Living In Between

Everywhere I turn these days I find reminders that I'm living "in between" -- in between Exeter and Indianapolis; Christ Church and St. Paul's; the house I'm trying to sell and the one I've not yet found to buy. I go to church and find that not only do I have less to do, but also I see others working on things that have nothing to do with me. Yes, I'm still the rector, but I'm leaving so I'm becoming increasingly irrelevant here. At the same time, I'm communicating with folks in Indianapolis. No, I'm not the rector there yet, but I'm becoming more relevant there with each passing week. In Exeter, people are starting to move on without me (as they should). In Indianapolis, they are moving forward while I try to catch up.

Really, the whole experience is very odd . . . and a bit unnerving at times.

Living "in between" can certainly raise anxiety. There are all of those unanswered questions. Perhaps it's just me or perhaps it's human nature, but that desire to know how everything is going to work out can be very strong.

So, I was very thankful for a conversation I had a little while ago. I was talking with a member of Christ Church. It was very much an "in between" conversation. We knew it was one of the last times we will talk while I'm here, but it isn't really the last time we will see each other. So, there were some final thoughts expressed at the same time that we could say, "See you on Sunday."

Anyway, in the midst of talking about the transition at Christ Church and my transition, about saying good-bye and how hard this is, he said, "It's all good."

Amen! It's all good. For Christ Church, St. Paul's, and the Densons, there is much to look forward to. Despite all the unanswered questions (and perhaps because of them), living "in between" is good. At least, it's good for people of faith. And I don't mean some sort of blind faith that accepts divine will as if we have no choices. I mean the sort of faith that implicitly trusts that the Lord we follow is one who brings good out of everything. It is the sort of faith that looks for possibilities and finds a sense of adventure in the unanswered questions. It is the sort of faith that accepts that the only way to get where God is calling us is to walk through the "in between."

"Now faith is the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things unseen." (Hebrews 11:1)

Nice words for me to remember in this season of life (or any other season, I guess!)

Living "in between." It's all good!

Finding Yourself by Losing Yourself

Excellent column by David Brooks in today's New York Times. Click on the title and read "It's Not About You." In this graduation season, Brooks is taking on the general theme of commencement addresses in which graduates are told "to find their passion and then pursue their dreams."

Now, on the surface this would not seem to be such a bad thing to say. I've said this to my kids (ages 19 and 16) several times. But Brooks challenges this sentiment with, in my opinion, some powerful words.

"Most successful young people don't look inside and then plan a life. They look outside and a problem, which summons their life. . . . Most people don't form a self and then lead a life. They are called by a problem, and the self is constructed gradually by their calling."

I'm not overly fond of Brooks' use of the word "task." I'm not sure that I agree that "fulfillment is a byproduct of how people engage their tasks." Perhaps this is simply semantics. Instead of task I would use the word "practice." In other words, it is through the way we practice our lives – when what we do is aligned with our passion, identity, and gifts – that empowers us to become most fully who God has created us to be.

From my perspective this is true not only for individuals. It is also true for communities. When our community practices align with our identity, purpose, and mission, we manifest most fully the grace, mercy, and presence of Christ in the world.

"The purpose of life," Brooks writes, "is not to find yourself. It is to lose yourself."

Hmmmm . . . sounds familiar, don't you think?

Jesus said, "If any want to become my followers, let them deny themselves and take up the cross and follow me. For those who want to save their life will lose it, and those who lose their life for my sake, and the for the sake of the gospel, will save it." (Mark 8:34-35)

Considering the Common Good

So, here we are in Memorial Day weekend, the unofficial beginning of summer, and according to an article I read this morning in the Boston Globe there are places in the western US that cannot open their campgrounds because they have too much snow. There are actually some ski areas still open!

Which brings to mind the insane weather we've had this spring and the terrible cost, damage, and loss of life that has resulted from it. I found myself the other day complaining about the weather in New Hampshire because it had been cool and wet for days and days and days.

My complaining was put in perspective by a comment I read in James Carroll's column, "Amid disaster, community" in Monday's Boston Globe. Carroll quoted a woman who is losing her home (not just her home, but her entire town) to the deliberate flooding along the Mississippi River in order to save larger cities. Her town was deliberately sacrificed. Here's what she said: "While we understand the reasoning behind it, it's still hard to accept. It's a no-brainer when you look at sacrificing our small community to save New Orleans and Baton Rouge. I'm not angry. I've resigned myself."

Wow! And I'm complaining about overcast skies!

Carroll shares this quote in his column as an illustration of the power of a community attitude over a "me-first" attitude. Quoting Carroll here:

"The broadly positive spirit that greeted the heartbreaking need to put the welfare of many above that of a few represents the opposite of 'not in my backyard,' the refusal to carry weight for the common good that has become a hallmark of contemporary American life. In the Mississippi valley, thousands of backyards are under water, with assent."

I read something sad and hopeful here. On the one hand, I believe Carroll is correct. Contemporary American life is overly narcissistic and focused on "what's in this for me." On the other hand, when faced with a challenge and crisis, some people can focus on the good of the whole, even if they must make a sacrifice. Wouldn't it be nice if this sort of community spirit was the norm and not the exception? Wouldn't it be nice if this community spirit was so normal it would not have be written about as exceptional?

One of the core characteristics of faithful, vital churches is that they are committed to the common good. They foster and create a community spirit that calls people to a higher view of the world in which we live. These churches invite people to work for the good of the whole community.

A lot of congregations are struggling today. I'm guessing they'd struggle less if they focused more on the common good and less on their own needs. I believe these congregations would actually grow in vitality if they live as witnesses of a community attitude, just the sort of attitude Jesus calls us to embody.

Shrinking Attendance Means Stronger Church?

I'm sitting here at Me and Ollie's in the Exeter and no one is coming over to talk to me. Finally, I have a chance to write a blog post with some information I've been holding onto for a couple of months (my, how time flies!).

Here's the question: How religious are we, really, in the United States?

According to the 2007 U.S. Religious Landscape Survey published by the Pew Forum on Religion and Public Life, 71% of Americans believe in God but only 39% attend religious services once per week (for a state-by-state breakdown go to "How Religious is Your State?").

According to an article in the Spring 2011 edition of the Public Opinion Quarterly (as reported on March 6 by the Boston Globe), it's possible that this "lukewarm" percentage for attendance is actually inflated. POQ reports that "studies of how people use their time have found that the attendance rate is lower by 10 to 20 percentage points."

I'm not a math genius and perhaps it's not this simple, but I'm assuming this means that, in fact, only 19% to 29% of Americans attend religious services weekly. In New Hampshire and Vermont, we're talking about 3% to 13% if we adjust the numbers down from the Pew Forum survey.

And let's remember that this includes all religions, not only people who claim to be Christian and go to an institutional church.

Before anyone starts to panic, perhaps we should remember that this is measuring weekly attendance. I think it is safe to say that a lot of people who go to church these days don't attend weekly because of a variety of other commitments in life and the fact that so many other events and activities now happen on Sunday. So, one can easily conclude that while the number of weekly attenders is low, that does not necessarily reflect how many people actually participate actively in a faith community.

I want to offer two possible pieces of good news here.

First, since there is no societal expectation that one be religious today, the people who come to church actually want to be there. From my experience, they are more committed to Jesus and to the church because they are personally motivated to participate. That makes us smaller but stronger.

Second, changes in religious practice are forcing those of us who lead the church to rethink who we are and why we are here. We can't simply follow the old models and expect that it will continue to work. I hear more and more people saying it's time for those of us in the mainline denominations to wake up, to focus on Jesus, and to reach out in new ways that embody the love of Jesus in the world. The more we are talking about this, the better prepared we will be to live faithfully today and in the future.

Whatever the numbers may say, I am hopeful. I know that the falling numbers mean that many congregations are and will struggle. Some of them will even die.

But if we can open ourselves to the movement of the Spirit and redefine our communities, the church can once again flourish as Christ's body in the world. Perhaps we will not be as dominant in society as we once were. But we may just become more faithful and authentic, more focused on our mission, and more effective witnesses of the active love of God in the world.

Shouting Out on Mother’s Day

It's Mother's Day. In the Episcopal Church we do not celebrate Mother's Day, at least not directly. The scripture readings and prayers will be those appointed for the Third Sunday of Easter. I can't find any inspiration there for a blog post!

Looking elsewhere, I go to one of my favorite "mother" passages in scripture (Matthew 15:21-27).

Jesus left that place and went away to the district of Tyre and Sidon. ²²Just then a Canaanite woman from that region came out and started shouting, "Have mercy on me, Lord, Son of David; my daughter is tormented by a demon."²³But he did not answer her at all. And his disciples came and urged him, saying, "Send her away, for she keeps shouting after us."²⁴He answered, "I was sent only to the lost sheep of the house of Israel."²⁵But she came and knelt before him, saying, "Lord, help me."²⁶He answered, "It is not fair to take the children's food and throw it to the dogs."²⁷She said, "Yes, Lord, yet even the dogs eat the crumbs that fall from their masters' table."²⁸Then Jesus answered her, "Woman, great is your faith! Let it be done for you as you wish." And her daughter was healed instantly.

I love this passage because it represents one aspect of motherhood that I think we often overlook on this "Hallmark" holiday with its overly sentimental cards and messages. Here we find a mother who will not give up on her daughter, who will shout until that demon is cast out of her. I wonder if the daughter is embarrassed by her mother's persistence. I imagine her cringing a bit. She's heard this before and probably wishes her mother would just be quiet. But the mother loves her daughter and is going to keep shouting until someone does something to help. The daughter may be embarrassed, but underneath she is thankful that someone is looking out for her and is willing to do anything for her. This is not simply a story of great faith. It is a story of great love, of a mother's love.

Happy Mother's Day to my mom, to my mother-in-law, and to my wife! Thank you for loving your children, for your willingness to shout out for them in their time of greatest need. Thank you for being examples for all of us of great faith, abiding hope, and fearless love.

Looking for God in all the Wrong Places

OK, it's been so long since I've posted anything that I'm thinking I need to put something--anything--on this blog! Although, I have to lead contemplative prayer pretty soon, so I'd better make this fast!

It's almost Holy Week, so it's time (actually, it's beyond time) for clergy to be hyper-focused on liturgical preparation. All the more reason why I need this quote to remind me that the purpose of all of this liturgy we will be doing over the next 11 days or so is to provide an opportunity for people to meet Jesus, not for me to glorify the church.

"I sometimes feel inclined to wonder why God hides himself so inscrutably from our experience. Or is it that the church has taught us for so long to look for him in the wrong places?"

This is from the Rev. Oswin Creighton who was a Church of England chaplain to the 86th Brigade of the 29th Division during World War I (it comes from a book titled, With the 29th Division in Gallipoli--no, I haven't read the book).

I guess this is a great example of "the more things change, the more they stay the same." Perhaps Oswin was ringing this hands as much as many do today about the paradoxical ways that the church tries to be the Body of Christ while also upholding the institutional "stuff" that seems so very important.

More on that another time. For now, it's time for contemplative prayer.

Time to worship. Time to pray. Time to find Jesus . . . hopefully in the right places.

Self-Expansion or Common Enterprise?

"We're an overconfident species." So writes columnist David Brooks in The Modesty Manifesto printed in this past Friday's New York Times.

He goes on to write that "there's abundant evidence to suggest that we have shifted from a culture that emphasized self-effacement -- I'm no better than anyone else, but nobody is better than me -- to a culture that emphasizes self-expansion."

This is possibly, he believes, a reason for some of our current problems in the United States. We have so inflated our sense of self, so fallen into narcissism, that political leaders are no longer motivated to listen to those who disagree with them, making it nearly impossible to reach the sort of compromise, let alone consensus, that allows us to make the difficult decisions that will have a long-term impact on the United States.

"Citizenship, after all," he writes, "is built on an awareness that we are not all that special but are, instead, enmeshed in a common enterprise."

I think Brooks is on to something here that speaks directly to a central challenge for congregational life in these early years of the 21st century. We in the church are trying to create religious communities in an age in which people are looking for personal spiritual fulfillment. In other words, it seems to me that so often people seek a church because they are yearning for self-expansion.

Understand, please, that I'm not being critical. Too many people have been hurt or pushed down by the church, their schools, or some other institution (or even their families). As Jesus did with the woman who committed adultery (see John 8:2-11) we need to lift people up, proclaiming to them that they are not condemned but loved. There are a lot of people out there who need some healthy self-expansion.

Yet didn't Jesus invite us to give up our selves and follow him? Are we not inviting people into a divine community, into a religious citizenship that is, to use Brooks' words, "enmeshed in a common enterprise"? To create this community, don't we need to invite people to look beyond their own personal fulfillment to work for the fulfillment of the whole? And is it not true that, paradoxically, each of us finds our truest sense of fulfillment when we give our selves over to the Jesus we experience and make manifest together?

So, it's Lent and for those of us who gathered at church on Ash Wednesday, we've been invited "to the observance of a holy Lent, by self-examination and repentance; by prayer, fasting, and self-denial; and by reading and meditating on God's holy Word" (Book of Common Prayer, p. 265).

There's a lot of "self" in that invitation, but somehow I'm thinking that all of this spiritual "work" I'm supposed to do during Lent is not supposed to be all about me, that it's not all about my personal relationship with Jesus.

What might happen if, during Lent, we focused on our relationships with both Jesus and each other, if we focused on our "common enterprise." That might even lead to some transformation, an expansion not simply of the self but of the community.

I'm thinking that -- perhaps -- that could be just what Jesus wanted.