MLK and Ecclesiastical Disobedience

January 20, 2015

Yesterday was Martin Luther King day. I didn't attend any programs or speeches. I didn't go see the movie Selma. I did read his "Letter from a Birmingham Jail," in which he argued that contrary to those who called for patience, it was past time for action, which included non-violent civil disobedience. When laws are unjust, violating the moral and spiritual law of God, it was not only appropriate, King said it was necessary to disobey those laws. He cited the Scriptures where Peter and John told the Sanhedrin that they must obey God rather than men.

For an entire generation, my denomination the United Methodist Church has been mired in debate over human sexuality. When I was in seminary back in the mid-seventies, the first open rumblings of what has become a seismic cataclysm were heard as some began agitating for a relaxing of our Book of Discipline's stance on homosexuality. The Discipline states that while we believe all people are of worth and value before God, and all people are eligible to receive the ministry of the church, "self-avowed practicing" homosexuals are not eligible for ordination, and our clergy are not allowed to officiate at same-sex marriages or blessings.

Every four years, our denomination has General Conference, where legislation is passed and the Discipline is revised. The only body with authority to speak officially for the denomination is this General Conference. Individuals and local congregations may not agree with all that is done at General Conference, and may speak out against legislation that is passed there, but General Conference is still the only official mouthpiece of the church. For over forty years, at each General Conference, individuals, congregations, and various denominational boards and agencies have submitted legislation to change the Book of Discipline, wanting us to approve homosexual practice, and give permission for our clergy to officiate at same-sex weddings. Each successive General Conference for the past forty years, these resolutions have failed, but bit by bit they have chipped away at the resistance, gaining ground every quadrennium. Until the last General Conference.

All the while the traditional Biblical stance has been gradually eroding, something else was also happening that went unnoticed until recently. The United Methodist Church in the US has been hemorrhaging members for a generation, while the church in Africa has been growing by leaps and bounds. At the last General Conference in 2012, the pendulum began to swing back for the first time, due to the growth of the conservative and evangelical African representation. The African delegation's growing strength finally tipped the balance of power, and for the first time in my lifetime, the LGBT lobby lost ground legislatively. I predicted two years ago that the result would be that since their agenda was not going to pass legislatively, those wanting to change the church's stance would resort to ecclesiastical disobedience. I have been proven correct, as we are seeing clergy violating their ordination vows to uphold the teachings of our church and abide by the Discipline, with many of our bishops leading the way. Consequences for these actions so far have been negligible or non-existent, putting us in the position of having church law that no one is willing to enforce, which is tantamount to ecclesiastical anarchy.

And yet...there is precedent. Peter and John declared their obedience to God rather than the Sanhedrin law. Martin Luther King preached and practice civil disobedience for when the laws were unjust. And those in our denomination who have been agitating for changing our stand on homosexuality are making the same claim to a higher law of love, justifying their ecclesial disobedience by it. All of which leads me to ask, "Where and how do we draw the line between just and unjust laws?" It is a slippery slope, and once on it, it's hard to turn around. I believe there are solid Biblical reasons for rejecting the claims of "progressive" Christianity in this area; I have yet to read or hear Biblical justification for same-sex practice that is even remotely convincing to me. What I have seen seems forced and contrived, convincing only to those already in the camp. Nevertheless, I am grateful to have witnessed the debate for the past forty-odd years. It has forced me to dig more deeply into the Scriptures, and the discussions while often tedious, have kept me from blithely dismissing people whose convictions are far different than mine. There is always a human face behind the issues, and knowing that, while not changing my beliefs, has hopefully kept me from standing my ground in ways that demean or denigrate others. We are all in need of grace, and having dealt with these issues in the past hopefully will in some way prepare me for the day when I too must stand on the other side of the law, declaring with the original Martin Luther, "Here I stand. I can do no other!"

Tools for My Trade

January 19, 2015

The year was 1970. Linda and I had just gotten married; I was taking summer school at Houghton College; the historical books of the Old Testament: Joshua through 2 Chronicles. The professor was Harold Kingdon. Other students who had taken courses from him were not very encouraging, but I had signed up, and was determined to form my own opinion, which turned out to be quite different from my classmates. I loved the course, partly due to the subject matter, but also because it was in that course that I learned how to study the Bible. The textbook by Robert Traina was pretty detailed; since then, I've discovered a simpler booklet that covers all the same material in abbreviated form. It's based in simple observation, which isn't really simple, after all. We usually tend to simply read, without actually noticing details, such as who is speaking, what is the grammatical subject, object, and verb of the various sentences, what comparisons or contrasts are evident. I learned to ask questions of the text, to pay attention to repetition of words, phrases, ideas.

I don't read the Bible this way every time I open it. Sometimes I simply meditate on a sentence or phrase. For example, take the phrase "The Lord is my Shepherd," from the 23rd Psalm. Simply repeating the phrase, emphasizing a different word each time, yields much food for thought and prayer (try it). Then there is Lectio Divina, an ancient pattern for meditation on Scripture. Read, Reflect, Respond, and Receive is the way I remember it; read the Scripture, think on it, respond in prayer to what God reveals, ending with simply resting in God's presence to receive what God offers to us in the text.

That single college course over 45 years ago has had a lasting impact upon my life, giving me the tools I needed to prepare sermons and Bible studies, as well as enhancing my own understanding of the Bible. My fellow students may not have had much time for professor Kingdon, but I am forever grateful to have taken that summer course from him. I took others, but this was the one that made a forever difference for me.

Angel to the Rescue!

January 18, 2015

I didn't drown. That's about all I know about it, even after all the intervening years. I was about six years old, perhaps seven. Every summer, we went camping as a family. For years, we landed at Golden Lake campground in the Adirondacks. To a young boy, they were glorious weeks spent fishing, swimming, staying up late for campfires in the evening, and the occasional foray to surrounding tourist attractions like the North Pole. For anyone unacquainted with the Adirondacks, there really is a North Pole, NY, replete with Santa, elves, and a genuine refrigerated North Pole; to a kid, it is as close to heaven on earth as you'll find. After a few years of the Adirondacks, we decided to try Canada, which is where my adventure took place.

We were camped with my cousins and some of my folks' friends from work at Silver Lake, somewhere near Perth, if my memory serves me well. In reality, my memory hasn't been serving me well for quite some time; when it should have been hard at work, it was sneaking smoke breaks out back, snoozing in the break room, or cavorting with those ne'er-do-wells down the street. I should have fired him long ago, except I can't seem to find anyone else willing to take on the job. The campsite was situated on the shores of a small cove in the lake, which is where it all happened.

The adults were all out in deeper water swimming or floating around on air mattresses, having such a good time that I figured I should join them. I could barely dog paddle, and certainly wasn't up to stroking my way out to where they were, what seemed like a hundred yards or more to my six year old mind. So I grabbed an air mattress out of one of the tents, hopped on, and started paddling my way out to where they were. For awhile, all went pretty well. If I leaned just a bit and looked over the side of the air mattress, I could see the sticks and weeds on the muddy bottom as I paddled. "Just a bit" quickly turned into "just a bit too much," as I tumbled off the air mattress into the water that was now over my head. The adults were too far out to even notice, and I was thrashing around in a panic, not getting anywhere. Next thing I know, I'm standing on the shore, not knowing how I got there. The adults were still out in the bay. I don't know where the other kids were, but they weren't nearby. To this day, the only explanation I can figure out is that one of God's angels grabbed me, yanked me out of the water, and plopped me down on shore. What I do know is that I didn't swim my way back. I don't know why I happened to think of this story tonight, but I am grateful for Divine intervention, however it comes. I've had nearly sixty years to remember that day, and to live in gratitude for salvation, and it never grows stale.

Contentment...Again

January 17, 2015

Once upon a time, I had things to accomplish, mountains to climb, victories to win. I didn't start out that way; one would be hard pressed to have found a least competitive boy or teenager than I. Even in my early years of ministry, I felt little need to prove myself. Our first church in Alma, NY, could hold about thirty people if they packed in shoulder to shoulder, but that little community was home, and I would have been content to serve there my entire life. I had no ambition to climb any ecclesiastical ladder. As far as I was concerned, I would have been content to be buried under the firs in the cemetery just a stone's throw from the church.

It wasn't until much later that I became discontented. I don't know exactly when it happened. I was busy with pastoral duties; preaching, visiting the sick, going from home to home, when the discontentment began to grow within me till one day I realized that if I had to do ministry this way for the rest of my life, I couldn't stand it. Fortunately, I had a district superintendent who thought outside the box and challenged me to think of ministry differently. Bob Pascoe literally saved my ministry and my life. I knew that I wanted the church to be more than it was, and worked hard to accomplish my dream. I wasn't contented to just go through the motions anymore. So I learned; I worked hard; we made mistakes, but we also made decisions to move beyond the invisible barriers that so often leave churches mired in the status quo. The church grew, and as John Maxwell wisely said, "Small church, small problems; big church, big problems." We had our share of those problems, but the rewards of seeing people grow in Christ far outweighed the disappointment and pain of seeing others choosing paths that led to hurt, pain, and estrangement.

And now, having handed a healthy congregation to my successor, I am once more content. There is still much to be done, much to accomplish. My life is not over, so neither is my calling or my work. But whatever lies before me, I come to it content in who I am in Christ and what I've done in Christ. After all, it is all by grace that we come and stand and do. And for that alone, I am thankful.

What I Do; Who I Am

January 16, 2014

The conversation this morning didn't start out too well, probably because I wasn't conversing adequately. Linda's love language is words, but she was quiet, too, so I tried making small talk, which has never been my forte; yeah, it didn't work. I decided my best bet would be a strategic retreat, so I and my cup of coffee headed for the Millstone Room. Linda went upstairs to play her piano and think, and after awhile came down to talk. Take note: being the better person, she took the first steps towards working things out. She's a keeper!

One of the differences between us is she is an activist; I am a contemplative. It doesn't bother me at all to sit and read. Linda can do that for awhile, but it isn't long before she needs something to do. Something significant, it turns out. She's been plenty busy, baking, cooking, cleaning, rearranging the furniture, but being busy with stuff like that can only take one so far.

I'm still trying to figure out what shape retirement will take. I'm preaching for a friend this Sunday, am taking an online seminary course in supervision and getting ready for next semester's community jazz band, and have enough projects lined up to keep me busy for quite awhile. But there is still this business of work that has meaning. Even after three years of retirement, Linda's still trying to figure it out. I wonder how long it will take me.

If our identity consists primarily in what we do or accomplish, what happens when we are no longer able to do much of anything? Our work is important, and significant work even more so, but the Bible teaches us that we are saved by grace, not works. Somewhere in the balance of things, we must understand that our value is given by God, not by what we can do. It is that intrinsic value that is the foundation for significant work, enabling us to work because we ourselves have meaning, value, and purpose, rather than working to find meaning. Work done to attain value always falls short because work is incapable of giving meaning. It's the other way around: we are the ones who give meaning to work, but we can only do so if we know we ourselves are valued by God simply because he loves us.

It's always a learning process. It's always dangerous to assume, but I understand what Linda is feeling. I have lots of projects lined up, but it's not the same as when my life was filled with people. I am no longer responsible for the direction and leadership of Park church. That was my life for 33 years, and now I'm given the interesting task of sorting through how much of who I am is wrapped up in the word "pastor," and how much is contained in the word "Christian." It's not always an easy distinction to make, but I'm working on it, and am grateful that in the long run, my identity is in Christ who cannot be taken away instead of in a role that lasts only for a short while.

Cold Nights; Warm Heart

January 15, 2015

Yesterday afternoon we got the call. Our son Nathan is the property manager for our rental home in Cassadaga. He is worth every penny we pay him. Yes, we pay him. He is performing a valuable service for us, and deserves to be paid for it. Anyway, it seems the furnace wasn't working, and our tenants had called him. He was checking with us to make sure his plans to deal with the problem were OK by us. They were.

There's a bit of history to this furnace. We hired this particular contractor because he had a young man from our church working for him. This was before the church blowout, after which the young man was still working for the contractor, but wasn't from our church anymore. Go figure. This particular furnace was recommended as the latest and greatest of the high efficiency models. It may have been the latest, but it surely wasn't the greatest. It's been nothing but trouble, costing us a small fortune in repairs. Over the past eleven years, I think we could have bought at least one complete new furnace for what we've sunk into this one.

The first time it quit, the contractor who installed it didn't answer our calls, so we called Colburns, a local company for whom I have the greatest respect. They have always come when we needed them, and done everything possible to keep things running. Once, with our church furnaces, another company told us one of them needed to be replaced at a cost of about  $8,000. Colburns came out, looked it over, and built a new control panel from scratch, costing us a tenth of what the other company was going to charge us. Turns out, our furnace wasn't even installed properly, which caused at least some of the problems we have had.

We've gotten to be quite good friends with Colburn's service staff. I wouldn't be surprised if they are on our Christmas card list, or if they showed up for a random birthday or two. We are definitely on first name basis. Terry, for example, loves to fish. You learn a lot when you spend gobs of time with the serviceman. This particular time however, Nathan was the one to spend time with him. We met Nate and family for dinner at the Ashville Country Store before attending the girls' band concert. When Nate walked in, he said, "It isn't good. It needs a new motherboard. Probably about $500." In the meantime, he had been scrambling to get temporary electric heaters placed throughout the house so pipes wouldn't freeze in the sub-zero weather.

Today Nate called with even worse news. When the motherboard decided to fry itself, all the arcing took out the gas valve, which had already been replaced once. The serviceman said it looked like fireworks going off on that motherboard. Another $500, please. I called George (Colburn. See? We ARE on first name basis!) this afternoon to talk about it. A new furnace was going to cost upwards of $4,000, which might be worthwhile if we were going to keep the place,but we are planning to sell it. So, a thousand (give or take a couple hundred, probably more on the "give" side) it is. With all that's been replaced, it should be just about a totally new furnace.

George was all apologetic about it, saying that this model has been a dog from the day it came out, but ours has barked more than all the others. Oh well, there are people with lots worse problems than a balky furnace. Nate did his job admirably. He was the one out till nearly midnight, making sure everything would be OK for the night; not me. Our pipes didn't freeze, we have the money to fix it, Colburns will get it going pronto, and we aren't facing life-threatening illness, homelessness, or have a family on a collision course with itself. How can it be anything other than a good day? Our Isabel turned twelve today, and I am grateful that whatever problems we have are pretty minuscule by any comparison. God is good.

Generations of Music

January 14, 2015

Music has been a part of my life for as long as I can remember. One of my earliest memories is of my grandmother playing her little spinet piano, singing along, then jumping up and dancing a jig, then back to the piano for more music. My father taught himself the button accordion and often played his venerable 'gut bucket,' a homemade bass made from an old wooden barrel, a broomstick, and clothesline. We did a lot of singing as I was growing up, from impromptu family singalongs to church choirs and quartets. I played tenor saxophone and bassoon in the high school concert band and baritone sax in the dance band, and taught myself basic guitar at fifteen.

The wind instruments got put away after college, and it wasn't until many years later that I picked up the guitar again when we began a contemporary worship service. I graduated to bass guitar, where it looks like I'll be for awhile. Right now, I play bass for the church, and for a community jazz ensemble, and am looking forward to getting back to the bassoon for concert band.

Music is a lot on my mind at the moment, as I've been selling some instruments on Ebay for my sister. They belonged to her late husband Rich. It's sad letting go of instruments in this way; they're not just wood and string, but pieces of his life that we held onto for awhile, but have to let go even as we released him to God a few years ago.

Tonight we attended our granddaughters' band concert at Panama school. The kids did a wonderful job as the music lifted throughout the auditorium. Good music is a gift from God. The Bible tells us that David played his harp to soothe Saul's troubled spirit, and gives us the Psalms to sing in the night. The prophet Zephaniah even goes so far as to declare that God rejoices over us with singing. Imagine that: God sings over us!

I didn't always appreciate having to practice my instruments as a teenager, but I am so very grateful that my folks didn't let me give up on it. I will never be very good at it, but it has enriched my life, giving me an appreciation for melody, harmony, rhythm, and lyrics. Some people think deep thoughts when their minds aren't occupied with life's concerns. Me? I don't have conversations in my head; instead, melodies constantly pour through my mind. I've been able to express some of my deepest feelings in songs I've written, and been blessed to share them in worship. Music gives me one more connection with my grandchildren, and with countless wonderful people who share their gifts with the rest of us. Best of all is the privilege of lifting hearts and voices to God in return for his manifold kindness to us.