The miracle of Pentecost

Yesterday, the Church celebrated Pentecost, the day in which the Holy Spirit came and set the world ablaze. It is a custom, in some congregations, to sing Happy Birthday Dear Church, as it was the day of Pentecost that led to the church, all over the world, serving as the Body of Christ. Pentecost is a reminder that this church business is wholly different from a social club, or a humanitarian organization, or a community center. It is all of these things, in some ways, but it is much more.

On Pentecost, we celebrate the Holy Spirit, but we're not quite sure what to make of this Spirit, so we talk about flames and doves and such. Metaphors are much easier to swallow than the implications of the event itself. The Holy Spirit came with a violent wind and led the disciples to speak in such a way that they sounded drunk. I don't know about you, but it seems easier to me to preach a sermon about metaphor than it is to invoke the presence of a Spirit so powerful that it fills the room with sound and manifests itself in fire.

Or we focus on the miracle, the flames, the sudden rush of wind that turned even the densest of the disciples into a polyglot. That's a neat story, isn't it? And we leave it there.

To me, here's the miracle of Pentecost. God so trusted our species that God sent a divine wind to continually be at our backs. God sees our best offerings and gifts and buildings, and God chooses to be with us anyways. We are given a sacred promise, that though the church is frustrating and difficult and, at times, slow as molasses, the work of being the church is not in vain, for it is, in the final analysis, the most important work in the whole world.

I see it every time I show up for church: people who are so dedicated to their faith that they do extraordinary things. Children get fed, the sick are healed, the lonely are comforted. This is not the work of a social club. It is work created by God, blessed by Christ, and empowered by the Holy Spirit.


To me, this is the real promise of Pentecost. Miracles need not involve seven seals, or burning bushes, or rainbows. Miracles are just as likely to put on skin and show up for church.

Let's Stay Together #DreamUMC

Today marks the 1-year anniversary of the DreamUMC conversation that originated from the 2012 General Conference of the United Methodist Church. Bloggers across the UMC have been invited to answer the question: "Is schism the best future for the UMC?" You can learn more by following the hashtag #DreamUMC on Twitter or visiting the DreamUMC Facebook page.
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I deeply love the United Methodist Church. I did not grow up in this tradition, so entering it was a conscious choice. I find the UMC to be among the most faithful expressions of Christian community I've found anywhere. Our polity largely matches with my understanding of how God wants the church to be. This conversation, for me, is certainly important. I believe very strongly that criticism ought not be left to the cynics, but to those with skin in the game. I love the UMC. I want it to thrive. I want it to survive: whole, not split into some fragmentary version of itself.

I should note that the conversation surrounding the topic of schism in the United Methodist Church seems to center on one issue: human sexuality. I'd argue that sexuality is less the issue than the clearest way in which the real issues play themselves out for a variety of cultural reasons.

So before I get to whether the church ought to split, let me briefly deal with what I see as the two real issues that, in my mind, under-gird the schism argument. The two issues are Biblical interpretation and the ways in which we do decision-making as a global church. Perhaps this is a rudimentary discussion, but these basic dynamics seem to drive the whole conversation, so I believe they are worth evaluating.

1. Biblical Interpretation

I do not want to spend too much time on the issue of Biblical interpretation, because the differences in the way we interpret the Bible as a diverse church are pretty clear. But I do want to note that I largely reject the classic "literal-metaphorical" dichotomy we often hear about surrounding matters of Biblical interpretation. After all, the Bible is too complicated to take entirely literally, and it is too full of truth to take entirely metaphorically. There are those who consider themselves to be Biblical conservatives who are in favor of marriage equality, and there are those (fewer, perhaps) who consider themselves to be Biblical liberals who do not feel the need to expand the current definition of marriage.

Still, this issue of Biblical interpretation divides us pretty deeply, and while I don't always think the divide is as big as we make it, we ought to acknowledge it is there. Pretending otherwise does not do us much good. There is a fairly wide spectrum of Biblical interpretation in the United Methodist Church. The differences we have are real.

As it relates to the issue of human sexuality, obviously, the turf has been mostly unmoved for some time. Those who argue for a more literal interpretation believe that human sexuality is to be expressed in a male-female marriage relationship, for (they contend) God set this pattern for humanity. All other expressions of practiced sexuality are incompatible with Christian teaching.

Those who argue for a more metaphorical interpretation believe that the covenant of marriage is less about male-female relations than it is a loving covenant between two people and God. There are multiple expressions of practiced sexuality which are compatible with Christian teaching. I should add, though, that this "camp" would disagree among its members about how many expressions are, indeed faithful. As something of a conservative member of this camp (whatever that means), I would argue that a marriage covenant between two people and God means an exclusive covenant, and that while God may have more in mind for marriage than a legal contract between a man and a woman, there are expressions of sexuality which are, by their nature, unfitting of the Christian witness.

Perhaps I am not being entirely fair to both sides of this argument--I've laid my cards on the table, for what it is worth--but I think this is a reasonable description of the problem of Biblical interpretation. There's a divide. We understand scripture differently. This leads us to the second issue.

2. Decision-making

Different understandings of scripture lead to different understandings of church, which should come as no surprise. Our expressions of church are influenced by our worldviews, and our worldviews are influenced by scripture.

The issue as it relates to schism surrounds how we can authentically live out a scriptural worldview in a church with multiple scriptural worldviews. The church has always acknowledged, of course, that not everyone believes exactly alike. One thing I have always appreciated about the United Methodist Church--indeed, one reason I chose to become a United Methodist--is that we acknowledge that we are allowed to disagree, if charitably.

The problem is not that we cannot disagree. It is that we (those churches in the United States) believe we are the standard against which others can disagree. In other words, we are being gracious with others but becoming hamstrung in our own privilege.

I have written before of the ridiculous ways in which the US churches allow other churches to deviate from the United Methodist Book of Discipline, all the while allowing those deviating churches to constrain churches in the United States who do not have an option to deviate. I do not mean to use this language of deviation perjoratively; it is important that churches in different cultural areas be able to adapt to their cultural contexts. The Book of Acts is full of examples of the early disciples allowing for such deviation.

The problem is that we assume everyone else has a cultural context, but that we (the United States churches) are the be-all, end-all of Methodist Christendom. We are the context from which everyone else deviates, at least in terms of the way we see ourselves (and the way in which our polity behaves).

Basically, everyone else has a culture. We do not. How progressive of us.

You see the issue. In the name of openness, we're privileging ourselves.

Here's the solution: give the US, with its unique cultural heritage and needs, the same abilities the conferences outside the US have. Let the US make room for cultural differences: in polity, in social standard, in praxis.

We've got to, well, decide, one way or another, about how we're going to decide before we can resolve the schism issue. Right now, we seem to be living into an unsustainable system of decision making that exists for a whole host of ideological reasons but no good theological or practical reasons. We're afraid to give the US the same courtesy to deviate that we give the rest of the world, because we are afraid of what the US will do with such a privilege. But part of growing up is offering new responsibility in the hope that, the foundation having been laid, good (if difficult) choices will come.

So do I believe schism is the best future for the UMC? No. The church is too important, and living into Global Christianity is too important. We must, however, figure out how to live together in a way that is fair to everyone and that does justice to the promise that all people are God's children.

Nor do I believe that schism is coming regardless of whether it is the best future. I believe we are headed for one of two futures. Either

1. The church allows for cultural differences, even in the USA, and we actually do the difficult work of figuring out how to be a global church (instead of a church that talks about how wonderful it is that we bend over backwards for all those other people on other continents),
or
2. We'll continue on an unsustainable course, built on an outdated model of cultural sensitivity which is in fact predicated upon cultural bias and ideological warfare, and, like a top-heavy tower, we'll topple.

It is my prayer, of course, that we are headed towards the first future. I actually believe this future is not only possible, but probable. There will be some pain--there is no such thing as an ecclesiological epidural--but if we decided to put in the work, I believe we will find ourselves working toward a more faithful version of church all over the world. The DreamUMC conversation has been a good launching point, but it is merely a conversation. Let's now do the difficult work of figuring out how to continue to become the church, even in this brave new post-Christendom, globalized, twenty-first century world.

Art. Beauty. God.

We had the great pleasure of seeing Andy Offutt Irwin and Rose Cousins last night at the Red Clay Theater in downtown Duluth. Andy Offutt Irwin, for the uninitiated, is a storyteller/singer/songwriter/human-Gumby who tells stories that come deep from within the well of his spiritual tradition and which point, frequently, to the heart of God.

Rose Cousins, a singer/songwriter who was new to me, sings about pain, and loss, and other deeply human events which, at their heart, are not merely human events after all, for there is something deeper. I was reminded, as she sang, of Howard Thurman's quote which inspires the title of this blog: "If I hear the sound of the genuine in me, and you see the genuine in you, I can go down in myself and end up in you."

In many ways, this is what we talk about when we talk about God as love. God is the deepest, the most basic, that which is at the root and that which is the sum total. I do not mean to offer some panthesitic bromide, but rather to acknowledge that when we talk about God, too often we speak as if we are describing a scientific theorem, as if the only thing to do is to spend enough time trying to understand it, and then you will have the whole thing licked.

God's presence is much deeper, revealed in beauty and laughter and justice. God's presence is with us, and yet it is something to chase, to search for: not in order to get away from other people, but with the acknowledgement that in the final analysis, you can no more separate loving God from loving people than you can separate your own head from your heart.

We seem to have come to a place, as a Christian culture, where we are certain that the life of faith is about understanding more than it is about anything else, so that if we simply understand, if we simply collect enough sermons, we can trade in those tickets for a fulfilled life, or for entrance into Heaven. Faith is much deeper, much more beautiful, much more wonder-full.

Rose Cousins, the singer last night, sings this in her song, The Darkness: "To take a light into the dark is to know the light. To know the dark, go into the dark."

It is easier to go about things simply trying to understand. But--and this is just a suggested assignment--try riding the pail down into the well of beauty sometime and sit awhile. I will acknowledge that it is dark, and sometimes dangerous, but it is a deep well, and you will find that you are not alone.

After Boston: a hymn

I have posted a version of this hymn before, but it seems appropriate to share it this week as we figure out how to once again move forward from tragedy.

Lord, Grant Us Peace

Lord, grant us peace where war seems never-ending

And give us hope when all ‘round is despair.

For when it seems as if the world is broken

And mem’ry gives the only veil of care,

You once again remind us of your mercy

And call us to repentant humble prayer.

Thy will be done on earth as in Heaven.

Forgive our debts, and help us to forgive.

Give us this day our daily bread and spur us

To share our bread that all may truly live.

May others see your image deep within us

And may we see your face when e’er we give.

We pray for courage, resolute and steadfast

We pray for peace, both in our hearts and minds

We pray that we may be your faithful partners

In this, the project we have been assigned

To love the world, to go and make disciples,

To be your children: caring, just, and kind.

O God of peace, division overwhelms us

And violence points us towards an angry place.

Instead of using anger as a weapon

You turn the unjust table on its face.

Remind us still, that in the resurrection,

No one can steal the vict’ry of your grace.

(Finlandia)

Why I Affirm Infant Baptism

Last Sunday was a special day in the life of our family. Our daughter, Emmaline, was welcomed into the family of God through the sacrament of baptism.

Emmaline did not make the decision to be baptized, as she is two months old. Her parents, partners in a clergy couple who are fluent in the language of theology, made that decision for her. Some would say that we have made a theological error, that baptism requires a decision on the part of the one being baptized. There has been significant chatter in recent weeks in the United Methodist world about the merits of infant baptism. Baptism is more meaningful, the argument goes, when it occurs to an adult. Adults who were baptized as infants wish they had waited.

To this I say: preference misses the point.

Baptism is a sacrament.  Sacraments are outward signs of inward grace, and grace flows from God. In the United Methodist tradition, grace goes before us, pulling us towards God and one another, even before we know of grace's power or God's goodness.

In baptism, we are claimed by God and initiated into the church. We are not saved through this act, because salvation is a process much longer and more complex than a simple act. But we are claimed by God. We are offered grace. We are reminded that God can act even in a child; you might remember that it was through the birth of a child that Christianity began.

It is true that the church (and the clergy) facilitates this act, but baptism is initiated by God whose grace goes before us. Infant baptism reminds us that God's power is much larger than a simple decision; salvation is much broader than a moment in time. When we see an infant baptized, we see the ultimate argument for the power of God's grace: even in this child, who cannot feed herself, or clothe herself, or make her own decisions--even in this child--God is at work. I am reminded that while I am called to work alongside God, the good I do is not for my own glory, but for God's.

My own memory is also beside the point. When the church reminds me to "remember your baptism, and be thankful," I am not supposed to pull up in my memory bank the specific incident. I am supposed to remember that I am God's, that I have been claimed, that through the sacrament of baptism the collaborative God is at work in my life.

Let me say one more thing about the merits of infant baptism. Even among those who affirm the importance of baptizing infants, there is frequently a subtle preference for adult baptism. I have heard it said that churches ought not be judged by the number of baptisms, but by the number of adult baptisms, as this latter number supposedly more accurately represents a church's commitment to reach out to those outside its walls; these baptisms are seen as "meaning more" than the baptism of a child.

I do affirm the importance of reaching out, and I do believe (as Bonhoeffer says) that the church is only the church when it exists for others. We ought to be baptizing new people, for all people are God's children and all people deserve to know God's amazing grace. It is an important day when an adult is baptized. I, myself, was baptized as an adult.

And yet this subtle privileging of adult baptism over infant baptism once again places the focus upon the individual, rather than God, for it matters less how one comes to be claimed by God than it matters that one is claimed by God. Yes, we ought to be reaching out, and those who did not receive the sacrament of baptism as children ought to receive it as soon as they are ready to receive it. But baptism is baptism, and God's grace is God's grace, and no matter when we are claimed by God, it is an important day, and a day in which the company of Heaven rejoices.

Watching our daughter be baptized, surrounded by so many who love her so much, has reminded me of what a good God we serve. And when she is old enough, I look forward to telling Emmaline stories of the people who surrounded her in love and prayer--and in the promise to see that she is raised in the faith--so that she may remember her baptism, and be thankful.

Because the redeeming love of God, revealed in Jesus Christ, extends to all persons and because Jesus explicitly included the children in his kingdom, the pastor of each charge shall earnestly exhort all Christian parents or guardians to present their children to the Lord in Baptism at an early age. (The United Methodist Book of Discipline)

Sacred space

The church I serve, Johns Creek United Methodist Church in suburban Atlanta, did something pretty countercultural on Sunday. The church opened a new sanctuary.

Now, the church did not open a new worship center or multipurpose space. The church opened a new sanctuary. Let's be clear: the altar rail is bolted to the floor.

Johns Creek UMC worshiped in the Family Life Center (lovingly dubbed the FelloSanctAnasium) for fifteen years before reaching this point, and the space has quite a history. There have been thousands of worship services, dozens of funerals and weddings, plenty of basketball games and scout meetings. In that space, 250,000 meals have been packaged for Stop Hunger Now since 2010. Truly, it is a multipurpose space. It is used, and used well.

And yet, I believe, the church needed a space strictly for worship. Some of my clergy colleagues disagree with this assessment, and I understand the disagreement. I am not one who has a very old-fashioned understanding of worship. Worship is not simply something that happens in a service, on a Sunday morning. Worship happens when we serve others in Christ's name. Worship happens when we share Christ's love. No pew is required.

But corporate worship, whenever it is scheduled, is vital to the faith, and a deep part of our faith tradition. In my own United Methodist context, the corporate nature of faith is part of our DNA; because we believe that no one person has a handle on the truth, we are an itinerant church. We change pastoral and lay leadership with some frequency. We need each other, as truth is tempered in community. God's love is made manifest in the bonds between people.

There is something special about worship, about spending an hour or two (or however long) focused, together, on discerning God's will and responding in kind. Corporate worship is the avenue through which we most clearly build a connection between our hearts and God's, for in the final analysis, God can be found in the space between people, calling us closer to one another. Put another way: if God's vision for humanity is that we come together, then we ought to come together.

Now, while I am a traditionalist in some senses, I am not mired in the muck of centuries past. I'm twenty-nine, for one thing, and I did not grow up in the church, so I am not automatically predisposed to the high-church notion of designated sacred space. I have nothing against multipurpose space, and I am sensitive to the notion that a room ought not be left empty all week if there are ministries to fill it. There are contexts in which multipurpose use is the most faithful response; I would argue that for the last fifteen years, the congregation at Johns Creek UMC has been faithful in its use of its designated space. But there comes a time and a circumstance in which God deserves something all of God's own.

The question I have received more than any other in the midst of this building program is this: why are we spending so much money on this building when there are children to be fed, people to be housed, brothers and sisters across the world who need access to clean water? I understand these arguments at a very visceral level, as mission is a large part of my portfolio at the church. I spent three years at the denominational mission-sending agency. I have led trips around the world. I believe that the core call of Christ is to love God by loving people.

And yet I also believe that sometimes God calls us to love people by building buildings, even ones with altar rails bolted to the floor. Yes, we are called to offer food to the hungry and drink to the thirsty, but we are also called to share the light of Christ with the world. The steeple at Johns Creek United Methodist Church is visible from miles away. The cross that sits atop it is a reminder to all that this is God's house, and that all are welcome.

Sacred space also reminds us that in a multipurpose world, God is greater than our transience. The same God who was present at creation is present still, and will be present long after my own funeral. The brick that surrounds the sanctuary is a reminder that we worship a God larger than our own desires, who calls us out of ourselves to see the problems of the world and to respond in loving-kindness. We move around like nomads, chasing one dream or another, trying to escape the Minotaurs of our past. In the face of such transience, God is permanent. God promises to never leave us.

Let me say one more thing about the particular sanctuary at Johns Creek UMC, and about sacred space in general. Anyone who has ever walked into a cathedral in France or Italy knows that it is impossible to walk into such a space without understanding how Freidrich Schleiermacher regarded religion as "a sense and taste for the infinite." You walk into such a space and your voice gets quiet, your eyes rise, and you recognize that there is something greater, something ineffable, something at once personal and transcendent. Sacred space calls us to greater things, in our relationship with God, in our relationships with one another, in our relationship with the world. It is as if the once-narrow trajectory of the world explodes at the altar into extravagant possibility.

This is why I am so thankful for sacred space. I need only walk to the edge of the campus, enter that space, and be reminded of God's presence. And on the sabbath, when the pews are full and song fills the space, I am reminded that God's presence is with others, too. For this is the promise of God: that nothing can separate us from God's love. May our sacred spaces do justice to that promise.

Adaptive Leadership and the Gospel

I have followed with at least some interest the United Methodist Church's quadrennial training event, held this past weekend in Nashville. Every four years, lay and clergy leadership comes together to talk about the next four years, to reconnect, to hear from church leaders about where we are going and how we can do better.

That's all great.

This year, the buzzwords are "adaptive leadership." How to take up the "adaptive challenge" and be an "adaptive leader" who follows the "adaptive God." (Okay, I made that last one up).

I don't have much to say about the event itself, because while it went on, I spent the weekend holding my three-week-old child. But I do want to say some things about the way in which the church--particularly the United Methodist Church--sees itself, because these are critical times and we need to analyze the ways in which we do church.

I also do not have much to say about the adaptive challenge itself, as I question a bit how important it is for us to be focused so much on the particular institution. Focus, after all, is not a plural word. That said, of course I recognize that the institution of the UMC needs to change. I've written to that effect for some time now.

My radar always goes up when those we deem to be "leaders" are presented with different language and streams of information than everyone else. I am not saying there is no need for leadership, nor that the millions of members of the UMC need to hear details about board and agency restructuring (though it might help connect them to the work of the general church). I am just always interested to see who the leaders are, how they are talked to, who talks to them.
I do not mean to be down on the institution's efforts to reform itself, and I am not down on leadership. I think deeply about leadership and have what amounts to a minor in leadership studies.  But while leadership is vital, it is a tool for gospel living, not the end all be all of Christian experience. As Leonard sweet so memorably says, perhaps our ultimate calling is to be followers.

Let me put it this way: where did the idea of adaptive leadership come from? Do you think it is more likely that we got this idea, these strategies, from Jesus? Or Jack Welch?

It is not leadership I am down on. It is the syncretic melding of the Gospel with coursework from Business 101. In business, after all, the most important thing is the business. The business provides jobs, it makes a product, it earns money. If it is not in the interest of the business, it is not done.

The focus of the business is the business. The focus of the Church is God.

We can talk about our adaptive challenge all day long, but let us be clear about the subject of our talk. Jesus did not come sharing leadership principles. I dare say that if you follow Jesus's leadership principles--effective though they are--you aren't doing to stave off death. You are going to invite death. It is true, as Buechner says, that the promise of the Resurrection is that the worst thing is never the last thing, but you can't get past the worst thing. You just can't.

I love being a United Methodist. I honestly believe that ours is the best system around. But the system does not exist for its own ends. The system exists in order that we may make disciples for the transformation of the world. The genius of the United Methodist Way, until quite recently, has been that its focus is not on itself (no central power structure, no "head bishop," thank goodness) but on God and community. We have achieved great things, made great strides. It is only when we focus on ourselves--thinking we have the answers and that we must survive at all costs--that we lose focus on our mission and, ultimately, our Savior.

So rather than "adaptive leadership," my motto for the coming years is this:

Be faithful. Be more faithful. Be even more faithful.

If you hear echos of "adaptation" in that refrain, you wouldn't be too far off. You might even hear echos of leadership. But the focus is not on the institution. The focus is on God.

If I know one thing, it is that God rewards faithfulness. Perhaps faithfulness is not rewarded in a way that would show up on a business's quarterly earnings report, but it is the treasures in Heaven we're after anyhow. And I have no doubt that faithfulness, as it is understood by the wide swath of ideologies and theologies present in the United Methodist Church, is deep and wide. But that's the genius, isn't it? Our different understandings of what it means to be faithful propel us forward in a way that covers multiple bases. We grow, in more than one sense.

The good news is that we already know the end of the story. God has promised that the Church will never die. Never. So why are we so preoccupied with death? The only explanation I can come up with is that we are staring at our own navels instead of significantly higher.

Instead, let us do our best to be faithful. Let us stay in relationship with one another, hammer things out the best we know how, and go on to perfection. This, after all, is the United Methodist Way.