When Children Worship

Something exciting is happening in our rural Indiana church.  Children are worshiping God.  Let me say that again:  CHILDREN ARE WORSHIPING GOD!!

On Good Friday, this became abundantly clear.  Between one young boy's excited questioning of what we would be doing at the service ("Is it like Ash Wednesday? Are you handing out nails again this year?  Can I extinguish the candles?") and the sound of his younger sister's sweet loud voice trying to read along with us on the responsive readings, I realized.  These children are worshiping God.  Let me say that again, with the emotion I feel.  THESE CHILDREN ARE WORSHIPING GOD!  Even as I write these words two months later, I smile.

After I wrote about this in the church newsletter, other parents and grandparents shared stories.  I was told of the little girl who was excited to receive a $5.00 bill on her third birthday because now she would have her OWN money to give to the church.  When her grandparents offered to give her five $1.00 bills so that she could keep some of it, she became indignant, and insisted on putting the whole thing in the collection plate.

I was reminded of my own daughter's tears at the age of four when there was criticism from a few members of the church we were serving because our children took communion before they had been CONFIRMED!  Through her tears she wailed: "BUT I WANT TO WORSHIP GOD, TOO!"  If I had needed to be convinced, that would have done it.

Congregations make promises at a child's baptism or dedication to be part of the faith-building process.  We promise to nurture the children and provide opportunities for them to grow in faith.  It's up to the parents to take advantage of what we, as a community of faith, have to offer.  it's up to the families to follow up on what they learn in church.  It's up to the parents to choose to get them here-- even if and when that means choosing church over sports or going to bed earlier on Saturday night to be able to rise for worship on Sunday morning.

The best hope your children have for maintaining a faith relationship lies in these formative years.  Even if they leave church for awhile after they leave home, there is a better chance they will return to the roots of faith when (not if) they face obstacles and challenges as adults.

As children learn to worship, here are some things that congregations can do:

• When reading responsive readings, litanies or unison prayers, slow down a little so that children who are learning to read can keep up with us.  Otherwise they might give up.
• Talk to your children or grandchildren about your own faith.  Let them know why faith is important to YOU.  If you don't know the answers to their questions, include your pastor in the conversation.
• Invite families to Sunday School. Offer to pick up the children and bring them with you.  In rural communities like ours, some of the parents may still be trying to feed the animals on the farm!
• Make a commitment to attend faith-building opportunities for a month or two. Once you are in the habit, it's easier to "rise and shine and give God the glory!"

Jesus said, "Let the children come unto me."  That's a good enough reason for me.

Plugged In or Tuned Out?

Does improved technology “plug us in” to one another, or tune us out from life?

Recently, I was part of a group of parents and teens who shared a table at a Steak and Shake restaurant. We had just sent their older siblings off to Germany for a three-week “young ambassador” trip. As we were seated, one of the adults suggested that the kids, who we are hoping will be the “next generation” to represent our conference overseas, might like to sit together at one end of the table so they could "bond". It's not like the kids don't know each other-- the two boys have been at church camp together for years and the girl has known one of the boys since she was about four years old.  

The parents have shared camp experiences, conference activities and long friendships, too. We chattered almost non-stop, pausing only to order our food and take periodic bites of it when it arrived. We talked about the wonderful opportunity our older children were embarking upon. We shared memories about the German youth who had stayed with us the previous summer, and would be soon reunited with the American partners. Occasionally we received an update from the travelers: “We're on the plane. We're about to leave. Can my girlfriend pick me up at the airport when we get home?” Those messages were shared with everyone at the table.

Our younger teens sat at the other end of the table, texting, checking emails and saying few words to each other at all!  So much for bonding!

It reminded me of a band trip to New York City that I chaperoned two year's ago. It was somewhat disconcerting to discover just how “plugged in” the others on the trip were to their electronic devices. Not just the kids, but also the adults, all seemed to have cell phones, laptops, portable music devices... They spent their time sending messages, watching videos, talking to friends on the other bus, or doing work. I suppose if the trip were taken today, they might also be reading books on their Kindles!

This was fine for the long bus ride to New York City, but it continued even on the short tours! At one point I even noticed my own daughter, who did not have a cell phone at that time, passing another student's phone back and forth across the bus aisle-- texting instead of talking! It was almost tragic when we dined at a special restaurant, designed to look like we were on Mars. The other adult and I looked at each other from either end of the table, helpless as we could not get them to stop texting friends at other tables long enough to talk to each other! They were so plugged into technology that they missed the wonders around them!

There were a few who noticed the daffodils blooming in Central Park, and others who delighted in the rich baritone voice of a homeless man who sang for donations outside of the Guggenheim Museum. But even those soon returned to cell phones for communication. I cannot help but think there were missed opportunities because of it.

As we sat in the airport, waiting the return of our young people, we again gathered the teens at one table and the adults around another. We shared what had happened in our lives in the past three weeks, as our children were overseas. We laughed at pictures that had been shared on Facebook and as cellphone messages began to come in, those were shared, too: “We've left Atlanta. They say we are 10 minutes out. We've landed. Is my girlfriend there yet?”

The “next generation” finally began to talk, bond a little, and, at the very least, passed their iPods back and forth to share music or websites that were of interest to the others. Tuned out? A little less than before. Hopefully plugged in to new friendships and opportunities yet to come.

God Doesn't Hate Figs, Either!

Let me start by going on record: I don't believe that God hates homosexuals. I also don't believe that God hates Chick-Fil-A owners, Democrats or Republicans, Jews or Muslims... The God who hung on the cross and cried out to heaven, “Father, forgive them for they know not what they do”, does not hate PEOPLE. God detests some behaviors-- sins—and I might add that no one particular group of humans seems to have a monopoly on either Christ's condemnation or grace. And God certainly does not hate figs, despite what a cartoon making its way around Internet Social sites seems to indicate.

I feel compelled to say something about this cartoon, for it generates in me feelings that are almost as strong as the disgust I feel every time I hear that members of the Westboro “Baptist” group (I refuse to use the words “Christian” or “Church” in relationship to this hate group.) have spewed their “God hates fags” mentality again. The cartoon I am speaking of show a drawing of Jesus with a headline that reads: “OMFG, guys. I said I hated FIGS.”

Some of my dearest friends have re-posted the cartoon saying words of affirmation such as “I love it!”. With sincere care and love for these friends, I have to respond: “I am appalled.” This cartoon comes precariously close to being blasphemous.

First, I know what OMFG stands for. “Thou shalt not take the Lord's name in vain.” One of the “Big 10” commandments is pretty definite. Taking the Lord's name in vain can take on many forms. Cursing, while using the word “god”, is certainly one example. To use the word frivolously, such as by saying, “Oh my God!” (OMG) is an example of using the name in vain. Adding the “F” word into thet equation simply makes the statement doubly offensive, at least to me. Perhaps even triply offensive.

I've never been comfortable with billboards, T-shirts, buttons or pencils that put words in God's mouth. However, if this cartoon had simply said, “Guys! I said I hated FIGS”, I might have simply giggled and even appreciated the point. But that isn't the case.  By using God's name in vain, by mis-using Christ's name (even to combat other mis-use of Christ's words), this cartoon has been made into something that isn't funny at all, and the "point", for me, is lost.

The truth is, God—Jesus-- actually liked figs, according to the Bible. When he cursed the fig tree, it was because he wanted figs, and the tree in question was not bearing any fruit. It seems to me that God hates behaviors... Jesus spoke out against, even showed anger, when people cheated others. He did not like sanctimonious or judgmental behaviors (such as exhibited by Sadduccees or Pharisees). He cursed the tree that bore no fruit.  

And yet, this is also the One who hung on the cross and asked for forgiveness for the very people who persecuted and killed him. I can only imagine that he begs for forgiveness for people today who, in the name of God, make terrible gestures of faith. He may not like the behaviors. He may not like MY behaviors. But I cling to the hope that in spite of it all, I am loved.  I pray that my life bears fruit, and that my actions find acceptance in His eyes.

Killing the Fatted Calf

Tomorrow, my "prodigal son" returns... Well, he is not really a "prodigal".  He is not reckless or extravagant, except with his grace and ability to forgive.  Still, I have already begun to prepare the "fatted calf", in a manner of speaking.  I have bought some of his favorite snack foods.  I am searching the Internet for just the right blackberry cobbler recipe.  We will grill out hamburgers (the fatted calf, indeed!) and his father has painted a sign to welcome him home at the airport (in case he has forgotten our faces in the past three weeks).

Our son, along with two American leaders and thirteen other American youth are flying home tomorrow after spending three weeks in a Partnership Activity with youth and leaders from our partnership congregations in Germany.  This culminates three years of planning and meeting, which included the German Partners spending three weeks with us last summer.  The time together may be ending, but it is clear that the connection will be life-long, and the changes... no-- the TRANSFORMATION in these young lives cannot be measured in financial cost or time commitments.  They are forever changed because of what God has done in and through their lives.

When the planes crashed into the World Trade Center on September 11, 2001, I was in Germany, having just attending a conference on Overcoming the Decade of Violence.  The first day that the delegates from the US spent in our host homes was the day our world changed forever.  In spite of that, because of the genuine hospitality shown to us, there was never a time that I didn't know I would be fine... no matter what.

So, tomorrow, as my son (who is no prodigal... nor is he a "boy" any longer) boards the plane to come home, he brings with him the prayers and good will of new friends with whom there will be a "forever connection".  And I do not fear his safety, for I know he flies in the palm of God's hand.

Let the welcome home party begin!

The Elephant in the Room

It has been more than a year since I posted to my blog... Thank you to my brother-in-law for words of encouragement to get "back in the saddle again".

It is said that the best thing to do when there is an "elephant in the room" is to introduce it.  In this Sunday's sermon, I plan to introduce my congregation to the one that has been living with us for a while.  It's name is "FEAR".  We have several other individual elephants who accompany us from time to time:  Pride, Prejudice, Apathy...  The permanent dweller seems to be Fear.

I am well acquainted with Fear-- we are old chums since childhood.  Sometimes Fear stays at my house.  Sometimes Fear grows so large that there is scarcely room for anything or anyone else in my life.  These days, Fear can be contained pretty well, and sometimes even just sits on a shelf, forgotten.

But lately, Fear has come to dwell in our church.

There are some good reasons.  Indiana is one of the regions in a very serious drought.  Our local area has been missed by most of the rain that HAS come (and that's not much.)  I've even begun to wonder if the Weather Channel really knows where my zip code actually is, because yesterday there were periods where we had 100% chance of rain, and it's still as dry as cornmeal out there!  Our town, our county and our state have issued ordinances for the conservation of water.

On top of the drought, we can add the sad state of the economy, a lack of trust for any governmental officials, and, since 2001, a feeling that we are no longer as "safe" as we once were.  And, because the area we live in is a "dying community", that makes us, as a church, all too aware of having fewer people in the pews and fewer coins in the offering plate.  Yes, there seem to be good reasons for Fear to be spending time with us.

And yet... This week's Gospel reading from the Gospel of John tells us the familiar miracle story of Jesus feeding the 5,000.  It's the only miracle story that is told in all four Gospels.  The disciples and Jesus have no food to give to the mass of people who have followed him out to a hillside.  A small boy has five barley loaves and two fish.  Jesus blesses this food, distributes it to those gathered, they eat and are "satisfied" (the Greek word used has messianic overtones and speaks of being truly filled-- spiritually and bodily, perhaps).  When they are done, there are still twelve baskets leftover.

In light of our fears, I can't help but read this passage this week and be reminded that we worship a God who PROVIDES!  All it took was one person, one small person, to share what they had, and Jesus was able to multiply it so that there was more than enough.

In this nation, most of us have far more than enough.

We lament the loss of security since 9-11, and yet, I can walk through the streets of my town and be fairly sure that I will not step on a landmine, be ambushed by snipers or assaulted in my home.   There are many places in the world where I could not do that.

We cry over the forced restrictions on water, and yet, we should be doing them anyway!  There is still water from my tap when I turn it on, and while it is not the "best water", it is at least clean.  There are many places in the world where people have to walk a mile or more to get water, and then it is often contaminated.

We lament the rising cost of food and gasoline, while our paychecks remain the same or dwindle, and yet, most of us has far more than we really NEED.

In John's Gospel, the miracle of feeding the 5000 is followed by the story of Jesus walking on water through a storm that he calms.  The disciples are terrified.  Jesus says, "Do not be afraid.  It is I."  Once the disciples invite him into the boat, IMMEDIATELY they are "on the land to which they were headed."

We worship the Risen Christ.  Can we not find words of hope in these passages, words that will, at the very least, bring that darned elephant back to a manageable size?  Can we not be like the young boy, and share what we have so that Jesus might multiply it and bless others through our gifts?  Can we not invite Christ "on board" in the midst of our storms, and IMMEDIATELY find ourselves in a better place?

Wishing you all peace.

SpiritSong

I Lift My Eyes Unto the Hills

After planning for months and months (actually years and years) for our "Great Family Vacation West", I spent our four days of vacation in Cody, Wyoming in a hospital room—the first day following surgery was spent in Intensive Care and the last three in a room on the third floor. The sun shone brightly in my room each and every morning. Not only that, but I noticed immediately that I had a room with a view!

The nurses thought I was kidding. They would come in and ask me if I was sure that I didn’t want them to close the blinds a little. “No, thanks,” I would reply. “I like the view.” Usually that was met with a snort and a comment about my “at least having kept a sense of humor”. You see, the nurses could only see the construction zone for the new hospital wing from my window. I was looking beyond to the mountains.

“I will lift mine eyes unto the hills. From whence cometh my help? My help comes from the Lord, who made heaven and earth.” Those words were my source of strength during some frightening and painful hours. During my stay, those mountains were my spiritual anchor.

Mountains, while not exactly “timeless”, are certainly enduring. As we crossed the Big Horn Mountain Range, there was periodically a sign telling us the age of this section of rock or another. One section might be 37-40 billion years old while another is a mere 25 million. It served, to me, as a wonderful reminder of the enduring nature of God. Perhaps, mountains “call to me” as a reminder of God’s eternity. God was before the mountains, created the mountains and will endure long after these mountains crumble.

On Sunday morning, our family gathered in the lovely little chapel just down the hall from my room. Behind the altar was a picture window and the view was of another mountain range of Cody. During my stay, I had watched the sun rise and set on these mountains. On this morning, there was a mist of clouds hiding the top of the highest peaks. I was reminded, in this, of God’s comforting nature, surrounding us, enveloping us with His love and strength when we are weak and broken.

I had a lot of time for reflection and prayer last week. There were prayers of anguish in the midst of pain that echoed the psalmist: “Out of my depths I cry to you, O Lord. O Lord, hear my voice!” There were prayers of faith when we did not know what kind of bacterial infection we were up against, and the doctors feared the worst. There were also prayers of gratitude for nurses who blessed me—only one or two were “just doing their job”. Most of them were God’s own agents of comfort and healing. I can’t even remember all their names, but I have committed myself to praying for them.

· For Elizabeth who will go to Nambia in Africa this summer for her yearly medical mission trip. She had shared with me how powerful recent experiences in the Dominican Republic had been for her, and how much she looks forward to this chance to serve.

· For Kris who showed me such compassion when she found me crying over the menus I was supposed to fill out on my tray because I had thought I was going home that day, not planning my meals for the weekend! ("If I don't know when you're going home, I assure you the kitchen staff sure as hell doesn't!") She sometimes came down to just chat, even the night that I wasn’t her assigned patient.

· For Sue, the ICU nurse who fixed me a bowl of beef broth (incidentally the best thing I tasted while there) in her own coffee mug, and then gave it to me as a gift—probably knowing it was going to be my only souvenir of Cody!

There are blessings that I am claiming from this. The biggest is that I saw God all around me—the staff, the mountains and the unquestionable answer to prayers.

My doctor told me on his last visit that I had presented all the classic signs of someone who would have that flesh-eating bacterial infection. I was run-down. I am diabetic. I had a massive infection. “There’s no good reason why you didn’t have it”, he said. I just smiled. There is a very good reason, for it. You know it. I know it.

“I lift up my eyes to the hills— from where will my help come? My help comes from the Lord, who made heaven and earth. He will not let your foot be moved; he who keeps you will not slumber. He who keeps Israel will neither slumber nor sleep. The Lord is your keeper; the Lord is your shade at your right hand. The sun shall not strike you by day, nor the moon by night. The Lord will keep you from all evil; he will keep your life. The Lord will keep your going out and your coming in from this time on and forevermore." (Psalm 121)

My help comes from the Lord. Each of you has either faced, or will face that dark time in your life when you desperately search for a spiritual anchor. Whether it is this scripture verse or another… or even a hymn… cling to the words and the promise that will give you strength: Our God will keep our going out and coming in from this time on and forevermore. Thanks be to God!

Things My Kitten Knows #1

Lesson #1: There is no such thing as TOO much happiness.

About a month ago, our family dealt with the natural death of a beloved pet. My husband pointed out that I was taking her death harder than he expected. It wasn't unexpected to me at all. You see, Shadow-- a "non-pedigree, long-haired farm cat"-- had come into our family on the same day as our oldest adopted son. In fact, she was part of the package deal: one six-year-old boy who had been abused in his birth home, and less-than-a-year-old cat, who had been tormented by the boy.

She was as skittish as he, and as unwilling to trust. She hid under beds and barely tolerated us noticing her, let alone petting her or (God forbid!) picking her up. The boy was amenable to hugs most of the time, but could cuss like a sailor if pushed into a corner. She was easily de-clawed. His claws came out from time to time, along with a violent streak that simmered just below the surface. She wouldn't have dreamed of running away- too timid to venture outside. He usually ran away from school once a year-- always with the intention of running HOME.

Gradually, he learned to trust his new family. Gradually she learned to trust me. Eventually, she even allowed me to pick her up and hold her for a moment or two, knowing that as soon as she began to twist out of my arms, I would gently place her on the floor and allow her to be free. And once in a while, she would even lay on my lap-- as long as there was a blanket on it. This prompted the boy, about six years ago, to give her to me. "She's your cat anyway, Mom."

As difficult as it was for her to acclimate herself to transitions, it was even harder for her boy. Because of his mental illnesses, past abuse and learning disabilities, his path has not been an easy one. Psychiatric hospitals, treatment facilities, juvenile detention and now, prison time have made his "place" in our family one that is precarious at best. He has not lived in our home for the past six years, and at times, we do not even know how to reach him.

Shadow was the last living link I had to him in our home... other than, of course, my husband.

The grief for her dying is layered with grief for so much more.

Of course, the relationship with our son has been "dying" for years. Oh, we love him and will continue to do what we are able when we can.... But we will never have that "ideal" relationship that all parents hope for.

I wasn't aware of just how much sadness surrounded that until my husband came home two weeks ago and announced, "It's not fair!" It seems that a little puff-ball of fur had planted himself on my husband's shoe while he walked home from work. "I could shoo away any other cat in town", he claimed, but this one had big blue eyes. As soon as I saw him, I was smitten. He was smitten. Our two teenagers were smitten.

Cass (for Cassanova) has brought our family together in a way that surprised us all. We sit together in the living room and laugh at his antics. We take turns telling each other the silly things he has done now. We snip at each other less and laugh WITH each other more. We compare our "battle scars" (he still has his front claws and knows how to play with them!) and the love that we shower on him seems to spill over into love we show each other.

And we are ALL taking note of the patience being shown by our old black cat.

Lesson #1: There is no such thing as TOO much happiness!