Faith and Communion

This weekend, my 5 ½ year-old son will receive first communion at our local parish.  With great faith, his father and I will let my son loose on the holy Sacrament.  With even greater faith (and less common sense), we will dress him in white pants, a white shirt and white shoes.  I shudder to think how those crisp white clothes will look at the end of the day, after all the running around, grape juice, cake and squirming in the pew. 

Many of my friends and family have asked me, “Do you think he’s ready?  Do you think he understands the Sacrament?  Do you really think those pants will stay clean?”  To be 100% honest, I don’t know and I’m not sure I care.  Please don’t mistake me, I treasure and honor the Sacrament with deep reverence. 

If it were my Sacrament or my church’s, I’d worry about it more.  I’d stress about his preparedness and his seriousness.  But it doesn’t belong to me or to my church to worry about.  It belongs to God.  And it is freely given, even to those who don’t deserve or understand it.  In God’s eyes, surely I must be as unworthy and unprepared to receive the Sacrament as my son.   He might even be more worthy than me because he approaches the Eucharist with the innocence and wonder of a child whereas I approach with the wariness and skepticism of an adult. 

I also think of the moment during which I was created and sent into the world with God’s blessing.  Surely the angels and archangels must have asked, “Do you think he’s ready? Do you think he understands what it means to be a child of God?  Do you think he’ll stay that pure forever?”  God simply smiled and sent me into the world anyway, knowing that one day I’d return to Him as pure and as innocent as the day created me.  At least that has always been His wish for me.  Despite all that I’ve done and left undone, God wants to remember me in that moment. As I was sent into the world, so was my son.

I don’t have faith that my son will understand the Sacrament fully, but he doesn’t need to.  I do have faith that God invites him and all His children to the Sacrament with love and patience.  As with his Baptism, my son’s first Communion does not “introduce” or “reacquaint” him with God.  He is well known to God already.  God rejoiced in his coming before he was known to us.  God embraced him before his tiny body had taken form.  God called him by name even before he was given one. If my son stumbles, God will reach out to catch him. This Sacrament is more like a comforting and familiar hand on my son’s shoulder, leading him through the darkness of this life. 

So this Sunday, I will kneel with my son before the bread and the wine.  We will not commune as parent and child, but together as children of God, equally invited and equally unaware of the mystery behind the Sacrament. Whatever we lack in our preparation, God will complete for each of us.

And if you’re still wondering about those pants, rest assured, I’ll carry my stain remover pen with me.

To be honest, I'm a Jerk

I come from a long line of jerks.  My father is a jerk as are many of my uncles and some of my cousins (both male and female).   Fortunately, God has sought to surround the jerks in my family with non-jerks.  My brother, my partner and my mother each contend with our jerkish behavior with kindness, love and patience.  They each have played referee, therapist and confessor to my and my family's jerkish ways.

In the height of my jerkishness, right about in high school, my father and I would have epic arguments.  We'd argue over some insignificant thing and go days, weeks and in one instance, a whole summer without talking to each other.  And if anyone pointed out that we were more alike than different, well that would add another day or week to the churlish silence between us.

During that time, my mother, the chief non-jerk in residence made one simple rule that even we did not oppose.  No matter what, all of us ate together.  Even if the only sounds that emanated from the table were of forks touching plates, we were expected to commune together.   It was unpleasant and uncomfortable, but it reminded us that even in our most abject jerkishness, we lived under one roof and ate one common meal.

Over the past several weeks, I've heard a few people refer to the Holy Spirit as a "she."  Although, I still often refer to the Spirit as gender neutral, I see the binding nature of the Spirit in my mother's simple rule: Abide with each other even if you can't live with each other.  Even if the Holy Spirit isn't entirely female, It certainly exhibits a mother's devotion to keep people at the common table, even when they don't share much else in common.

Last week, the United Methodist Church held its quadrennial conference.  One of its most debated votes reaffirmed the UMC's stance that homosexual acts are inconsistent with the denomination's understanding of Christian teaching.  The vote left many on both sides hurt, angry and feeling disenfranchised.  From the various blogs I've read, the body left the assembly feeling anything but "United".  Even though I wasn't there, as a former UMC member, I felt that disunion and heartache personally.

Yet I am convinced that even though the hurt was palatable in that moment, the Holy Spirit moved in that assembly as It works in the world.  The Spirit's work is measured in centuries and not in days, weeks or even months.   When the Church wrestled with schism, anathema and heresy before, the Spirit was there among them and kept everyone coming back to the table to share a common meal, even the jerks.  Like a mother patiently waiting for her children to come home to dinner, the Holy Spirit awaits for perfect unity and harmony for all Her children.

This Mother's Day, I will thank God for my mother, the mothers in my life,  holy Mother Church and the motherly nature of the Holy Spirit. 

The Lord is my Shepherd...but...

This past Sunday, our church celebrated Good Shepherd Sunday.  To paraphrase (rather poorly) our pastor, "it’s a chance to mash up all of our Shepherd motifs into one Sunday.”  And that’s what tends to happen in most celebrations of this Sunday.  We sing hymns about shepherds, read the 23^rd psalm and recount the many examples of Jesus as the loving, caring shepherd. The good shepherd imagery in Christianity is so entrenched in the church we still call our leaders, “pastors”.  Some of our most endearing artwork tends to depict gentle shepherds in idyllic fields.  Our bishops still carry shepherds’ crooks as reminders of their role as leaders of the flock.

It’s all well and good, this imagery of the Good Shepherd. It’s very comforting and serene. But as our pastor reflected, there has to be more to it than that. For instance, if Jesus is the good shepherd, who are the sheep?  We are quick to say, “we are the sheep” and even quicker to move on.  We don’t tend to dwell on the other half of the analogy.  I suspect that there are lots of reasons why we don’t explore the analogy more. 

First and foremost, to be called sheep isn’t very flattering. Sheep are docile and not very bright.   They are easily spooked and tend to frighten easily.  Sheep are victims and are rarely the aggressors, which our culture seems to value more and more.   Even on the farm, when barriers are broken, sheep are the usually last to leave the pens unless spooked.  Pigs, horses, cows, and even chickens will tend to wander before sheep. It’s not very awe-inspiring on this side of the analogy is it?

I suspect, there’s another reason beyond the flattery aspect of the analogy. There’s the rather unpleasant carnal reality of sheep herding. After all, shepherds don’t tend to sheep because they’re cute or they make good props for pastoral scenery.  Sheep provide wool, milk and meat for the shepherds and the community.  In Jesus’ time, sheep were also often the animals most used for sacrifice in the Temple because they were affordable to even the poorest people and easily transported without iron fetters or collars. You can literally lead a sheep to the slaughterhouse with a single switch. (I’ve actually seen this part before).

If we are to compare Jesus to the Good Shepherd, then we must admit our “sheepishness” and accept that we are led, tended and cared for, not because we’re “cute”.  We are loved so that we may be “consumed” by and through the work of the Good Shepherd.  Like a lamb that provides warmth and sustenance to a cold and hungry world, we are set aside for a purposeful utility in the world. Like the lamb set aside for the sacrifice, we are tended to so that we might be of service to others and a glory to God.  I suspect, we don’t like to dwell on this aspect of the analogy because it requires more from us than “laying down beside still waters” and being coddled. 

To accept Jesus as your shepherd is to accept your place as a whole sacrifice to be used for Jesus’ mission. We are often reluctant to depict that part of the analogy.  And that’s what the shepherd’s crook is for, to lead the sheep where they don’t wish to go. 

Knowing your mission

One of my favorite stories about modern mission comes from the life of Mother Teresa.  It comes from her early days, when she first began her ministry in the slums of Kolkatta, India (formerly Calcutta).  She learned of a hungry Hindu family with eight children.   One night, she came to the family's home with a very small portion of rice.  She recalled that she could easily recognize the early stages of starvation in the faces of the childern.  Surely she must have felt embarrassed by the meagerness of the rice. 

After she presented the small parcel to the mother of the family, the matriarch  thanked her profusely  and then divided the rice into two equal portions.  She wrapped one in some cloth and then left the house.  When she returned a few moments later, Mother Teresa asked her, "Where did you go?" The mother replied, "Mother, they are aslo hungry next door." 

Mother Teresa later learned that the family next door was Muslim and was just as hungry as their Hindu neighbors.  Apparently the mother of the family saw the common hunger between the two houses despite a millenia of sectarian hostility between the two faiths.

The story is often told as a lesson in gratitude and it is a beautiful one.  It is also a story of mission. The mother in the story didn't excuse herself from charity because she had so little.  She didn't wait for an abundance to find her mission. She gave of the very little she had been given.  From that trueness of heart, God blessed her gift and made it immortal, just like the widow's mite.

Sometimes, we may think that our lives are too broken, our souls too weak, and our gifts too humble to share. We often dwell on the meagerness of the rice.   Yet the Divinity in the sacrifice is in the act of giving and not in the gift itself.   

We are also reminded that hunger, whether physical, emotional or spiritual, is universal.  Hunger trumps creed.  It also trumps race, nationality, ethnicity, gender, class, caste, sexual orientation, and whatever distinction we care to impose on ourselves.  The response to hunger must also be as universal and personal . Our job is to seek out the hunger in the lives around us and respond with whatever gifts we are given, trusting that God will bless and increase them.

Perhaps this is why Jesus' most frequently uttered commandment is to feed the hungry.  If you don't know where to look, just remember, they are also hungry next door.

You’re from the Church aren’t you?

“You’re from the Church aren’t you?”  Two very different people have asked me this exact question in two very different situations in my life.

The first time occurred when I was a teenager. My father was pastor of a small community church in the Chicago suburbs.  The parsonage was physically connected to the church building and there was almost no separation between church life and the privacy my family probably deserved.

One day I was working in the front yard of the parsonage and an elderly man approached me.  He was apparently a neighbor, but one whom I had never seen before.  He was somewhat disheveled and seemed angry.  He strode over to me and demanded, “You’re from the Church aren’t you?" “Yes, I go to this church,” I replied.  He harrumphed, “Well tell your church that they’re too loud on Sunday mornings and they take up all the parking!” And then he turned around and made his way back.  I was speechless and couldn’t even manage a look of shock at this man’s annoyance. I told my father and some people from the church about my encounter and they informed me that he was not only nearly deaf but he also couldn’t drive anymore.  His inability to hear or park didn’t stop him from lodging a complaint to only person he saw outside of the church.  To him, the church was a nuisance and the church goers were a group of itinerants, bothersome and noisy.   In and out on a Sunday morning, we were a blight on his community even though we had co-existed for decades.  For all that time, the church did not make a convincing case for its existence to the old man didn’t seem like he had any interest in changing that opinion.

I’m sure anyone who’s been around the neighborhood in a front-door “evangelism” call has felt the same icy reception.  Doors slam in your face.  People don’t want to “buy whatever it is you’re selling!” Or you get locked into a theological discussion that leads nowhere, “What does that church say about…?”  And you leave the neighborhood feeling like you have no impact. 

The second time I was asked that question was very recently.  My church has the extreme fortune of being at the crossroads of two very busy bus lines in Chicago.   As a result, we get a lot of visitors.  At each service, there are usually a few visitors who don’t fill out contact cards because they have no permanent address.  They are homeless or, at least, homeless for the day.  In some congregations, these people would not find welcome.

On the other hand, my congregation takes our welcome very seriously.  We invite the people in and pass the peace with them.  If they are not comfortable sitting with the congregation, we find a place where they can participate to their level of comfort.  We invite them to coffee hour.  We share the leftovers with them.  We offer bus passes.  We chat with them.  In short, we treat them as God wants everyone to be treated when they enter God’s house: as a precious child of God who’s returned home after a long journey.  I am very proud of my congregation’s welcome. 

A homeless man has recently coming to our congregation since Easter.  He is elderly and dresses formally for the occasion.  He wears the best of the meager possessions he carries with him.  Yet, the past few weeks, I've had to wait in line behind two or three people to say good morning to him.  Although he appears embarrassed by the reception, I like to think our welcome touches him as only warmth and generosity can.

Last Sunday, I had to count the collection after the service.  I had to stay late and missed coffee hour.  As I was walking back to my car with a large envelope with lots of cash to deposit, he approached me and asked me for bus fare.  Then he looked up at me and asked, “You’re from the Church aren’t you?”  This time, there was no harshness or anger.  There was a slight pause, as if to say, “Wonderful, I’ve found someone who might help me”.   Unfortunately, I don’t give cash to people on the street.  But I did lead him to our pastor’s office, where there are pre-paid bus passes, which he greatly appreciated.

At first, I was tempted to look back on the two men who asked me the same question at very different times in my life.  Who were they?  What condition were they in when they approaced me?  What was their status?  Then I asked myself, Who was I?  What condition was I in?  These are interesting questions, but these are not spiritually challenging ones.

Maybe the difference in the men's asking has less to do with them and more to do with the two churches. Were they seen as sources of help and assistance or places where annoying, self-serving people go to celebrate themselves? 

I'm afraid that the church of my teenage years was not very welcoming.  It was very satisfied with it membership and didn't attempt to make any changes.  It was an historically significant building but not a socially engaging one.  It was a cloistered enclave, protected by its self-satisfaction and imposing masonry.  As I suspected, a recent Google search proved that it is no longer in existence.  The neighbor finally got his wish: quiet Sunday mornings and plenty of parking.

Please don't misunderstand me, my current congregation has a long way to go in extending its welcome to everyone.  There are many who are within the shadow of our building yet are leagues away from our community.  We can surely do more to provide the same radical welcome with which Christ invites us to the Eucharist. But I believe that the people of my current congregation share this idea.  Until all the millions and millions of broken and shattered pieces gather under the unity of the Cross, we cannot declare our church to be One, Holy, Catholic and Apostolic.

Be radical in your welcome as Christ radically welcomes you. 

The Word revealed and revealing

Imagine a conversation about the Bible’s views on same-sex attraction between two very different people; a conservative  literalist and a liberal interpretationist

The liberal asks, “Do you believe in the inerrancy of the Bible as it is interpreted today? Including Leviticus 18:22?”  The conservative says, “Of course, “Thou shalt not lieth with mankind as with womankind.  It is an abomination.”  The liberal asks, “And you believe that to be the truth? Beyond interpretation and application of contextual understanding?”  The conservative asserts,”Yes, of course! I interpret no nuance or context there.” “Ok” then challenges the liberal, “What if they do it standing up?  There’s nothing about that, is there?” “Well,” says the conservative “lieth means…” “Aha!” says the liberal, “there you go interpreting!”

Humorous as it may sound, these conversations, or ones just like them, happen all too often between conservatives and liberal Christians and non-Christians when we talk about the GLBTQ community. 

The conservative and liberal are two culture warriors fighting over an inch of unforgivable land. Neither understands nor respects the other and both sides denigrate the Word.   They argue between themselves for their own ends: Who’s right (going to Heaven) and who’s wrong (going to Hell).

Yet this kind of discourse is sinful in its own right because the desire to be “righteous” is exceeded by the desire to be “right”. It simply takes God out of the discussion and reduces the dialogue to the semantics of interpretation and the interpretation of semantics. It is not a glorification of God, but rather a glorification of self.

What if the two instead talked about the arc of the Bible? The journey God’s people take from Creation, to settlement in the Promised Land and then in the Exile.  What if they talked about the New Covenant and how each of them is a broken and shattered piece of God’s greater work of salvation? What if they each recognized each other as child of God? What if they each glorified the spark of Divinity that burns equally in each of them?  What if they each realized that we are not called “Levites” or “Romans” or “Corinthians” but Christians?  Followers of the Christ, who is the New Law? What if they revel in the certainty of the Fall and celebrate mystery of Grace?  

That kind of conservation would begin with an invitation like, “walk with me brother/sister. I am not sure where are led, but I know who leads us. And we will not be lost”.  It is a conversation that is rooted in faith and trust and not one rooted in semantics and interpretation. It is one in which the participants accepts the unrevealed authority of God to triumph and allows their own perceptions of their own authority to die.

The Holy Spirit has led the Church out of many wildernesses before: Prescription for circumcision and the adherence to kosher law. Justification by faith alone versus justification by acts, abolitionism, simony and the practices of indulgences, the central role of women as leaders in the Church, just to name a few.  In each case, the Holy Spirit has led and we have followed.  None of those who entered into those conversations ever saw the end of them.  Yet in those conversations, the Holy Spirit triumphed and revealed itself as the eternally present element of the Trinity.  One that leads in generations, not in single arguments. Do we have the same faith to listen to It again and set aside everything else?  

In Luke 24:45, part of the lesson read in my church today, Jesus appears to the disciples after the Resurrection.  "then, he opened their minds to understand the Scriptures". Each of them knew the laws of Moses and the history of their people. But even the disciples had to have their hearts opened to understand the Scriptures and they needed a very real, very present, and a very risen Christ to do it.  May Christ be with you in all of your journey with scriptures. 

Knowing now...

In the few years after I came out to my parents, they often invited me over to lunch at their house on Saturdays.   This was usually a monthly event.  I got a good home cooked meal and got to some “fam cred” with my parents. They also got to see me more often and check in on me. Usually I’d be back early enough to go to the gym and go hang out with my buddies.  My dad, who was still had a parish at the time, would be busy finishing his sermon (I’d usually get  a prescreening) and my mom would be busy making enough food to feed a small invasion force even though it was only lunch for three.  It was a pretty easy afternoon.

But one Saturday was very different.  I suspected something was up as soon as I entered.  Instead of the usual buzz of activity, I was greeted with nervous silence and a palatable restlessness.  They were preoccupied with something.   The deal killer: there were pre-made sandwiches from Panera. At first I thought someone was gravely ill.

As I sat down in the living room, I asked them how they were doing and they responded in one-word answers. They were acting weird, almost conspiratorial. After a bit of awkwardness, I asked, ”What’s up guys? You seem out of it today.” They looked at each other and then my dad told me that they wanted to “give” me something. And my mother retrieved a gift-wrapped box.  (To this day, no one knows why she thought to wrap it.)

I had sinking feeling that I knew what was in the package before I started to tear the paper.   As I suspected, it was a set of audio and video tapes from an Ex-Gay ministry.  I didn’t bother to even read the pamphlet.  I saw the first title; it was something like, “Talking honestly to your child about the sin of Homosexuality”.   I cringed.  I looked at them and they hid their eyes from me and my self-anointed self-righteousness.

“How can you give this to me?” I demanded. “I thought we understood each other better!” “Why can’t you just leave things the way they are? We’re doing OK, aren’t we?”  I hurled more questions than I care to admit.  I was angry, I was hurt, I was disappointed in them.  And they knew it. 

My dad implored, “Your mom and I have watched these already and we’d like to watch them with you if…” I cut him off, “You’ve watched this already? How long have you been planning this?” I went on and on.  Finally, I got so angry I got up from the table and I shoved the gift back at them and told them I was leaving.  I can truly say they probably expected that reaction.

I got in my car and headed home, angry and hungry.  More importantly, I was right and I was sure about it.  When I got back to my apartment, I told my roommate.  And he thought I had done the right thing too.  In fact, we decided to start our usual Saturday evening cocktail hour earlier that night to get my mind off the afternoon with my parents.  We went out to our favorite bars and I probably told the story to a half dozen strangers that night.  Everyone agreed with my reaction.  After all my parents were not being supportive or caring, right?

Flash forward 15 years later.  Now I am a happily parterned gay man in a committed relationship with my best friend of 13 years.  I have an active and blessed faith life.  I have a son of my own.  Miraculously, I have a wonderful open, honest and loving relationship with my parents, who’ve never stopped supporting me and my family. I recognize each of these relationships as a treasured gift from God.  I’ve recently been reliving that afternoon over and over again in my mind.  And although I’m still glad I didn’t watch the tapes, I truly regret my reaction.  

Now I ask myself, have I ever felt compelled to share a part of my life with someone I love, knowing that the truth of it might irreparably damage my relationship with them?  Did I ever secretly try to discern something about myself without letting the people I love know?  Did I ever confront someone with news that could make them challenge everything they ever thought about me? And when that news was brought to light, did I hope that person would respond with grace? Did I ever ask someone to hold off and just listen to me?  Of course I did.  I did all of that…to them.  When I came out to them.

Their response to my news was not angry. It was not filled with self-anointed self-righteousness or demands.  It was affirming and loving and kind. I couldn’t have asked them to be more than they were.

Sometimes we are asked to love beyond our understanding.  We are called to compassion greater than our comprehension and we are moved to kindness greater than we ever dreamed possible.  Andrew Marin, in his work Love is An Orientation, calls parents to appreciate their children’s’ coming out as a “holy moment”. I couldn’t agree with Marin more on this point and I’d add that it’s holy moment for the gay daughter or son as well.

It is in these moments, we can glimpse into the nature of God.  For in those moments, we are given the opportunity to be Christ-like in our actions.   When I came out to them, my parents choose the Christ-like path.  On that Saturday afternoon, I didn’t.  I chose not to deal with my parents’ grief and pain as their son or as a Follower of Christ.  I took the path of anger, indignation and self-absorption. 

I cannot understand, appreciate or even reconcile my parents’ decision to give me that gift-wrapped box that day.  But, I don’t need to. I love them, for who they are, not who I want them to be.  That’s the lesson they’ve taught me all my life.  My recompense to them now is to love my son, their grandson, in the way they taught me.  The way Christ loves me, which surpasses understanding and human comprehension.  A love which began while I was not yet formed in my mother’s womb and will last long after this life passes from me.

To my GLBTQ brothers and sisters who are coming out, to my fellow parents who find out the truth about your kids, to all of us struggling with reconciliation, strive to be less Christian and more Christ-like in your discussions with each other. Worry less about discipline and be a disciple. Put down the books, the catchy phrases and the flag pins.  Take up each other’s pain instead. You may not always agree with each other on everything, but you will care for each as you were meant to do.  In this care, you will recognize that Christ is indeed with you in this moment.  Premade sandwiches and all.