End of An Era

This will be my final post from Lafayette college, my professional home for the past eight years. I will leave Lafayette in a few weeks to begin service as University Chaplain at Bucknell University in Lewisburg, PA. I like to think that I have been a mostly good influence on Lafayette, as it and its people have certainly been a positive influence on me. Though I have worked in ministry in higher education for over twenty-five years, it was at Lafayette that I experienced the greatest amount of growth in my personal and professional life. The atmosphere here lends itself to doing interfaith work in a way that was new to me when I arrived. And that wonderful interfaith spirit only continued to grow during my time here. Students and faculty and staff gave of themselves so that a strong spiritual life community would have a solid foundation. Though the mainline Protestant group here is small, students stuck with the program and made it count, and let themselves be noticed for their progressive spirit. That can be a prophetic action in today's brand of American Christianity. Lafayette also presented me with great challenges, as it has sometimes given off a feeling of "institutional agnosticism" that can serve to discourage students who are trying to feel their way along, spiritually. They felt sometimes that they were denigrated by faculty who questioned why they felt a need for religious beliefs in this day and age. However, I have also heard marvelous testimonies from faculty and staff who have also felt marginalized because of their religious beliefs, and yet, they refused to remain silent about their faith's journey in the face of peer pressure. So, Lafayette has been a spiritual testing ground for many, and that is certainly true for me, as well. I leave having grown in my understanding of the importance of providing safe spaces for people who are seeking a spiritual path, and someone who is willing to walk that path with them. So, thanks be for all I have experienced and learned here. And here's to the next part of the journey for me from whence I will post here in the not-too-distant future.

Trinity Sunday..a Revelation Through the Eyes of a Little boy!

I have written here before about the joys we have found in attending the local Episcopal Cathedral for the past year-and-a-half. Yesterday was another of those amazing times. It was Trinity Sunday, which, in many United Methodist Churches, is just another Sunday. However, not so with the Episcopalians. Trinity Sunday is another opportunity to mix pageantry with teaching and beautiful liturgy. The bishop preached, and likened the operation of the trinity to three men ( and he also added the possibility of women!)dancing merrily. Because I have a longstanding love/hate relationship with the concept of the trinity, I am always happy when someone offers an illustration that gives it life and new avenues of interpretation. Once, I questioned a professor about the need for the trinity. Since he was a Catholic priest, the trinity figured largely in his theology. So, he asked me to think of it as the three manifestations of God in a familial relationship with one another.He said that the trinity can never make sense outside of that relationship and interconnectedness. The other aspect of yesterday's service that made a deep and lasting impression on me was at the baptism of the children. We all love baptisms, as we smile and coo at the babies who are being baptized. Two very little ones were indeed baptized, and the font was located halfway down the aisle, in the middle of the congregation. The children were, quite literally, surrounded by the members of the congregation. The third child baptized was a young boy who looked to be about eight-years-old, and he was dressed snappily in a white shirt and red tie. He had a look of awe and amazement in his eyes, as the priests and bishop made him the center of attention for that moment. I wondered to myself how we can keep that feeling alive for him. After all, parents tend to slack off in taking children to church, and the kids then get out of the habit of attending. But for that brief moment, I did sense the presence of God in that place in a way that was so special and real. So much of the awe and majesty of liturgy has been taken away today, sometimes replaced by vapid praise music with lyrics that focus on the individual and God, and not on the community. The Cathedral has figured out a way to couple majestic and powerful music with a message that touches every individual, and brings the historic message of the church into bold relief. We will be moving soon, and I shall miss that connection that I have made with that congregation. However, I will be leading a university congregation that meets in a majestic facility, and I shall have to work to make the liturgy a living, breathing entity that invites each congregant back, week after week. I will remember the look of wonder in that young lad's eyes, and seek to help convey that in new and exciting ways.

Loss, Life and God's Gentle Ways..Romans 8:26

The most difficult aspect of the life of a college chaplain is working with other members of the campus community when the death of a student occurs. We work daily with young adults who have their entire lives before them. This work is all about assisting young adults in preparing for their futures. And yet, tragically, sometimes we must stand with them as they confront their own mortality because a classmate has died. There is no adequate description of the growing sense of panic that ensues whenever the news of a student's death begins to spread to all corners of the campus, and beyond. News that once took a measurable amount of time to permeate the campus now travels in an instant, thanks to social media. It is impossible to get ahead of the curve, to be there before students get the terrible news. Now, we must scramble to set up support networks as quickly as possible, and to try to identify potential sites where students will gather to console one another. We had one of those terrible events here last Saturday, when so many administrators and faculty were away from campus, enjoying the beginning of that short season we know as end of the semester. On a day that we usually take a deep breath and relax, we were called to attention, and to our posts, as the community was shaken to its core by the death of a beloved student member. Along with a thousand details that must be covered in such an emergency comes the certainty that we must gather the community together, as soon as possible. Not surprisingly, that particular task falls to the chaplain. What do we say, how do we set it up, what if no one wants to get together? One of the gifts that comes with many seasons of doing this work is knowing that, wherever we gather folks, and whatever we do, they will come, and when the community comes together, it is better than if the members cope with their loss while scattered about. And so, we gathered in the chapel at ten o'clock on a Saturday night, on the day that holds the traditional end-of-the-semester celebration. This year, it was that very celebration that contributed to the loss, but that was not the reason for gathering. The community was dealing with shock, disbelief, regret and an overwhelming, palpable sadness. The chapel was filled beyond its capacity, as people migrated there as if on auto-pilot. I am a relatively well-educated person, but no amount of training can fully prepare one to break the painful silence of the hundreds gathered there. There was not a face that was not etched in pain, not a person there who was not touched by this tragedy, if only because he or she is a member of this community. And so it began, and we addressed the reality that such a gathering is the hardest thing that we can do as a community, and yet we must do it. Several folks shared their memories of the beloved student, and no words were more poignant than those of the late student's own parents, who chose to gather with the community in one of the greatest gestures of love and support that many of us have ever witnessed. They sought to comfort the community, even while they were dealing with the most awful reality that parents can ever face. There were hugs and tears, and one-word prayers uttered by anyone who wished to offer them, and the effect was what can only be described as supernatural. From every corner of that cavernous space came words of hope, comfort, tribute, pain, disbelief and even thanks. And then it was over, and we slowly made our way back out into the night. We continue to pick up the pieces during this finals week, and one can still feel the heaviness of the pall that settled over the community. But there is something else, as well. Students, faculty and staff who were in attendance at that late night gathering carry with them a bond that is quietly acknowledged whenever we pass on the sidewalks or see one another in the dining hall. We know that, for a few moments, we were in the presence of a power beyond ourselves that took our burdens and made them....bearable. The Spirit was with us, and it made itself known to those of many, and no, faith traditions. In the horror of that day, little moments of grace permeated our lives. "The Spirit intercedes with sighs too deep for words."

What Does the Lord Require of Us? Micah 6:1-8

Recently, I had an opportunity to look at a favorite passage of scripture in a new and fresh way. Often, it is true that we take familiar passages for granted and do not re-think them as frequently as we ought to. Micah 6:8 is a wonderful text that admonishes us to "do justice, love mercy and walk humbly with your God." It sounds so user-friendly and easy to use. That is, until one looks at the whole of chapter 6 a bit more closely. The context of the passage is a trial with YHWH as the prosecuting attorney, the mountains of the earth as the jury, and the cities of Israel as the defendant. The context of the whole affair does have to do with the nature of Israel's worship, but it goes much further than that. The whole concept of Israel's understanding of justice is on trial, and it is found to be wanting. To Micah's way of thinking, and to the ways of thinking of many of the eighth century prophets, justice is, or should be, dictated by the concerns of those for whom justice is denied. It is very difficult for Americans, or for people of any other affluent society to grasp fully this biblical concept of justice, because we have an entrenched understanding of nationalistic justice. America represents 5% of the world's population, but we incarcerate 25% of the world's population of inmates. To our way of understanding, people get what they deserve. After all, justice is blind, signified by the famous statue of the figure with the scales and blindfold. Well, for the prophets, justice was not blind, and God saw, and sees, all injustice. There is nowhere that God's compassionate gaze will not fall; God sees the need in all quarters. So then, this understanding of justice also transforms the understanding of mercy, in this context. Mercy, or hesed in Hebrew, does not translate easily into English. When I was an undergraduate, my OT professor said that it is best translated as "steadfast love." The scholars that I researched would not disagree with that, but some take it a step further and define it as the unbreakable connection that God has with God's people. We are to strive for that same connection with our neighbors. If I was to personalize it, I would say something like, "I will not only love God with the commitment that God first showed me, but I will love you with that same commitment to respect, helpfulness and loving concern." Such an understanding of mercy then paves the way for embodying humility in a way that seeks to take empathy to its furthermost limits. We must be alert to the times when God's hesed, which may cause God's heart to break, also causes our hearts to break with compassion and loving kindness.Though we can never do so fully, we must try to look at the world through God's eyes. This whole attitude must pervade our worship, and carry beyond Sunday morning. As one writer has stated, our Sunday worship does not mean much if it doesn't make a difference in the way we treat people on Monday. In short, Micah 6:8 is a call to stand with every person in every place, everyday. We are called to help to restore God's people, one hand and one heart at a time. No exceptions. Favorite biblical passages can surprise us when we re-visit them. They can cause our faith, and our ability to imagine the breadth and depth of God's community, to expand in ways we do not expect. And the Kingdom moves just a little bit closer.

Another Easter, Another Plea

For as long as I can remember, I have wondered why Easter does not change us more than it does. OK, time for a disclaimer: My interpretation about what is significant about Easter may not be thought of as in the mainstream. Well, that wouldn't be the first time that my thinking fell well shy of orthodoxy. Millions will gather this Sunday, many who do not darken the door of a church for the rest of the year. The choirs will be full, the organ will open up all the way, and most of the pastors will appear to be in really good moods. And when everyone leaves the service, I wonder if they will feel changed somehow. Last Easter, my wife and I attended our first Easter service in our then-new church. The Cathedral was packed, the choir and organist were superb, and I heard one women remark as we were leaving the church, "This is THE place to be today."I would agree that any Christian gathering on Easter is THE place to be, but only if the message approaches being transformative. When I hear an Easter sermon, I want to be amazed by the proclamation of what sets Easter apart. However, what I usually hear has something to do with how the day signifies that we need not fear death, for Christ has conquered death. I do not disagree, though I would like to hear a fuller explanation of what that actually means. But my focus on Easter is not about death, and beyond. I wonder why I don't hear pastors talk about the effect of resurrection on us here and now. I write this on Good Friday, which, in my opinion, is the most sacred day of the Christian year. Too many Christians want to hurry past this day and get on with the fun part of the weekend. Of course, without Friday, Sunday has no real significance. Good Friday shouts to us that Christ was a man of his word, and he did not take the easy way out, though he may have wished that he could have. All of his talk about sacrificial love took on meaning only because he did not turn away from following his talk to its logical and necessary conclusion. Good Friday reminds me that God did more than God had to in order to get my attention. And, for me, that message is not about blood atonement, because, as Marcus Borg has opined, God is God, did God really need to kill his son to redeem the world? No, and Jesus chose to offer up his life because, in light of his teachings, he could do nothing else if his teachings were to be authentic. Thus, Sunday is the day to get everyone's attention and ask why we have not changed our behavior. If God was not above choosing the difficult path, why are we so lazy as people of faith? The majority of professed Christians in the United States do not attend weekly worship. According to Diana Butler Bass, about twenty-four percent of us do. Christian politicians seem to be obsessed about the sexual habits of Americans, and are bold to proclaim their unending concern for the unborn child. Yet, the way they blithely slash social programs seems to indicate that they are not nearly as concerned with a child once he or she is born. We have become a selfish, self-satisfied people who call ourselves Christians. Again, according to Butler-Bass, even the so-called "mega-churches" are in decline, so American Christianity is in trouble. I am not sure that even a radical Easter Sunday wake-up call about THIS world and its problems will serve as a wake up. Walter Brueggemann attributed the inability of the biblical prophets to arouse concern on the part of those who heard their preaching to a numbness that grew from satiation. They were full of the good stuff, they had no need, or ability, apparently, to heed warnings.
My Easter message, if I was to preach one? It's one I have actually preached before: How many more Easter Sundays will it take for Christians to understand that nothing is the same, and the world can be changed for the better? We have to stop looking at the sky and instead turn our gaze to our neighbors. There is a world in need of love and a reason to be hopeful. Why does that task not excite us more? Why are we not more determined to show the life changing message of the gospel in our own lives? This Easter, let's make a determination to begin by welcoming the Stranger, whomever that person may be for each one of us. Radical hospitality makes room for those with whom we differ, and once we get together, we can enrich the lives of one another with our stories. Easter: life does not have to be the same. The work has been done, God has saved the whole world. We just need to show what that change looks like.

We Were All Strangers.

I attended what we call a Brownbag Lunch Discussion today. These lunches are very popular, even though there is not a brownbag to be seen anywhere, as we have them catered. But the topics are diverse and always of keen interest to members of the college community. Today's was entitled "What Does an Immigrant Look Like?" I was prepared for a panel discussing issues facing Americans regarding the challenges brought to bear regarding immigration. It was so much more than that, because every member of the panel, students and faculty alike, are people who emigrated to this country. Some are naturalized citizens, others aliens and still others permanent residents. Each shared a story of the challenges faced in coming to this country, and then of going through the legal hoops to be allowed to remain and become citizens. Though the details of their stories varied, the one common thread was the hostile way they felt that they were treated by the Office of U. S. Citizenship and Naturalization Services. The process of becoming a citizen is very expensive, dehumanizing and almost never-ending. As I sat there, listening to my colleagues, friends and students, it occurred to me that not one of them fulfilled the stereotypes that politicians and others like to create in the public mind. I reside in a state that, shamefully, has embraced the policy that, in order to vote, one must produce an official photo ID. This is a state that was founded as a haven for anyone who felt persecuted for being different. The Book of Faith reminds us that we were all strangers who God embraced for all time. As Holy Week approaches, it would be well for us to remember the lengths to which God was willing to go to bring us into the fold. Why is it we seem unable/unwilling to extend such hospitality to others who just want to be a part of our society? There may be many reasons, some thought of as practical, some rooted in fear and others in hatred. And yet, we were all strangers and God welcomed us. How do we escape that overwhelming grace, and how do we justify not extending it to others?

Love and Death. John 12:20 - 26

One of the first Woody Allen movies I ever saw was "Love and Death", which is an hilarious romp through Russian literature and themes of life, death and God's place in all of it. When Woody faces a firing squad, he is comforted by the silhouette of an angel that promises that he will be cared for and therefore, he need not fear death. We hear the gunfire and next see Woody following the Grim Reaper in a dance of death. When his love interest sees this vision and asks what happened, Allen replies, "I got screwed!" When I saw that movie so long ago, I did not understand what that line was supposed to mean. Now that I am older, and have seen many more Woody Allen films, I am not a whole lot clearer on the meaning. But I am pretty sure that it has something to do with the fact that, if we place our trust in God at the moment of our death,we think that we should get to escape the whole experience. Face it, none of us likes the thought of our own demise. I teach a course on death and dying, and have done so for many years. As I get older, the topics that we address seem to hit home a bit more than they used to. When I took my first course on death and dying as an undergraduate, it was great fun and most interesting, because it was about something that was so far in my future that I could not imagine it, though the course required that we write our own obituary and funeral service as a part of the final exam. Now I realize that my students must look at me and wonder what I think about the topic, since I am so much closer to demise than they are.
Well, I am not crazy about the idea of my own death. And I know why, it is because I will hate missing all that I will miss. I really do enjoy getting up each morning, and I never take the rising sun for granted. But it will end for me someday, and someday is much closer than it was when I was in college. During countless graveside services at which I have officiated, the words from John 12:24 have always been spoken at the very beginning of the committal:"Unless a grain of wheat falls into the ground and dies, it remains just a single grain; but if it dies, it bears much fruit." Jesus was speaking of physical death, and also of the death of one's own selfish desires. We are approaching Holy Week, when Christians around the world recount the last week of Jesus' life, and ponder again the meaning of love, death, life and resurrection. But at the heart of it all, we have to deal with the dying part of the equation: we are all going to die. And the hardest phrase of all: I am going to die. Talk of resurrection only makes sense when we first can talk of our own death, when we acknowledge that this life will end and our families will gather around our grave and bid us farewell, just as we have done for others throughout our lives. Though Woody Allen was probably thinking of War and Peace when he created the title Love and Death, that phrase sums up nicely the Christian message: facing our own death is bearable because of love. God loved us through sending Christ to live, and die, so that we need not think of death as having the final say. I don't have to like the idea of my own death, and I don't, but I need not approach the reality of that event without the hope of a God who is faithful, in this life, and in life beyond death. The Christian faith is a collection of paradoxes: strength through weakness, greatness through humility, life through death. It is a puzzle, but one worth contemplating, in this life, and beyond.