Giving Even More Away

For days now, I've been thinking of the article I read on Sunday in The New York Times, where Nicholas D. Kristof describes a family who, prompted by their teenage daughter, sells their large house, moves to a smaller one, and gives half the money to worthy charities. They buy a smaller house with the other half.

Instead of feeling impoverished by this decision, the family realized benefits. They spend more time together, as you have to do in a smaller house. They had fun and enormous satisfaction deciding how to distribute the money to charities.

I've always felt like I should be giving more, even though I'm usually at the 10% level. But is that enough?

In Colossians Remixed: Subverting the Empire (a book I highly recommend), Brian J. Walsh and Sylvia C. Keesmaat have this interesting approach to charitable giving: "One guidepost we work with is that if we ever find in a given year that we have invested more in our won future by way of retirement savings than we have given away for someone else's present need, there is something terribly wrong. We tend to think the ratio should be at least two to one: for every dollar we invest in retirement savings, two dollars should be given away to an agency that will serve the poor" (page 189).

While I essentially agree with them, I am not there yet, and may not ever meet them there. I would be happy to match my retirement savings with my charitable/social justice giving. Actually, I might do that already and not realize it. In the past few years, I've been lucky at work to have earned promotions and to have gotten raises. As my income has risen, I've tried to also increase my charitable giving. I haven't always been vigilant at raising my non-work related retirement savings (my work 401-K plan is recalculated automatically for me, as my income fluctuates, since I've specified a percentage to be socked away, not an amount--not so with my other accounts).

Something to think about, as I start to think about my income taxes. It's a good time to double check all of my accounts, to make sure that my spending and savings reflects my truest values.

An Answer for Why We Go to Church, Why We Live a Liturgical Year

I can't resist posting this quote from Joan Chittister's The Liturgical Year, another one of the books in the Ancient Practices series from publisher Thomas Nelson: "We do not live a liturgical life to look good to other people. We do not develop a liturgical spirituality to affect a kind of spiritual dimension to our lives. And we certainly do not go to Mass regularly to avoid hell."

I especially like what she says next: "We live a liturgical life in order to become like the One whom we follow from the manger to the Mount of Olives. We live a liturgical life to learn to think like He thinks. To do what He would do. To make Him the center of our lives--not our work or our money or our status" (179).

I have non-church going friends who would then ask, "Couldn't you do that on your own, at home, in the quiet of your study or living room?"

Maybe I could. But I doubt that I would. I'm easily distracted. I can hardly remember to pray the Liturgy of the Hours. Could I remember to create all the other liturgical elements on my own, in my home?

Plus, humans were created for community. Very few of us have what it takes to be hermits. We need to be around people, especially people who have our values, in a world that doesn't value us or our beliefs very often.

Chittister sums it up well: "Liturgical spirituality is about learning to live an ordinary life extraordinarily well" (179).

A Book for Eucharist Geeks Like Me

Yesterday, I read most of Nora Gallagher's The Sacred Meal in one big gulp. What a delightful book! It's accessible, it's short, it's poetic, it sings the joy of one of the sacraments--add it to your reading list.

I've loved Nora Gallagher since I read Things Seen and Unseen, a book I return to again and again. Her writing is beautiful, her theology sound, and she always makes me think. This book didn't tell me much I didn't already know about the Eucharist, but I enjoyed reading it.

She says that the Eucharist "is the one practice that is really about ingesting spirit, eating what we call God but what may as well be called taking a bite out of infinity" (14). She says this about spiritual practices: "A practice is meant to connect you with what is deeply alive, to stir in you the same kind of aliveness that the disciples of Jesus must have felt around him. A practice trains and disciplines the mind to head toward compassion rather than toward greed. A practice is not about finding exactly the right set of rules that will make you 'good' but is instead meant to establish a habit of connection to a world that is both tenuous and surprising, outside of time and in it" (page 25).

The book is full of nuggets like these. It's also full of history and background, which will be useful for people who come from traditions that don't emphasize Communion.

She also ties in Eucharist theology to the work that we do in the world, especially the social justice work that some of us might do (often in contrast to the work we might do to earn money). Here's one of my favorite quotes from the book: "To be exalted by earthly standards is to be constantly aware of who is not exalted or to be looking over one's shoulder for who might be more exalted next. It is to be anxious. To be exalted by heavenly standards is to urge others to be exalted, too, to share in the bounty of being loved and loving" (128).

This book is part of the splendid series, The Ancient Practices Series, brought to us by Thomas Nelson publishers. Just this week, I finished reading Joan Chittister's The Liturgical Year. I've read all but two books in the series, and I've loved them all. While they haven't told me much that I didn't already know, it's always good to read in a different voice, to be reminded of the precious nature of that knowledge.

Meditation on This Week's Gospel

The readings for Sunday, January 31, 2010:

First Reading: Jeremiah 1:4-10

Psalm: Psalm 71:1-6

Second Reading: 1 Corinthians 13:1-13

Gospel: Luke 4:21-30


In this Gospel, we see the reactions of Jesus' listeners to his proclamation that the Scripture has been fulfilled. They can't believe that this boy that they knew as a child could be the Messiah. And then they decide to throw him over a cliff.

I wish I could say that I thought this behavior was bizarre, but I don't. Unfortunately, many people, even dedicated Christians, have this reaction to the Sacred.

How many times have you seen clear evidence of God working in your life? How many times have you discounted your experiences? "It can't be God. It's just coincidence that the issues for which I prayed for help and guidance have been resolved." We should be shouting for joy, and praying prayers of thanksgiving, and instead, we chalk it up to randomness.

In some ways, this behavior is similar to the desire to throw Jesus off the cliff. We discount the power of God, and so we diminish our relationship with God. Later, in the Good Friday story, we scoff at Simon Peter's denial of Jesus, but we often deny God on a daily basis. Many of us are committed to a scientific, rational view of the universe that leaves no room for a divine power. We throw God over the cliff.

Or worse, we're committed to a view of the universe as dark, chaotic, and threatening. We discount the power of light and good to overcome the powers of darkness. Again, we throw God over the cliff. God commands us to be children of the light, committed to love. Many of us prefer to wallow in our feelings of fear and despair. Ah, despair, the sin that medievalists would remind us is the deadliest of the deadly sins--for it is despair that keeps us from believing that life can be different, that God is really in control. And if we can avoid believing that, then we can avoid our responsibilities towards this world that God created.

One of the most insidious ways that we continue to throw Jesus over the cliff is in our daily behavior, especially if those around us know that we are Christians. So often, our behavior undercuts our Christian stance. What will the rest of the world think of our triune God when they see us behave in ways that they know are distinctly not Christian? How do we lead people away from Jesus by our unflattering behavior? It's time to remember that we are to be an example of the kind of world that Jesus came to help us create.

The new year, which is quickly moving towards becoming the old year, is a good time for reflection, a good time to turn inward and to become aware of areas where we could still use improvement. Sure, God loves us the way that we are (a gift of grace to be sure). But God always calls us to be better. It's time to work on our attitudes and beliefs and actions that throw Jesus off the cliff, attitudes and beliefs and actions that make others think that God is indeed dead.

Praying for the Bishop

During our conference meeting on Saturday, the Synod representative asked us to pray for the Bishop. I wish I could say that I was a good enough prayer person that I could say that of course I always pray for church leaders. But I often have trouble remembering to pray for the people outside of my immediate circle--well, heck, if I'm admitting the truth, I often have trouble remembering to pray for those close to me. But for a few days, at least, I've been remembering to pray for the Bishop.

Our Synod has at least 4 churches who are considering leaving the ELCA (the larger denominational body), and our Synod representative told us that the Bishop is really taking it hard and working hard towards reconciliation.

I found myself surprised to hear this. I admit that my thoughts weren't very Christian ones when I heard that these churches were thinking of leaving: well, good, don't let the screen door hit your bigoted butt on the way out of our inclusive door.

Those thoughts are one of the many reasons why I am not the Bishop.

These churches are deeply upset over the recent vote at the Churchwide Assembly, and I confess I'm having trouble understanding the upset. The church didn't mandate that every church must call pastors who are gays and lesbians. Churches are allowed to decide that they will never do that. But some churches will, and gays and lesbians who are in lifelong, committed relationships will not lose their ordination, and they no longer have to live a duplicitous life so that they can have both their relationship and their job. The churchwide body left room for disagreement. You don't have to approve of this lifestyle. You don't even have to support it by calling those pastors.

Some from the other side have criticized this wishy-washy approach to social justice. However, I rather admire this attempt to live in the tension of not being sure how to handle this divisive issue.

LutheranChik has a great post where she attempts to understand all this "anguish" that people say they are feeling. I understand feeling anguish over battered Haiti. This issue of people's private sex lives in committed relationships doesn't seem anguish worthy to me.

Of course, I'm younger than the people feeling so upset that they'd leave the church. I'm younger, and I've known a lot of gays and lesbians, both in committed relationships and those committed to promiscuity--sort of like the heterosexual people I've known. Gays and lesbians just don't seem that different. And I've lived long enough to realize that sexual desire is a pretty fluid thing. Any of us might wake up one day to find ourselves in love with our best friends of the same gender. Or of a different gender. Or we might find ourselves desiring someone who never would have interested us before. Or we might just wish we had that extra time to get more sleep.

So I will pray for the Bishop, both our Synod bishop and the bishop of the larger ELCA. I will pray for these churches who are contemplating leaving. I'll pray for all those Lutherans who are thinking of creating yet another Lutheran denomination--will they go back to using an older hymnbook too? And my snarky comments lead me to think that I should pray for myself, that I should pray to have the open heart that it takes to listen to people who are feeling an anguish that I cannot understand.

The Feast of the Conversion of St. Paul

Today is the day that we celebrate Saul's conversion, the act that would eventually make him Paul, probably the greatest evangelist ever. It's important to remember what Saul of Tarsus had been doing up to that point: persecuting Christians. One of the things I love about Christianity is that God can use absolutely anyone. No one is too dreadful, provided that they have this kind of epiphany moment that Saul experiences.

When I was younger, I would have turned up my nose at this feast day. I HATED Paul. In fact, I stayed away from church for a few years in my late 20's and early 30's, because I had decided that the church was more devoted to Paul than to Christ. And I could still make that case about some of them.

It's helped to have some scholarly insight. Many of the letters of Paul that I see as most damaging, most supportive of the status quo of empire and patriarchy, we now think that most of those letters weren't written by Paul. Paul's writing was much more egalitarian. There's some school of thought that medieval writers revised some of them to make them less egalitarian. It would be interesting to learn Greek, to see for myself what has been done.

But my life right now doesn't lend itself to learning Greek. I'll rest secure in the knowledge that the Paul that my 19 year old self hated is not the real Paul. The real Paul is quite amazing. To think about what he accomplished just makes me tired and makes me feel a bit inadequate, truth to tell.

We've spent weeks now embroiled in efforts to get a handle on our church budget. Some part of me thinks it would be easier to be Paul: come in, set up a church, go to the next town, set up a church. Those of us left behind have to figure out what it means for our daily lives.

Today might be a good day to meditate on Road to Damascus experiences. Have you ever had that kind of experience, where your life was turned around with a flash of light? I'm not sure I really have. I've felt God revealed in much smaller movements, those still, small voices in the night.

Today might be a good day to ponder where we need that light of revelation. Today might be a good day to pray that God show us where we need a revolution, a rotation, a change, in our way of thinking and acting.

The Call to be Small?

We live in an era of megachurches. I currently go to a church that has 100-130 people worship every Sunday--and that's considered a small church, by our denomination's standards. But I used to go to a church where regular Sunday attendance had dwindled to 40-50 a week.

I've been thinking about these things after reading this post. And here I read Di's experience of finding a Lutheran church that's working for her. And my spouse has spent several weeks wondering if we've lost our way in terms of reaching out to the unchurched. And I've been wondering at what point a church becomes too big.

There are disadvantages to being a very small church, like my old church, especially when most of those members are over the age of 70. There just aren't as many people to do things. If you're a family, there's likely no youth group, perhaps no Sunday school.

There are advantages to being small. Want to offer a cool arts program that the church hasn't done before? Want to preach? Want to experiment with changing the liturgical space? Want to teach a song? Want to bring in your band to accompany the service? Anything, everything is possible, if you're part of the kind of church that's so grateful for someone who's willing to do something that they'll listen to your ideas.

And the best benefit is that the members really know each other. At a Christmas Eve service at my old church, I looked around and realized that I knew almost every face—more, I could connect a name with every face, and for most of those names and faces, I knew a bit of the person’s history. How rare this is, I thought. What a gift to have a church home where I actually know almost everybody.

Of course, the downside is that many church members will be mourning the past days of the church that are no more, and likely won't come again.

My Broward-Bahamas conference (a Synod district, a smaller part of the Florida-Bahamas Synod of the Evangelical Lutheran Church in America) is currently meeting and trying to envision a different way of doing church. Do we all need to run a Confirmation program or could we have regional Confirmation groups across the county? Does each church need to have its own separate office? How can suburban churches help urban churches help the homeless? Could we dream even bigger dreams?

Most of our churches down here are land rich and member poor. We have some churches that are down to 20 members. That probably can't go on much longer. With the recent collapse in property values, our churches aren't even as land rich as they once were.

We live in interesting times. I know that some people aren't convinced that the mainline churches are collapsing, and some of them aren't. It's hard to ignore the national and international statistics though. Evangelical and Pentecostal churches are growing much faster than others.

Where will it all lead? I have no idea. And it's not really up to me. If I believe what the Scriptures tell me, I have to believe that the Holy Spirit is at work and moving in the world. god has a bigger, better vision for the world than I could ever dream up. I'm heartened by stories on people's blogs of the churches they've found and the acceptance they feel (there are some great stories of work-life balance from clergy women with children here, if you need some more reasons to feel good).

Tomorrow we meet again as a conference group. What visions will we weave?