The Price of Calling Oneself a Follower John 6:56-69

I remember my first few months of college. I had become active in a Christian fellowship group, and we had neat buttons and slogans and such. It was the tail-end of the so-called "Jesus Movement" of the early 1970's. I recall going with a buddy of mine to the "Jesus Barn" to a prayer meeting. There were bales of hay, and people playing guitars and everyone was singing. It was just about perfect, especially when, during prayer requests, I raised my hand quite innocently, and then, during prayer, a pretty girl behind me laid her hand on my shoulder. There lots of pretty girls in the movement, though they seemed not to notice me at all.I remember returning to school the next fall and our little Christian fellowship group was at odds with itself. Some of the more spiritually "mature" members of the group were dictating what proper belief should be, and it fell to the group to figure out how these new dictum's applied to each member. For my part, I was not comfortable with some of things being required, especially when it came to an insistence that those who were truly saved should evidence the gift of speaking in tongues. It never came easily to me, and I never felt that it was something essential for my personal faith's journey. The breaking point for me came when two friends were intent on casting a demon out of a cassette tape, while I was trying to study for an Old Testament exam. They raised the window, anointed everything that didn't move with oil, and went into a fit of glossolalia that would have made the folks at the Tower of Babel marvel. After all of that, the cassette still would not work. Then one of them stuck a pencil eraser into one of the cogs, and it freed up the tape. A miracle! Never mind that I had suggested doing just that before the evening's activities began. My experience was not unlike many young people during that time of transition in our lives, and in the life of America. The pain and protest of the 60's had given way to the ennui of the 70's. Christian faith, at least in my circle, became a very private, and very self-centered affair. All I knew for certain was that what others told me must be the standard for my faith did not feel right to me. The next year I befriended our new college chaplain who insisted that Christian faith could not be separated from hard choices and social justice. This was very new for many of us, and he did not attract everyone in the Christian fellowship, but many of us saw something deep and rich that we had not found before his arrival. For us, he combined the energy of a lively spirituality with a tried and tested pragmatic faith. He influences me still, and my appreciation of God's justice springs from the things that he taught me. But I still do not perceive that the majority of Americans who identify loudly with the Christian faith embrace the difficult parts of the faith that Jesus talked about. Some of those things are not popular because they demand sacrifice and thinking in new ways about who God's people are. In John's gospel, a hoard of disciples abandoned Jesus until just twelve remained, and one of those would eventually leave to betray him. The Jesus Movement was a wonderful time in my life, even though it was a spiritually shallow one. At its best, it made me feel that my faith was alive and I was excited to be with others who shared the faith. At its worst, it made the faith all about me, and how superior I could be to others who did not agree with me. Now, Jesus felt that he was right, also had many who did not agree with him. So, what, you ask, is the difference? Well, Jesus pointed beyond himself to another and a totally different way of thinking about God and the world. It seems that, in some quarters of American Christianity, at least, those who witness to Christ cannot help but point to themselves and their accomplishments, and they are very happy with some of the injustices in the world that do not cause them to move out of their comfort zones. All that's missing is the hay bales.

Wisdom Builds Her House. If Only Our Leaders Would Follow!

This coming Sunday will mark my first chapel service at Bucknell University, where I began serving just two weeks ago. As it so happens, the lectionary gives us a choice of Hebrew Bible readings for that day, and I have chosen the Proverbs 9:1-6 passage. Since I will be addressing mostly first-year students on that day, I think it is appropriate to talk about what it means to be wise. According to the biblical understanding of the term, wisdom is knowledge coupled with insight. One cannot be thought of as wise unless one possesses both of these elements. I suppose that is what a philosophy professor from my first year in college meant when he used to remark that "there is no one more stupid than a young PhD!" Many times we mistake the accumulation of intellectual prowess for being wise. But wisdom can only come through life experiences. I don't claim to know much about most things, but I know so much more than I did when I was a young man, just out of divinity school. I am glad that I did not keep my sermons from those days, because I would probably accuse myself of malpractice! When I think about wisdom,I tend to think of people I have known who were, and are, what I consider to be wise. My neighbor when I was a little boy was an older woman who had little formal education, but who knew much about farming, canning vegetables and treating people as she herself wished to be treated. She created a safe space for me in her home, where I was always welcome, even when it may have been inconvenient for her. She had a tremendous impact on my spiritual development, even though we seldom discussed faith, even though she was a devout Christian. There have been others, but all of us can tell stories about people who have influenced our lives for the better. So why is it, then, that our political leaders cannot seem to figure out what wisdom is all about? I support one of the presidential candidates, but not the other. But I get angry when both of them behave badly and in an uncivil manner when they talk about the opposing candidate. Then again, they are giving the electorate exactly what it wants. We have no debates anymore, we have shouting matches. The presidential and vice-presidential televised debates will be nothing more than carefully scripted and pre-approved recitations of the party line. There is no wisdom in the political process, because wisdom builds up, it does not tear down. So that is why I am anxious to address the first-year students, so that I can ask them to pay attention to what they see and hear, and to seek out the wise, not merely the loudest. What if our political candidates took the spotlight off themselves and paid tribute to individuals who taught them well, even if they disagreed with them? Who were their mentors, and who provided them with safe places to grow and learn? And how would those mentors view the rancor with which they talk about one another? Wisdom has built her house, she has hewn her seven pillars. She has slaughtered her animals, she has mixed her wine, she has also set her table. She has sent out her servant-girls, she calls from the highest places in the town, “You that are simple, turn in here!” To those without sense she says, “Come, eat of my bread and drink of the wine I have mixed. Lay aside immaturity, and live, and walk in the way of insight.” Proverbs 9:1-6

The Elephant (Gun) in the Room

The horrible reality of the massacre in Aurora, Colorado this past week drives home once again the realization that America can be, and is, a very violent place. We have an unacceptably high number of gun-related deaths, year in, and year out. But there is nary a politician who will so much as hint that we should do more about regulating the purchase of firearms in this country. In the last six months, I have read countless stories in the local and regional news about angry spouses, and ex-spouses, who have shot estranged spouses, lovers and even their own children, to exact some kind of revenge. We are horrified at such occurrences, but we tend to shrug our shoulders, as if such violence is simply a part of our culture, and the price of living in a modern society. If it is the price of living in America today, it is a price we should not be willing to pay. I have several friends, and relatives, who either live abroad, or who grew up in another country before moving here. They tell me that folks in their native, or adopted homelands, such as Canada, England and the Scandinavian countries, perceive Americans as residents of the wild, wild west, where everyone owns guns and carries them everywhere. It's not difficult to figure out from whence such caricatures emerge. Take a look at the films we export and one cannot help but wonder if folks think we are obsessed with violence. But take a look at some of the rhetoric of the leadership of the National Rifle Association, and one can only marvel at how such extremist views became the tail that wags the political dog. I grew up in southwestern Pennsylvania in the foothills of the Alleghenies, and most of my friends and neighbors were hunters. It was a rite of passage to go on one's first hunting excursion when once reached the magical age of twelve. Since my father was not a hunter, I planned to take that initial step into manhood with a kindly neighbor. However, the year before I would have been old enough, the neighbor brought home a deer he had bagged, and I decided that I could not kill a deer, or anything else. I grew up near a pond, and we went fishing almost everyday. I always threw any fish I caught back into the water, and felt guilty for causing it injury or, at the very least, a very sore mouth for a day or two. At Boy Scout camp we shot rifles on a firing range, and I enjoyed it. At a summer-long camp at a military school, I earned a medal in archery. But it never occurred to me to use my skills as a budding archer to bring down wild game. I just don't have it in me to kill animals. But I do not begrudge hunters or fishermen ( and women) who enjoy bringing home freshly caught game. I just don't want to see the quarry, thank you. The NRA used to focus its efforts on helping scouts and others learn how to practice gun safety, teaching us that guns are not toys and that we must always use great care when handling a weapon. Somehow, the NRA has gone from wise instructor to crazy second amendment advocate, holding gun ownership up as the true measure of what it means to be an American. Gun lobbies in some states and municipalities have attempted to force through legislation that requires citizens to carry weapons. Believe it or not, some churches in Texas encourage their members to bring guns with them to church on Sunday morning, because it is legal .The NRA fights against any and every measure that may come up in federal or state legislatures that seeks to impose common-sense limits on how many guns an individual may purchase in a month, or that attempts to remove so-called "cop-killer" bullets from the market. And the NRA is always successful in defeating such measures. Why? Because its leaders have learned that fear is the best recruiting tool, and that appeals to self-interest trumps the common good every time. The oft-repeated refrain they use as their call to arms (pardon the pun) is to simply enforce the laws on the books, not create new ones that will restrict the rights of gun owners. Well, the killer in Colorado bought all of his weapons legally at legitimate dealers. He was able, legally, to assemble an arsenal that enabled him to fire as many rounds as he could before the police could arrive and disarm him. I wonder if the NRA will aid in his legal defense? After all, in assembling his arsenal he was just exercising his second amendment rights as a law abiding American. Right? We have all seen the bumper sticker that states "I'm a Member of the NRA, and I Vote!" Well, guess what: "I Oppose the NRA, and I Vote!"

Not Ready for Less-Than-Primetime!

As things worked out, I had a month's vacation coming to me for the fiscal year just past, so I am using it this month. Thus, I am between jobs, but will collect one more paycheck for my unused vacation. So, it's the longest stretch ever of getting up in the morning and not going to work that I have ever known. People have asked me, probably because of my increasingly white hair, if I will retire at some point. My response is the same as it has always been: I have no role-models for retirement in my family. My father and grandfather both worked up until the days they died. Besides, I like going to work everyday, and always have. Don't get me wrong, I do like time off, when I can get it. One reason I have so much vacation time left from my work at Lafayette is because I cannot take time off when students are on campus. Since we all get off for Christmas and Thanksgiving, etc, I don't use up vacation time there. But I like what I do, and even though it can be very difficult at times, as it was during All College Day this year, the rewards outweigh the deficits. I love talking to students about their ideas about faith, and God and life, in general. I get caught up in faculty discussions about life and meaning and what it means to be educated. I served as a parish pastor for just over seven years, and I still treasure the people we met in those churches dearly. But I would not trade the ride I have had since then for anything. And I get to do it all again, and at a brand new place, where my skills as a preacher and designer of worship will be appreciated so much. Yes, Connie and I are sick of packing and moving, and cannot believe we are doing this yet again. On the other hand, we have found a wonderful new home, and cannot wait to move in and make it ours. Our children are both happy and successful and very good people, who had great college educations and experiences that we could share, because we have both been involved in the academic world for almost all of their lives. So, NO, I am nowhere near ready to retire, and I look forward to making friends in our new community at Bucknell University, while giving thanks for the great friends we have made at Lafayette, and Allegheny, and Ferrum and Delaware. The journey continues, and I hope you will come along for the ride.

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."