtesy of Nike

Now, let me clarify.  I love the feeling I get after I finish running, and there's a sense of accomplishment that accompanies beating my personal records (thank you iPhone for keeping track of those for me).  And I've started to look forward to the run as a way for me to hit that feeling of accomplishment.

But as for the run itself?  

It's painful, sometimes.

I find that I spend most of my time running making sure that I'm breathing and that I don't run into anybody else that's on the track at the local YMCA while I'm panting around in circles.  Or else I'm mentally counting down the seconds (it always feels like more than it should) until the nice lady from my phone is going to tell me that it's time for me to begin running.

So maybe I'm still not there with the "runner's high" that I'm told will come as I run more and more.  For me, the actual run is less exciting for its own sake and more of a discipline.  It's the means to a goal - that is, weight loss and the sense of accomplishment.

And yet, day by day, this is slowly changing.  Each run becomes easier than the last.  Who knows?  Maybe in a few weeks I'll actually be able to think about something besides my breathing when I run.

How I feel about running is also how I feel about spiritual practices.

I'm not the biggest fan.  I find them to be painful at times.  And like someone trying yoga for the first time (which I also plan on doing - crazy), I spend more of my time and energy focusing on the fact that I need to focus than I do on paying attention to God's presence in these times. 

And I have a sneaking suspicion that I'm not alone here.  

Sure, we have a culture full of "spiritual but not religious" people, but if we honestly assessed their spirituality, I think we would find that it's really just finding ways to create that "warm, fuzzy feeling" within themselves.  

Because true spirituality is painful.  It's scary.

And that's because God is scary.  How often does the voice of God have to say, "be not afraid" whenever God needs to speak to someone?  Hint: It's a lot.

And so, to develop and cultivate a practice that opens ourselves up to the fullness and majesty of God is absolutely terrifying.  God is so much more than ourselves, that to open up to God is the equivalent of a brain freeze and a mind-splitting migraine at the same time.  

The kind of painfulness that I feel about halfway through my run when my shins scream, "We quit!"

It might be life-giving at the end of the process.  But not during it.

We just aren't able to fully comprehend or handle the majesty and power of God.  Our brains can't contain all that God knows.  Our hearts burst with amount of love and grace that God is trying to pour through us.

And more often than not, when we open ourselves up to God, we find that God is calling us to go somewhere we aren't going.  To try something new.  To make a change.  And we all know how we feel about change deep down.

Kind of like when I started running, and then realized I had to do all sorts of other strength based exercises too.  And had to make a change in my diet - apparently McDonald's all the time doesn't make for healthy running.  Who knew?

So, often, instead of running to spirituality, we run from true spirituality.

Instead of exercising our heart's capacity to love and our mind's capacity to understand, we keep those muscles from being used.  We allow them to decay - instead focusing in on ourselves.  Basically the opposite of spirituality.

But perhaps, when we lay aside our burdens of sin -t hose personal and cultural demons that keep us from developing a relationship with God, we can truly begin to run.  And maybe we can start enjoying the process of running for its own sake.

We can develop truly spiritual practices that open ourselves up to the Creator of the Universe, and become an outlet for the transformative grace that God continually gives.

And maybe, just maybe, like I may someday discover the joy of running for its own sake, we might develop truly spiritual practices that deepen our religious rituals and lives.  

New Years and New Lives

I'm not a huge fan of New Year's resolutions.

Never have been.  Probably never will be.

I can't stand the mentality that comes from "failing" to meet your resolutions, which inevitably happens.  There's about two months where we're all really good.  We eat better, we laugh more, we go to the gym, we save well, we cook more, we spend more time with family, we volunteer, we stick to our resolution.

Then something happens.

There's a crisis.  Or not.  For whatever reason, we decide that it's ok to go out to dinner, just this once.  Or maybe, I don't have to go to the gym today cause I'm not feeling well.  Or whatever.  Our "just this once" or "not today" soon becomes the new habit.  One day turns into two, turns into months.  Then we wake up one morning and realize it's Christmas and we haven't made progress on our resolution since April.

And so, after "failing" for another year, we decide we're just going to put it off, because New Year's is just around the corner.  We can take care of it then.

Instead, we just create this cycle where we improve ourselves for a few months, and then backslide into our old habits.  Instead of actually growing and changing, we create a self-perpetuating and self-affirming cycle that helps us stay the same.

The New Year's resolution problem, for me, is that once we slip up, that's it for the whole year.  I think, "Man, I didn't go to the gym yesterday, so I don't have to go today, maybe I'll go tomorrow."  Or "Well, I already ruined the not eating out thing, so why not grab dinner with some friends tonight too?"  There's no grace.  There's no second chance for keeping the resolution.  When you fail, you fail.  So you better just start again next year.

Yet, the good news that is proclaimed time and time again in churches (and probably synagogues and mosques and temples, etc) is a message of grace upon grace.  That we believe in and are transformed by a living God of second chances and redemption.  That, no matter how badly we mess up, God is still there reaching out to us, pulling us up, and setting us on the road again, telling us, "Ok, you can be better this time."  And then we might make another step forward, and we fall again.

And because it's easier, we take our New Year's resolution mentality.  "Well, I sinned again.  Guess I'll just wait til God shows up at the end to fix me and make me perfect.  Which means I can do what I want til then."  We ignore the fact that every single time we fall, God is there to pick us back up.

Every single time.

Martin Luther wrote in the Small Catechism that "every day we die to sin and are raised to new life in Christ through our baptisms."

Every day we die to sin.
Every day we are raised to new life.
Every day, God reaches to pick us up, set us back on the road, and encourages us to be better.

Perhaps, it's not just every day, but every minute, every second, every time we mess up, or make a mistake or sin.  Every time we fall, God is right there to reach down to us and pick us up.  Always providing a second chance.  Always providing grace upon grace.

However, it's not cheap grace.  Nor is it easy to receive.  For us to fully appreciate and understand just how frequently God reaches down to us, we must be honest with ourselves.  And that's hard.

We have to be honest with the fact that we made a mistake.  We have to confess the fact we fell short.  We have to be able to look around us, and see that we have, in fact, fallen.  We have to be able to admit that we need help picking ourselves back up.

That's a mentality that's pretty foreign to the Western culture we live in.  We are proud.  We want to do for ourselves.

Do we need help?  Absolutely.
Will we admit it?  Never.

Despite our stubbornness and pride, God still reaches down to us.  God still offers to pick us up and help us.  We just have to be willing to swallow that pride and let God help us.  We have to be willing to die to the sin that keeps us down, so that God can raise us up.

We have to die to sin, not every lifetime.
Not every year.
Not every day.
But every moment.
And every moment we can be raised to a newness of life.   We can be raised to restored relationships with God and with one another.  We can experience second chances.  We can know grace.  We can know peace and wholeness.

So, if I had to have a New Year's resolution, and I might, it would be to allow myself to experience grace.  To be honest with my own shortcomings and allow God to raise me up through them.  To admit that I need help and let God help me, especially through those around me.  To allow myself to die to sin and be raised to new life. To let each setback be another opportunity to be a leap forward instead of an opportunity to continue to go backwards.

So maybe it's not really a New Year's resolution, but a New Life resolution.  Or maybe, a New Day resolution or New Moment resolution.  It's not a measurable goal; it's a journey.

And it's a journey that I'm not walking on alone.