Archive for July, 2009

KNOWING WHAT SURPASSES KNOWLEDGE

Monday, July 27th, 2009 by mswora

Ephesians 3: 14For this reason I kneel before the Father, 15from whom his whole family in heaven and on earth derives its name. 16I pray that out of his glorious riches he may strengthen you with power through his Spirit in your inner being, 17so that Christ may dwell in your hearts through faith. And I pray that you, being rooted and established in love, 18may have power, together with all the saints, to grasp how wide and long and high and deep is the love of Christ, 19and to know this love that surpasses knowledge—that you may be filled to the measure of all the fullness of God.

20Now to him who is able to do immeasurably more than all we ask or imagine, according to his power that is at work within us, 21to him be glory in the church and in Christ Jesus throughout all generations, for ever and ever! Amen.

There’s a story going around the email circuit, about a young boy of about eight years of age. He had a younger sister about 4 years old who had a medical condition that required major surgery. And that major surgery required a blood donation of the same blood type as hers. Her eight year-old brother was one of the few who fit the bill, so the parents came to him and asked if he would be willing to donate blood. He agreed immediately, and willingly. But just before her surgery, when they were getting ready to draw some of her brother’s blood, the nurses noticed that the young boy was crying. When they asked him why, his explanation revealed that no one had remembered to tell him something very important: that they were only drawing some of his blood, not all of it, and therefore, he was surely going to live after the blood donation. You can imagine how relieved he was when they told him, “You’ll be all right; you’re only giving a little bit of your blood; the worst that might happen is that you’ll get a little woozy perhaps, but with some fruit punch and an oatmeal cookie, and a little rest, you’ll be just fine.”But he didn’t know that going in. He thought he was effectively trading his life for hers, and had made a brave and willing face of it all.

Part of me hopes that this story is not true. No eight-year-old should have to face what he thought he was facing. But another part of me hopes that it indeed has happened again that someone is willing to trade his life for that of someone else. At any age, that’s amazing. My sisters and I had a hard enough time sharing toys or that last piece of dessert. And I’ll admit, it wasn’t always their fault.

If true, then this boy knew “the love that surpasses knowledge,” from today’s passage, verse 19. That’s how Paul describes the love of Christ and the Christian life itself: “knowing the love that surpasses knowledge.”

So did John Bunyan, the author of Pilgrim’s Progress. And at great personal cost to himself. I’ve been reading his spiritual autobiography this summer, Grace Shown to the Chief of Sinners. Bunyan did not have one of those instantaneous total conversion experiences in which he went in one fell swoop from guilt to gladness, from total remorse to total relief. He struggled back and forth, for years, sometimes accepting that he was accepted by God, other times fearing that he had done something so horrible that even the grace of God couldn’t overcome it.

It helped a bit when he heard a sermon in which someone preached on two words from the Song of Solomon, “My beloved.” Just “my” and “beloved.” That, the preacher said, is God speaking to the soul of every man and woman, day in and day out. And when you feel abandoned and unworthy and unloved and unloveable, claim those words as your own; lay claim to that name: “My Beloved.”

I get goosebumps just thinking about that message. It helped Bunyan for about a week. But then the darkness and the doubts set in again. And a persistent, obsessive, hellish voice that said constantly in his mind, over and over: “Sell him! Abandon Christ! Sell him! Abandon Christ.” Finally, in a fit of frustration, Bunyan thought to himself, “Let him leave, if he wish.” He didn’t say it; he only thought it.

Then the darkness descended, deepened and doubled. Bunyan was tormented for the better part of a year, worrying and wondering if he had committed the unpardonable sin on the scale of Judas selling Jesus. He wondered if it was even worth his while to pray for forgiveness, or if that would only offend God even more.

But God was working on his end to get Bunyan back on track. It finally struck Bunyan one day, the following question: Which honored God more? To risk erring on the side of trusting too much in the boundless breadth and depth of his love, or to err on the side of trusting too little, of setting limits to God’s love? Then he remembered those terrible words, “Let Christ depart, if he wish.” The very fact that he had felt such remorse for that thought, and such longing and love for Christ ever since, meant that Christ had not departed; he didn’t wish to depart. He never had and he never would. Confirmation came that week in the sound of a voice that seemed almost as clear as I hope mine is to you: the words, “I have loved you with an everlasting love.” He found those same words from God in Jeremiah 31: 3.

From then on, Bunyan spent the rest of his life testifying that we can never err on the side of trusting too much in what Paul calls the height and depth and breadth and width of God’s love. The danger is always the opposite: that we trust too little. He also figured out that we can’t beat ourselves over the head for every thought that goes through it. If that’s what drives bad thoughts out, then we should all be two feet tall. We can hate some of the thoughts that run through our heads without hating ourselves.

I’ve given two examples, two stories, about love this morning: the boy who was willing to give his life for his sister, and John Bunyan, who nearly died for want of the assurance of God’s love, and was revived when that assurance came. As I thought about this passage, I was struck by the fact that such love is a kind of knowledge that surpasses knowledge. It amounts to knowing something that can’t be fully known, getting our heads around something too big for our heads.

Which raises another question: When Paul says he wants us “To know the love of Christ which surpasses knowledge,” is he talking about love from Christ, or love for Christ, or love for people?

As I read the passage, its not clear which love Paul has in mind. And I’m convinced that its not supposed to be clear. My question raises an artificial and unnecessary distinction that only is meaningful to me, as a modern, Western, individualistic, rationalistic, formally-educated person, in a secular setting, who is taught to believe that to understand something we must take it apart and look at its component pieces, like doing vivisection on a frog. After which the frog is dead.

But there’s another way of knowing that involves putting things together, so that we understand them in relationship to other things. Like love. Love is all about connections and relationship. And experience.

Love is that force that puts things together and draws us toward the other, as opposed to fear, which takes things apart and which drives us from each other. But a definition or a description is no substitute for a demonstration.

Like electricity. Electricity is defined as “A form of energy characterized by the presence and motion of elementary charged particles generated by friction, induction, or chemical change.”

Got that?

I don’t either. And I got that from an online encyclopedia. For kids!

But I do know something about electricity from experience. When I did maintenance work for tourist condos long ago, I found myself assigned to install a new light fixture in a living room. Its easy, I was told. Just hook up the right wires to each other and screw the plate into the ceiling.

Oh. And make sure the breaker is flipped off.

So that’s where I started: by flipping the breakers off. To be safe, I flipped off every breaker that was labeled with any word that said “living” or “room.” And then a few more. Then I got up on the ladder, pulled down the wires, started to connect white to white and black to—

BZZZZZZT! OWWW! HOLY GUACAMOLE!

Ever since. my personal definition of electricity, from experience is: Electricity is that angry, ugly buzzing sensation going through your hands and your arms and your head that leaves you on the floor feeling shocked in more ways that one. And grateful to be alive. And wanting to find out just who labeled the breaker box!

When in doubt, flip all the breakers.

The love that Paul prays for us is like that, only opposite in its emotions, experiences and results. It surpasses conventional human wisdom, like the love Christ, dying on the cross for those who were crucifying him. Or like the boy who was ready to give all his blood for his sister. It surpasses human knowledge because such love seems contrary to our most basic instinct: survival. It also surpasses human knowledge because it doesn’t want to stay in the head, in the realm of definitions and abstractions. It wants to be lived and expressed in the hands, the feet, the mouth. It has to be shared to be really, really known.

In that way, love is like electricity. The engineers among us can correct me where I am wrong. But in an electrical current, atoms in a wire are constantly giving away electrons, which draws in other electrons to replace them from the next atom in line.

I think.

Love is like that—its only known in the giving and receiving, and not simply in the describing or defining. That’s why its a kind of knowledge that surpasses knowledge. At least head knowledge alone.

If heaven were a power plant, then love is the power flowing forth. For “God is love.” This heavenly power also works with the exchanges of love, the giving and receiving of love. Its not only a clean and infinitely renewable source of power, it actually increases with the sharing and the using.

Being Christian gives us no monopoly on love and loving. I encounter love in many places and people, even among those who do not recognize its heavenly source, who might even deny its heavenly source. After all, God sends his rain to fall on the just and the unjust. His love is available to all. The differences are that a Christian always has reasons to keep on loving, even despite the injuries and insults of life that might make people want to stop loving and start hating. The Christian also has resources to help him or her keep loving, from God and the church. And the Christian is assured that love has the last word, that love is the last word, and forever. And the Christian is on the path to find this out.

That’s what St. Patrick taught and modeled to the Irish in the 6th Century. We know him as the apostle to the Irish, who used a three-lobed shamrock to teach about the Trinity. He was the perfect missionary to do that, because, even though he was from England, he knew the Irish language and the Irish culture so well. But what we often forget is the reason he knew the Irish language and the culture so well: years before, in his youth, Irish pirates had kidnapped him, enslaved him, mistreated him, and sent him off on his own, alone, for weeks at a time, exposed to wild animals, bandits and the elements, to watch their livestock in the fields. He escaped, and who could blame him if that was the last he ever had to do with the Irish? But years later he returned to Ireland, glowing with the electricity of divine love.

That’s what Paul has in mind. This prayer is the sum of all his argument in the previous two chapters of Ephesians, about how God is making one new humanity out of Jewish and Gentile believers through Christ. In everything that follows this passage, about relationships in the home, the family, and the church, Paul is simply unpacking and explaining what the “love that surpasses knowledge” looks like, in action and experience.

That such a community could come about is not just a nice story. Its a revolutionary peace movement. Especially when we consider two things. One is how severe anti-Jewish bigotry was among Greeks and Romans at the time. Within very recent memory of those who received this letter were anti-Jewish riots and massacres in the second biggest city of the Roman empire, Alexandria, and the expulsion of Jews from Rome itself. Then there was great fear and suspicion of Jews toward Gentiles. Gentiles were not allowed in the homes or synagogues, or around the dinner tables, of the most observant Jews.

But because of Christ who, unlike that young boy, did shed all his blood and gave his life for his beloved, “the love that passes all knowledge” is making one new humanity out of the two historic divisions. The source of that power is God. The demonstration or pilot project is Jesus. The lines that carry that power are you and I, the church. And we can only know that love by hooking into the source and passing it along to others.

One last thing: we read about “knowing the love that surpasses knowledge” not in a teaching nor a sermon, but in a prayer. The sum total of Paul’s prayers for Ephesians is that they might know this love in the same way we know, say, how to dance or how to quilt, with our hands and our hearts and our bodies and not just our heads, by doing, not just by defining.

And that’s my prayer for us. Let’s pray that for ourselves. And each other. If any two words could define the challenge ahead of us in our new ministry context, for the next period of our congregation’s life, they would be “courage” and, of course, “love.”

Courage and love. Love without courage is only a dead-end feeling, as the married and engaged among us would know, if you remember what it was like to make that first phone call to your spouse back when you were just hoping to date. But courage without love, that’s just a license for brutality. The 9-11 hijackers had plenty of courage, but no love. Not for people at least.

A rising chorus of courage and love are what our new times and our new context require of us, even a love that the world might consider crazy, if it is to “surpass human knowledge.” The courage and love that will bring us into malls and mosques where everyone is speaking languages we’ll never learn, and where there are people with whom we can communicate only with a wave and a nervous, friendly smile. The courage and love to have dinner and hold respectful, truthful, heartfelt conversations even with people with whom we disagree on important opinions. If anyone is to do any rejecting, let them reject us for having too much love, a bold, risky, crazy love, before we would ever reject them. A love, like that of Christ and the bigger brother, like that of St. Patrick going back to Ireland, by which we are willing to love the unlovely and the un-loving, to return good for evil, even to risk our lives.

Get that bold and crazy love down, the willingness to die even for the sake of such love, and everything else asked of us is a piece of cake. To the unemployed homeless guy standing at the street corner: Sure, have my sack lunch (at least he’s not asking for my life). To the person who accuses me of intolerance or hatred for having a firmly held faith or high personal moral standards (I hear more of that lately), I’ll listen to him and engage him respectfully, because at least he’s not calling for my head. Someone needs help or support late into the night? Someone needs to stand up and speak the truth when everyone else starts ragging on undocumented immigrants or Somalis? That’s scary, but so far, not fatal. Even to the person who says he needs $2 for bus change, maybe this time let him answer to God if he spends it instead on drink or cigarettes; at least he didn’t ask for all my blood. Or after engaging him in conversation, and getting to know him as a person, I’ll get on the bus and buy it for him if I have doubts.

“The love that surpasses understanding,” is that another word for “crazy?” Or at least, “risky?” Or “costly?” Or maybe just lived and experienced in our bodies, our neighborhoods, our world, because its a love too big for our heads alone. The love of Christ just wants to keep flowing over into the rest of our bodies and actions. Like electricity, it only exists in the sharing from one atom to another. And that’s the only way we can really “know” the love of Christ that surpasses knowledge.


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NEW FRIENDS IN THE NEIGHBORHOOD

Monday, July 20th, 2009 by mswora

AT A LOCAL MOSQUE

We all need friends. “No greater love has anyone than this, that he lay down his life for a friend,” said Jesus. So it was with much joy that we accepted the invitation recently extended by Sheik Ahmed Taajir and Abdi Moalin, the administrator of the Umatul Islam Mosque in Minneapolis to a dinner. “Bring forty of your [Christian] community leaders and we’ll bring ours for a dinner together at a time that works for you,” they said.

As Mike Netterer of SALT (Somali Adult Literacy Training) put it, “We should have been the first to invite you, since you are the more recent arrivals.” But Lord willing, we will reciprocate.

So on the evening of Saturday, July 18, 2009, representatives of various south Minneapolis and Phillips Neighborhood churches, ministries and agencies gathered at the mosque and were treated to food, friendship and an informative presentation on Islam and peaceful coexistence by Sheik Abdisalam Adam of the Dar Al Hijrah mosque.

Coexistence between our different faith communities is not only possible, it is imperative, he said.

In his presentation was an invitation that we guests take seriously, to work together with them on matters of peace, health care, community welfare and fighting poverty. It helped to have people representing some of the agencies and churches already involved in such community matters, such as Urban Ventures, Messiah Lutheran Church and the Center for Changing Lives, and SALT, plus some other ters and leaders who already have experience in starting and running inter-faith organizations, sports clubs and tutoring programs.

But the evening was not just about programs, presentations and plans. Over the generous dinner there was time and opportunity for people of both faith communities to meet and talk about personal concerns in common, such as education and careers for women, health and family.

I was also asked to share for about ten minutes on peaceful coexistence. Because coexistence and tolerance can be such weak, vacuous concepts in mainstream American culture, I felt led to ramp up my thoughts and talk instead about hospitality, in its Biblical, Kuranic and pan-African senses. After my talk, we presented Sheik Ahmed and the mosque with a book about Minnesota history, and the various people and communities who make Minnesota what it is, because they are now part of the ongoing Minnesota story.

I include a written version of those thoughts below:

“It is quite an honor on my part to have received this invitation to share some words about peaceful coexistence and living together. I hope that my words will bring honor to God and to everyone here, especially our gracious hosts.

“But I must begin by acknowledging a cultural thing, related to my upbringing, something which I have had to unlearn over the years. In my individualistic American culture, we commonly think that to coexist peacefully and be good neighbors simply means that we let each other be, that we keep our noses out of each other’s business, that we stay out of each other’s hair, because, as the American proverb says, “Good fences make for good neighbors.” That’s often what we mean by the word, “tolerance.”

“But that’s a very empty and even negative way of approaching being neighbors and co-existing peacefully. It can even lead to the worst-case example that Becky and I experienced with some neighbors when we lived in a suburb of Detroit some years ago. A couple living next door to us may have thought they were being good neighbors by simply refusing to even acknowledge our existence. Whenever they left the house they would march straight toward the car, and never even answer any word of greeting from us or anyone else.

“One day I was playing in the yard with our two daughters, who were three and six years of age at the time. I had a big cardboard box over my head and was chasing them around the yard. It was all very silly and undignified, but they loved it. At that very moment, the neighbor lady left her house and glanced over in my direction. I felt somewhat embarrassed and waved to her, but she immediately turned her face toward the car, with a cold, stony expression, and kept on walking. Here was a simple invitation to join us in being human, even to share a smile at my expense, and she turned it down. Now Detroit is a tough town, and perhaps she thought she was protecting herself from the complications of relationships. But in that idea of neighborliness and coexistence, all sorts of fears and misunderstandings can flourish and grow.

“But that is the mainstream idea of coexistence with which I grew up, in mainstream American culture. And I didn’t really recognize that for the problem it was until Becky and I lived for several years in Burkina Faso, in West Africa. There we were effectively adopted by a Muslim family of the Jula tribe, who took an interest in helping us learn their language, their culture, and how to coexist peacefully and enjoy living and being in that country. The head of the household is a man named Gaoussou Barro. Becky and I were given his family name: I’m Moussa Barro, and she’s Korotoumou Barro. One of the things they used to teach us the language and the culture was their proverbs. One proverb I remember said, “Brothers who have sweet tasted honey together should also share bitter lemons.” Another said,“Even the teeth and the tongue don’t always get along.”

“After a year or more in Burkina Faso, I thought I was getting the hang of being a good neighbor when we went on vacation in the neighboring country of Ivory Coast. From there we sent Gaoussou and his family a post card. Three days after our return from there, Gaoussou came to visit us. He didn’t look very happy. I asked him, “Did you receive our post card?” He said, “Yes. But that’s the only way we knew you were out of town. You didn’t come around ahead of time to let us know you were going anywhere, and how long you’d be gone. And then, after you came back, you didn’t come around to tell us you were back. I had to come here to find that out for myself.”

“’Even the teeth and the tongue don’t always get along.’” But whenever we do bite our tongues, its mostly an accident, right? And when does the tongue ever say, “Okay, teeth, I’ve had enough of this. I’m off to find another mouth; you’re on your own for eating and talking.” No, the teeth and tongue are committed to each other for keeps, for someone and something much bigger and greater than themselves, despite their occasional mistakes and misunderstandings. And so Gaoussou, his family, and us remain committed to each other and in contact. The last time we saw him, he said we were like, “Same mother, same father.”

“What I’m talking about this afternoon is something stronger, warmer and deeper than peaceful coexistence or even tolerance as my American culture understands them. I’m talking about something stronger, higher and deeper, more strenuous, challenging and rewarding than the negative peace of just staying out of each other’s hair. Its a value that is very important in the Bible, in the Quran (which I have studied, at least in an English language translation), in Gaoussou’s culture, and, I believe, in Somali culture as well.

“I saw it demonstrated one night, again in Burkina Faso, when I was coming home and noticed that one my neighbors was also home. He was a truck driver, so he was often gone from home. But when I saw him that evening seated on the front porch under a light bulb eating his dinner, I greeted him and welcomed him back. He invited me to join him for dinner, which I accepted because it was a rare chance to visit with him, but secondly, I love the food in Africa.

“After I sat down in a chair next to him, his wife brought out a pot of thick millet porridge, called to. For dinner, you take pieces of that and dip them in a spicy vegetable sauce. She removed the lid and I saw that it had a skin over it, which meant that it had been cooked a few hours before, and had cooled enough to eat. Also, I saw that the skin had not been broken, so obviously no one else had eaten any of it.

“So I asked her, “Were you expecting someone to come by for dinner tonight?” To which she replied, with the most puzzled, quizzical look on her face, “Whenever we cook, we always set aside a pot of to just in case a visitor shows up.” I’m glad she didn’t ask me the next question, which I just read in her face: “And don’t you?”

“What I’m talking about is hospitality. Again, in American culture, hospitality is simply thought of as the art of hosting guests, like knowing where to place the fork in relation to the plate at the dinner table. That’s all very good, but it still falls short of the full-blooded value and virtue of hospitality in the Bible, the Quran and your culture.

“In the Hebrew Bible the people are told to welcome and host the sojourner and the one seeking refuge because “such were you in the land of Egypt.” In the Christian New Testament we are told to welcome sojourners and strangers because, by doing such, our ancestors in the faith have “entertained angels without knowing it.” That refers to our common ancestor, Abraham—Ibrahim–and the story in both the Bible and the Quran, about how he welcomed guests who turned out to be divine messengers with a promise of blessing for him. And as Christians, we are told to receive everyone as though they were Christ himself, because Jesus said, “Whatever you do for the least of these, my brothers, you have done for me.”

“I think of hospitality whenever I see people in much of Africa shaking hands, after which they often touch their chests, right by their heart. Have you seen that? I asked an African friend why they often do that, shaking hands with someone and then touching their chest with the same hand. He said its a way of saying, “I receive you. I receive you into myself, into this vulnerable, tender spot called my heart, where you may dwell at great reward to myself, but also at great risk. Hosting you inside myself can be a great joy; but it can also hurt at times.” Because “Not even do the teeth and the tongue always get along.”

“This time together tonight is, I hope, the start of more such times, in the sacred spaces of our churches, our homes, and even in our hearts, as well as in your sacred space here. I believe I can speak for all the Christian pastors and leaders here when I say that you all are just as welcome in our churches as I feel in this mosque. Its not an accident that our worship spaces are called “sanctuaries.” And I do like my many other African friends and touch my heart to say that I’m willing to take the risks of the teeth and the tongue in exploring not only living together peacefully, but of hospitality together in the fullest sense of the word. And I speak again for all of us in saying, in advance, thank you for this invitation and this encounter, for your hospitality and generosity which honor us so well.

“Both of our communities believe in a God who rules the affairs of nations and who works through them, even when they try to resist him. So I believe that God has brought our communities together here and now for reasons that will bless both of our communities, reasons for which we will go forward from here changed, no longer as we were when we came in. May God bless you.”

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ROCK AND ROLL MENNONITES, PINK MENNOS, AND MORE….

Monday, July 20th, 2009 by mswora

…REFLECTIONS ON COLUMBUS 09

THIS WAS NOT YOUR FATHER’S MENNONITE NATIONAL CONVENTION….

…..I thought it providential that, after the conference, our wonderful hosts in Goshen, Indiana, (Milton and Ruth Cender) shared stories and memories about how Mennonite conferences and congregations fifty or more years ago were preoccupied with, or divided by, matters such as head coverings or cape dresses for women, or hair length and plain coats for men. To the few who call me from time to time, wondering if we still enforce such codes, and obviously hoping that we do, I would say that enforcing and obeying such outward signs of conformity are no guarantee of inward spiritual transformation and submission to God. In fact, they can become easy substitutes for such inward work and growth.

Anyone who finds security and inspiration in outward signs of submission would have come away from Columbus 09 in despair. Although the contemporary rock and roll style of the music in the youth conference was not always my cup of tea, I was glad it was for the majority of the youth who came. I just hope they understand that we can’t often recreate the same experience in our home congregations, not for reasons of disapproval, necessarily, but for reasons of available skill sets in worship and music. When God gifts Emmanuel Mennonite Church with the people and the instrumental skills for a praise and worship band (as I have often prayed, and see the glimmers of an answer coming), we will have a praise and worship band, though not for every song, probably.

As an aside, I commend the musicians at the youth conference for the ways in which they also presented and treated some old, standard hymns, such as, “Come, Thou Fount.” Youth were treated to the richness and depth of such hymns, but in stylistic settings they could appreciate.

In addition to loud and fast music, there was also dancing, on stage and in the aisles, like at a rock concert. There was also beautiful, skillful, expressive and disciplined dancing on the part of a trained interpretive dancer. But again I thought of previous generations of Mennonites who would have been horrified at the thought of such goings-on. I know what they were reacting against, so I can sympathize with them. But only to a point, when I know there are ways to reclaim worship as a more bodily experience, like what one reads about in the Old Testament. Just ask our African Christian friends.

If anything, Mennonite Church USA is engaged in a bold experiment, to proclaim that the essential seed of the Anabaptist Christian faith can take root and grow in a multiplicity of cultural settings and expressions, contrary to the historic tendency of our recent ancestors, and of many other Mennonite groups, to hedge it about with strict cultural boundaries. And then we begin to confuse the cultural boundary markers, like dress, language and hair styles, with the essence of the faith, which I believe to be trans-cultural. I am all for this experiment. Its what allowed me to join.

OF PEACE AND PIETY

Anyone who came to Columbus 09 as a peace activist looking to network with other peace activists would have felt that he or she had hit the jackpot. Anyone who came as a missionary looking to network with other missionaries would likely have felt thus blessed. Anyone who came simply to pray, worship and adore God would have felt, at times, like John the Revelator, transported to the throng around the Throne of the Lamb. And anyone who came hoping to integrate all thre above expressions and experiences of the Christian faith (I’m sure there are more) would have wanted the conference to last another week at least.

Its a hard thing for any denomination, let alone a congregation or a person, to integrate peace, piety and evangelism. Denominations and churches often tend to major in one to the exclusion of the others. But if MCUSA fails in integrating these in symbiotic ways, it will not be for a lack of trying. Our peace activism may put us in partnership with peace activists who come at their work from a more humanistic, secular starting point, which is fine and necessary for getting anything accomplished. Its also a good witness, although the witness goes in both directions. Elements of humanistic, secular philosophy can and do work their way into members of MCUSA, but that is only a reason to ramp up discernment, not a reason to cut off engagement. And our missional activities may put us in touch with people who don’t share, or who even despise, our peace position. But there’s no law against working together on common concerns or against picking and choosing resources and ideas that work and which can fit into our peace church framework. Nor is it a crime to go outside of our five hundred years of tradition to borrow and rework the resources and wisdom of other denominations for worship, when the worship to come, around the throne of the Lamb, will be decidedly nondenominational.

THE PINK MENNO CAMPAIGN

For someone who was drawn to Christian faith through the witness of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., it is an odd and unsettling experience to find oneself at the receiving end of a moral crusade. But to some people in the church and at the most recent national biennial convention in Columbus, Ohio, the full inclusion, affirmation and celebration of GLBTQ (Gay, Lesbian, Bisexual, Transgendered, Queer) identities, relationships and lifestyles into every part of church and society is the next stage in the eternal and ongoing civil rights revolution. Maybe even in the coming of God’s kingdom.

The Pink Menno campaign, a movement at the convention to highlight and press the agenda of full inclusion and affirmation of GLBTQ members, pastors and leaders in the life and leadership of the Mennonite Church, was present, powerful, and visibly advocating even during worship, delegate business meetings, and other venues, simply by showing up in pink. Pink shirts, pink scarves, pink wristbands. From what I observed, I’d say for the most part that they were respectful in their words and comportment. Some of what they advocated included revisiting (and revising) church statements on sexuality, including perhaps the Confession of Faith in a Mennonite Perspective, freedom for congregations to address and include GLBTQ members and relationships as they see fit, and an apology for, and a halt to, the practice of disciplining leaders and churches at variance on this issue.

I attended one Pink Menno-recommended function about how to talk when we disagree on sexuality (or any other issue, I should hope). Talking about how to talk together is a very good place to start. Some of the recommendations for dialog are well worth pondering, such as the observation that it is hard to have an honest dialog when the fear of discipline hangs over the heads of only one party, and that we should assume the good faith and integrity of those with whom we disagree.

The point of the meeting was simply to air suggestions about how to talk, not to debate them. Only now, in this posting, do I have a time and place to weigh some of the other suggestions that I heard. It helped me to remember them that, when we broke into smaller groups to generate suggestions, I was the recorder for our particular group. Below are listed some of the things I heard in my discussion group, from other groups in that meeting, plus a few that were voiced in other times during the conference. I have mulled over and thought much about them. See if they raise any red flags for you, as they did for me:

  • “Don’t talk about the issue; talk with us.”

  • “Remember, with anything you say, its not just an issue you’re talking about; its us you’re talking about.”

  • “Talking about issues like the authority of the Bible, the accountability of pastors to conferences, or variance policies for churches, is just dancing around the real issue, which is this issue, and us.”

  • “Why do they always focus only on us and this issue? [asked with no sense of irony by someone wearing a pink shirt].”

  • “Leave the interpretation of any Bible passages relevant to homosexuality to us [GLBTQ people].”

  • “My generation was never consulted when the Confession of Faith in a Mennonite Perspective was drafted.”

  • “Its because they don’t know us personally that they advocate exclusion.”

  • “Don’t engage in the emotional blackmail of saying you’ll leave the church if this controversy doesn’t go your way [I heartily agree],” followed by saying, “Lots of people will leave the church if it doesn’t change fast enough on this issue.”

  • “Their reluctance to change on this matter is driving young gay people to suicide and encouraging violence against us.”

  • “This is no different from previous controversies over dress and head coverings, or the ordination of women.”

  • “Don’t begin your study of the Bible with the expectation that it will yield any lasting, universal guidance on this or any other matter.”

  • “Don’t think that you can ever come to an understanding of what any Bible author or any Bible passage really means or meant to its writer and its original audience. Its only meaning is in what the reader brings to it.”

  • “If you put all the Bible passages together that have to do with sex, it becomes obvious that there is no biblical sexual ethic at all; the only thing that matters is love.”

  • And even: “Don’t start your moral reasoning on this issue (italics mine) with the Bible.”

Now for some responses. Talking respectfully, even lovingly, with people who live and believe differently than myself constitutes much of my life and work, especially in my friendly relations with other pastors of many denominations who take a different stance than mine on sexuality, war and wealth. And rigorous, honest discernment will require that we relate lovingly to persons even while we “talk about” issues and ideas honestly, without personalizing them to the point that they become referenda on the worth of groups and individuals. That’s unfortunately what Fred Phelps does by picketing the funerals of AIDS victims with the most hateful signs and words. But the sum total of the ground rules for dialog quoted above nearly preclude any respectful dialog; taken together, they effectively silence, even shame, anyone with any questions or concerns. They even make people parties to violence, suicide and murder, just for having questions and reservations. I share the fear, pain and grief over violence directed at GLBTQ people, having experienced the violence myself when I was identified (wrongly) in high school as gay. Perhaps we can find common ground, for starters, in advocating against the violence, contempt and ridicule that so many have experienced for their sexuality. While we’re at it, we could also raise our voices against the culturally mainstream machismo and misogyny that is connected to such violence and contempt. But anyone who really believes that someone’s reluctance to change a long-standing boundary amounts to complicity with murder and suicide is no longer obligated to dialog, tolerance, or respect. That amounts to complicity with the complicit.

As criteria for moral reasoning go, the statements above are highly selective. On no other issues do Christians engage in the kind of biblical exegesis and moral reasoning requested above. I keep thinking of G. K. Chesterton’s dictum: “There is a thought that stops all thinking.” And there are words that put a halt to all talking.

Hermeneutics, biblical or otherwise, is about seeking to get as close as possible to the originally intended meaning for both the author and the audience. Obviously, humility is required. But the hermeneutical despair quoted above is neither helpful nor necessary. It invites dissolution of the church, not inclusion, if there is no commonly held and understandable source of authority around which to gather. Any belief that requires such despair should be examined carefully. When applied to the Bible, such hermeneutical despair is selective and even self-contradictory. I’ve heard no one advocate the same kind of despair for the plays of Shakespeare or the writings of Plato. Even saying that we can never really understand and apply anything anyone else says requires understanding and application of what someone else says.


A consistent line of moral reasoning, suitable for all moral issues, is not something to jettison lightly. When people do become morally selective, we (hopefully) recognize the danger of hypocrisy and self-serving ethical reasoning. As for who does moral reasoning and scriptural exegesis, the witness of the earliest church leaders is unanimous in saying that it is best done by those who are making the effort and paying the price of living the Bible, in the spirit of Romans 12:1-4 (“Offer yourself a living sacrifice…be not conformed this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind; then you will be able to discern what is the will of God…”) Of course future generations are never consulted in the process. That my generation was never consulted about the formation of the canon or the Apostle’s Creed neither validates nor invalidates them. When did generations become the arbiters of truth? Again, to paraphrase Chesterton, “If truth changes according to generations, why doesn’t it change every Tuesday?”

Homosexuality is not the same kind of issue as dress codes or head coverings. Or at least we cannot simultaneously claim that it is a sacred, God-given identity, so central as sexuality is, at the same time that it is a disputable matter of no more significance than dress codes and head coverings. Nor is it the same as the ordination of women, at least not to those who see women’s equality and empowerment as being rooted in the same doctrine of creation by which “male and female” humans are both necessary to reflecting the image of God, including when joined sexually as “one flesh (Gen. 2).”

As someone with serious questions and concerns about the Pink Menno movement, some of the criteria stated above left me feeling something approaching the judgment, shunning and silencing that the Pink Menno advocacy is drawing to our attention. I suppose that is a valuable experience for a biblicist like myself, one which helps me understand what others have gone through. But two shamings don’t make for a reconciliation. And squaring off against each other with mirroring stances of ridicule, fear, judgment, shaming and silencing is no way to dialog. The invitation of the Pink Menno campaign for us to come to actually know each other is a godsend. I can testify to that by personal experience. But that doesn’t preclude some heavy spiritual and intellectual lifting by way of discernment on any issue, not only about homosexuality, but about what to do about homosexuality and our differences over it, especially when very good and noble people for very good and noble reasons may never come to agreement about it. It was such kinds of advocacy that distressed me more than did the things being advocated. I believe I can trust, and live more easily with, varieties of pastoral and congregational responses to homosexuality than I can with the varieties of reasoning that I am addressing.

To be fair, we must acknowledge that the case for inclusivity does not rest only on the logic I have cited above. Ted Grimsrud, in his contributions to the book he co-authored with Mark Thiessen Nation, Reasoning Together, attempts to base his arguments and advocacy on a more conservative approach to the Bible, one that respects its authority, and our ability to understand and apply it. But the presence and the prevalence of the kind of moral reasoning, and the hermeneutic of despair cited above, in the church should be a serious pastoral and missional concern for all leaders and pastors, whatever their position on homosexuality. It does not reflect well on many of the advocates of inclusion whom I know and respect, nor does it serve their cause well. And it only confirms some of the worst fears of those who hold a more traditional position.

What we have, in part, is a case of divergent narratives. One narrative says that God is still speaking and is revealing a divinely unfolding diversity of sexual identities (not just homosexuality) that connects with the Biblical call for hospitality, inclusion, justice and peace-making, as revealed in the prophets, Jesus, and the church’s mission to the Gentiles. Embracing that narrative may require at least as much faith as does the church’s historic stance on sexuality.

On the other side is a narrative that says…..that says….uh…We’re not sure yet what the other narrative is, except that the loudest voices only seem to be saying, “You’re wrong, you’re bad, because the Bible says….” That’s hardly a convincing, compelling or inviting narrative. Nor does it help us dialog either. No wonder it reminds many people of the previous controversies over dress, hair style and language, in effect, the quest for security through external boundaries and conformity alone. I wonder if the Mennonite Church is not still running from that fire long after the flames have been put out. If so, we are reacting to the abuse of authority by abusing authorities, like the Bible.

I feel our denomination’s division over this issue running right through the middle of me. I know, respect and love people on both sides of the controversy. My own feelings and struggles over the matter cannot be reduced to a t-shirt or a bumper sticker. Trusting in the good faith of those who wish to change the denomination’s position on sexuality, I would ask the same trust for those who have not joined, or who can not join, the Pink Menno program.

My own personal narrative keeps me from joining the Pink Menno campaign, even while it keeps me going to such events as the one I attended, looking for more light. To say that I believe that Jesus is always right is not to say that I believe that I am always right. To say that the Bible is my guide is not to claim that I am sure that I always understand and interpret it correctly. But I warn us against any hermeneutic of despair that would keep us from trying to understand and apply it better, and believing that we can.

My personal narrative is captured in the words of the hymn, “Twas grace that taught my heart to fear, and grace my fears relieved.” It was when I realized my propensity and captivity to sin that I was born again. Sin, in all its forms, had—and still has– the capacity to entice, entrap, enslave and confuse me, from which I cannot rescue myself. I, “the chief of sinners” for all I know, need a savior.

I have no fear of homosexuality or of people with same sex attraction, neither in society, nor in the church. I am simply raising concerns about the moral reasoning and the Bible hermeneutic I described above. They sound very much like the moral reasoning of the Sexual Revolution in the 1960′s, which not only failed to prevent me from slipping into some serious moral danger in my pre-Christian years, it also greased the skids. If I fear anything, it is that I, as a pastor and teacher, would do anything to make the position of anyone else more precarious on the slippery slopes on which we all live, including myself. That includes people I know who are seeking to live faithfully with their besetting temptations, as they see them, including the desire for same sex activity. As I worshiped and talked and prayed and attended seminars with many friends and others unknown in their pink shirts, I looked hopefully for signs that maybe we could differ on this one issue even while keeping a sense of biblical authority, moral urgency and missional engagement with the world intact. The results of that quest have been mixed. But I’m willing to keep looking.

If it sounds as though I have come to Christ and the church looking (in part) for moral boundaries and security, I plead guilty, if that be a crime. As the Sexual Revolution unfolds, look for more walking wounded to come limping into church, looking for mercy, safety and guidance. They will find no deep mercy where there are no high standards. But that’s a different narrative, of course, from that of those who look to church and to God for the affirmation and celebration of their liberation from many of the same boundaries. “I was born again when I acknowledged I was a sinner,” is a different narrative from, “I was born again when I affirmed that I wasn’t a sinner.”

I don’t know how to bridge the gap between people who see many or all of the varieties of sexual desire and behavior as the Spirit’s wonderful work of liberation, creation and variation, and those, like myself, who aren’t convinced they are not signs of an ancient and multi-faceted broken-ness that affects and afflicts all of us in ways that few of us would choose. I don’t know how to bridge the gap between such narratives with anything but love for the people who differ.

But I hope that, over time, we will see emerging, in the gap between these different narratives, a greater, deeper truth underneath, one that is different from the positions in the hermeneutical corners into which people on both sides of the issue are currently painting themselves, a truth which will emerge over time as we seek to be faithful to God and each other, in spite of our differences. I stake no claim to knowing fully what the underlying truth is that will resolve or transcend our differences and disputes on this matter. But it will surely have a strong elements of love, faith and humility.

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BREATHE AND BE FILLED–Thoughts on Columbus 09

Monday, July 20th, 2009 by mswora

BREATHE AND BE FILLED

One great strength of the Mennonite Church is our amazing capacity to organize, plan, administer and deliver stuff and events. Through a denomination and movement as small as we are, God does some amazing things for which we have an alphabet soup of world class professional organizations like Mennonite Central Committee, Mennonite Disaster Service, Mennonite Mutual Aid, Mennonite Mission Network, so on and so forth. And its all supported by a level of commitment, generosity and skill that’s outstanding for a denomination of our size.

This talent, commitment and generosity were all on display during the recent national convention in Columbus, OH. Next week you’ll get to hear from our youth and children who went there, about the amazing programs and people they had for their age groups. I know personally all about these programs, because I was able to check in back and forth between the different programs, not being an official delegate, like Mary Harder was for us. I also used the time to hear from, and connect with, other Mennonites in urban ministry and in Islamic contexts. There’s a lot of interest in the fact that we are now situated within the largest urban Somali concentration outside of Mogadishu.

But as is so often the case, sometimes our greatest assets are also our greatest weaknesses, our greatest dangers. Our denomination’s amazing talent for organization and administration could easily tempt us into over-reliance on our skills, as though we do not need God, but that God needs us.

I wondered about this on Thursday afternoon of last week, when I was scheduled to give a brief mission report to the delegate body, about our congregation’s emerging contacts and opportunities in the local Somali community. While I was waiting for my turn to speak, I was sitting next to Kim Friesen, who was at the table for the Listening Committee. She showed me the book in which the whole script for all the business of the conference was printed. I was literally listening to the speaker at the podium and reading the same words in the booklet. I found myself wondering why we didn’t just e-mail the booklet to all the delegates. But I know its most important that we gather and meet, face-to-face. I looked ahead in the script and saw my exact words, as I had emailed them to Jim Schrag, the Executive Director of MCUSA, the week before. He had wanted to make sure that I wouldn’t go beyond 200 words or 2 minutes of sharing. And I understand that they need to do that, so that no one, or no agency, or no agenda, monopolizes the meeting at the expense of everyone and everything else. But when I finally got up to the podium, it was all I could do to keep myself from turning over the apple cart by saying a “Knock-Knock” joke. But I stayed on script. Mostly.

Which is not to say that everything went smoothly. I don’t know about the delegate business, but whenever you get so many people together, things are bound to go off script, and a few times they did. I’m not at liberty to talk about everything, but a few times I had to deal with some painful moments between people who were simply doing their best to be their best and who still tripped over each other’s feet, so to speak. And each time we worked it through, it became one of our finest moments, church in reality, not just in theory.

It made me think about authentic Navajo Indian hand-woven rugs. Do you know how to tell a real authentic Navajo hand-woven rug from a mass-production knock-off from Singapore or South Carolina? By the “spirit opening.” By that is meant an intentional imperfection or departure from the otherwise perfect pattern. Navajo rugs are full of beautiful geometric patterns. In the middle there may be a hundred or more black stick figures all identical to each other, let’s say, all with their arms up in the air, except for one figure with one arm down. That one departure is called “the spirit opening.” According to traditional Navajo belief, that one imperfection or anomaly allows the spirit of the rug to go in and out freely. Or perhaps the carpet is bordered by hundreds of red triangles. With the exception of one black one. That, again, is the spirit opening. And no mass-produced machine-made Navajo knock-off rug will will have one, unless they all have the same one, because they can’t stop the looms to make a different little anomaly in each rug.

Now I don’t want any spirits in my carpets. If a carpet starts moving or talking to me, I’m calling an exorcist or a psychiatrist, or both. But I resonate with the idea that sometimes the best things in life are found not in regularity or uniformity or perfection, but in the departures, the errors, the unpredictable, the imperfect and even the broken parts of life. Often that is precisely where the Spirit of God breaks into our lives, through our weaknesses and needs, in the unpredictable and unforeseen, and not in our perfection and preparedness.

That’s why I’m so glad that the Holy Spirit and his work were the focus of the recent MCUSA conference. The theme was “Breathe and Be Filled,” and the key Bible passage was John 20: 19On the evening of that first day of the week, when the disciples were together, with the doors locked for fear of the Jews, Jesus came and stood among them and said, “Peace be with you!” 20After he said this, he showed them his hands and side. The disciples were overjoyed when they saw the Lord.  21Again Jesus said, “Peace be with you! As the Father has sent me, I am sending you.” 22And with that he breathed on them and said, “Receive the Holy Spirit.”

When we looked at this passage in advance of the conference, our senior high youth immediately caught the connection between the original act of creation in Genesis 2, when the Lord God formed the first human from the dust of the earth and breathed the breath of life into his nostrils, and this second act of creation, when Jesus blew his breath onto the disciples, thereby symbolizing his re-creation of humanity, a new creation through his Spirit, the church. He did so at the very moment when the apostles were like Adam: weak, inert, vulnerable. The words “Spirit” and “breath” are the same words in the New Testament.

The Holy Spirit of God is thus that of God which connects with us; indeed, if you believe classical Trinitarian Christianity, the Holy Spirit IS God in the act of connecting with us. As Jesus, the Son, was God present to us over 2,000 years ago, so the Holy Spirit now is Jesus present to us everywhere and in all time.

Some helpful ways to think about the Holy Spirit in relationship to God and us were given by retired Professor June Alliman Yoder and her daughter, Amanda Yoder Schrock, when they preached a sermon together to the combined youth and adult conventions. They listed four ways we often think of the Holy Spirit, in increasing order of helpfulness. The first, most common and probably least helpful way is of the Holy Spirit as our relief pitcher. When our arms are worn out and we’re starting to lose the game, so to speak, unlike any of the Twins’ lineup of pitchers, then and only then do we call in the Holy Spirit, to pick up where our efforts leave off. Like the student who told the campus minister, “Please pray for me at 4 o’clock this afternoon.”

“Why at 4?” the campus minister asked.

“Because I have a big gonzo chemistry test today at 3.”

“Why shouldn’t I pray for you at 3? Or now, for that matter?”

“Because by 4 o’clock I’ll know if I need God’s help or not.”

The second illustration of the Holy Spirit was “the Amish preaching bench.” In the Amish church, the preacher for the day is chosen from all the ordained, recognized preachers on the morning of the service, maybe by prayer or by drawing lots. Then the Bible passage is chosen, maybe by lots or prayer again. So when the preacher starts his message, with obviously no time to prepare or study, its all up to the Holy Spirit. I don’t know how well the Holy Spirit does in those circumstances. I haven’t tried to find out, and I’m not intending to do so any time soon.

Trying to explain the third example will quickly reveal the limits of my knowledge about modern physics. But perhaps there’s an engineer or a physicist among us who understands the EPR Principle. Or is it a theorem? Whatever it is, it says that two particles, by which I think they mean subatomic particles, which are separated at birth, by which I think they mean the Big Bang or the moment of creation, will remain in contact and act identically, whether one is passing in a rain cloud over Pittsburgh, and the other is orbiting around Pluto. Don’t ask me what that means or how they do that or how they know that. But I did understand this: it shows the level of intimacy and engagement and commitment from God to us that no amount of time or distance can affect or erase.

“Where can I go to flee from your Spirit?” David asked, in Psalm 139. According to the EPR Principle, or theorem, or whatever the world it is, nowhere in the whole wide infinite universe can we escape the love and attention of God’s Spirit.

The fourth example I found most helpful: the Holy Spirit as our GPS unit. If you have a GPS unit in your car, you use it to get directions from an orbiting satellite system overhead that tracks you and everyone else with a unit non-stop. So let’s say you’re coming to Emmanuel Mennonite Church one Sunday morning, following the directions of your GPS unit, and let’s say that when you come up Park Avenue and get to 26h Street East, your GPS unit will say, “Prepare to turn right at the next intersection, 25th Street East.” But if you blow right by 25th Street, your GPS unit will not say, “Alright, you clown; if you’re not going to listen to me, see if I ever bother giving you directions again!” and then shut itself off for good. No, it says, “Re-calculating….” And then it will calmly, patiently and wisely give you more direction to get you back on track.

And that’s how the Holy Spirit relates to us. He doesn’t make us do anything. But he guides and encourages us to do and be the will of God. And whenever we get off track, he stays committed to guiding and encouraging us to get us back on track.

In the course of the conference, we sang many songs and prayed many prayers around this theme of “breathe and be filled” with the Spirit of God. But for all the prayers and songs requesting God’s Spirit to fill us, I have to confess, I never came away feeling all full of the Holy Spirit. I’ve never, in all my years as a Christian, felt as though I was sure that I was full of the Holy Spirit, as though I were full of 4 gallons of water sloshing around inside me, with a little bit of the Holy Spirit leaking out when I said an angry word or another bit leaking out when I had a bad thought. At times I have felt and seen the work and the evidence of the Holy Spirit in my life and ministry. But I have never felt as though I received some static quantity of the Spirit that filled me the way you might fill a bucket with water. And that’s not what I see in the scriptures either, for all the times that they speak of being filled with the Holy Spirit. It all depends on what kind of full and filling we’re talking about.

For example, when Jesus said to the disciples, “Be filled with the Holy Spirit,” that was just after he said, “As the Father has sent me, so I send you.” That’s only one time out of all the others that the filling of the Holy Spirit is associated with ministry and the sharing of God’s Word. On that day of Pentecost, when the first apostles spoke in other languages to the pilgrims in Jerusalem, they were filled with the Holy Spirit, again, in order to share the word and the Spirit with their fellow Jews. We read of Stephen, also filled with the Holy Spirit, but when he was testifying before the Jewish Sanhedrin at risk of his life, just before being stoned to death. And when we read about the gifts of the Holy Spirit in the writings of Paul and Peter, they too are always associated with ministry and the sharing of God’s word. So to refine my definition earlier, the Holy Spirit is that of God which connects with us, in order to connect us with others, in ministry, witness, work and service that looks like Jesus.

Whenever we are filled with the Holy Spirit, we are filled not in the way that you might fill a sink or a bathtub with water, with the stopper in the drain, but in the same way that faucets or hoses are filled with water, only as the water flows through them, only when there is something or someone else to fill too. Or think of an electric current running through the wires that connect one light with another, like on a Christmas tree. And that is how I have experienced and seen the Holy spirit at work, not filling me just for my own sake, but flowing through me for the sake of others as well as myself. We could tell how the Spirit was flowing through us to unite each other, by the tears, the laughter, the insight and conviction, by the love, faith and hope we experienced and shared.

And often this filling and flowing happen in those moments when we are caught otherwise unprepared, with our weaknesses and our incompleteness showing. And those can be our finest moments. Like one of the best moments for me in the conference. It was when the scheduled speakers at a seminar failed to show up at all.

It was supposed to be an hour-long seminar on How to Disengage the Church from Complicity in War and Empire. I joined the group in the room when it was already packed full of 100 or more people. Up front was a guy passing out papers. But he was not the resource person, he said. He was simply passing out information about disturbing new developments in robotic, computer-aided warfare that was killing more civilians than combatants in places like Afghanistan and Pakistan. Every time someone came into the room, he would ask, as he passed out his papers and told us about the website, “Are you the speaker for this session?” At which the person would either vehemently say, “Who me? No way!” or would beat a hasty retreat back out the door.

After ten or fifteen minutes of him talking about his concern and the website and scaring the daylights out of late-comers, we finally decided to just get on with the subject. So we voted him the convener and secretary, to write down our questions about the subject, and to moderate our discussion and input in the matter. After we had generated about 10 questions on the matter, he asked us what we thought and knew about each of these questions. It was amazing what all came out of the audience by way of experience and passion and insight on the topic of war, empire and Christian complicity or resistance to the same. I stopped feeling peeved with the resource people for not showing up and started feeling bad for them, that they were missing out on all this passion and wisdom and experience around the question. I still have no idea whatever became of them.

One of our questions was, “How does the New Testament address the human empires and imperialism of its time?” I had something burning on my heart to say. But when I stood up to share, I noticed that one of the people in the room was my main professor of New Testament when I was at seminary. Oops. So I began by saying, “I’m a little scared to say what I’m about to say on the New Testament, now that I see that my former New Testament prof from the Mennonite seminary, Dr. Jake Elias, is in the room, but I’ll forge ahead anyway. And Jake, you can correct anything I say, as you have had to do in the past.” Then the words poured forth. And I felt the Spirit connecting me with the other attendees.

Then Dr. Elias spoke, shared a few supplemental thoughts, and said, “By the way, Mathew, you just flunked.” He was kidding, of course. I think. But the point of all this is to say that the Spirit fills us, individually and together, as a church, for our ministries, and through our ministries, not only to connect us with God, but with each other and the world. And more often than not, He does this not just through our strengths and talents, but also through our imperfections and our weaknesses, through our needs, our vulnerabilities, and our broken parts, and as I hope he is doing even as I speak.

Amen.

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