Copyright Infringement

Really, the Supreme Court decision was inevitable. When they upheld Fred Phelps’ right to picket at military funerals, they got it right. One of the best things about this country is the gift of free speech. We only have to look at the uprisings other parts of the world to be reminded of how privileged we are to be able to say whatever we want, even if our government may not like it. We have discovered the rub in all of this free speech, though. People are free to say whatever they like, even if we don’t like it. A lawsuit that questioned the same freedoms that soldiers fought and died for was not the way to win.

Yes, his signs are terrible and offensive. Worst of all for me is that he has somehow claimed the name “church.” That’s a brand name that I bear, too. Fifteen members of a family who live together in some strange compound are able to call themselves a church and spew hatred. That’s like a place selling rancid meat and rotten potatoes and calling themselves “McDonald’s.” The lawyers for McDonald’s would shut that place down in a heartbeat. Maybe that’s the way to go . . . Let’s not assail our constitutional gift of free speech. Let’s go after him for copyright infringement.

To do so would mean that we would need to define what exactly “church” means. Ideally, it means a group of people called together by Christ, who are living out the Gospel of love in a hurting world. We could summon the image of the earliest church, where people lived together and shared all of their possessions with any who needed anything. We could claim Martin Luther King’s vision of the “beloved community,” or use Dietrich Bonhoeffer’s description in his wonderful book Life Together. These images of a group of people formed lovingly around a higher calling of love and service to the world would be a great way to define the parameters of the copyright of the brand name “church.”

However, our churches are full of people who come with these highest ideals, and also those who come for all of the wrong reasons. They may be hurting, or mad, or seeking public approval, or bored, or coming out of habit. They may harbor some of the same prejudices as Mr. Phelps, or they may come with other prejudices of their very own. They may share freely with others, or they may be looking to take as much as they can get. There are saints and sinners, hypocrites, scoundrels and the like. In other words, our churches are like any other segment of human society. Frankly, that is why I love being part of the church. There is room for everybody, including me. If we decide that “church” is only for those people who are perfect, then there probably wouldn’t be too many franchises out there.

Along with his right to free speech, I guess he has the right to call himself “church.” His family church just one more group of sinners. And so are we.

Interviews

I am spending the bulk of this week in Columbia, MO, in Board of Ordained Ministry meetings. I’ve been on both sides of the interview table for ordination. Twenty five years ago, the only question I remember being asked- repeatedly- was how I could be both married and an itinerant minister. (I’m pretty sure they didn’t ask the guys that question.) My interview team was made up of three people, and it was the only team that had a woman on it. I am certain that they must have asked me questions about theology and the like, but I don’t recall them. Remembering how nervously incoherent that I was at the time, I am amazed that anyone thought it worth their while to ordain me.

Fast forward twenty-five years. I’ve been sitting on the interviewer side of the table for over a dozen years. There are a lot of nervous people that come to sit in front of my team. I understand, I really do. I try to smile and joke and do whatever I can to help them give their best interview possible. I remember what it is like to be scared when it feels like so much is on the line, like career and God and stuff. Sometimes the interviews are fun and easy, akin to colleagues sitting around and talking good theology. We plumb the depths of some issues together, and we all walk away a little more enlightened than when we began. I’ve got an interesting real-life church situation that relates to my assigned interview topic of sacramental theology that I’ve been sharing with some of the candidates. It helps tease out some of their beliefs about baptism, while I’m also getting some good insights about what to do about my own situation.

Not every interview is a walk in the park. Sometimes the advance written work is lacking, and sometimes the conversation takes an unfortunate turn. When that happens, it is painful for all of us in the room. There is never any joy in an answer that is “no” or “not yet,” even when it is the right thing to do. We all know how much time and money and work and prayer it takes to get to these interviews in the first place. We know what is on the line, since we have been there ourselves. Thankfully, those hard moments are the exception, but they do exist.

So, I’m spending much of this week in interviews. Like everyone else, I have other demands on my time. In fact, I’ll need to leave early for a funeral. Although I have other places I could be, it feels important to be here this week. I’ll smile at the candidates, try to ease their nerves, ask tough questions when needed- but, I will never ever ask a candidate if they believe that they can be both happily married and in itinerant ministry. I don’t have to ask, because I know the answer for that myself.

Parking

Some of us at church have been having a discussion lately on one of those good-to-have problems. Participation in our choirs, band, and bell choirs is such that the small parking lot by the choir room and office is getting filled up on Wednesday nights and Sunday mornings. At times, some of our disabled folks are having trouble finding a place to park.

The other day, in an effort to encourage others to (as my associate pastor says) “Park far and sit close,” I announced that the pastors will park in the farthest-away spots on Sunday mornings. I’m inviting the choir and band members to join me. I’ll be past the recycling bins beyond the gymnasium. It will be an inconvenient hike to my office, but I don’t want to ask others to do something that I’m not willing to do myself.

And then I began to feel a little sorry for myself. After all, I’m often lugging a briefcase and computer, along with various other Sunday morning items. And it truly is a hike from where my car will be to where my office is; several miles and uphill both ways, the more I thought about it. The other day, I was walking into the hospital for some visits and wondering to myself how long I would have to keep up this self-imposed parking exile.

Grace happened in one of those getting-your-attention-moments. I discovered that both of the people whom I was visiting were going to be discharged from the hospital soon; discharged into hospice care. Their earthly life is coming to an end, and they will be receiving palliative comfort care in these final days. Both of them are beautiful people who have had long lives, and so these moments are tinged with both joy and sorrow.

As I walked (walked!) out of the hospital that day, my perspective had changed dramatically. What a blessing it is to be able to hike across a parking lot and through a building. How small of me to be thinking about my own inconvenience. I know it sounds cheesy and preacher-y, but what I heard in my head that day was this: If Christ could die for me so that I could face life and death with hope, then the least that I can do is walk across the parking lot for someone else.

So, this Sunday and the next and for all of the ones after that, I’ll be getting to church first on Sundays so that I can snag the farthest away spot. It’s the least I can do . . .

Running

I am not a runner. I used to be one. In high school, I was on the track team. I enjoyed the exercise, and it got me out of the agony of high school p.e. class. Granted, most of my high school track meet memories are of a tinny voice over the loudspeaker announcing, “There are still a few runners finishing the race, so please stay off the track.” Fast, I was not. But I was a runner back then.

I have a cousin who is a runner, even though she is a smidge older than me. She is a runner and a breast cancer survivor, and I admire her greatly for both of those things.

I am not a runner. However, Andy and I joined a gym awhile back. It felt like a guilty pleasure, yet another advantage of the empty nest. Instead of going to evening school programs, we now have time to take care of ourselves. At the gym, I have gotten into the habit of using the treadmill while watching television. A few weeks ago, I decided to try running for a few of minutes here and there during my workout. And then one night, I decided to try to do something I haven’t done for 35 years. I ran a mile nonstop. I’ve even done it a few times since, and I feel oddly proud of myself. But, I am still not a runner.

If I were a runner, I would feel committed to putting in ever-increasing mileage. As it is, inertia (or common sense) might kick in any day, and I will be back to walking my treadmill workout. That will be fine. As long as I’m not a runner, I can stop at any time, with no harm and no foul. No, I am not a runner, but I am someone who’s running right now.

I think that is why it is so important for me to bear the name “Christian.” It infers a state of my being, not something that I can stop doing if I get bored. Inertia or preoccupation might mean that there are times when I’m not acting like much of a Christian, but it still is who I am in spite of myself. Bearing that name keeps me striving to behave like one. Spending my life training and working to get better at being a Christian sounds exactly like what I want to do. It’s not all about my action, of course. When the day comes that I’m not able to hold up my faith, my faith will hold me. Until then, I want to keep working at it.

No, I’m no runner. But I am doing my darnedest to be something much better.

Perfectly homemade

I decided to make cookies this morning. Fancy, lovely, Valentine’s Day cookies. For these fancy cookies, I started with a chocolately dough for rolled cookies. I used ruffled-edge heart cookie cutters to make a sandwich-style cookie. The top layer had a heart cut-out, with a dollop of raspberry jam nestled within. The chocolate-raspberry heart cookies were finished with a sprinkling of pink and red sugar. I planned to give these cookies my children at college, my parents, and perhaps my office staff. I envisioned being asked where I had purchased these amazing cookies, and I even practiced my modest reply, “Oh, well, I made these myself.”

The gulf between plans and reality once again loomed large. I followed the instructions to the letter. I rolled out the dough between wax paper, to avoid getting white flour on the deep chocolate cookies. I even baked the cookies on parchment paper- parchment paper! And yet the cookies squished and broke and did all of those things that my cookies tend to do. There were more sprinkles on the floor than on the cookies. After spending all morning on this affair, I ended up with exactly 18 cookies to show for my labor. And- they do not match the picture in my head or in the book. They are not perfect, but they are perfectly homemade. No one will doubt that I made them myself.

I heard a theologian speak last week. That person commented, “I almost wish that Jesus had never said that.” The quote being referred to was, “Be perfect, even as God in heaven is perfect.” The theologian went on to talk about how that insatiable quest for perfection can lead to countless problems. After all, if we will not accept anything less than perfection, then we will find much about ourselves or anyone else unacceptable. I am as prone to fall into that trap as anyone. None of us likes to be imperfect, and we especially don’t like for other people to know that we are imperfect. And yet . . .

Knowing that God made us and remembering that God loves us gives us great freedom within our imperfections. We don’t have to pretend to be something that we are not, because being God’s child is all we need to be. We keep trying, naturally, for the best. In the meantime, however, we celebrate that we are perfectly homemade- by God.

Is Facebook Making You Sad?

“Is Facebook Making Us Sad?” As someone who spends time on Facebook, my curiosity was piqued bythe title of this article (available at http://www.slate.com/id/2282620/). The premise is that people who use Facebook are more likely to overestimate how happy other people are, which, in turns, magnifies their own less-than-happy state. To quote the article, authored by Libby Copeland,

“Facebook is, after all, characterized by the very public curation of one's assets in the form of friends, photos, biographical data, accomplishments, pithy observations, even the books we say we like. Look, we have baked beautiful cookies. We are playing with a new puppy. We are smiling in pictures (or, if we are moody, we are artfully moody.) Blandness will not do, and with some exceptions, sad stuff doesn't make the cut, either. The site's very design—the presence of a "Like" button, without a corresponding "Hate" button—reinforces a kind of upbeat spin doctoring.”

Yes, Facebook does encourage us to share the happy things in our lives. If I have had a difficult meeting at church, or if I’m worried about something at home, or if I think the dog hasn’t pooped enough because the snow is too deep . . . I don’t mention it on Facebook. It doesn’t surprise me that we tend to emphasize the positive when we choose to share snippets of ourselves with the world.

What does surprise me is that other people’s happiness causes us unhappiness. The main point of the article, after all, is not that we tend to portray a spiffed-up version of ourselves. The point is that these upbeat self-portraits create sadness in others. I don’t think that we begrudge other people their trips to Disneyworld, or fun in the snow, or perfectly decorated cookies. I think it is that these happy posts can make us feel isolated. After all, who wants to feel like they are the only person in the world whose life isn’t perfect? Can it be that feeling alone is an even worse feeling than being unhappy?

The solution is not to emphasize the downside of life on Facebook. “Huge bills are due, my spouse is having an affair, and the dog is dying” is a cry for help, not a Facebook status. I think a better solution is to make sure that we have relationships that are deeper and more authentic than blurbs shared with the internet. We need people whose real lives we know, including the ups and downs. We need those who know us as we are, and who love us anyway. Those relationships might exist at church, or family, or work . . . it doesn’t matter where, as long as they exist.

I’m currently at a conference where we are talking about some of the new ethical issues for clergy created by the internet. The internet, including Facebook, is changing human interaction forever. And yet . . . regardless of the medium, authenticity in relationships is ultimately what we desire. Authenticity does happen on Facebook (I’ve seen it), but it is not guaranteed. Make sure you hold out for the real thing.

Words

I’ve learned the hard way to be aware of the words I say publicly, as much as possible. Words can do damage. Vulnerable people can be harmed by words I say. Sometimes, after a sermon, people will take issue with a point with which they disagree. I appreciate those who take the time to ask questions or share a different perspective. However, some people will simply melt away from the church, no longer able to find “home” because of something I said. They may have felt condemned, offended, or disrespected by words that came out of my mouth.

The first of Three Simple Rules,a wonderful book by Reuben Job, is “Do No Harm.” I take that rule seriously. The pulpit is a precious gift, an unparalleled opportunity to share good news. One verbal misstep, and quickly good news becomes bad news to a hurting soul.

I know that we are in the early days of shock and finger-pointing about the shooting in Arizona. Our need for an orderly universe compels us to identify why such a thing could happen. It appears that mental illness is involved. The other contributing factors that made this particular person choose these particular targets are still being debated. However . . .

When one creates a map with rifle crosshairs over an individual’s name, why would one be surprised when that person is shot? When the rhetoric of our time includes phrases like, “Don’t retreat, RELOAD” or “find Second Amendment solutions” to problematic politicians, then, when violence erupts, why do we try to pretend that our words don’t really matter after all?

I just read a blog entry by a member of my last church, Courtney Cole. She ran for the Missouri House this fall. She lost. On election day, she was at one of the polling sites when she encountered a candidate of the other party, who was running in a different race. Read his account of the incident in the police report that was filed: “According to him they argued and increased until she asked if he was going to hit her. His reply was, ‘No but can you outrun a nine millimeter?’” The county prosecutor, also a member of the opposing political party as Courtney Cole, declined to prosecute. “Can you outrun a nine millimeter???” When did it become okay for one politician to threaten to shoot another politician with a gun?

Our words have power. The gift of speech is a wonderful gift from God. And, like most of God’s gifts to us, we can use it for wonderful things or for hateful things. Our words can inspire, can show love, can give hope. Or, they can do the opposite. If one person was going to take the words you speak today seriously enough to act upon--- what would be the result?