Some Wesleyan Advice for When We Disagree

During the last two weeks the sound and fury that was General Conference 2012 stormed and echoed around our United Methodist connexion. As bishops presided over parliamentary procedure, and delegates rose to speak at microphone regarding the many political or theological issues being addressed, I was struck by how counter to the words of John Wesley our witness seemed.

Over and over, whether it be through discussion in committee or by putting items up for a vote on the floor, various delegates and leaders of our Church put forth theological assertions for all to assent. And, of course, never did all agree on anything (10% even voted not to honor Martin Luther King, Jr. among the list of “modern martyrs”). In so many words, leaders declared to one another that they were mistaken. And in the midst of our disagreements we shifted into what some referred to as “unholy conversation” rather than the true act of communicating and communing with one another in love. We broke our first rule, “do no harm,” and we did it amongst ourselves!

Which brings me back to Wesley. In his preface to his first collected series of sermons his own request for when someone felt he was mistaken:

“some may say, I have mistaken the way myself, although I take upon me to teach it to others. It is probable many will think this, and it is very possible that I have. But I trust, whereinsoever I have mistaken, my mind is open to conviction. I sincerely desire to be better informed. I say to God and man, “What I know not, teach thou me!”

“Are you persuaded you see more clearly than me? It is not unlikely that you may. Then treat me as you would desire to be treated yourself upon a change of circumstances. Point me out a better way than I have yet known. Show me it is so, by plain proof of Scripture. And if I linger in the path I have been accustomed to tread, and am therefore unwilling to leave it, labour with me a little; take me by the hand, and lead me as I am able to bear. But be not displeased if I entreat you not to beat me down in order to quicken my pace: I can go but feebly and slowly at best; then, I should not be able to go at all. May I not request of you, further, not to give me hard names in order to bring me into the right way. Suppose I were ever so much in the wrong, I doubt this would not set me right. Rather, it would make me run so much the farther from you, and so get more and more out of the way.

“Nay, perhaps, if you are angry, so shall I be too; and then there will be small hopes of finding the truth. If once anger arise, Eute kapnos, (as Homer somewhere expresses it,) this smoke will so dim the eyes of my soul, that I shall be able to see nothing clearly. For God’s sake, if it be possible to avoid it, let us not provoke one another to wrath. Let us not kindle in each other this fire of hell; much less blow it up into a flame. If we could discern truth by that dreadful light, would it not be loss, rather than gain? For, how far is love, even with many wrong opinions, to be preferred before truth itself without love!”

How far is love, even with many wrong opinions, to be preferred before truth itself without love!

I pray that in the future we may find ways to better live out the humble example of Mr. Wesley.

Faith is a battle… …the greater jihad.

As I shared previously, we’re called to battle against evil forces and toward justice, kindness, grace. And I promised to reflect on the principal field over which we battle. To do so, I want to turn to a word of truth I learned from a leader of another faith.

Years ago, shortly after the terrorist attack of September 11, the local church I served as an associate pastor invited a local Muslim Imam in to our congregation to share about Islam; to teach our members about Muslim Scripture and faith. Bringing his family and others from his faith community, he presented a moderate understanding of a different faith that shared much in common with our own. He also pointed out how, just as it has been and is true in Christianity, there are particular extremist groups and individuals that take particular aspects of the faith further than others.

During the question and answer period, it inevitably occurred that someone from our congregation challenged the Imam on the nature of “jihad” as presented in the Quran (or at least this individual’s understanding of what the Quran said about it via media portrayals). As I remember it, the Imam paused for a moment, and then answered the question, indicating that the Quran did indeed talk about different forms of “jihad”, and that there were passages that called for “jihad” against what was seen as impure or infidel. But then he continued by emphasizing that although such passages existed, there were more passages that emphasized that is called the “greater jihad.” This particular “holy war,” he taught, was not fought openly against people of other faith, but was the internal battle that all Muslims were called to fight on their road away from evil and toward holiness. In his own view, the majority of Muslims knew and saw that engagement in this “greater jihad” had to be the first and forefront battle of their faith; and only extremists pursued “jihad” against people of other faiths or nations.

Despite the fact that my memory of the day’s conversation is likely incomplete and faulty, the image of the “greater jihad” and the teaching/implication that it should be primary and completed before any other “jihad” begun, has stayed with me. I believe this is because, in no small way, the idea expresses what I believe should be a priority for Christians, as well. I’d articulate it simply: before we go to battle against anyone else, we ought to settle the battle within ourselves.

Jesus might have articulated it this way, too. After all, he did teach us…

let he who is without sin cast the first stone (John 8:7)

and

why do you look to the speck in your brother’s eye, when there is a log in your own? (Matt 7:3)

I wrote earlier that “faith is not a battle… except when it is.”

Now I would suggest that the primary battlefield on which we are called to suit up and take up shield and sword is within us. Our primary battle is to take a strong stand against the evil influences of this world – whether you want to name these forces as the devil, or original sin, or somehow psychologically explain them as our natural bent toward doing what is self-centered, wrong, and/or hurtful to others.

I would suggest that we are all engaged, all the time, in this battle. Whether we are consciously aware of it or not, if we have given our hearts and lives to Jesus Christ, in some form our internal “spiritual self” is at war with our alive, alert, awake, walking-around, real-life self.

I believe that the greatest good we can do in the world – the greatest achievements for justice and kindness for all – are in part the result of the hard work we do within our hearts as we seek to be transformed after the example of Christ. It is from this internal battle – this “greater jihad” whereby our hearts stand firm against self-interested and greed and all the other evils of this world in the interest of being Christ-centered – that our transformed lives are then able to bear witness to the gospel of Jesus Christ in meaningful ways. It is from a heart transformed that justice, mercy and kindness most readily flow to others.

That this is a battle I can share from my own spiritual life and journey. The easiest example is to cite that the fruit (or aim?) of a life in Christ seem ever far from me:

“the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, generosity, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control.” (Galatians 5:22-23)

If these are what is wrought within a heart and life given over to Christ, then I am far from being the Christian I would long to be.

In so many ways, I am constantly embroiled with an ongoing spiritual battle. And, despite the encouragement of Paul that I am equipped to stand firm against the forces that would corrupt and battle against me, sometimes it feels as though my “spiritual” self simply comes only alongside my “real” self in its defeat. That is, it feels as though my personal spiritual yearnings are not quite strong enough to engage in, let alone succeed at, the battle. I hope for rescue, for salvation.

It all reminds me of a particular story / image, actually:

The brave young doctor climbs onto the pyre as it is being lit, insisting that if his sister is to be burned as a witch, he will stay by her side. Suddenly an arriving ship stirs up a commotion, and two figures walk toward the fire:

Mal: Appears we got here just in the nick of time. What does that make us?

Zoe: Big damn heroes, sir!

Mal: Ain’t we just?

(Firefly episode, “Safe”)

(What? You were expecting a Biblical story?)

So… if I often feel I’m losing my spiritual battle… if I am failing in my “greater jihad”… if my spiritual self is giving up and climbing onto the pyre along with my real self to await fiery destruction… who is going to swoop in and be my “big damn hero”? Who will rescue me?

“Thanks be to God, who delivers me through Jesus Christ our Lord!” (Romans 7:25)

(there it is!)

The battle of faith we are daily engaged in is directly related to – and dependent upon! – the good news that is unique to Christian faith: our salvation is by the word and gift of God (e.g., the very definition of “grace,” which C.S. Lewis once wisely indicated was the single unique aspect of Christianity). Left to our own devices, we invariably would fail in said battle; we would succumb to the powers of evil and sin that ever lie in wait in both the world and the human heart.

But, as Paul reminds us, thanks be to God that through faith in Jesus Christ we are not left alone! Sure, we are invited to

“work out our own salvation with fear and trembling” (Phil 2:12)

but that is in partnership with the Lord, whose initiative of grace precedes and prefigures our own initiative. In this way, the old saying/song “the battle belongs to the Lord” is right on. The battle we are called to and equipped for is first and foremost the successful work of God.

“he who began a good work will carry it on to completion…” (Phil 1:6)

In this sense, faith is a battle.

This ongoing battle is the “greater jihad” we are called to. It is the very work of grace in our lives. God is at work in and through us as preventing grace calls us to faith, as justifying grace brings us forgiveness, and as sanctifying grace continually works toward our transformation.

And yet, as pointed out above, we are invited to do our part. Some action is necessary for us to come alongside God in this battle.

Sadly, it is all-too-easy for me to forget that this battle is the Lord’s, and instead think that the battle is mine alone to fight. I easily fall into the trap of thinking and acting as though it is my own actions that are necessary, and that it is my own work that saves me.

Yet the actions most necessary are simply those that help me to connect with God’s ongoing presence and work. I am called to use the means God has given us, called the “means of grace,” to nurture my personal transformation through works of piety and engage in the transformation of our world (social holiness) through works of mercy.

I do not believe that we are called to view our faith as a “battle” with others. Rather, I believe we are called to a battle that takes place within the human heart, and specifically our own. As we are transformed within and become more aligned to the will and direction of God – through works of piety and mercy – we wage an ongoing battle against the “evils” that antagonize every person (once summarized within our tradition into 7 principle, “deadly” sins: wrath, greed, sloth, pride, lust, envy, gluttony).

This battlefield is the very same I have written about before, and which so preoccupies my own spiritual journey, for it is also our journey toward purity of heart; it is our inner and outer transformation as we work towards grater Christ-likeness. This is the “greater jihad,” an ongoing battle within and for our hearts; a battle at the core of our identity that then influences all we do and say in the world around us.

Friends, may you know the presence and power of God through your faith in Jesus Christ;
may the grace of our Lord empower you to “fight the good fight” against whatever evils lurk in the shadows of your heart;
may you know Jesus as a “big damn hero”;
may the means of grace sustain, equip, and encourage you;
and may you strive to fight another day.

—

I want to share a related observation that does not fit quite so neatly above.

Remember Paul’s word of encouragement to the Christians about the “armor of God”? I want to point out that we are equipped for our battle against evil powers with primarily defensive means:

• Defensive (5): the belt of truth, the breastplate of righteousness, the gospel of peace for our feet, the shield of faith, the helmet of salvation.
• Offensive (1): sword of the Spirit / word of God

Although the Spirit / word of God is described as a sword, I would observe that it is not intended to be a weapon against other people. Unfortunately, all-too-often some people misuse Scripture in such a way; blasting away at others’ views with salvos of proof-texts. As I read the metaphor in its context, I would observe that the Word of God is to be used as a weapon against wickedness. (And perhaps it, too, is meant to be used defensively.)

Jesus gives us an example. In the story of his own temptation as found in the Gospel of Luke, Chapter 4. After each one of the three temptations that he experiences, Jesus responds with a word of Scripture that serves to parry the temptation. When beset by evil, Jesus stood faithful, and only replied with portions of the word that encouraged and sustained him.

Faith is not a battle… except when it is.

I’ve been meaning to address this for some time, as the thought has been rattling around the recesses of my addled mind. Once again, as I watch the live-stream of our quadrennial General Conference I find myself drawn into MacJournal to finally compose my thoughts…

Dear Friends:

Faith is not a battle.

Look, the whole reason I find myself ruminating on this issue is that even today, in what I would hope is a Church increasingly open theologically and ecumenically, I have had others express concern – and condemnation – in word and action because my personal views contribute to us “losing” the battle for people’s souls. Such comments are reflective of an outdated view of Christendom that Christian faith is a battle we are called to fight – that people are equivalent to the spoils of war we are called to “win” or “lose” by our actions. I would suggest that, even if just rhetorical, equating faith with warfare leads to initiatives such as the Crusades or denominational exclusivism.

Sadly, sometimes the image and language of battle and “winners” and “losers” also makes its way into church life, decisions, and polity. It is hard to watch the live feed and Twitter comments regarding our ongoing General Conference and not experience some implication that we are even at battle among ourselves! When we face controversial issues or decisions, we speak of “sides”; and often, both sides use similar tactics: salvos of Biblical proof-texts “proving” one’s viewpoint; arguments that “the church will continue to decline” so long as the other side pushes/pursues its agenda; passionate pleas of advocacy invoking personal stories or the intent of tradition…

Friends, I recall to your attention that our faith – collective and individual – is not based around a super heroic figure who rode into Jerusalem in the armor of a white knight, to bring the truth to the godless heathen via political or spiritual conquest. Our faith is centered in the very Lamb of God, who entered the citadel of religious order of his day with great humility and at great price; who brings truth to you and me through transformative means of grace, not the habits of war. So how can we equate salvation in Christ to a battle that has to be won against people whose views, faiths, or perspectives differ from our own?

I say it again, emphatically: faith is not a battle!

Well… except when it is.

Indeed, I would suggest that in a critical way, faith is a battle. An ongoing, imperative battle that all Christians are called to fight. A battle that we can be well-equipped for. That equipment is well articulated on a coin that I keep on my desk or in my pocket (a Christmas gift from a church-member who is in the military). On the coin is an image of a knight’s armor, and a quotation from Ephesians 6:11-13. Here’s a longer quotation for context:

10 Finally, be strong in the Lord and in his mighty power. 11 Put on the full armor of God, so that you can take your stand against the devil’s schemes. 12 For our struggle is not against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the powers of this dark world and against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly realms. 13 Therefore put on the full armor of God, so that when the day of evil comes, you may be able to stand your ground, and after you have done everything, to stand. 14 Stand firm then, with the belt of truth buckled around your waist, with the breastplate of righteousness in place, 15 and with your feet fitted with the readiness that comes from the gospel of peace. 16 In addition to all this, take up the shield of faith, with which you can extinguish all the flaming arrows of the evil one. 17 Take the helmet of salvation and the sword of the Spirit, which is the word of God.

According to Paul, we do face a battle against external forces – but Paul asserts that it is not against other human beings, e.g. “flesh and blood,” but (as the NCV tries to simply it) against “the spiritual powers of evil.” We are called to battle, against evil. In the words of the membership vows of The United Methodist Church, we accept the power and freedom of God to “resist evil, injustice, and oppression in whatever forms they present themselves.” We are called to take stands for good, for justice, for equality. In essence, we are called to manifest the very direction of God:

He has told you, O mortal, what is good; and what does the Lord require of you but to do justice, and to love kindness, and to walk humbly with your God? (Micah 6:8)

As Christians, we are called – and equipped – to resist evil and injustice. We are called to battle the power and influence of evil, whether we define it as the “schemes of Satan” or as the result of humanity’s bent toward evil. As Methodists, we articulate specifically that we are called to “do no harm” and to “do good.” And like a battle, this is a difficult and mighty work to which we are called.

Thankfully, according to Paul’s word of encouragement to the Christians in Ephesus, we are equipped for battle:

• the belt of truth
• the breastplate of righteousness
• the gospel of peace for our feet (I like the notion that it is the gospel of peace that is to get us moving!)
• the shield of faith
• the helmet of salvation
• the sword of the Spirit / word of God

These are the means by which we are called to go forth into the world to resist evil and injustice – truth, righteousness, the gospel of peace, faith, salvation, and God’s Word / Spirit.

Think for a moment about what it would mean to re-define “winners” and “losers” based off such a call and utilizing such tools. I would suggest that there can be justice, kindness, and humble faith amid great religious and spiritual diversity, so the battle we face is not about “winning souls” to “our side.” I would suggest that the very description of the equipment we are given gives a particular framework for the battle we face, and it is not the sense that we often hear or use.

And I would suggest that despite the fact that our struggle against evil may result in myriad actions for good and justice in the world, the first and primary battlefield is the same for us all. And to that I’ll turn in my next post.

For now, I reassert: faith is not a battle… except when it is.

And I leave you with a benediction that I also address to myself this day:

May your “battle” for faith not drive you into conflict with other people;

may you find “truth” and “faith” to be means of protection against the onslaughts of evil;

may you be encouraged and enabled to resist evil, injustice, and oppression in whatever forms they present themselves;

and may you, O Mortal, know and do what is good: doing justice, loving mercy, and walking humbly with God.

Amen.

Looking back, to move forward…

As I continue to monitor Facebook, Twitter, and other more “official” coverage of our United Methodist General Conference, I’m struck by some comments that talk about “looking back to Egypt,” about wanting to return to the halcyon days of the 1950s of the Church, and otherwise denigrate anyone looking to the past.

Well, I suppose that I should confess: lately I’ve been looking back a lot.

Now, I’ve heard the metaphorical comparisons. I know that in driving this is not always the best idea. And I’ve heard it said that we should be more focused on forward vision than wistful and nostalgic glimpses at our rear-view mirror. But, personally, I find myself looking back in order to more clearly move forward.

To wit, I was recently asked if I would be the new chairperson of our annual conference’s Board of Camping. Before you get the idea that this is an accolade or something I should be excited about, I should share that the camping ministries of the Desert Southwest Conference are struggling. You could describe it as a crisis, even. For over a decade, the ministry has required far greater funding to maintain than it engenders, and in the same period of time the number of children and youth ministered to via this ministry has declined by 50%. So as I take on leadership of a Board ostensibly responsible for the health and vitality of the camping and retreat ministries, I do so with the reservations and obvious recognition that it cannot continue as it has. (And since I’m naturally impatient, I’m not willing to allow change to be slow or gradual. As some of you might have seen on Facebook, I’ve already initiated conversations on how we might re-envision and radically re-develop our camping ministry… or decommission it completely, if necessary.)

One of the steps I have taken of late is to “look back” at the elements of successful camping ministries of the past; to consider some of the aspects that went in to a ministry that actively engaged children and youth in Christian faith and discipleship. Not because we can simply repeat it – I fully recognize that the world is radically different and requires different means of ministry! – but because I do believe that we can learn what was successful in one ministry to meeting humans needs as a way of better identifying what might be successful in a new setting.

In addition, like many clergy in a local congregation, I find that I look back to the wisdom of others’ experience to help guide me in daily ministry. I engage in conversation with others who have “been there, and done that,” to learn from their experiences. Even our Church Council has asked, after some of our own conversation and reflection on making the transition from a pastoral-sized church to a “program sized” one, to invite some leaders who have led through the transition to come and share their thoughts and experiences with us. They, too, articulated it is not to duplicate what they did in a different community, but to process and learn from their past experience.

And I should also confess: in my own personal spiritual journey, I’m looking back. Specifically, I’ve been returning to the sermons, journal, and notes on the New Testament authored by our movement’s founder, John Wesley. Granted, without sufficient context I get lost in John’s Journal – just why did so many people so adamantly and antagonistically oppose him? – but still, here and there are words of wisdom that motivate and inspire me.

I would counter those that suggest that anyone who is “looking back” is simply wishing for days gone by and unwilling to muster the courage and energy to make necessary changes. Looking back does not always equate to Pollyanish nostalgia. I believe that we can experience anew the best inspirational and transformational elements of past events and movements and re-capture them for today.

Delegates from our local churches and annual conferences continue meeting in Tampa, Florida, for our quadrennial General Conference. They are considering some significant and sweeping changes to our organizational structure, the “Call to Action” report that has been commented on by others far wiser (and better informed) than I, as well as at least two organized alternatives to this plan. By the time the gathering ends on May 4, these delegates will have had several uplifting worship experiences and multiple difficult conversations; there are bound to be some hearts uplifted by the conversation and events while other hearts are disillusioned and hurt; our Discipline and Book of Resolutions will be edited and changed to reflect approved changes; new ideas and methods for being the Church will be initiated and experimented with.

And I continue to cling to the hope that in the midst of it all, we will hear the voices encouraging us to worry less about the institution and focus more on growth and service as disciples. I hope that we can move forward with the inspiration of what has happened before; whether we look only as far back as the Wesley brothers and the movement they began – a movement whose founders did not mean to create a new institution, but rather intended to “spread scriptural holiness throughout the land” while maintaining involvement in the Anglican Church – or as far back as the disciples hiding out in Jerusalem – a motley group who were so open to the movement of God’s Spirit that they were radically empowered on that day of Pentecost to spread the movement far and wide. Or maybe we can draw inspiration by looking further back, drawing new insights for the future from the faithful obedience and leadership Moses provided as God worked through him to lead the Israelites out of their own bondage, through their own trying wilderness, and into the new future promised to them.

As I embark on new methods of ministry and camping, and as our tribe seeks new means of being the Church in the contemporary world, I pray that we may look back for inspiration, wisdom and guidance, and not just momentary jolts of nostalgic “remember whens?” I hope and pray that we’ll hear the rush of a great wind, that we’ll feel our hearts strangely warmed, and that new truths will lead us into new places to help new people develop as followers of Jesus Christ.

A Critical Question for Us All

My tribe continues to meet in Tampa, Florida, this morning, in the quadrennial “General Conference” that serves as the body officially responsible for creating and updating policy and polity (and, unofficially, polarity) for The United Methodist Church. In day 2, and as seems to always happen in large gatherings – I’ve seen the same kind of slow-down in groups from Church Councils to annual conferences – the group is bogged down in details. Specifically, at this time, they are still debating the rules for the General Conference…

With great grace, Rev. Adam Hamilton, of The Church of the Resurrection in Kansas City – a pastor who I look to as mentor and sage despite only meeting him a few times – Tweeted last night: “Debate about the standing rules – undoubtedly important but these matters wear me out. Anyone else?”

I’ve been in various meetings where things have to be talked about over and over before any movement occurs, and in my experience the debate tends to wear me down. Thankfully, I’m not a GC delegate, so I can tune in or out as I choose. I appreciate all of our representatives who are gathering to do the important work of evaluating and re-envisioning our movement. But at the same time, as debate rages about rules, I feel like we’re missing the point, delaying the conversation, and negatively impacting the energy we might have to focus on “the main thing.”

Thankfully, social media allows for concurrent communication. Already I see various Twitter and Facebook posts about what is going on, about what the delegates see as important, and so forth. And so I would ask, not knowing who might visit here or respond, the critical question I would like to hear more about:

How do you serve God to help people be and live more like Jesus? (Or how would you like to?)

I would love any and all responses, whether you are a GC delegate, part of the UMC, or not. At the heart of Methodism was the Wesley brother’s mission to “spread scriptural holiness throughout the land” – in essence, to help people to be and live more like Jesus. That is what I most want to know and reclaim, so I yearn to hear how others are doing it.

Last Words, General Conference, and Dry Bones…

This past Sunday was April 22, Earth Day. It was also the birthday of a dear friend who just turned 70 (happy [belated but public] birthday greetings, Carolyn!). And it would have also been my own father’s 70th birthday.

April 22 was also just a few days before representatives of my “tribe” – The United Methodist Church – began to gather in Tampa, Florida, for our quadrennial General Conference. Now, as social media begins to bring me news, updates, ideas, inspirations, and snarkisms from those attending General Conference, I’m sitting here pondering my father’s last words and their poignant meaning for our Church.

Another blogger pointed out that in their new book Jesus Insurgency, Rudy Rasmus and Dottie Escobedo-Frank point out early on that the Church has been lingering at the “crossroads of Graveyard and Decision Street for a few decades.” That image lingered with me, if only because we personally were there so recently; struggling through a significant pneumonia infection, my father had to choose whether to be intubated a third time in two weeks or transfer to hospice care. I had sat with him for weeks in hospital ICU rooms, and now sat and walked with him through his last few hours as he transferred on a Thursday afternoon and passed away on a Friday evening.

I try to hope that he kept the events of Thursday evening in his mind through his final hours on Friday. Lynn brought our two children up that evening – they had only been able to Skype into his hospital room the weeks before – and the five of us were all together for a while. Lynn and my father sat together and talked – briefly, as weeks of infection and intubation had left him barely audible – while the kids and I sat and read and played at the foot of his bed. That evening, for the first time in a very long time, my father smiled. Watching his grandchildren, there was a look of contentment on his face. I honestly couldn’t remember the last time I had actually seen him happy and smiling in the last several months, as the life he had built crumbled around him, many of his greatest fears coming to pass: divorce, financial distress, abandonment.

My brothers and mother were there some that evening, and would return late in the morning the next day, too. And so we were all together for a time, but the only moments in those last few days where I saw even the glimmer of joy on dad’s face were when Will and Kate were rampaging around the room and lounge chair. He smiled then, and for that I am immensely grateful.

When I returned early the next morning, dad’s condition had already quickly deteriorated. And that morning he spoke the only words he would speak that day. As he looked at me and clasped my hand his last words, said three times before additional medication helped ease him into a fitful sleep, were simply “it hurts…” I’ve never felt so impotent, unable to do anything or help beyond just sitting with his hand in mine. Dad didn’t wake or smile again that day, but even so I was again touched when, as my son was leaving grandpa for the final time that morning, he said his own last words to my father: “I love you grandpa.”

It is hard even to retell that story in print today – almost five months later – but the images and events of those last few days with dad have been coming to mind as metaphor for what our Church is experiencing as we enter our General Conference. (Other churches are facing crises, too, but here I’ll just reflect on what I know about our tribe.)

First, I don’t want to overly push the idea or metaphor that we are dying. Many would argue that the Church is on life-support; yet, even if our denomination is struggling in some ways, in other ways – and particularly other areas of the world – there is great life and vitality. But there is a strong sense of imminent death, many have used the metaphor, and the very term is even used in reference to the upcoming “death tsunami” that the church is about to experience. I don’t know whether our current situation is terminal or not, but it is clear that it is untenable to continue what we’ve been doing institutionally…

As it was happening to my father, so to our tribe and her churches are many of our “fears” are coming to pass. The buildings and legacies that many of our older, existing congregations have striven to secure and maintain are facing their end. The financial support of our general agencies and the ministries and missions they accomplish throughout the world have been faced with great crisis in recent years. And what some would call “denominational loyalty” has waned so greatly in recent decades that most mainline or Protestant Christians today easily shift from one tribe to another without pause. The same emotional responses one might feel related to divorce or abandonment are real experiences for our brothers and sisters: some clergy, members, or even local churches feel abandoned and/or driven away by the actions of their general agencies, annual conferences, clergy, or church leaders.

We vacillate between moments of hope and joy – celebrating the birth of new churches, the missional success of conferences in other parts of the world, the rise of young leadership in our local congregations – and the pain that our current situation seems to cause our beloved Church. At times we are looking at the world hopeful and with contentment that the ministry of Christ and our heritage will continue to make an impact for generations; and at others we feel as though we’re bedside, unable to do much more than commiserate with the Church in its pain.

And – in different words and ways – I’ve heard others wonder, question, or outright suggest that one day some progeny or legacy of ours will say to us, “I love you,” but then move off into the world to live it’s own life for Christ.

Unlike the events of this December past in my own life, I do not believe the crises we face as a United Methodist Church need be terminal. Even if it might be, I am reminded of the story of Ezekial in the valley (Ezekial 37:1-14). Ezekial was a mighty prophet, and responded to God’s call. He prophesied to those bones, and they were raised up; but that was only one step. At God’s direction, he also had to prophesy to the breath to enter those bones. I like to think that if we are on the way to being “dry bones” – or already there, as some might suggest – we can listen for God’s direction, and heed the steps toward new life. And I’m no prophet, but maybe those two steps are already before us.

I do believe radical change is necessary, and I would suggest such changes need to be the most radical in our hierarchical structure. The annual conference may be the “basic unit” of The United Methodist Church, but our conferences or agencies do not do much to make disciples; I believe it is through the arena of local churches/groups where we will have our lasting impact. We need to encourage, equip, and then free our clergy, laity, and churches from the despair of idly sitting by the dying Body. We need to inspire and enable one another so to live that the “scriptural holiness” that was once our rallying cry might begin to soften hearts and transform communities. Although it may be true that our organization/institution needs radical reform, our local churches need saints more than we need reformers. We need individuals so touched by and committed to the love and grace of God that they are seeking to “live missionally” (as the Inspire network would encourage us!); we need to love of God once again to so fill us that it spills out to bless others.

My hope as our brothers and sisters meet in Tampa for General Conference 2012 is not that any specific legislation or action will be approved. My greatest hope is that we will in some prophetic way recapture the spirit that drove John and Charles Wesley as they led a movement (not a church!) of people to live after the example of the earliest (“primitive”) church. My hope is that rather than continuing to feel as though we are at the bedside of a dying Body we love, we can hear the voices sharing God’s word and direction that will truly revive that Body. My hope is that my son, nurtured within the Church, will not one day feel the need to say “I love you” and then move off to be closer to Jesus in some other arena; but that he will know a vital Body that is actively connected to and moving with Jesus.

Religion

Religion

I have, for some time, had a love/hate relationship with the word “religion.” I love what I have come to understand it truly means, and what it can refer to, but, along with others, I so often hate what the word typically conjures to mind. I have even, not all that long ago, preached and taught about the ostensibly meaningful (but, ultimately, false) distinction so many in my (GenX) and the Millenial generations make about being “spiritual… but not religious.” (You can listen to the sermon in 2 parts, here and here.)

I was first exposed to “spiritual… but not religious,” the phenomena that is now a seeming demographic inland of itself, when I read Catholic author Tom Beaudoin’s book Virtual Faith in January, 2000. So enraptured by the concept, I even bought the copy of U.S. Catholic that featured Beaudoin’s article sharing a title with and describing the then-emerging phenomena of “spiritual… but not religious.”

You can find much written about the phrase and what it means to various people of spiritual yearning. So I will simply summarize the outlook as follows:

The honest deep spiritual yearning of some for meaning, fulfillment, and even God, but who feel alienated from and averse to “religion” in so far as it is widely understood.

Those who identify themselves as “spiritual… but not religious” (I’ll use S…BNR as shorthand) perceive religion negatively, suggesting religion is the domain of out-of-touch religious institutions that are hypocritical, irrelevant to life, averse to science and/or modern though, inconsistent, and prone to power struggles (particularly struggles to create or enforce some “right” definition or doctrine).

I have returned to reflecting on the word religion most recently because of an interview that actor Daniel Radcliffe (aka. Harry Potter) gave to Parade Magazine just this month. When asked about his own faith, considering his own Catholic father and Jewish mother, Radcliffe replied with the answer:

My dad believes in God, I think. I’m not sure if my mom does. I don’t. I have a problem with religion or anything that says, “We have all the answers,” because there is no such thing as “the answers.” We’re complex. We change our minds on issues all the time. Religion leaves no room for human complexity.

I do not want to assume Radcliffe among the S…BNR, for his initial words in the above quotation actually suggest his being atheist. However, when I first read his response my immediate thought was that his definition of “religion” was, like so many others, founded on contemporary misconceptions that the Church – and I would include any denomination or “tribe” here – has helped to create! As words, “religion” and “religious” have come to inspire images associated with hypocrisy, judgmental attitudes, heavy-handed indoctrination, lifeless enforcement of particular rituals, and more.

In 2000, as a second year seminarian having just read and found in Beaudoin’s the first voice I felt to be a relevant prophet for my generation, I championed the need for change to reach Xers. I was, to a degree of current shame, rebelliously adamant for change and condescendingly critical of the existing structures or practices of the Church. I loved Christ and his Church – and also the Methodist Church – too much to allow, as I perceived it, the negative and irrelevance of the faith to lose a generation.

I’ve mellowed some over the years, in no small part because the more I have learned of Church history – and particularly about the renewal movement begun by the Wesleys in their own day – and the more I have encountered ancient, but often neglected, practices of faith, the more I have become convinced that true religion is not antithetical to spiritual yearning.

I understand that the word “religion” comes with baggage for many people today, and so I respect that it may be necessary to encourage S…BNRs toward growth in faith in other ways. And yet, at the same time, a part of me desires to reclaim the word in its positive sense.

I have come to believe that true religion is spiritual yearning. Perhaps it is the growing influence of the leader and mentor of my particular tribe, John Wesley, for whom true religion was a “religion of the heart,” an inner drive and desire for God. For Wesley (as I understand him!), there would have been no distinction between “spiritual” and “religious.” True religion is the drive to know the love of God, the experience of that amazing love, and the pouring forth of God’s love for others. Although true religion influences and leads to positive works, it is not dependent on any particular work or doctrine.

Indeed, I want to suggest that religion is not about a specific set of tasks or about knowing the “right” answers, rather religion gives form to our questions and our quest. Beliefs are a part of religion, but so are attitudes and practices. And for me, these are not about providing rigid intellectual frameworks, limiting human experience, or demanding obedience to some institutional power.

Rather, the ancient practices of Christian faith – reading Scripture (eg. Lectio Divina), quiet prayer (eg. contemplative prayer), community prayer (eg. The Lord’s Prayer), fasting or abstinence, Christian conference (eg. small groups), works of mercy (e.g. serving others), and even sacraments (eg. Eucharist) – are means by which we can positively engage our deepest yearning for God. And the attitudes of faith that I most earnestly seek – those “fruits of the spirit” defined by Paul (Galatians 5:22-23) as love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness/generosity, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control – encapsulate a way of life that is both response to and part of our deep “spiritual” yearning.

So, to me at least, religion is not antithetical to one’s spirituality. It is a means – even a gift – by which I can allow the spirit within me to grow after and into God. Religion gives form and awe and mystery to my growing life’s experience of the numinous, of the divine.