Lilacs in the Ground

Sat, 25 Apr 2009 19:55:17 -0500

It was work day at Prairie today. When I arrived in good suit and shoes because of memorial service responsibilities there was considerable ribbing from the sweaty, torn T-shirt crowd. They were trimming pine trees, purging dandelions and overhauling the weedy, erosive bank north of the main steps. There was inside cleaning too.

After a lunch break, we planted three lilac bushes. We had intended to get them in the ground last Sunday as a part of creation celebration worship except it rained. Today it only threatened to rain.

As they sat in their holes of clay we stood around them and considered the many blessings of trees: firewood, fruit, fall colors, love, beauty, lumber, maple syrup, wind breaks, tree houses, swings, bird habitats, shade.... I read a favorite Mary Oliver poem, “When I Am Among the Trees,” which always feels like a gentle hug.

Then we shoveled in top soil, watered and went back to work. I love lilacs. They remind of home, western New York State, where nearby Rochester is famous for its lilac festival and Mom used to pick thick, perfumy bouquets for our bedside tables when we were little. May this trinity of lilacs be a sign of God’s blessing and grace for whoever parks here.

Eggs and Cooperation

Sun, 12 Apr 2009 19:39:20 -0500

I am just high church enough to feel qualms about scheduling an Easter egg hunt on Holy Saturday, but this year’s event was an oasis of joy and fun that could not have happened on any other day.

It was the only day of sun and warmth in a long line of chilly, drizzly ones. It is the traditional day to do egg hunts around here. I did notice that the White House holds theirs on Monday, but nevertheless.... And, it was the day Prairie and Nall Avenue Baptist unintentionally reserved the same park for the same purpose providing an opportunity to collaborate instead of compete, complain or cancel (which, I confess, were my first inclinations).

Our intrepid Family Life Board, led by Hilary Thisted, worked with Lori of Nall Avenue, to put together the best egg hunt ever. Hundreds of children accompanied by parents and several dogs appeared on schedule. Over 6,000 candy-filled eggs were sprinkled on the lawn. A giant, huggable Easter Bunny made the rounds and then eager children scoured the grass on cue. Some said they resembled a human vacuum cleaner. Others likened it to hyenas stripping bare a carcass. In any case, it did not take long for every egg to find its way into a child’s basket.

It was a beautiful day in every way. Who would have guessed that a Holy Saturday egg hunt would be the vehicle for linking two theologically disparate churches, bringing the community together and making the sun shine?

There are countless other pictures but my photo inserting skills are rusty. Check back for a picture album soon.

Tempest in a Teapot

Thu, 26 Mar 2009 09:57:24 -0500

There’s been a lot of fire and fury over million dollar AIG bonuses. I’ve felt resentful and self-righteous with the best of them even though I realize that millions of dollars in bonuses compared to billions of dollars in bail-outs are almost infinitesimal. Of course, then I consider how much a million dollars, just one, could do for Interfaith Hospitality Network, Metro Organization for Racial and Economic Equity, Baptist Joint Committee or the Monterey Bay Aquarium, and did I mention Prairie Baptist Church? and it doesn’t seem so small.

In the grand scheme of things, however, the bonuses have more meaning as symbol of what is wrong with our culture and values than anything else. But then the scramble by president, cabinet, Congress and commentators to deride, disparage and punish have felt empty and misguided. When it was reported that some of the wealthy recipients had handed back the bonuses, I felt a strange lack of satisfaction.

Could it be because the anger pointed at bonuses doesn’t belong there and, in fact, blinds us to the bigger picture and makes matters worse? It’s like walking my dog past two dogs behind a big wooden fence. They both want to charge out and meet and greet, or possibly attack, my dog but because they can’t, the bigger one jumps all over the smaller one.

We can’t fix the economy and we’re worried about our financial present and future so we dump on the guys who get a bonus. But speaking for myself, vitriol and blame rarely improve a day. What would better the day and the world? I’ll think big here. How about a long walk with the dog and a couple of biscuits for the canines behind the fence who only know how to act by instinct, not grace? I could commit an act of generosity. I could pay attention and give thanks for blessings like that bird song coming from the trees with a film of green on their branches, a home and money for the mortgage, little ideas about the economy and a computer through which to share them, a few someones like you who read them, and hope, tender hope, that will not quit.

I could keep heart, soul and daily schedule focused on the big picture - the one that’s all about loving God with all my heart, soul, mind and strength and my neighbor as myself.

There, world.

Prepare to Flower

Thu, 19 Mar 2009 18:17:42 -0500

Mustard seed metaphors have been coming from all directions lately. Glen Stassen used it in his lectures on peacemaking a couple of weeks ago. Said it’s a life metaphor that sustains him, this idea that
the most insignificant of our good works and hopes have potential to grow large and multiply because God is God and this is how creation is created.

Then morning reading from Celtic Daily Prayer quoted Anne Louise Haggerstone who wrote, “Years ago a small seed was planted deep into the heart of hopeful souls.” She was speaking of the faithful who established the contemplative “Northumbria Community. Over the years that seed grew and spread itself to other souls.... Now that plant flourishes in many hopeful souls all working together as one.” And then the phrase that stuck with me all day, “The people of the Nether Springs prepared themselves to flower in their base founded by God.”

Prepare to flower. I’m thankful for people I’ll never meet who made their lives a place for a seed to take root that flowers now in my life every time I visit Celtic Daily Prayer. Apparently hope had something to do with it. What else? Forgiveness? Solitude? Compassion and care for others? Love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, generosity....

How am I preparing the soil for seeds Gardener God is scattering in my direction? Lent is the right time to ask. Prepare, get ready, get out the hoe. Weeds of doubt, cynicism, apathy, pride, and blame raise their little green heads every day.

Prepare to flower. I’d like to be wildly colored azalea or pungently perfumed magnolia quietly exuding God, or maybe not so quietly. Azaleas can knock your eyes out.

Trouble with Blessing

Mon, 2 Mar 2009 00:00:00 -0600

We began the season of Lent this year in a most atypical way for Baptists. After an Ash Wednesday service of ashes, we had a spiritual life enrichment retreat featuring labyrinth, icons, lectio divina, guided imagery, liturgy of hours.... It was a refreshing reclaiming of spiritual roots. The theme was Brokenness and Blessing. I got to do the blessing part.

After talking about blessing, this affirmation of our belovedness which is so essential to human living and thriving, I thought we should do it. Everybody was to think of a blessing they wished that they had received as a child - some word of love, encouragement or delight from a parent, sibling, teacher, pastor, someone. Then we stood in two concentric circles, each person facing another, and said those blessings to one another and another, and another.

Those were the directions. They seemed simple. I repeated them a couple of times and demonstrated. But when it came to actually putting the blessing we had yearned for as children into words and saying them to another, it was not easy after all.

For one thing, it makes a person vulnerable. But this was a gentle group, none of us strangers and all of us there for spiritual stretching. Another factor is surely this culture of blaming, complaining, judging and competing we live in. Henri Nouwen observes that “the sense of being cursed often comes more easily than the sense of being blessed” (Life of the Beloved, 61). Turn to one of countless “reality” TV shows to see dissing and dumping on one another made into sport.

And it is difficult to form in words a blessing one has never heard. As we tried, however, stumbling around our circle, most of us finally got words out and here is what we discovered. No matter how we said it, all the blessings were essentially the same: You are my beloved son or daughter. With you I am well pleased.

Basically, it’s God’s original blessing upon us, spoken out loud as Jesus comes dripping wet out of the River Jordan, held in the strong arms of cousin John the Baptizer. God doesn’t speak very much in the gospels but this is one thing God finds it absolutely necessary to say.

You are my beloved. You really are.

What I Wish I’d Said

Sun, 1 Mar 2009 18:11:44 -0600

It was an honor to be invited to represent American Baptist spirituality on the panel at the annual National Council of Jewish Women Interfaith Luncheon last week. I joined distinguished colleagues, Rabbi Jonathan Rudnick and Shaheen Ahmed. M.D., in attempting to express in 6-7 minute remarks followed by Q&A how our faith traditions offer healing in a fractured world.

To prepare for the event I read Walter Rauschenbusch’s Dare We Be Christian, and John Shea’s An Experience Named Spirit. I asked friends and colleagues what they thought American Baptist spirituality offered broken times and people and I reflected upon my own journey of faith and longing for peace in the midst of turmoil.

When the day came, after a fresh green salad and eggplant cannoli, I took the mic and tried to describe a spirituality that recognizes, celebrates and facilitates God moving among us. At our best, American Baptists honor, respect and welcome the manifoldness of humankind as a sign of God’s creativity, wisdom, love, generosity and blessing that should produce those qualities in us as well.

At our best, diversity teaches humility and the ability to listen. This openness to God’s voice in difference is wonderfully manifested in January’s Baptist/Muslim dialogue held near Boston.

When we are at our best, we understand that we must also pay attention to God within us as well as among us. Spirituality is a matter of intentional, inner growth and practice. September 11 and the economic crisis may drive people to church expecting a spiritual Tylenol, but meaningful spiritual formation is a life long journey. Baptists put down spiritual roots through Bible study, prayer, worship and singing. We do it in a tradition of freedom - soul freedom, Bible freedom, church freedom and religious freedom. More recently, we have claimed the ancient contemplative spiritual practices of Christian tradition: Taize worship, centering prayer, lectio divina, silence, simplicity.

The inner work is necessary to give the strength, vision and courage needed to live the justice, mercy and humility God requires of us for the world and that Jesus teaches and shows us is the way to abundant life. As Rauschenbusch says, we are called to spread the kingdom of God by living a Christ-like life. That means substituting love for selfishness as the basis for human society.

That, in a nutshell, is what I said. Then the questions came. The very first one begged a concrete answer for real pain in our world. “What would be your advice to President Obama for the Israel/Palestine conflict?” I got to respond first. So I said, “He should listen. Listening is a holy act that has the power and potential to heal. We can listen one another into being.”

But my best answers usually arrive several hours after the question so this is what I wish I had said: Our president should listen to the women. I recall a study I read years ago about experts trying to solve the problem of AIDS in an African nation. The best and the brightest applied the latest research and state of the art tools and practices of social change. They threw money and expertise at the problem for years and could not make a dent in it. Finally, someone suggested, “Why don’t we ask the women?” So they did. Women with no education or access to power who bore the brunt of the disease were brought into the conversation for the first time. The experts listened and the women said, “Educate our daughters.”

So they did. A new generation of women grew up empowered, informed, gifted and confident. They changed the culture, family by family.

A similar, seemingly impossible, healing took place in South Africa when women began talking with one another and then with the men making decisions in the places of power. The wives of Frederik de Klerk and Nelson Mandela helped overcome the political impasse which had held apartheid in place for generations by, first, listening to each other, and then persuading their husbands to talk.

Although women do sit around some tables of power and influence today, they are few. Jesus knew how to listen to the ones the world makes invisible and voiceless. So should we.

My Peace I Give...

Sun, 1 Mar 2009 18:03:48 -0600

Travel companion, friend, church member and president of Central Baptist Theological Seminary, not to mention presenter on the theology of peace at the Global Baptist Peace Conference, Molly Marshall, wrote a reflection on the experience she has given me permission to share.

Molly T. Marshall, Ph.D.
President
and
Professor of Theology and Spiritual Formation
Central Baptist Theological Seminary
Shawnee, KS

I have just returned from the Global Baptist Peace Conference, an every four year event, which was held this year in Rome. The gathering was sponsored by CBF, ABC, the Alliance of Baptists, the North American Baptist Peace Fellowship, Christian Aid, National Ministries of ABC, the Baptist Union of Great Britain, the Ucebi—the Italian Baptist Union, and the Evangelical Baptist Church of the Republic of Georgia. It was my first time to travel to Rome, so I brought fresh eyes and wonder. About 300 Baptists from nearly 50 countries gathered at a conference center across the lake from the Pope’s summer residence, the Castel Gandolfo. He summers well there.

The conference was rich, especially the times of worship. In three languages our singing, praying, and dancing demonstrated the great tapestry of Baptists from Europe, Asia, Africa, Caribbean, Central/South America, and North America. My heart rose up as we began by singing “Santo, Santo, Santo,” each in our own language but with unifying praise.

The conference closed with worship at the Waldensian Church, the oldest of Protestant Churches, and then we had opportunity for a brief time to explore the treasures of the eternal city. Of course, there are more remarkable sites and pilgrimage opportunities than a lifetime can absorb, but we managed to follow the steps of Peter and Paul, early Christianity’s chief voices, as best we could.

The churches that commemorate their ministries were stunning. At the Basilica of Saint Paul Outside-the-Walls, we were led by clergywomen from the Republic of Georgia and the US. Seeing a vested woman presiding in worship near the place that houses the chains that bound Paul testified to his understanding of the liberation that has come through Christ Jesus. Free, indeed!

Visiting the Colosseum is an overwhelming experience. Built in the 80’s by Vespasian, it served as a theatre of grotesque diversion. In the first 100 days that it was open, over 5000 beasts were slaughtered. Plying the unemployed of Rome with free tickets and free drink, it served as a distraction from their abject poverty, their chronic marginalization. The construction of this mammoth stage (which seated nearly 75,000) for brutalities of all sorts was supposed to celebrate the power of the empire. Every new animal that was displayed for battle with gladiators or human prey was a sign of a new area of the world that the Roman Empire had conquered.

Over the past several political years in America, Garry Trudeau’s Doonesbury cartoon has used symbols of the empire to satirize the ambitions of our democracy. A helmet of a centurion was often the caricature of American imperious aspirations. It is no compliment to be compared to the expansionist vision of Rome. It is no compliment to be thought so cavalier about the value of human life. It is no compliment to have American power compared to the heel of Rome. Yet, is it in anyway an apt comparison? I fear that it is, and that we as Christians should repent of our participation in this systemic evil of oppressive power. The Pax Romana is not the Pax Christi, the peace given to us through the gift of the Spirit. It is all too easy to hail peace imposed by military force as divine approbation of those tactics; a hermeneutics of suspicion regards such as temporal hegemony—hardly the enduring reign of the one who spoke these words: “My peace I give to you” (John 14:27).

The Apocalypse throbs with the threat of the power of empire. In the time of its writing, oppression is raging and the followers of the Way are tempted to return to pagan worship in the realm of Rome. Christians in our day are similarly tempted to put our trust in the “horses and chariots,” i.e., the high-tech weapons of war that cost so much, robbing the poor of health care and equitable education.

Saints Peter and Paul, our forebears in faith, understood that following Jesus put them at great odds with the powers and principalities of their day. It will do the same for us if we follow well.

Busted by a Beagle

Thu, 19 Feb 2009 07:49:49 -0600

The beagle in question is not the dog in the picture. That is a Cavalier King Charles Spaniel getting ready for a security check at Leonardo daVinci Airport in Rome. The beagle I’m talking about is the contraband-sniffing beagle who met me and my bags at the other end of the flight. He is not pictured because I was afraid to take his picture.

I was in enough trouble for not correctly interpreting the customs declaration form in the category of “food.” The uniformed officer accompanying the beagle was not pleased to find food in my bag not listed on the form. Let me say I wasn’t the only one who unintentionally did not list bags of pasta, bars of chocolate and a package of biscottini, but I was the only one to attract the beagle.

Fortunately, the officer was a football fan ready to discuss Kansas City’s new coach who, even more fortunately, my traveling companion Molly knew something about. As they exchanged pleasantries, I looked as innocent as possible until the agent dismissed me with a warning not to do it again.

But at the next check point I was detoured again, this time for a box of beeswax candles that looked suspiciously like sausages on the scanner. Finally, my food and I cleared customs to find Molly, Mary and Dianne waiting patiently inside the terminal, or perhaps not patiently but at least waiting, something like the trinity, all grace and generosity.

It was good to get home to Nash and Jewell, big black labs who are nothing but delighted to find food on me, never critical.

A Long Way to Go for Peace

Wed, 18 Feb 2009 08:19:08 -0600

I’ve never traveled so far for a conference before - half way across the country and all across the Atlantic Ocean to Rome. I’d seen the publicity months earlier with pictures of leaders in Baptist peace work whom I deeply respect - the Rev. Dan Buttry, American Baptist Global Consultant for Peace and Reconciliation, Archbishop Malkhaz Songulashvili of the Republic of Georgia, and Nancy and Ken Sehested of Baptist Peace Fellowship among them. But it was a long way to go no matter how illustrious the leadership or how stimulating the seminars.

Then, my good friend Mary Hulst asked if I’d consider it. As president of the American Baptist Churches USA, she was being encouraged by General Secretary Roy Medley, who had a conflict, to represent American Baptists. I discovered that my dear friend, Bishop Rusudan Gotsiridze would be there. And I do love Italian food. So Peter and I calculated vacation time and realized that we’d gotten out of sync. I had a week more than he. He graciously agreed that we would invest most of our vacation budget in this trip on condition that I would bring back for him a cool Italian bicycle shirt.

And so I went. I didn’t quite fulfill my commitment on the shirt. Peter got an Italian football (soccer) jersey instead and a gorgeous (if I do say so) butter yellow sweater as well as a bag of ruffled, colorful pasta and dark Milan chocolate.

This experience reminded me that it is important to know and serve our neighbors around the corner but it is also essential to understand and experience the vast reach of our human family and the hopes and needs we hold in common. Traveling to a foreign place, one becomes more alert, eyes open wider and heart too, by God’s grace, after jet lag, enabling one to see oneself more honestly and one’s part in God’s beautiful creation more fully.

We came home imagining pilgrimages that Prairie people and friends might undertake to the Republic of Georgia, Morocco, Israel and Burma where we felt special kinship with Baptist leaders. And we dreamed of ways to show Prairie Baptist hospitality to new and old friends from distant places.

Cappuccinos and Colosseum

Tue, 17 Feb 2009 17:42:45 -0600

Three more cheerful, accommodating and generous travel mates would be hard to find. Mary (right), is good friend and colleague as well as president of American Baptist Churches USA. She keeps throwing coins in the Trevi Fountain and proving the myth true (throw coin over left shoulder and you will return to Rome) so she had the maps, guidebooks and plan for our day and a half of sightseeing at the end of the week. Molly (left), good friend, member of Prairie Baptist Church and president of Central Baptist Theological Seminary, knew most of the history and theology of the sites we visited without a guidebook and added plenty of witty commentary the guidebooks should have included. She also distributed maroon Central Baptist Seminary totes, perfect for sweaters, books, water bottles. Dianne is a long time peace advocate, new member of Prairie and, after a solid week of shared worship, lectures, workshops, taxis, pasta and cappuccino, good friend too.

Dianne got things off to a perfect start when we landed, a little dazed, at Leonardo da Vinci Airport, by buying our first real Italian cappuccinos, named after the Capuchin monk’s habit which is darkish brown with a white hood. One size fits all - coffee cup I mean. No worries about small, medium, large, venti, grande or tall. If you order a cappuccino you get a standard, heavy white coffee cup that actually measures a cup and no discussion. It tastes like coffee with a little foam instead of foam with a little coffee.

But we did more than drink cappuccinos. We saw the Colosseum, for example, more spectacular than any picture can convey. Built in just 5 years of uninterrupted work by Jewish prisoners, it could seat about 73,000 people. Our tour guide claimed that it only took 8-10 minutes from gate to seat.

Despite the goofy Roman centurions ripping off tourists who pose for pictures and a sparkling sunny day, the reality of ancient Rome’s violent, arrogant power cannot be overlooked. This immense amphitheatre was built to accommodate games that cultivated the war-like spirit that made Rome conqueror of the world. Dion Cassius wrote that 9,000 wild and rare animals from all over the Roman empire were slaughtered in the Colosseum’s 100 day inaugural celebration. About 4,000 gladiators and others were killed for the entertainment of the crowds. One opening act involved dogs attacking porcupines.

But the guidebook Rome Reconstructed says that in the fifth century a monk named Telemachus tried to put himself between the gladiators to stop the violence. The crowd was not supportive and Telemachus earned martyrdom for his convictions. On that one day, however, the games stopped.