Good Tidings of Great Gingerbread Joy

 Last night we had a simple supper of a grilled cheese sandwich, with a side of tomatoes and cottage cheese.  It was surprisingly good.

But I really wanted something sweet.  I was thinking of whipping up a batch of brownies.  I was also thinking that I didn't dare do that--I knew I might eat the whole pan while it was warm.  I knew that the sensible thing would be to try to ignore my cravings, while also trying not to substitute something else, like crackers.  I can consume several brownie's worth of calories in crackers, after all.

We heard a knock at the door, which was odd.  We weren't expecting anyone, and it was just before 7.  My spouse checked to see who it was and then flung open the door.  I thought it might be a neighbor, there to tell us something was wrong, but no, it was our pastor.  He was in the neighborhood and brought us gingerbread people.

Each year, our church has a Sunday in Advent where we decorate gingerbread people that my pastor has spent the week baking.  

I'm including pictures from past year's events.  This week, we won't be meeting in person.  But my pastor has developed a great idea.

He's distributing the gingerbread people, and we'll decorate them in our own houses.  We'll send him pictures, and they'll be judged in terms of several categories, like gingerbread twin, mermaid, superhero, and abstract.

I think I'll go for the abstract.  My plan is to see if I can incorporate any of the elements that I've been using in my pregnant Virgin Mary sketches:

I'll need to practice, of course.  So this week-end, I'm forecasting some gingerbread baking of my own here.

When my pastor dropped off the cookies and handed me the sheet with the categories, I said, "Oh, who are we kidding?  I'm just going to eat these tonight."

He said, "I have extras in the car.  Would you like extras to eat tonight?"

I said yes, of course.  And they were delicious.

I keep thinking of all the Advent stories that have been swirling in my head.  I think of myself about to bake brownies, keeping watch over my flock by night, when my angel of a pastor appeared, bearing good tidings of great gingerbread joy.

Probably too much of a stretch--but it delights me on all levels.

Pumpkin Offload 2019

Today I am sore.  But it's a good kind of sore.  Yesterday was the annual pumpkin offload at my church.  We buy part of a truckload (the 18 wheeler kind of truck, not the Ford F150 kind of truck) of pumpkins that come to us straight from the fields of New Mexico.  We have to get them out of the truck and into the front grassy area.

Some years, it's taken over 5 hours.  Yesterday we did it in just under 2.  Because it was a Saturday afternoon we had a lot more help--it's been tougher in years when it's a school night.

Because it was a Saturday afternoon, we had some people we didn't know show up:  3 kids on bikes and a homeless guy   We also had teenagers of church members that we hadn't seen in awhile come to help. 

Not everyone can help.  But that's fine.  They can cheer from the sidelines or just enjoy the parade of pumpkins.

This year we got a larger amount of the smaller pumpkins.  Over the past several years, we've noticed that people don't buy the bigger pumpkins like they used to.

Because more of us are using pumpkins and gourds for decorating than for carving or cooking, we got a lovely assortment of those.  Bonus:  the littlest children can set those up, while those of us with bigger muscles can get the bigger pumpkins off the truck.

Here and there we found some rotted pumpkins.  Back to the earth they go.

At the end, we swept the hay out of the truck.  We put it on the pathways between the pumpkins.  Does it protect the grass?  Does it protect our shoes?

Some children further north get to jump in leaves.  Our children jump in hay.

This year, our pumpkin offload was tinged with even more nostalgia than usual.  There's the usual nostalgia--children whom I have known since they were in elementary school are now teenagers.

And then there's the larger nostalgia--our church is in the process of possibly selling the front part of the 4 acre property.  If the sale goes through, we will build a new structure in the back.  Where will we be this time next year?

We may be in exactly the same place, offloading pumpkins, transforming a church yard into a pumpkin patch.  We may not.

Of course, that's our situation every year.  We just aren't always as aware of it.

What Would You Tattoo on Your Body?

First, let me acknowledge that I realize that many Christians take quite seriously the Biblical prohibitions against tattoos on the body, so what I'm about to write might seem heretical. 

When we were in the water park on Thursday, I noticed several people with Bible verses tattooed on their bodies--usually not the whole chunk of text, but just the book, chapter, and verse.  That got me to wondering:  if you could choose only one text to tattoo on your body, which one would it be?

And would the text you choose today be different than the one you would have chosen when you were younger?

I have loved the Micah 6:8 text since I first heard it during a Lutheran Student Movement national event:  the Lord requires of us justice, mercy, and walking humbly with our God.  But would I want that in a tattoo?  I've long loved the verses that admonish us to beat our swords into ploughshares--but is that the most important text?

Lately I've had the words of John the Baptist ringing in my ears:  I am not the Messiah.  But again, a tattoo with those words?

I saw tattoos with religious themes that had no Bible verse.  One man had these words tattooed across his larger than usual stomach:  "Only God can judge me."  Was that about his body?  Just a reminder of whose judgment is important?

And of course, there were tattoos with no words but religious imagery--or was it?  I was surprised by how many tattoos had images of death:  skulls and guns and apocalyptic scenes.  I don't really understand the appeal of having those images on my body forever.

I wondered how people decided to go with a tattoo.  Was it a kind of evangelism?  Did people think I might leave the water park and look up those verses?  Was it an action of witness?  Did the person choose it because it had deep meaning to the person?

And then the sociologist in me had other ponderings.  Are certain branches of Christianity more inclined towards these tattoos?  And there's the larger issue of societal acceptance of tattoos.  When I was a child, tattoos had an unsavory connotation--and now people carve all sorts of things into their bodies.

Of course, if I hadn't been at a water park, I wouldn't have seen many of these tattoos at all.  Now I wonder how many tattoos surround me, covered up with clothing.  Maybe it's a more private thing than I've been assuming.

I still come back to the question that interests me most:  we only have so much room to tattoo our bodies, so how do we choose?  So many essential Bible verses, so little fleshly canvas.

Story Telling as Theology (and Evangelism?)

Today, instead of going to church, I will go to be with my quilt group.  We often have interesting theological discussions, and it's not the kind I'd have at church.  My quilt group includes me (a Lutheran), a Hindu, a Wiccan, an atheist, and a Jew--can't get much more ecumenical than that.

Last month, the atheist had written an amusing piece of fiction in which she imagines she's come to consciousness in purgatory.  At our quilt group, we had a rousing discussion about our different beliefs about what happens when we die.

My atheist friend does not believe in an afterlife.  And yet she wrote a piece about purgatory, which she imagines as a place of endless shoe shopping, which she hates, and having to make small talk with people she despises.

The next morning, I wrote what is probably one of my most favorite things I wrote last year.  My friend wrote from her point of view; I wrote from the point of view of God who was dealing with my friend's wrong perceptions of where she was and what she needed to do next.

She thinks she must earn her way to Heaven.  She doesn't realize that she's already there, but it's her attitudes that hold her back.  It could be worse.  Her attitudes could make her perceive herself as being in Hell.

It was an interesting exercise, exploring theology by way of fiction.  I know that some would be shocked that I presumed to talk in the voice of God, but happily, my religious tradition does not forbid it.

It's an interesting way of explaining how I perceive God--perhaps more effective than most other ways.  My atheist friend is not very open to lengthy conversations about religion or theology, but we had a conversation of sorts that lasted across weeks.

Here's how my piece concludes (again, I'm writing in the voice of God, not me): 

Humans yammer on and on about purgatory and hell and heaven, and when they get to me, they can’t quite leave their earthly beliefs behind. The ones who had the strongest beliefs are the ones who take the longest to relax into the true nature of the universe.

I wish I could console her. I wish that I could tell her that soon she will join her friends. Maybe it will be soon—these humans continue to surprise me. 

In the meantime, she’ll continue to make her own heaven, hell, and purgatory out of these childhood beliefs which are the hardest to shake. And I’ll be here, each step of the way.

New Year's Resolution: To Issue More Invitations

As the new year approaches, many of us will be making resolutions in all areas of our lives.  What spiritual resolutions are we considering? 

I wrote an essay for Living Lutheran; in it, I consider why it's so easy to invite people to my church during the Christmas season than during the other seasons of the church year:  "But the larger issue remains: Why is it hard for me to invite people to church when we’re not doing fun activities? When we’re mired in the long season after Pentecost, for example, I often don’t feel enthusiastic about church myself, so it’s hard to invite people along."

That may be unfair to those summer months after Pentecost, I know.  And I also know that there are many out there who would tell me to get out of my own head--they might remind me that souls are on the line.

I don't think that the souls on the line, people will burn in hell approach to evangelism has ever worked--at least not in the last several decades.  But my thinking during December does give me insight to a way evangelism might work:  "The world has a variety of yearnings, and our churches can answer some of them. Shaping our invitations to be an answer to a heart's desire is a much more effective form of inviting than the blanket invitations that evangelical groups of my youth used to offer."

My New Year's resolution?  To offer more invitations, to be "more alert to people’s yearnings and the way my church is already working to fill them, and issue more invitations to give the Holy Spirit room to work."

Go here to read the whole essay.

Invitation to Gingerbread--and to Church

Why is it so much easier to invite people to church when we are doing this?

On Saturday, I met a friend of a friend who goes to church with me.  We all met to go to my spouse's concert, and after the concert, I said, "You should come to church tomorrow.  We're decorating gingerbread people!"

I just blurted it out, and later I thought, how interesting.  I don't usually go around inviting people I've just met to come to church.

But I do love the joy of gingerbread Sunday--and I want to share a Sunday that shows our church at its best as people create extravagantly.

On other Sundays, we may also be creating extravagantly--but it may not be as evident. 

But the larger issue has to do with the way that I know that the unchurched may respond to my invitations.  I don't want to seem coercive.  I don't want to be that woman who invites people so incessantly that people avoid me.

But I do realize that I risk going too far in the other direction.  There are people who would be open to the invitation, if I would issue it.

So on days where we do delightful things like decorating gingerbread, I'm likely to invite more people.  On days when we work on social justice issues, I'm likely to invite my like-minded friends.  When we quilt for Lutheran World Relief, I invite quilting/crafting friends.  I plan to invite people to Christmas Eve services like I do every year, because that time inspires yearnings that my church might answer.

I'm not looking to increase membership.  This may sound heretical, but I'm not looking to save souls, at least not in that traditional way.

It's the Christmas yearnings that have given me insight into the invitation process.  I've had the staunchest of atheist friends tell me that December makes them ache for midnight mass.  I would name that ache the stirring of the Holy Spirit--but of course, I wouldn't use that language when talking to my atheist friends.  It would be a complete turn-off, and thus, useless.

Instead, I say, "You could come to church with me.  The mass would be slightly different, but still familiar.  We'd have candles.  We'd sing the songs you miss so much."

She never comes to Christmas Eve at my church, but she continues to talk about her longing, and I'll continue to issue the invitation.

The world has a variety of yearnings, and our churches can answer some of them.  Shaping our invitations in the shape of an answer to a heart's desire is a much more effective form of inviting than the blanket invitations that evangelical groups of my youth used to offer.

Invitation to Church

Yesterday I wrote this post about our spontaneous invitation of our down-the-street neighbors to dinner.  As we ate, our neighbor said, "I want to go to church with you."

In a way, it felt like she said it out of the clear blue sky.  In a way, it wasn't strange.  Our neighbors are expecting a baby in about 6 months, so their search for a church has a different kind of urgency.  He was raised "Catholic-lite" (his words), and she comes out of a variety of Protestant traditions:  mix a bit of Methodist, a bit of Southern Baptist, a non-denominational church camp here and there.  In many ways, our Lutheran church might be a good fit.

Later my spouse and I talked about the interchange.  We so rarely meet anyone who wants to go to church.  Even at Christmas, when people talk about yearning for midnight mass, when I invite them to go to church, so far, no one has said yes.  And along comes our neighbor who wants a regular Sunday morning experience enough to ask us about it.

Most of the people we know are tolerant of our church commitment, but I get a sense that they see it as a quaint holdover from an earlier time.  We're not doing anything exotic, like our Hindu friend.  We're not meditating.  Our church may host an exercise class here or there, but in fact, it is a quaint holdover from an earlier time:  we hold food drives and rummage sales and AA groups use our building and we gather every Sunday to get nourishment and strength for the week ahead.

So, in several ways, it makes sense that our neighbor would be interested.  In a way, it's nothing threatening, our church.

In so many more ways, it could threaten everything.  It's the kind of church where if we go regularly, we are called to be something/someone different than what our society tells us we should be.  And those transformations can/should be threatening to the dominant order.

Pumpkin Evangelism

At work, I'm part of the Employee Engagement Committee--we mainly plan festive events that we hope will keep up morale.  We had been discussing a pumpkin decorating event.  One of our members said he'd been to several key places, like WalMart and Publix and not been able to find pumpkins.

My muscles have only just begun to recover from our great pumpkin offload.  I wondered if I should mention our church's pumpkin patch.  I thought, why not?  I sent the e-mail.

Why is it that I expect negative feedback?  I expected people to write back and say, "Forget it.  We are not supporting a church."  I expected something even more negative.

Happily, that was not the case.  People asked if I would be willing to buy the pumpkins, and I said sure.  I was even given cash, so that I wouldn't have to pay out of my own pocket.  Wow.

People were more worried about my ability to carry the pumpkins than about the possible ethical ramifications of using our school funds to support a church.  Had anyone raised that objection, I'd have pointed out that these funds support Vacation Bible School, which helps to inculcate a love of learning and arts and crafts in 70+ children a year.

But I didn't have to offer my well-reasoned arguments about why we should support a church pumpkin patch.  People were just happy to find a source of pumpkins and a person who would buy them and transport them.

I am part of the ELCA--the E stands for Evangelical, but I'm not evangelical in the most common use of that word.  I don't proselytize.  I am not quick to talk about my spiritual life.  I don't witness, in the flamboyant sense of that word.

However, I think it's important to remember that there are other ways to witness.  I talk about my church when it makes sense in conversations, and I hope that my references to it show it as the community resource that it is.  I talk about our food pantry and our VBS programs and the ways we support home schooling groups and the drama troupe for students with learning disabilities. I hope to counter the mass media images of hysterical people demonstrating against this and that.

I must confess that I'm also happy to be able to support our church.  It's a win-win--but I do realize that I'm biased.

And I'm also glad for this reminder that it's OK to speak in this way:  that I won't always face negative reaction.  On the contrary, I might be a welcome solution to a problem.

Sidewalk Chalk Evangelism

On a discussion on Facebook the other day, a woman wrote: 

"I am using Brian McLaren's book: We Make the Road by Walking, for small groups starting September. We are using the walking/pathway/journey of faith image for next year, beginning in the fall. Looking for creative ways to be church with this focus. Weekly meeting in small groups will happen in homes, a Panera Bread and the church. Looking for new ideas for weekly book study gatherings and to make real the journey of faith image.

 My church is a smaller congregation in an affluent neighborhood. It is a higher educated group and many live very focused, purpose filled lives. Feeling desperate for new ideas.

 Need some inspiration from the creative clergy women community!"

I thought of labyrinths and of walking through the neighborhood in prayer.  But I also thought of this picture from Lutheridge, taken by Mary Canniff-Kuhn:

Thus, inspired by the above picture, I wrote this idea, which I want to capture here as well:

"I am impressed with things that my poet/teacher friends do with poems and big hunks of sidewalk chalk. You can make trails this way too. My friends would put poems on sidewalks. I bet you could do something similar with faith images, verses, inspirational words and phrases, prayers that are chalked onto the pavement. Or if not sidewalks, perhaps the church parking lot, driveways, and whatever Panera allows."

I love the idea of leaving wonderful, affirming messages on sidewalks and pavements across the nation.  What a powerful evangelism that would be.

I use the word evangelism guardedly.  I don't have a vision of the kind of evangelism designed to get people to come to our churches.  But I do have a vision of spreading the gospel good news this way:  angel messages for a different age.

Being Blessed by Colleagues at Work

I work with a variety of colleagues, many of whom are friends.  They bless me in many ways.  But it wasn't until the other day that one gave me a literal blessing, that is, one that I could hear.  I don't want to discount the possibility that my friends and colleagues may bless me every morning in their prayers/meditations/hoping for the best.

It has been a work week where more lay-offs were announced, which makes us all feel queasy.  It was a week of ugly talk, nasty accusations, dark speculations, and unpleasant meetings. 

In the midst of the Tuesday announcements of lay-offs at work, I got a phone call.  My evangelical friend and colleague said, "Are you safe?"

She took my breath away.  Just a few hours earlier, I had gotten a summons to a Wednesday meeting at 12:30.  And here she was, saying, "Are you safe?"

I said, "I honestly don't know."  I told her of the summons.  I said, "I don't think I'm about to be fired, but there's another drama going on that I can't talk about on the phone."

She didn't miss a beat.  She said, "Well, we'd better bless you then."  And she proceeded to do just that, to say a combination of a blessing and a prayer for protection.  I could almost feel her hands on my head as she spoke.

By now you may be wondering where I work.  You may be saying, "I thought you worked at a for-profit school, not an evangelical college."

I do indeed work at a for-profit school, and as near as I can tell, there aren't many Christians there, at least not the ones who have active spiritual practices in the Christian tradition.  My Hindu friend and colleague is more active in her temple than most of my Christian friends I've met at school.  My evangelical friend and colleague is the only one who matches her activities.

We used to have more evangelical colleagues, but they've retired or moved on.  The one who remains is the one who blessed me.  

In some ways, it felt just as ecumenical an experience as the various experiences I've had with my Hindu friend, like going to her house blessing, which I described in this blog post.  I'm a mainstream Lutheran; we are a people who believe in corporate prayer.  If we pray for others, we do it in the privacy of our own homes and usually silently.

I've evolved a bit.  Now, sometimes, I can bring myself to ask people if I can add them to my prayer list.  In the interest of full honesty, I only ask people whom I think will be receptive.  If people are going through a tough time and they're not open to the idea of prayer, I don't want to make their rough time worse by introducing an unwelcome spiritual element. I do pray for whomever I want--I don't think I need permission.  But I don't feel that I have to let everyone know I'm praying, only if I think it will help them.

My evangelical friend/work colleague comes from a different tradition, a much more prophetic tradition.  I find it fascinating, but I understand why she makes some people uncomfortable.  But on Tuesday afternoon, I was profoundly grateful for her blessing.

I thought about the phone, about how often it keeps us apart, but how it can bring us together.  Sure, it might be better if we had been in the same room, if there could have been a laying on of hands.  But I'm glad that she didn't let the distance stop her.

When I went to the Wednesday meeting, I had her blessing in my ears.  I had Psalm 23 as an undergirding.  I thought about the ways that the Psalms offer succor and strength and language for the times when we need to be brave, for the times when we need to lament, for the times when all those needs coincide.

I went to the meeting, and in the end, it was uncomfortable, but it was OK.  It was not the end of a week of unpleasant meetings, but that was OK.  I had the Psalms to counteract the ugly words, dispiriting news and clenched spirits that such a work week engenders.  I had the important reminder that I have supportive colleagues and friends who bless me in so many ways.

Meet Your New VBS Arts and Crafts Director

I've been involved with Vacation Bible School for several years now.  The first year, I assisted the arts and crafts director.  The second year, I assisted the dinner coordinator.  Last year, I was out of town.  This year, I'm the arts and crafts director.  I'm both excited and terrified.

I waited a long time before volunteering for the position.  Our pastor kept sending out lists of available positions.  I wanted the arts and crafts director position, but I thought that surely someone else would want it, and I didn't want to be too greedy.

Finally, after several weeks I volunteered, but offered to step aside if anyone else really wanted it.  We are in one of those VBS years where we barely have enough people to do everything, so my volunteering was greeted with relief.

We buy one of those pre-packaged VBS kits, and this year, we're not using the one from our own publishing house.  It was chosen by the woman who was going to be the VBS director before life intervened and she had to let go of that responsibility.  The kit that we bought doesn't come with very much--oh no, they want you to buy more, more, more.

We will not be doing that.  I looked at the projects that they offer, and they baffle me.  They're more science fair than glue and glitter.

We will be making noisemakers, because my husband will be doing fun things with drums and noisemakers, and we don't already have enough of those.  We will decorate t-shirts.  We will make butterflies or empty tomb gardens or other things to remind us of Christ's resurrections.  We will do things with paper mosaics, perhaps.  Maybe we'll collage if I get enough old magazines.

My fear is that I have twenty minutes--what if the projects take too much time?  What if they don't take enough time?

And then there's the fear that lurks beneath:  what if the kids think the projects are stupid?  And by extension, what if they think I'm stupid?

Creative folks everywhere are probably familiar with fears that run along these lines:  what if I can't pull off what I'm attempting to do?  What if I'm just stupid?  What if I never have a good idea?  What if I think I'm brilliant but everyone else knows I'm not?

I'm hoping that if I approach each night with joy and enthusiasm, it will all be just fine.

One of my spin class buddies advised me to give them what they don't get at home:  glue and glitter.  They get crayons, but not glitter.

I joked that if I give them glitter, I'll never be allowed to be arts and crafts director again.

I am always amazed at how much I like being part of Vacation Bible School.  And in terms of outreach, it's one of the more important things we do.  Kids like VBS too.  They bring their friends.  Their parents love the experience.  We have hopes that this positive experience will be enough to counteract the negative Church messages that the larger culture might give them later on.

Thinking about God's Work on May Day

When we were at the Create in Me retreat, Bishop Gordy spent part of Friday afternoon rocking with us on the porch.  What a wonderful thing to have deep discussions with the bishop of the Southeastern Synod.

We talked about the need for Lutheran churches to know their communities, all the better to serve them.  Now this knowing them doesn't mean we'll convert them.  He gave a great story as an example.

He talked about a Lutheran church with 3 female pastors.  One was a typical, second career ELCA pastor.  One was a pastor doing Hispanic ministry, in Spanish, I assume, and one was from Tanzania.  Their church was in the middle of a changing suburb, so they went out to meet the people of the neighborhood.

Much to their surprise, they realized that the neighborhood was now composed primarily of Iraqi Kurdish refugees.  Now, these refugees wouldn't be returning to their home country.  But unlike refugees of some past times of migration, they wouldn't be converting to the religion of their new country.  They were Muslim, with every intention of remaining so.

The three female pastors discovered that they still had a ministry role to play.  They were invited into the homes of the refugees precisely because they were women; male pastors would not have been invited into the homes.  They discovered that the Kurdish women appreciated their help in assimilation issues.

Their ministry role?  To explain the new country (the U.S.) to the refugees.  In doing so, they strengthened the neighborhood and their church's ties to the neighborhood.

It's not the kind of ministry we always think about doing, when we think about what churches are called to do.  But it's important work nonetheless.

So, on this May Day, this International Worker's Day, let's celebrate the new ways that our work in the world can lead to peace.  Let's celebrate the work in the world that we need to do as God's hands in the world.

Early Church as Community: Lessons for Us?

It's always interesting to study Bible texts with a group of Christians and see what speaks to us.  During our Church Council meeting last week, we looked at two texts.  Here's the first:

Luke 9: 1-6


9Then Jesus* called the twelve together and gave them power and authority over all demons and to cure diseases, 2and he sent them out to proclaim the kingdom of God and to heal. 3He said to them, ‘Take nothing for your journey, no staff, nor bag, nor bread, nor money—not even an extra tunic. 4Whatever house you enter, stay there, and leave from there. 5Wherever they do not welcome you, as you are leaving that town shake the dust off your feet as a testimony against them.’ 6They departed and went through the villages, bringing the good news and curing diseases everywhere.


I was interested in the fact that they were sent out in pairs.  They left with no possessions.  Others focused on their being forced to rely on the kindness of unknown people, while others focused on the necessity of leaving a town if they weren't welcoming.

I wondered about what this passage says to modern Christians:  are we supposed to leave our buildings behind?

Some people nodded.  Others saw this going out in pairs as metaphorical and argued that we can bring the Good News to others even if we stay in our church buildings.  Some of us talked about being witnesses in our modern lives:  workplaces, neighbors, the people who provide services.

Then we moved on to a different passage:


Acts 2: 41-47

41So those who welcomed his message were baptized, and that day about three thousand persons were added. 42They devoted themselves to the apostles’ teaching and fellowship, to the breaking of bread and the prayers. 43 Awe came upon everyone, because many wonders and signs were being done by the apostles. 44All who believed were together and had all things in common; 45they would sell their possessions and goods and distribute the proceeds* to all, as any had need. 46Day by day, as they spent much time together in the temple, they broke bread at home* and ate their food with glad and generous* hearts, 47praising God and having the goodwill of all the people. And day by day the Lord added to their number those who were being saved.


I wonder how many Christians are even familiar with this view of the Christian life:  living in community, praying and eating together, sharing all possessions (when not selling them to generate funds).

Of course, not all of my fellow Council members saw it this way.  Some argued that the Church does function in this way.  Some argued that this passage shows the importance of the sacrament of the Eucharist.  Some argued that this passage said we should praise God in our daily lives.

I confess to some impatience with these approaches.  What if this text means what it says?  What if we really are supposed to live together in a closer community, not a community that only meets once or twice a week?

I asked that question, and I said, "There are lots of forecloses houses in my neighborhood.  We could all live in the same neighborhood and do a better job of supporting each other in prayer and meals."

I didn't expect everyone to embrace that idea, but I'm always surprised at how threatening my basic question is to some people:  what if Jesus means what he says?  Sell all your possessions and rely on God.  Live in deep community with each other.

I realize the irony here:  I rarely take Biblical texts literally.  I'm that annoying person who thinks figuratively and approaches texts with my English major heart.

We ended our Bible study with this question.  How can we as a church be a community that studies Biblical texts together more often?  How can we support each other in prayer and encourage each other to pray more?

I have an idea about that last question, but I'll save that for tomorrow's post.

The Buddhist Teahouse Approach to Evangelism

We have once again entered the time when people discuss how much the religious beliefs of people in government should influence those people.  Lots of people seem fearful of the religious beliefs of the Republican presidential candidates, as they wonder how those beliefs might shape policy.

My atheist friends explode into anger at the idea that one's religious ideas might seep over into the work week.  Yet these are the same friends who seethe over the hypocrisy of some religious people they see, people who say one thing in church and behave another way in public.

What's a religious person to do?

To be fair, I, too, feel uncomfortable with people at work who just can't stop talking about their religious beliefs.  I was taught that it's rude and risky to talk about politics or religion in work or school settings.

Clearly, not everyone was brought up the way that I was.

I believe that if you're living your beliefs, then you're behaving in a way that bears witness.  You don't need to do any more evangelizing than that.

It's what I call the Buddhist teahouse approach to living an integrated life.  In an interview with Bill Moyers, poet Jane Hirshfield explains, "Teahouse practice means that you don't explicitly talk about Zen. It refers to leading your life as if you were an old woman who has a teahouse by the side of the road. Nobody knows why they like to go there, they just feel good drinking her tea. She's not known as a Buddhist teacher, she doesn't say, 'This is the Zen teahouse.' All she does is simply serve tea--but still, her decades of attentiveness are part of the way she does it. No one knows about her faithful attention to the practice, it's just there, in the serving of the tea, and the way she cleans the counters and washes the cups" (Fooling with Words: A Celebration of Poets and Their Craft, page 112).


Of course, I've wondered if that's just me wimping out on The Great Commission.  Jesus didn't say, "Go live a quiet, but good, life a life that makes everyone want to be around you and wonder what your secret is.  Thus you will bear witness to me."

Or did he?

Invitations

There's a Wellness Center at a hospital near where I work; it has a little gym, and I go there to do some weight work and to take spin classes. I joined up thinking I'd do more yoga, but to my surprise, I've been able to do spin class. In fact, I love spin class.

I get to the hospital early and walk quickly through the halls--it's quite a hike from the parking garage to the elevators that will take me to the Wellness Center. On weekdays, I'm usually the only one in the hallways. I try to get there early enough to get my weight work done before spin class--so I'm there at 6:00 a.m.

Yesterday, for a change, I wasn't the only one. It's obvious where I'm going, because I have a water bottle and I'm dressed in workout clothes, not scrubs, like the rest of the hospital. The woman down the hallway said, "I keep meaning to get up there, but I never do."

I said, "Some day, I hope you do."

The woman dressed in scrubs shook her head and said, "I wish I had your energy."

I said, "It's the work out that gives me the energy."

As I got to the door where we would part ways, I turned to say, "Come up and join us some time."

On the elevator ride to the 8th floor, I thought about the encounter. Why is it so easy for me to invite someone to spin class or to the Wellness Center and so hard to invite anyone to church? I would never invite a complete stranger to church, but it was easy to issue the invitation to the Wellness Center to a woman I've never met before.

I've met enough unchurched people (and spent some years as a woman without a church home myself) to know that the invitation to church can feel invasive. It can feel insincere.

Of course, the woman had expressed interest in the Wellness Center before I even opened my mouth. It makes it easier to issue an invitation where there is interest.

Which leads to the next logical question: amongst unchurched people, what would make them interested in church? What would lead them to start up a conversation similar to the one I had with the woman in scrubs?

I realize there can be a zillion different answers to that question, where the attraction to the Wellness Center only exists on a few levels (getting fit, getting/staying disease free, losing weight).

And then the harder question: just as my exercise clothes set me apart in the hospital, are there signifiers that set me apart as a Christian?

I'm thinking about more than the cross that some people wear around their necks or the bumper stickers that people plaster on their cars.

Would people know me as a resource, should they want to have that conversation with me?

As I write, I feel my deepest fear bubbling at my edges. I don't want to be seen as a hypocrite. The largest danger with being open about my faith is that people will have certain expectations--and it's all too easy to fail. Then the unchurched will see me as just one more person who can't walk the walk--and that may do more damage than staying quiet.

But I also need to do a better job at realizing that some people are hungry for invitations. I, who am so afraid of being rejected or of failing to be Christ's light in the world, I need to work on offering invitations.

Yard Sign Evangelism

We've got a primary election here in South Florida, which means that many yards have a clutter of political signs. I've noticed amongst them some signs with a simple Bible verse. Actually, it's not the verse spelled out. It's the book, the chapter, and the verse(s). There's the ubiquitous John 3:16, of course ("For God so loved the world that he gave his only Son, so that everyone who believes in him may not perish but may have eternal life"). Today I saw Ephesians 2: 9-10, which I came home and looked up; it's mid-sentence, so I'm including verse 8 too: "For by grace you have been saved through faith, and this is not your own doing; it is the gift of God— 9not the result of works, so that no one may boast. 10For we are what he has made us, created in Christ Jesus for good works, which God prepared beforehand to be our way of life."

These are not the verses I would put in my yard. These are not the verses that I imagine would speak to a non-believer. In fact, I don't understand why these people don't put the actual verse on the yard sign--there's room. Why do they think that someone will go home and look up the Bible verse?

These morning ponderings made my mind turn towards this question: what Bible chapter and verse would I put in my yard? Are the verses that speak to me the verses that would speak to a non-believer? I've had the phrase "ministry of reconciliation" in my head, so maybe it would be 2 Corinthians, chapter 5, verses 16-19: "16 From now on, therefore, we regard no one from a human point of view;* even though we once knew Christ from a human point of view,* we know him no longer in that way. 17So if anyone is in Christ, there is a new creation: everything old has passed away; see, everything has become new! 18All this is from God, who reconciled us to himself through Christ, and has given us the ministry of reconciliation; 19that is, in Christ God was reconciling the world to himself,* not counting their trespasses against them, and entrusting the message of reconciliation to us."

Those verses speaks to me, but I don't know if it would speak to others. There are many verses from the Psalms that cry out to me. Would they cry out from my front yard? Would they catch the attention of anyone else?