A Creepy Story

If you want to know what you really believe, try explaining it to preschoolers. Having to condense your most important story down to something that is understandable, not too scary, and will hold the attention of a 4 year old is a challenge for the best of us. 

And it is a challenge that I face every Easter during Preschool Chapel.

Last week I found myself explaining the cross and resurrection once more.  Over 100 pairs of wide eyes listened as I started talking. “I want to tell you a story today that has a scary part, but the scary part is in the middle, and if you can get through the scary part with me, I promise there is a happy ending.”  And then I launched into how wonderful Jesus was, and how he taught everybody about how much God loved them. And that there were some Bad Guys who didn’t like Jesus saying things like that, and so eventually they (and I say this part very quietly and sadly, and their little ears still catch every word I’m saying) killed him. 

“But then, when things were their scariest and saddest, some of Jesus’ best friends went to where he was buried.  And he was gone!”  Now it gets even trickier. How to explain the resurrection to these children without accidentally describing ZombieJesus?

“And God brought him back to life to prove that love would always, always win and Bad Guys would always, always lose.  And that we don’t have to be scared ever again, even during our scariest moments, because Christ has been there already before us.”

I thought I had done okay in telling my most important story, until a little boy on the front row piped up, “That story is CREEPY!”  Yikes, had I brought ZombieJesus to life?

The more I think about it, though, Jesus’ story does have a creepy edge to it. There was a lot more creepy stuff than I described to those preschoolers. Sweat mixed with blood. Betrayal. An all-night trial. Whippings. Crucifixion. Abandonment. Yes, creepy isn’t too far off as a descriptor. 

Sometimes even the best of us will find ourselves having to deal with the creepy side of life. Or death. And even when those dark and scary times come, we can hold onto the truth of that very first Easter. That love will always, always win, and we don’t have to be scared ever again, even during our creepiest moments, because Christ has been there already before us.

The Boys on the Bus

The chant is awful, horrible, racist, violent. Watching young men say it so gleefully (in 2015!) is a stark reminder of how far we have yet to come as a nation. The rapid and strong response has been heartening, but the questions raised by this event are deeply troubling.

What about the boys on the bus? Without a doubt, some of them were singing their deepest sentiments.  Surely, though, not all of them truly believed that if a black man wanted to join their merry band, it would be better if they executed him by hanging him rather than let him become an SAE. Why would otherwise “normal” boys sing with such gusto about killing someone?  We underestimate the power of belonging, and we forget the great lengths to which we humans will go to feel like we are part of the crowd. Even if the crowd is dead wrong, at least it’s our crowd. 

Coincidentally, I’m working on Holy Week and Easter worship today. On Maundy Thursday, we will conclude with a congregational litany in which the response of the congregation is the same each time:  “Crucify him.”  All those years ago, a group of people in a crowd urged the execution of a man, although they were urging hanging on a cross rather than dangling from a tree. We’ve spent the last 2000+ years trying to understand what might have made that group of otherwise “normal” people call for the death of a man who had helped many of them. We still don’t understand fully. 

Worst of all, we cannot rid ourselves of the sneaking suspicion that, had we been in the crowd (or on the bus?) that day, our voice might have joined in also.

On Maundy Thursday, the litany will end with a searing truth, enough truth to hold us until Easter’s resurrection joy:

One: GOD! I have tried to be good enough

All: Crucify Him

One: But I have failed again and again

All: Crucify Him

One: But I stand here in this place and say

All: Crucify Him

One: Because I need a savior.

The Fire Board Meeting

(Note: In general, I try to avoid publicly taking sides on issues that might seem to be partisan. This one, however, doesn't have to do with church politics or Republican/Democratic issues. Instead, I see it as an issue of public safety, one that has had a direct impact on many people, including two of my neighbors and one family in my congregation, all whose houses burned significantly, partly as a result of this situation.)

 Andy and I didn’t discover that our new-ish house in the City of Blue Springs was served by a rural fire department until 2 houses on our block burned our first year here.  Each house sustained significant damage, made worse by the fact that our little rural fire department station is much farther away than two other, modern fire stations belonging what we thought was our fire department.  Ever since then, we and our neighbors have been trying to change our fire department boundaries.  Unfortunately, the only entity that can sanction this move out of Prairie Township Fire Department is. . . Prairie Township Fire Department.  Suffice it to say that they do not want us (and our tax dollars) to go.

Their resistance has been disheartening on many levels.  This fire department was begun in 1954, and it served the needs of the then-rural community well.  Population patterns have changed dramatically since then.  In the same way that some churches that were exactly where they needed to be in 1954 have found themselves no longer able to serve their current community well, the safety needs of our part of the Blue Springs community have changed.  It's not a failure on the part of Prairie Township, it is simply that shifting population that brings new demands. Sometimes being true to one's mission means being willing to let go.

By going door-to-door, our group has been able to gather almost 700 signatures for a petition. Tonight was the night that we were going to present the petitions to the Prairie Township Board Meeting. We had a great turnout of supporters, and we were ready for a chance to make our case respectfully.

(Note: Irony alert ahead.)  The Board filed in, along with at least one of their firefighters.  And then one of them pointed to the sign on the wall:  “Occupancy 42.” With the Board and company now in the room, we were at 44.  There was, in reality, plenty of room, but we were in violation of the fire code. At the meeting at the fire station. (Note: That was the irony.)

In an act that still seems unnecessarily punitive, they made two of us leave.  Coincidentally, it was the two clergy in the room who left. And so I found myself standing outside in 17 windy degrees (windchill was zero-ish or below).  I thought briefly about departing for the warmth of my car, since I’m always the coldest person in any room, but then I reconsidered.  I stood outside at the window, peering in, right in the line of vision of the Board Members. I know I was shivering visibly. Other people arrived late to the meeting and left as soon as they found out they couldn’t get in. Only one other hardy soul (the other clergy) stayed outside with me the whole time.  Inside, our spokesperson was testifying about our deep concerns about the level of fire and ambulance service we receive from Prairie Township. Outside, I shivered and pressed my nose against the window, wishing Prairie Township would let me in.  I didn’t have to fake being miserable, I really was. They didn’t let me in.

They didn’t let me in, and they likely won’t let me go, to another Fire District, that is. We’ve got enough signatures to bring it to the ballot in August, which is our next step.  Standing in the bitter wind on a cold February evening makes me know how very easy it will be to go to the poll on a warm August day.