The local ELCA Lutheran congregation voted on Sunday to leave the national church over the social statement adopted last summer.
One of my best friends and her family have been members of this congregation for over twenty years. As good country folk, the church was their social community and home away from home; relationships formed in church were very important to them, and the Lutheran spirituality permeated their lives.
This Sunday, though, things changed. It has been brewing for a long time; the pastor had made it very clear in the pulpit that he wanted to take the congregation out of the ELCA. The congregation has been breaking into two groups, and there was little Christian charity from one side toward the other. No room for disagreeing on 'the gay issue.' No room for sharing at Christ's table for those who, in good faith and conscience, held to a position that others disagreed with. One side just couldn't have that. There is no compromising the 'purity' of the faith.
There were some underhanded political moves as well. Human beings are political beings.
The pain I saw in their faces hurt me deeply. The actions on Sunday were divorce and death at the same time. I know that they'll persevere. They're not giving up, as the vote won't be final until ninety days from now. They'll keep trying to heal wounds and exorcise demons that work so hard to fracture and destroy the Body of Christ (Yes, I say exorcise; when hate, pride, and schism abound, I say something dark is at work). Will it work? I have no clue. But I know them, and I know the depth of their faith. That doesn't erase the pain, though.
Friday, May 28, 2010
Saturday, May 15, 2010
Sin-icism
Cynicism.
The cornerstone of the stereotype of Europeans. The hallmark of disillusioned college students.
I've noticed it a lot more in myself lately. I don't know if it's just the continued rancor in the national discourse. I don't know if it's just a dissatisfaction with my life as it is. I don't know if it's just a feeling of aimlessness since I'm a lot less sure about my life than I was just a year ago. I don't know if it's just loneliness and a fear that I won't find a romantic partner.
Safest bet is that all of those are working together to breed cynicism in me.
Cynicism is so incredibly destructive. Not only does it destroy hope, but it also actively attacks anything positive. It refuses to believe that anything can change for the better. Considering that hope is a fundamental Christian value, it's easy to see why cynicism is a sin.
I wonder how many people in this country would see cynicism as sinful. I know it's taken time for me to see the effects of it in my life. My commentary during the morning news used to be insightful; now it's just spiteful. The great progress on positive self-image I've made in the last few years takes hits as my cynicism turns inward.
What's the remedy for such a brutal sin which tries to eradicate any hope?
For me, I'm not sure. Now that I see it, I can be aware of its harmful effects. Finding the cure will be more difficult. I will, with God's help, try to loosen the hold that cynicism has on me. It'll be highly appropriate, since a good friend of mine and her children will be baptized on Pentecost! What better time to break the hold of something destructive?
The cornerstone of the stereotype of Europeans. The hallmark of disillusioned college students.
I've noticed it a lot more in myself lately. I don't know if it's just the continued rancor in the national discourse. I don't know if it's just a dissatisfaction with my life as it is. I don't know if it's just a feeling of aimlessness since I'm a lot less sure about my life than I was just a year ago. I don't know if it's just loneliness and a fear that I won't find a romantic partner.
Safest bet is that all of those are working together to breed cynicism in me.
Cynicism is so incredibly destructive. Not only does it destroy hope, but it also actively attacks anything positive. It refuses to believe that anything can change for the better. Considering that hope is a fundamental Christian value, it's easy to see why cynicism is a sin.
I wonder how many people in this country would see cynicism as sinful. I know it's taken time for me to see the effects of it in my life. My commentary during the morning news used to be insightful; now it's just spiteful. The great progress on positive self-image I've made in the last few years takes hits as my cynicism turns inward.
What's the remedy for such a brutal sin which tries to eradicate any hope?
For me, I'm not sure. Now that I see it, I can be aware of its harmful effects. Finding the cure will be more difficult. I will, with God's help, try to loosen the hold that cynicism has on me. It'll be highly appropriate, since a good friend of mine and her children will be baptized on Pentecost! What better time to break the hold of something destructive?
Sunday, April 25, 2010
The Christian Flower
I nominate the pansy to be the emblematic flower of Christianity. It comes in all sorts of colors and varieties, representing the diversity of the Christian family.
It's not an expensive flower, representing the free gift of grace.
The word 'pansy' is frequently used as a derogatory term much like "Christian" was (and sometimes is even now).
But honestly and truly, the reason it should represent Christianity is that it does not give up. My family has not planted pansies for years yet we find them hiding throughout the flowerbeds and yard. Yes, a single pansy is easy enough to pull up and dispose of, much like the individual Christian martyr is; but, as a whole, the Christian faith and the Church will live on through oppression, violence and slander just like the pansies continue to pop up where they can find the sunlight and the nourishment . And when Christianity is at its best, it will endure all sorts of things without resorting to violence to "protect" itself, its honor, its Scripture, or its leaders.
God help us if the pansies fight back.
It's not an expensive flower, representing the free gift of grace.
The word 'pansy' is frequently used as a derogatory term much like "Christian" was (and sometimes is even now).
But honestly and truly, the reason it should represent Christianity is that it does not give up. My family has not planted pansies for years yet we find them hiding throughout the flowerbeds and yard. Yes, a single pansy is easy enough to pull up and dispose of, much like the individual Christian martyr is; but, as a whole, the Christian faith and the Church will live on through oppression, violence and slander just like the pansies continue to pop up where they can find the sunlight and the nourishment . And when Christianity is at its best, it will endure all sorts of things without resorting to violence to "protect" itself, its honor, its Scripture, or its leaders.
God help us if the pansies fight back.
Saturday, April 3, 2010
Too late for confession
Last night at the Good Friday liturgy I noticed something odd: no confession.
On a day that is one of only two major fast days in the Church's calendar, it is entirely counterintuitive. On this day, surely, we should be confessing our sins, acknowledging how our sinfulness led Christ to the cross and how our sin works to destroy us.
Nope. No confession unless you are receiving communion from the reserved sacrament of Maundy Thursday. No communion, no confession, and that was how it was last night.
Good Friday is too late to be sorrowful for sin and is far too late for confession. The wheels had been set in motion; the crucifixion was inevitable once the table for the Last Supper was set. Wheels slowly, slowly turning during the meal, moving hesitantly throughout the night as Christ prayed for the disciples he was soon going to be leaving behind.
In the hour of crisis, confession is too late. There is little to be done to set things right; films make it seem to us like it's never too late because something can always be done. Sometimes our sins will be too much for us to make amends.
I'm sure the disciples wanted to confess their wrongdoings as Jesus was led to the cross and executed. "Lord, forgive me, just let Jesus go!" their lips might have mumbled as they tried to bargain with the God who seemed so hidden at the moment.
Too late for confession. Nothing to be done. The wheels of sin and death are in motion, crushing the innocent and guilty.
But Christ set in motion something else. Something that would break the wheels of sin and death.
Confession might come too late, but salvation still stands firmly before us, even before the brink.
On a day that is one of only two major fast days in the Church's calendar, it is entirely counterintuitive. On this day, surely, we should be confessing our sins, acknowledging how our sinfulness led Christ to the cross and how our sin works to destroy us.
Nope. No confession unless you are receiving communion from the reserved sacrament of Maundy Thursday. No communion, no confession, and that was how it was last night.
Good Friday is too late to be sorrowful for sin and is far too late for confession. The wheels had been set in motion; the crucifixion was inevitable once the table for the Last Supper was set. Wheels slowly, slowly turning during the meal, moving hesitantly throughout the night as Christ prayed for the disciples he was soon going to be leaving behind.
In the hour of crisis, confession is too late. There is little to be done to set things right; films make it seem to us like it's never too late because something can always be done. Sometimes our sins will be too much for us to make amends.
I'm sure the disciples wanted to confess their wrongdoings as Jesus was led to the cross and executed. "Lord, forgive me, just let Jesus go!" their lips might have mumbled as they tried to bargain with the God who seemed so hidden at the moment.
Too late for confession. Nothing to be done. The wheels of sin and death are in motion, crushing the innocent and guilty.
But Christ set in motion something else. Something that would break the wheels of sin and death.
Confession might come too late, but salvation still stands firmly before us, even before the brink.
Friday, March 26, 2010
Fear of What Didn't Happen
Last night we avoided a serious catastrophe.
Story starts yesterday afternoon. A car crash down the road leaves the power out all afternoon. I'm at work, so all I get is a call from my mom about the lack of electricity. No problem- I plan on stopping by the store to pick up bottled water just in case the power is out for a long time.
I pick up the goods and head to play practice at church. We're using bits of Jesus Christ Superstar for Palm Sunday, and it was the full musical rehearsal. Afterward I debate about going to gay coffee night. I was an hour late for it, and I decide to just head home as the sky's looking nasty, and I felt like relaxing after work. I sing out to a mixed CD (delightfully titled "Incredibly Gay, Volume 1") all the way home.
I arrive home to a dark house. The power's still out. Ten minutes after I get home, though, the power clicks back on. I help my mom reset the clocks in the house when we hear strange noises from the utility room.
I'd never heard those noises before. They sounded almost like gurgling. Shortly thereafter we both smell smoke. We go into the utility room nearby and cough as smoke starts to fill the room. We look around trying to find the source, then I open the back door to clear out some smoke so we can find the source (yes, I know that could have potentially exacerbated it, but without finding a source we would've been in worse trouble).
When the power had come back on, it surged. Because it was chilly, the furnace clicked on at the exact same time. Guess what caught on fire?
Yep. The wiring in the furnace overloaded and started on fire. We pulled off the cover for the furnace after seeing smoke coming from the vent to reveal a flame. After a split second of hesitation ("say now, that's not supposed to be on fire") my mom grabs the fire extinguisher and puts out the flame and flips off the circuit breaker. We hastily call the fire department to make sure that we're safe for the night.
Everything's fine- we all spent the night incredibly nervous that maybe, just maybe, a fire was smoldering unseen. The smell of burnt plastic would rouse me from sleep just to instill a brief second of fear, forcing me to go and investigate, just in case.
After the fire was out, I realized how good it was that I hadn't gone out after play practice. Had I not been in the vicinity of the utility room, how long might it have been before my mom smelled the smoke? Would it have gotten into the insulation or the wood before she noticed? Would it have ended a lot worse?
Heaven knows. I'm glad it didn't end up worse, but there's that weird fear of what didn't happen.
Normally we always worry about what happened. We wish that we would've done it differently or go back and use the knowledge we have now instead of the limited perspective of the past.
This is different. By chance or providence (I know not which) we caught it before it got out of hand. Given that it probably would've happened regardless, we had the best possible outcome.
Yet there's this odd fear of what didn't happen. It's not like the fear that I had last night of the possibility of a smoldering flame hidden deep in the house's wiring; it's a fear of what bad things could have happened had I acted differently.
Normally in these situations we launch straight into God's providence, God's blessing. I'm grateful, of course. I'm glad that this was the worst that happened last night; still, I have a sense of fear for an outcome that didn't happen.
I'm not how much I can explain it. Perhaps the fear is the flip side to the relief I feel. I know how bad it could have ended last night, so then I feel great relief that it didn't. Without even knowing it, I made a choice that helped prevent a catastrophe.
I have no clue as to how this could relate to the holy and fearful events of Holy Week. Good Friday was definitely the worst that could happen for the disciples; there wasn't a "whew, that was close!" moment. Jesus was really condemned, mocked, and nailed to a cross. He died. The disciples ran off and one even betrayed Jesus. No catastrophe was prevented there. No one really saw the Resurrection coming.
In all those horrible, cruel, evil choices made 2000 years ago by the religious establishment and the political hierarchy, was an even worse outcome for humanity avoided? Did Judas, did Pilate, did Caiaphas really understand the wheels they set in motion? Did they unknowingly make choices that averted an even greater catastrophe?
Not just a catastrophe of political or religious power; I mean a cosmic, universal catastrophe. These men thought that the nation was headed for disaster if this heretic/rebel was allowed to continue; however, what would have happened had Jesus not been condemned and executed?
I don't know.
May this upcoming week so full of pain and suffering strengthen you. May the remembrance of Christ's passion and death and resurrection fill your heart with grace and light and love.
Story starts yesterday afternoon. A car crash down the road leaves the power out all afternoon. I'm at work, so all I get is a call from my mom about the lack of electricity. No problem- I plan on stopping by the store to pick up bottled water just in case the power is out for a long time.
I pick up the goods and head to play practice at church. We're using bits of Jesus Christ Superstar for Palm Sunday, and it was the full musical rehearsal. Afterward I debate about going to gay coffee night. I was an hour late for it, and I decide to just head home as the sky's looking nasty, and I felt like relaxing after work. I sing out to a mixed CD (delightfully titled "Incredibly Gay, Volume 1") all the way home.
I arrive home to a dark house. The power's still out. Ten minutes after I get home, though, the power clicks back on. I help my mom reset the clocks in the house when we hear strange noises from the utility room.
I'd never heard those noises before. They sounded almost like gurgling. Shortly thereafter we both smell smoke. We go into the utility room nearby and cough as smoke starts to fill the room. We look around trying to find the source, then I open the back door to clear out some smoke so we can find the source (yes, I know that could have potentially exacerbated it, but without finding a source we would've been in worse trouble).
When the power had come back on, it surged. Because it was chilly, the furnace clicked on at the exact same time. Guess what caught on fire?
Yep. The wiring in the furnace overloaded and started on fire. We pulled off the cover for the furnace after seeing smoke coming from the vent to reveal a flame. After a split second of hesitation ("say now, that's not supposed to be on fire") my mom grabs the fire extinguisher and puts out the flame and flips off the circuit breaker. We hastily call the fire department to make sure that we're safe for the night.
Everything's fine- we all spent the night incredibly nervous that maybe, just maybe, a fire was smoldering unseen. The smell of burnt plastic would rouse me from sleep just to instill a brief second of fear, forcing me to go and investigate, just in case.
After the fire was out, I realized how good it was that I hadn't gone out after play practice. Had I not been in the vicinity of the utility room, how long might it have been before my mom smelled the smoke? Would it have gotten into the insulation or the wood before she noticed? Would it have ended a lot worse?
Heaven knows. I'm glad it didn't end up worse, but there's that weird fear of what didn't happen.
Normally we always worry about what happened. We wish that we would've done it differently or go back and use the knowledge we have now instead of the limited perspective of the past.
This is different. By chance or providence (I know not which) we caught it before it got out of hand. Given that it probably would've happened regardless, we had the best possible outcome.
Yet there's this odd fear of what didn't happen. It's not like the fear that I had last night of the possibility of a smoldering flame hidden deep in the house's wiring; it's a fear of what bad things could have happened had I acted differently.
Normally in these situations we launch straight into God's providence, God's blessing. I'm grateful, of course. I'm glad that this was the worst that happened last night; still, I have a sense of fear for an outcome that didn't happen.
I'm not how much I can explain it. Perhaps the fear is the flip side to the relief I feel. I know how bad it could have ended last night, so then I feel great relief that it didn't. Without even knowing it, I made a choice that helped prevent a catastrophe.
I have no clue as to how this could relate to the holy and fearful events of Holy Week. Good Friday was definitely the worst that could happen for the disciples; there wasn't a "whew, that was close!" moment. Jesus was really condemned, mocked, and nailed to a cross. He died. The disciples ran off and one even betrayed Jesus. No catastrophe was prevented there. No one really saw the Resurrection coming.
In all those horrible, cruel, evil choices made 2000 years ago by the religious establishment and the political hierarchy, was an even worse outcome for humanity avoided? Did Judas, did Pilate, did Caiaphas really understand the wheels they set in motion? Did they unknowingly make choices that averted an even greater catastrophe?
Not just a catastrophe of political or religious power; I mean a cosmic, universal catastrophe. These men thought that the nation was headed for disaster if this heretic/rebel was allowed to continue; however, what would have happened had Jesus not been condemned and executed?
I don't know.
May this upcoming week so full of pain and suffering strengthen you. May the remembrance of Christ's passion and death and resurrection fill your heart with grace and light and love.
Monday, March 15, 2010
Edible Emotions
This last week was particularly stressful and upsetting. I'm sure my hormones were out of whack, but events in multiple parts of my life made last week an unhappy one.
By Wednesday of last week I broke my Lenten abstinence from chocolate. Those Oreo cookies were calling to me, promising sweet relief from the stress and pain. After devouring them with the angriest face I could muster, I noted that guilt didn't seem to be raising its ugly head. A little shocked, I assumed that eventually I would feel downright horrible for eating chocolate during Lent. I'm not "hardcore" like the Eastern Orthodox who abstain from a lot more during Great Lent; yet I caved in to chocolate.
I had expected at least some kind of inner turmoil from eating the forbidden sweets. Nope. Could it have been anger and stress that granted me an indulgence? Possibly.
The episode certainly led me to realize just how comforting food is. I knew that when I was stressed I would crave certain foods: things fried, things sweet, things full of carbohydrates. After eating them, though, I noticed that I wasn't feeling relief or happiness or sorrowful delight. I just felt angry with a few crumbs of Oreo in my mustache.
By Wednesday of last week I broke my Lenten abstinence from chocolate. Those Oreo cookies were calling to me, promising sweet relief from the stress and pain. After devouring them with the angriest face I could muster, I noted that guilt didn't seem to be raising its ugly head. A little shocked, I assumed that eventually I would feel downright horrible for eating chocolate during Lent. I'm not "hardcore" like the Eastern Orthodox who abstain from a lot more during Great Lent; yet I caved in to chocolate.
I had expected at least some kind of inner turmoil from eating the forbidden sweets. Nope. Could it have been anger and stress that granted me an indulgence? Possibly.
The episode certainly led me to realize just how comforting food is. I knew that when I was stressed I would crave certain foods: things fried, things sweet, things full of carbohydrates. After eating them, though, I noticed that I wasn't feeling relief or happiness or sorrowful delight. I just felt angry with a few crumbs of Oreo in my mustache.
Tuesday, March 9, 2010
Somewhere that's green...
I returned from a long weekend in Texas to visit an important friend for the first time. We'd been talking on the phone for a long time, but finally meeting him in the flesh was great.
Leaving Fort Worth yesterday was incredibly difficult. I wanted nothing more than to be with him one more minute, one more hour, one more day. He made me feel wonderful, and I hope I did the same for him.
I feel a pit in my heart now that I'm away from him. He was very deliberate in not wanting me to feel tied down to him or to feel any obligation toward him, and I'm not sure how to handle that.
I opened myself to him, feeling comfortable enough to cry in front of him. Normally I try to hide my emotions away so that others aren't burdened by my emotions and so that I'm not the "focus". He asked how I was feeling, and I told him instead of replying, "I'm OK" or "Fine" as I usually do when I'm feeling upset but don't want to reveal my heart.
I'm not sure what to do right now. I know that for the next week or so I will be second-guessing myself, overanalyzing everything and fretting about the future, but I want him to know how much he means to me and how much I want to nurture our relationship without being a burden. I don't know if he cried after I left or if he's feeling anything similar, and I don't have the right to pry overmuch.
Right now I'm getting ready for work to get back to life as it was before I left, knowing that my life's changed for the better no matter what happens.
Peace, friends.
Leaving Fort Worth yesterday was incredibly difficult. I wanted nothing more than to be with him one more minute, one more hour, one more day. He made me feel wonderful, and I hope I did the same for him.
I feel a pit in my heart now that I'm away from him. He was very deliberate in not wanting me to feel tied down to him or to feel any obligation toward him, and I'm not sure how to handle that.
I opened myself to him, feeling comfortable enough to cry in front of him. Normally I try to hide my emotions away so that others aren't burdened by my emotions and so that I'm not the "focus". He asked how I was feeling, and I told him instead of replying, "I'm OK" or "Fine" as I usually do when I'm feeling upset but don't want to reveal my heart.
I'm not sure what to do right now. I know that for the next week or so I will be second-guessing myself, overanalyzing everything and fretting about the future, but I want him to know how much he means to me and how much I want to nurture our relationship without being a burden. I don't know if he cried after I left or if he's feeling anything similar, and I don't have the right to pry overmuch.
Right now I'm getting ready for work to get back to life as it was before I left, knowing that my life's changed for the better no matter what happens.
Peace, friends.
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