On Sundays when President Bush goes to church in Washington, he chooses the 8 a.m. service at St. John's Episcopal Church Lafayette Square. A short stroll from the White House, St. John's has been the parish for many presidents, but it is still a surprising choice for Mr. Bush.
A president who has been typecast as the champion of Christian conservatives, who has proposed a constitutional amendment to ban gay marriage, finds fellowship in a church where the priest and many congregants openly support the blessing of same-sex unions.
Read the rest here. Fascinating. If I were a evangelical Bush supporter I'd feel like a chump.
Wednesday, October 27, 2004
Tuesday, October 26, 2004
Real Live Preacher Makes the [Christian] Big Time
Today's Christianity Today profiles Gordon Atkinson, better known as the Real Live Preacher. If you haven't read his stuff, check it out. Thought provoking, gritty, sometimes profane, but thoroughly faithful. Also, read the interview.
Monday, October 25, 2004
The Armageddon-Minded
The Armageddon-Minded
-- Martin E. Marty from Sightings.
"At Christian Rally for Israel, Robertson Pitches 'Messiah'," banners the Jewish weekly newspaper Forward (October 8). At a Succoth rally designed to show evangelical support of Israel, the televangelist "Pat Robertson opened his mouth and uncorked a can of theological worms guaranteed to make many Israelis and American Jews squirm." Judy Lash Balint heard him report that Jews he meets in many nations "cry out for their messiah," and then shout "Yes, Jesus, you are our messiah."
Does Robertson speak thus when he meets with Knesset members and Cabinet ministers? "No, I don't tell that to Israeli politicians," he replied. In his speech, Robertson recalled that on his first flight to Israel in 1968, "the Lord spoke to me and said ... you don't make mistakes in Israel." He also said he sees the rise of Islam "as Satan's plan to prevent the return of Jesus Christ the Lord." His speech "appeared to lend ammunition to critics who argue that Christian conservative support for Israel is motivated by a belief that the ingathering of Jews to the Holy Land will bring about Armageddon and the second coming of Jesus."
Is any of this news? One wonders how Israelis and Jews in America can close their eyes and ears to many evangelical prophesies that have Jews all being converted or slaughtered when Jesus comes again. But many do.
I read of this "upsetting" event on a plane taking me to Brandeis University in Boston, where a different Judaism, untied to the Armageddon-minded, was being celebrated. Jonathan Sarna, Brandeis professor and author of American Judaism: A History (which everyone who is interested in the subject should read), joined with Steven Bayme and the American Jewish Committee to commemorate 350 years of American Jewish life. They arranged a program that related the American Jewish experience to American society, religion, culture, and immigration.
As I prepared to take part, I read some statistics: in any 650 days sub-Saharan Africa numbers more new Christians (due to population growth and conversion) than there are Jews in America after 350 years. There are also more Southern Baptists than Jews in the United States. It is no wonder that so many Jews who celebrate their remarkable history "squirm" over the political turn recently taken, thanks to the one-kind-of-evangelical alliance with one-kind-of-Jews-accepting-evangelical-terms-and-support.
Yuri Shtern, co-chair of the Knesset Christian Allies Caucus and the right-wing National Union Party, who has shared a stage with Robertson, said he was "very upset" with the evangelist's speech. "I had hoped a leader of his standing accepted the continuing existence of the Jewish people as part of God's plan."
The Jews at the Brandeis gathering, and at others like it in this 350th year, have reason to be nervous about Jewish alliances with Robertson's millions. Perhaps those millions should receive some of the attention now focused critically on Presbyterian and "mainline Protestant" actions.
-- Martin E. Marty from Sightings.
"At Christian Rally for Israel, Robertson Pitches 'Messiah'," banners the Jewish weekly newspaper Forward (October 8). At a Succoth rally designed to show evangelical support of Israel, the televangelist "Pat Robertson opened his mouth and uncorked a can of theological worms guaranteed to make many Israelis and American Jews squirm." Judy Lash Balint heard him report that Jews he meets in many nations "cry out for their messiah," and then shout "Yes, Jesus, you are our messiah."
Does Robertson speak thus when he meets with Knesset members and Cabinet ministers? "No, I don't tell that to Israeli politicians," he replied. In his speech, Robertson recalled that on his first flight to Israel in 1968, "the Lord spoke to me and said ... you don't make mistakes in Israel." He also said he sees the rise of Islam "as Satan's plan to prevent the return of Jesus Christ the Lord." His speech "appeared to lend ammunition to critics who argue that Christian conservative support for Israel is motivated by a belief that the ingathering of Jews to the Holy Land will bring about Armageddon and the second coming of Jesus."
Is any of this news? One wonders how Israelis and Jews in America can close their eyes and ears to many evangelical prophesies that have Jews all being converted or slaughtered when Jesus comes again. But many do.
I read of this "upsetting" event on a plane taking me to Brandeis University in Boston, where a different Judaism, untied to the Armageddon-minded, was being celebrated. Jonathan Sarna, Brandeis professor and author of American Judaism: A History (which everyone who is interested in the subject should read), joined with Steven Bayme and the American Jewish Committee to commemorate 350 years of American Jewish life. They arranged a program that related the American Jewish experience to American society, religion, culture, and immigration.
As I prepared to take part, I read some statistics: in any 650 days sub-Saharan Africa numbers more new Christians (due to population growth and conversion) than there are Jews in America after 350 years. There are also more Southern Baptists than Jews in the United States. It is no wonder that so many Jews who celebrate their remarkable history "squirm" over the political turn recently taken, thanks to the one-kind-of-evangelical alliance with one-kind-of-Jews-accepting-evangelical-terms-and-support.
Yuri Shtern, co-chair of the Knesset Christian Allies Caucus and the right-wing National Union Party, who has shared a stage with Robertson, said he was "very upset" with the evangelist's speech. "I had hoped a leader of his standing accepted the continuing existence of the Jewish people as part of God's plan."
The Jews at the Brandeis gathering, and at others like it in this 350th year, have reason to be nervous about Jewish alliances with Robertson's millions. Perhaps those millions should receive some of the attention now focused critically on Presbyterian and "mainline Protestant" actions.
Sunday, October 24, 2004
Sermon: Pentecost 21 - Year C
In today’s gospel we are introduced to two very different people praying two very different prayers. The story begins, “Two people went down to pray.” One is a Pharisee – a good, bible-believing, church going, moral person. The other is a tax collector – a hated collaborator with the repressive Romans, who stole money from poor widows and grew fat off the pain of his fellow Jews. Other than the Romans themselves, no one was more hated than the tax collectors who did the Romans’ dirty work, and skimmed some off the top for themselves.
The Pharisee probably watched from his usual seat up front as the tax collector wandered through the front door. All eyes were squinted on him as he struggled to make himself invisible. He probably snuck in late hoping to find a seat at the back, so not to be noticed. But just like good Lutherans, the seats at the back of this house of worship were already filled by the time the service started. So, the tax collector slinked down near the front, under the hard stare of the faithful.
The synagogue leaders began to pray.
Above the chorus the Pharisee lifted his voice to God, “God I thank you that I’m not like these other people: thieves, criminals, adulterers, or even like that tax collector.” And all eye lids opened and the tax collector could feel the weight of their condemning gaze bearing down on him. He knew this prayer was directed to him as much as to God. “I fast twice a week;” The Pharisee continued, “ I give a tenth of my income. I am faithful.” Heads nodded in agreement. Yes, the Pharisee was faithful, every one knew it.
Then the tax collector, tears of fear trickling down his cheeks, and with joints cracking and muscles tensing up, knelt down on the floor, he whispered, “God, be merciful to me, a sinner.”
What do you think happened next? Did the place erupt with boos and hisses because this sinner spoke such utter blaspheme? Who is this tax collector to believe that God hears his prayers? Who is this sinner to believe that God cares for him? Everyone knew the Pharisee was right. The Pharisee was diligent. He was committed. He was faithful He was righteous. He did obey the law better than anyone else. And everyone knew it. That’s what makes Jesus’ comparison so devastating to those who heard him.
But maybe more importantly, I think everyone has a prayed a prayer like the Pharisee, at least I know that I have. Mine goes something like this:
“I give you thanks, O God, that I’m not like these cold hearted politicians, who limit peoples’ freedom and call it security, or these sleazy TV evangelists who exploit your name in the pursuit of unfettered personal wealth, or these cigar chomping corporate execs who plunder your good creation leaving it desolate for future generations, who keep their feet firmly planted on the throats of developing countries. I put cloth diapers on my kids, I recycle, I eat organic vegetables. I am faithful.”
I can really whip myself into a righteous lather, when I want to.
So what’s your prayer? Who are you glad you’re better than? And what does that look like in your life?
Alexa McDonough, MP for Halifax once confided to me that some of the most hate-filled letters and abusive phone calls that she receives as a politician come from Christians pitching bible verses at her. This saddened me, but didn’t surprise me. We Christians can get really bent out shape when we put our minds to it. But I read an article recently that reported that when asked what a Christian is, most people outside the church believe a Christian is someone who is opposed to abortion and gay rights. What I find astounding about that is that there is nothing about Jesus, love of neighbour, or even going to church. So despite our best efforts, they don’t know we are Christians by our love, but by our opposition to various causes. It’s not the hand reaching out in love that people see. They see the fist raised in anger.
Of course, it would be easy to blame the media who are more interested in the lunatic fringe than reporting the good things that churches do. Or we could ask ourselves why those outside the church don’t hear from us the good news of Jesus Christ, the message of salvation. They only hear angry shouts of protest.
Maybe it’s because being righteous is easy. Being loving is hard.
When I was in seminary I helped organize a group called the Ontario Coalition Against Poverty or OCAP. We were an ad-hoc group of students, homeless people, university professors, and “middle class do-gooders.” Our mandate was to help raise public awareness of how certain government policy decisions were hurting low income people and forcing more families onto the streets. The more radical members of the group were known to protest in front of government offices and banks. And one of these folks, took it upon himself to organize a protest in front of the church where a major political leader was attending the funeral of his mother. Most of the group had no idea they were planning this until we saw them on the news sporting signs with the name OCAP, yelling at the mourners as they left the church.
Afterwards, I asked the group if such a display of hardhearted and callous disregard for a family in pain would advance our cause. Many of them didn’t care. The cause was just, they said. The ends justify the means. As a follower of Jesus, I wondered if such lack of caring revealed a self-righteousness that broke the heart of God. It wasn’t long after that, I left the group because I knew that I was in danger of becoming just like them.
Because it’s easy to be righteous. It’s hard to be loving.
Baptist preacher Tony Campolo tells a story about how he got turned around on how he dealt with a controversial issue: “I had a friend who was a pastor at a church up in Brooklyn.” Campolo says, “It was one of those inner-city churches that was dying. It was down to a very small number. Pastor Jim survived there by doing funerals that nobody else would do. One Tuesday morning the undertaker called Jim to tell him that a man had died and that nobody wanted to do the funeral because the man had died of AIDS.
I asked, “Did you take it.”
He said, “Sure.”
I asked, “What was it like?”
He said, “When we got there, there was about 30 or 40 gay and lesbian men and women. They were sitting there with their heads down. And as I preached, as I spoke, they never once looked up at me. Their heads were down and they were staring at the floor.
“When the service was over we got into the automobiles that followed the hearse out to the cemetery. I stood on one edge of the grave, read some scripture and said some prayers. And on the other side of the grave were these gay men. They stood there like statues. Not a nerve, not a sinew seemed to move. They were riveted in place, their eyes had a glassy appearance, and they seemed to be staring off into space. When I finished and said the closing prayer no one moved. It was an awkward moment so I asked if there was anything more I could do. One of the men said “yes. They always read the 23rd psalm at these things and you didn’t do that. Would you read the 23rd psalm for us?” And he did.
Then another man said, there’s a passage in the 3rd chapter of John where Jesus talks about the Holy Spirit,” and he read the “Spirit blows where it wills and you cannot tell from where it comes or to where it goes.”
Then a third man said, “My favorite passage is at the end of the 8th chapter of Romans,” And Jim read to these men, “Neither height nor depth, nor principalities nor powers, nor things present nor things to come, neither life nor death, nothing will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord. Nothing.”
Campolo then says, “When I heard Jim tell this story, I hurt inside because I realized that these men at the funeral had an understanding of scripture, but they would never set foot inside of a church.” They won’t step foot in a church because they know they are not welcome. Like the tax collector, eyes will bear down, squinted, wondering who let them in.
You have to remember that both Campolo and his friend Pastor Jim are Baptist preachers. They are not some feel good, anything goes, wishy-washy liberals. Both of them have an uncompromisingly conservative view of the so-called “gay lifestyle.” But I think the lesson they learned is a good one. We can be right when we point to bible passages that talk about homosexual activity, but does that advance the cause of the gospel? According to the letter of the law we will be righteous. But being righteous is easy. Being loving is hard.
But Jesus doesn’t want righteousness from us, because Jesus knows that being righteous isn’t what being his follower is all about. Following Jesus isn’t about rules. Life is not a final exam. Jesus wants us to love. And that love comes from knowing that we all are sinners; that the tax collector could be speaking for any of us. But the good news is this: there is nothing we can do to make God love us more and there’s nothing we can do to make God love us less. We come to God just as we are, broken, sinful, hurting, to receive the healing and the salvation that comes from the hands of a loving God. As Christians, we take our cue from Jesus, who instead of reaching out with a fist to condemn the sin of the world, stretched out his hands in love and died for the sins of the world, so that on the third day he would rise again to bring new life to all people. May this be so among us. Amen.
The Pharisee probably watched from his usual seat up front as the tax collector wandered through the front door. All eyes were squinted on him as he struggled to make himself invisible. He probably snuck in late hoping to find a seat at the back, so not to be noticed. But just like good Lutherans, the seats at the back of this house of worship were already filled by the time the service started. So, the tax collector slinked down near the front, under the hard stare of the faithful.
The synagogue leaders began to pray.
Above the chorus the Pharisee lifted his voice to God, “God I thank you that I’m not like these other people: thieves, criminals, adulterers, or even like that tax collector.” And all eye lids opened and the tax collector could feel the weight of their condemning gaze bearing down on him. He knew this prayer was directed to him as much as to God. “I fast twice a week;” The Pharisee continued, “ I give a tenth of my income. I am faithful.” Heads nodded in agreement. Yes, the Pharisee was faithful, every one knew it.
Then the tax collector, tears of fear trickling down his cheeks, and with joints cracking and muscles tensing up, knelt down on the floor, he whispered, “God, be merciful to me, a sinner.”
What do you think happened next? Did the place erupt with boos and hisses because this sinner spoke such utter blaspheme? Who is this tax collector to believe that God hears his prayers? Who is this sinner to believe that God cares for him? Everyone knew the Pharisee was right. The Pharisee was diligent. He was committed. He was faithful He was righteous. He did obey the law better than anyone else. And everyone knew it. That’s what makes Jesus’ comparison so devastating to those who heard him.
But maybe more importantly, I think everyone has a prayed a prayer like the Pharisee, at least I know that I have. Mine goes something like this:
“I give you thanks, O God, that I’m not like these cold hearted politicians, who limit peoples’ freedom and call it security, or these sleazy TV evangelists who exploit your name in the pursuit of unfettered personal wealth, or these cigar chomping corporate execs who plunder your good creation leaving it desolate for future generations, who keep their feet firmly planted on the throats of developing countries. I put cloth diapers on my kids, I recycle, I eat organic vegetables. I am faithful.”
I can really whip myself into a righteous lather, when I want to.
So what’s your prayer? Who are you glad you’re better than? And what does that look like in your life?
Alexa McDonough, MP for Halifax once confided to me that some of the most hate-filled letters and abusive phone calls that she receives as a politician come from Christians pitching bible verses at her. This saddened me, but didn’t surprise me. We Christians can get really bent out shape when we put our minds to it. But I read an article recently that reported that when asked what a Christian is, most people outside the church believe a Christian is someone who is opposed to abortion and gay rights. What I find astounding about that is that there is nothing about Jesus, love of neighbour, or even going to church. So despite our best efforts, they don’t know we are Christians by our love, but by our opposition to various causes. It’s not the hand reaching out in love that people see. They see the fist raised in anger.
Of course, it would be easy to blame the media who are more interested in the lunatic fringe than reporting the good things that churches do. Or we could ask ourselves why those outside the church don’t hear from us the good news of Jesus Christ, the message of salvation. They only hear angry shouts of protest.
Maybe it’s because being righteous is easy. Being loving is hard.
When I was in seminary I helped organize a group called the Ontario Coalition Against Poverty or OCAP. We were an ad-hoc group of students, homeless people, university professors, and “middle class do-gooders.” Our mandate was to help raise public awareness of how certain government policy decisions were hurting low income people and forcing more families onto the streets. The more radical members of the group were known to protest in front of government offices and banks. And one of these folks, took it upon himself to organize a protest in front of the church where a major political leader was attending the funeral of his mother. Most of the group had no idea they were planning this until we saw them on the news sporting signs with the name OCAP, yelling at the mourners as they left the church.
Afterwards, I asked the group if such a display of hardhearted and callous disregard for a family in pain would advance our cause. Many of them didn’t care. The cause was just, they said. The ends justify the means. As a follower of Jesus, I wondered if such lack of caring revealed a self-righteousness that broke the heart of God. It wasn’t long after that, I left the group because I knew that I was in danger of becoming just like them.
Because it’s easy to be righteous. It’s hard to be loving.
Baptist preacher Tony Campolo tells a story about how he got turned around on how he dealt with a controversial issue: “I had a friend who was a pastor at a church up in Brooklyn.” Campolo says, “It was one of those inner-city churches that was dying. It was down to a very small number. Pastor Jim survived there by doing funerals that nobody else would do. One Tuesday morning the undertaker called Jim to tell him that a man had died and that nobody wanted to do the funeral because the man had died of AIDS.
I asked, “Did you take it.”
He said, “Sure.”
I asked, “What was it like?”
He said, “When we got there, there was about 30 or 40 gay and lesbian men and women. They were sitting there with their heads down. And as I preached, as I spoke, they never once looked up at me. Their heads were down and they were staring at the floor.
“When the service was over we got into the automobiles that followed the hearse out to the cemetery. I stood on one edge of the grave, read some scripture and said some prayers. And on the other side of the grave were these gay men. They stood there like statues. Not a nerve, not a sinew seemed to move. They were riveted in place, their eyes had a glassy appearance, and they seemed to be staring off into space. When I finished and said the closing prayer no one moved. It was an awkward moment so I asked if there was anything more I could do. One of the men said “yes. They always read the 23rd psalm at these things and you didn’t do that. Would you read the 23rd psalm for us?” And he did.
Then another man said, there’s a passage in the 3rd chapter of John where Jesus talks about the Holy Spirit,” and he read the “Spirit blows where it wills and you cannot tell from where it comes or to where it goes.”
Then a third man said, “My favorite passage is at the end of the 8th chapter of Romans,” And Jim read to these men, “Neither height nor depth, nor principalities nor powers, nor things present nor things to come, neither life nor death, nothing will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord. Nothing.”
Campolo then says, “When I heard Jim tell this story, I hurt inside because I realized that these men at the funeral had an understanding of scripture, but they would never set foot inside of a church.” They won’t step foot in a church because they know they are not welcome. Like the tax collector, eyes will bear down, squinted, wondering who let them in.
You have to remember that both Campolo and his friend Pastor Jim are Baptist preachers. They are not some feel good, anything goes, wishy-washy liberals. Both of them have an uncompromisingly conservative view of the so-called “gay lifestyle.” But I think the lesson they learned is a good one. We can be right when we point to bible passages that talk about homosexual activity, but does that advance the cause of the gospel? According to the letter of the law we will be righteous. But being righteous is easy. Being loving is hard.
But Jesus doesn’t want righteousness from us, because Jesus knows that being righteous isn’t what being his follower is all about. Following Jesus isn’t about rules. Life is not a final exam. Jesus wants us to love. And that love comes from knowing that we all are sinners; that the tax collector could be speaking for any of us. But the good news is this: there is nothing we can do to make God love us more and there’s nothing we can do to make God love us less. We come to God just as we are, broken, sinful, hurting, to receive the healing and the salvation that comes from the hands of a loving God. As Christians, we take our cue from Jesus, who instead of reaching out with a fist to condemn the sin of the world, stretched out his hands in love and died for the sins of the world, so that on the third day he would rise again to bring new life to all people. May this be so among us. Amen.
Saturday, October 23, 2004
Thursday, October 21, 2004
NT Wright on the Windsor Report
NT Wright shares his thoughts about the Windsor Report in an interview with Christianity Today. In the church community there seems a consensus that Wright is one of the foremost New Testament scholars of our time. Thorough, scholarly, and relevant. Check it out.
To contrast, here's more from Jack Spong, and his own unique brand of liberal fundamentalism.
To contrast, here's more from Jack Spong, and his own unique brand of liberal fundamentalism.
Wednesday, October 20, 2004
Fiddling While Rome Burns
Nicholas Kristof has a harrowing article in today's NY Times of the atrocities in Sudan. As I read it, I think of the world wide church fighting over homosexuality and the Windsor Report, while an entire nation is killing one another. Breaks my heart and burns my blood.
Tuesday, October 19, 2004
The Windsor Report
The Windsor Report has been released and it has enough in it to infuriate both liberals and conservatives. The report very Anglican, by which I mean it takes the middle way, leaving radicals on both sides smoldering on the sidelines. The report calls for the Episcopal Church USA to apologize for consecrating a gay bishop as well as the Diocese of New Westminster for creating a rite for same-sex blessings. I don’t envy the debate that’s going to ensue. Especially since I know that such a fight will be coming to my own Evangelical Lutheran Church in Canada.
To be honest, I’ve heard no compelling arguments against same-sex blessings. (I know such a perspective will get me into trouble with some folks in my congregation, but I’d rather be honest about my position rather than have people muse about where I stand) The most often heard argument runs thus: “The bible says it’s a sin.” That’s true. But the bible also says that divorce and remarriage is a sin except in the case of adultery. But most churches accept divorced and remarried people into communion, even as pastors. And no one is threatening to leave the church over such blatant disregard to biblical authority. Or we just have to look at our pension plan and notice right away that by it’s very nature, we are breaking Levitical usury laws. So where’s the outrage? Where are the calls to repentance?
So the argument can’t be “the bible says it’s a sin.” I need a more compelling argument than that before I start putting limits to peoples' freedom in Christ.
But moreover, I think God has bigger fish to fry than worrying about how two adults love and care for each other. So do I.
For a persuasive call to a middle way, here’s a great Martin Marty article.
To be honest, I’ve heard no compelling arguments against same-sex blessings. (I know such a perspective will get me into trouble with some folks in my congregation, but I’d rather be honest about my position rather than have people muse about where I stand) The most often heard argument runs thus: “The bible says it’s a sin.” That’s true. But the bible also says that divorce and remarriage is a sin except in the case of adultery. But most churches accept divorced and remarried people into communion, even as pastors. And no one is threatening to leave the church over such blatant disregard to biblical authority. Or we just have to look at our pension plan and notice right away that by it’s very nature, we are breaking Levitical usury laws. So where’s the outrage? Where are the calls to repentance?
So the argument can’t be “the bible says it’s a sin.” I need a more compelling argument than that before I start putting limits to peoples' freedom in Christ.
But moreover, I think God has bigger fish to fry than worrying about how two adults love and care for each other. So do I.
For a persuasive call to a middle way, here’s a great Martin Marty article.
Monday, October 18, 2004
snow! Snow! SNOW!
Wow! I've never seen anything like it! Snow in mid-October! Not just a dusting. Cars are in ditches, snow shovels have been excavated, and toques donned. It's awesome! What a fantastic birthday present! But this being southern Alberta, the snow could be all gone by tomorrow morning.
One the negative side, the poor roads and cold weather might keep people home from voting in today's municipal election, making voter turn out even more dismal than in other years.
On a completely different note: here's a great article by Jeffery John. Check it out. Thanks to the Grace Pages for pulling it from Maggi Dawn.
Speaking of Jeffery John, here's more on the Anglican troubles.
One the negative side, the poor roads and cold weather might keep people home from voting in today's municipal election, making voter turn out even more dismal than in other years.
On a completely different note: here's a great article by Jeffery John. Check it out. Thanks to the Grace Pages for pulling it from Maggi Dawn.
Speaking of Jeffery John, here's more on the Anglican troubles.
Sunday, October 17, 2004
Yet another year has past...
Today I turn 35, but I don’t have the same existential angst that I usually have on my birthday. I wonder if that means I’m maturing, accepting my fate, or becoming apathetic towards it. I dunno…
Saturday, October 16, 2004
Sermon: Pentecost 20 - Year C
Prayer is problem for many people today. And perhaps rightly so. People ask some good questions. As Willimon asks, Does God answer prayer? Am I really talking to God or am I only talking to myself? If I pray to God for healing and I am healed, does that mean that God wouldn’t have healed me if I had not prayed? Or what about when I pray for healing or for guidance, or for a job, and an answer is not forthcoming, what does that say about my prayer? Or God?
The problem, says preacher Tom Long, is not only that we are uncertain about prayer, but we have the good sense to know that, when we pray, we are really putting our faith on the line. Is there a God or not? If there is a God, does God listen? Is there a God who hears and responds to us? When you get right down to it, these are terribly frightening questions. No wonder many people prefer to not even try to pray, rather than risk it. (Willimon, Pulpit Digest)
But Jesus says that we should “pray always and not lose heart.” I think it sounds easier than it is.
Tom Long says that the problem beneath all our problems is with prayer is the very problem that Jesus is addressing here. We simply lose heart.
Maybe we lose heart because we’ve all had the experience of pleading to God for ourselves or someone else and hearing nothing back but a cold stony silence. Maybe you’ve prayed for world peace and then another car bomb explodes in Jerusalem, killing 5 small children. Maybe you’ve held the hand of someone dying of cancer, pouring out your heart to God for healing, but a week later you’re sitting across the table from a funeral director. Maybe you’ve been praying earnestly for a job, anything to pay the bills, but after six months you find yourself waiting in line to pick up your first welfare cheques.
And Jesus says to “pray always and do not lose heart.” That’s easier said than done.
Just ask Baptist preacher Gordon Atkinson, known on the Internet as “Real Live Preacher.” Even though he grew up in a strong Christian household, he was fed to the teeth of “feel good faith” of the Christians that surrounded him,and he fell out of a relationship with sunny, smiling Christianity that offers easy answers to hard questions because he has a lot of them. He faced head on the emptiness and silence that so often follows prayer, because he realized that sooner or later, you have to stop dodging the doubt that parades itself as false piety.
“You see, people facing death don’t give a [rip] about your interpretation of II Timothy.” Atkinson says about when he was a student chaplain at hospital, “Some take the “bloodied, but unbowed” road, but most dying people want to pray with the chaplain. And they don’t want weak-ass prayers either. They don’t want you to pray that God’s will be done.
“Hell no. People want you to get down and dirty with them. They want you to call down angels and the powers of the Almighty. THEY ARE DYING and the whole world should stop.
“I threw myself into it. I prayed holding hands and cradling heads. I prayed with children and old men. I prayed with a man who lost his tongue to cancer. I lent him mine. I prayed my [butt] off. I had 50 variations of every prayer you could imagine, one hell of a repertoire.
“I started noticing something. When the doctors said someone was going to die, they did. When they said 10% chance of survival, about 9 out of 10 died. The odds ran pretty much as predicted by the doctors. I mean, is this praying doing ANYTHING?
“I’m sophisticated enough to understand the value of human contact, but prayer is supposed to affect the outcome, right?
“Then I met Jenny
“30 something. Cute. New mother with two little kids. Breast cancer. Found it too late. Spread all over. Absolutely going to die.
“Jenny had only one request. “I know I’m going to die, chaplain. I need time to finish this. It's for my kids. Pray with me that God will give me the strength to finish it.”
“She showed me the needlepoint pillow she was making for her children. It was an “alphabet blocks and apples” kind of thing. She knew she would not be there for them. Would not drop them off at kindergarten, would not see baseball games, would not help her daughter pick out her first bra. No weddings, no grandkids. Nothing.
“She had this fantasy that her children would cherish this thing - sleep with it, snuggle it. Someday it might be lovingly put on display at her daughter’s wedding. Perhaps there would be a moment of silence. Some part of her would be there.
“I was totally hooked. We prayed. We believed…this was the kind of prayer you could believe in. We were like idiots and fools.
“A couple of days later I went to see her only to find the room filled with doctors and nurses. She was having violent convulsions and terrible pain. I watched while she died hard. Real hard.
“As the door shut, the last thing I saw was the unfinished needlepoint lying on the floor.
“Ping. The hammer fell and [my faith] came tumbling after.” [link]
When I hear Atkinson’s story, I think maybe it’s no wonder that we lose heart. We lose heart because prayer doesn’t always seem to work. We can’t call down the power of the Almighty as if it were our own personal power supply. Despite our best efforts, despite our most earnest prayer, a job still just around the corner; world peace is still just a dream; and people we love still die too early.
And Jesus says to “pray always and do not lose heart.” Pray always? At what point Jesus, do we stop? At what point do we stop believing? At what point do we throw up our hands and ask what’s the point?
I’m sure that’s a question that’s run through your head at times, because it certainly has run through mine. At what point do we stop praying? When should stop expecting an answer from God?
But Jesus says, “Pray always and do not lose heart.” Jesus, I know you mean well, but sometime this is just too hard.
But maybe Jesus is saying that to lose heart is to lose hope. To lose heart is to give away all your hope to the suffering and pain of the world. It’s admitting defeat. I don’t know about you, but I’d rather the world not have that kind of power over me.
Maybe persistence teaches us patience. But, of course us learning patience isn’t much help to Uncle Jack hooked up to tubes and wires. I don’t know why God seems to answer some prayers and not others. But often I wonder if prayer begins were human effort finds its limits. We may pray for peace but maybe God responds by asking us what we are doing to heal the world, in his name. We may pray for healing, but maybe God grieves with us because God sees that death is part of life in a fallen world, but also God sees that the joy of loving relationships is a glimpse of what the kingdom of God looks like.
So we keep praying, we keep pestering God, perhaps even shaking our fist at the Almighty. But we don’t shake a fist at what we don’t believe exists. So maybe that’s the beginning of prayer: the desperate torrent of hope that someone, somewhere is listening.
But I’ve been reminded recently that Jesus prayed for a miracle on the night before he died. “For you [O God] all things are possible,” prayed so hard that it is said that beads of sweat dropped from his forehead. “Remove this cup from me.” Only when he opened his eyes the cup was still there. Did he lack faith? I don’t think so. The miracle was that he drank the cup of suffering, believing in the power of God even more. It’s always a miracle, isn’t it, when we understand that God is God and we are not? (Barbara Brown Taylor, The Problem With Miracles)
So maybe people keep praying because their hope is stronger than their pain, and their expectations are greater than their frustration. I’ve been amazed by people praying until the bitter end, on their knees until their joints hurt and muscles cramp, who will not stop or move until they’ve heard from God; people who storm the silence of heaven with shouts of praise and cries of anger, who won’t calm down even after they’ve confronted the hard reality of pain and suffering because they know there is a resurrection day and they want to see it NOW. So maybe faith is heart felt desperation, not a sunny, smiling confidence.
I don’t expect people will stop praying, and praying boldly. At least I hope not because the world needs all the prayers it can get. Every time you hear about prayer being answered, remember that you are getting a preview of the kingdom. There is no simply formula for success, no one way to pray for instant answers. So we keep praying, we keep pestering God, then, with God’s help, we won’t lose heart, and we will become what we pray for: a people of peace, a people of healing, a people of new life.
May this be so among us. Amen.
The problem, says preacher Tom Long, is not only that we are uncertain about prayer, but we have the good sense to know that, when we pray, we are really putting our faith on the line. Is there a God or not? If there is a God, does God listen? Is there a God who hears and responds to us? When you get right down to it, these are terribly frightening questions. No wonder many people prefer to not even try to pray, rather than risk it. (Willimon, Pulpit Digest)
But Jesus says that we should “pray always and not lose heart.” I think it sounds easier than it is.
Tom Long says that the problem beneath all our problems is with prayer is the very problem that Jesus is addressing here. We simply lose heart.
Maybe we lose heart because we’ve all had the experience of pleading to God for ourselves or someone else and hearing nothing back but a cold stony silence. Maybe you’ve prayed for world peace and then another car bomb explodes in Jerusalem, killing 5 small children. Maybe you’ve held the hand of someone dying of cancer, pouring out your heart to God for healing, but a week later you’re sitting across the table from a funeral director. Maybe you’ve been praying earnestly for a job, anything to pay the bills, but after six months you find yourself waiting in line to pick up your first welfare cheques.
And Jesus says to “pray always and do not lose heart.” That’s easier said than done.
Just ask Baptist preacher Gordon Atkinson, known on the Internet as “Real Live Preacher.” Even though he grew up in a strong Christian household, he was fed to the teeth of “feel good faith” of the Christians that surrounded him,and he fell out of a relationship with sunny, smiling Christianity that offers easy answers to hard questions because he has a lot of them. He faced head on the emptiness and silence that so often follows prayer, because he realized that sooner or later, you have to stop dodging the doubt that parades itself as false piety.
“You see, people facing death don’t give a [rip] about your interpretation of II Timothy.” Atkinson says about when he was a student chaplain at hospital, “Some take the “bloodied, but unbowed” road, but most dying people want to pray with the chaplain. And they don’t want weak-ass prayers either. They don’t want you to pray that God’s will be done.
“Hell no. People want you to get down and dirty with them. They want you to call down angels and the powers of the Almighty. THEY ARE DYING and the whole world should stop.
“I threw myself into it. I prayed holding hands and cradling heads. I prayed with children and old men. I prayed with a man who lost his tongue to cancer. I lent him mine. I prayed my [butt] off. I had 50 variations of every prayer you could imagine, one hell of a repertoire.
“I started noticing something. When the doctors said someone was going to die, they did. When they said 10% chance of survival, about 9 out of 10 died. The odds ran pretty much as predicted by the doctors. I mean, is this praying doing ANYTHING?
“I’m sophisticated enough to understand the value of human contact, but prayer is supposed to affect the outcome, right?
“Then I met Jenny
“30 something. Cute. New mother with two little kids. Breast cancer. Found it too late. Spread all over. Absolutely going to die.
“Jenny had only one request. “I know I’m going to die, chaplain. I need time to finish this. It's for my kids. Pray with me that God will give me the strength to finish it.”
“She showed me the needlepoint pillow she was making for her children. It was an “alphabet blocks and apples” kind of thing. She knew she would not be there for them. Would not drop them off at kindergarten, would not see baseball games, would not help her daughter pick out her first bra. No weddings, no grandkids. Nothing.
“She had this fantasy that her children would cherish this thing - sleep with it, snuggle it. Someday it might be lovingly put on display at her daughter’s wedding. Perhaps there would be a moment of silence. Some part of her would be there.
“I was totally hooked. We prayed. We believed…this was the kind of prayer you could believe in. We were like idiots and fools.
“A couple of days later I went to see her only to find the room filled with doctors and nurses. She was having violent convulsions and terrible pain. I watched while she died hard. Real hard.
“As the door shut, the last thing I saw was the unfinished needlepoint lying on the floor.
“Ping. The hammer fell and [my faith] came tumbling after.” [link]
When I hear Atkinson’s story, I think maybe it’s no wonder that we lose heart. We lose heart because prayer doesn’t always seem to work. We can’t call down the power of the Almighty as if it were our own personal power supply. Despite our best efforts, despite our most earnest prayer, a job still just around the corner; world peace is still just a dream; and people we love still die too early.
And Jesus says to “pray always and do not lose heart.” Pray always? At what point Jesus, do we stop? At what point do we stop believing? At what point do we throw up our hands and ask what’s the point?
I’m sure that’s a question that’s run through your head at times, because it certainly has run through mine. At what point do we stop praying? When should stop expecting an answer from God?
But Jesus says, “Pray always and do not lose heart.” Jesus, I know you mean well, but sometime this is just too hard.
But maybe Jesus is saying that to lose heart is to lose hope. To lose heart is to give away all your hope to the suffering and pain of the world. It’s admitting defeat. I don’t know about you, but I’d rather the world not have that kind of power over me.
Maybe persistence teaches us patience. But, of course us learning patience isn’t much help to Uncle Jack hooked up to tubes and wires. I don’t know why God seems to answer some prayers and not others. But often I wonder if prayer begins were human effort finds its limits. We may pray for peace but maybe God responds by asking us what we are doing to heal the world, in his name. We may pray for healing, but maybe God grieves with us because God sees that death is part of life in a fallen world, but also God sees that the joy of loving relationships is a glimpse of what the kingdom of God looks like.
So we keep praying, we keep pestering God, perhaps even shaking our fist at the Almighty. But we don’t shake a fist at what we don’t believe exists. So maybe that’s the beginning of prayer: the desperate torrent of hope that someone, somewhere is listening.
But I’ve been reminded recently that Jesus prayed for a miracle on the night before he died. “For you [O God] all things are possible,” prayed so hard that it is said that beads of sweat dropped from his forehead. “Remove this cup from me.” Only when he opened his eyes the cup was still there. Did he lack faith? I don’t think so. The miracle was that he drank the cup of suffering, believing in the power of God even more. It’s always a miracle, isn’t it, when we understand that God is God and we are not? (Barbara Brown Taylor, The Problem With Miracles)
So maybe people keep praying because their hope is stronger than their pain, and their expectations are greater than their frustration. I’ve been amazed by people praying until the bitter end, on their knees until their joints hurt and muscles cramp, who will not stop or move until they’ve heard from God; people who storm the silence of heaven with shouts of praise and cries of anger, who won’t calm down even after they’ve confronted the hard reality of pain and suffering because they know there is a resurrection day and they want to see it NOW. So maybe faith is heart felt desperation, not a sunny, smiling confidence.
I don’t expect people will stop praying, and praying boldly. At least I hope not because the world needs all the prayers it can get. Every time you hear about prayer being answered, remember that you are getting a preview of the kingdom. There is no simply formula for success, no one way to pray for instant answers. So we keep praying, we keep pestering God, then, with God’s help, we won’t lose heart, and we will become what we pray for: a people of peace, a people of healing, a people of new life.
May this be so among us. Amen.
Friday, October 15, 2004
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