Sunday, November 29, 2009

Black Friday

For the first time ever this year, Lisa and I participated in the hysteria that is commonly called "Black Friday." As rookies, we had no idea what to expect, and we were only making one purchase, so we set our alarms and made our way through the dark night to seize our treasure.

Goal: a new TV
Potential Savings: $150
Location: Sears, Westmoreland Mall
Doors Open: 4 am
Wake-up: 3 am

As we arrived at the mall, the main entrance to Sears had a long line of a few hundred people stretching down the sidewalk. So we pulled around back to find only a couple dozen souls standing around that entrance. We got out and joined the crowd, wondering if anyone else shared our sentiment that what we were all doing was somewhere between stupid and crazy.

As 4 am approached, the Sears employees trotted out to their "action positions" as Lisa called it, ready to withstand the trampling that would surely ensue. When they were finally given the go ahead to open the doors, no trampling occurred (I was slightly disappointed, mostly pleased). In fact, people filed in relatively calmly, almost as if everyone was afraid that too much eagerness would reveal them as "that guy." There was no sprinting, no pushing and shoving, but there was much power-walking and light-jogging. We made our way to the escalator, briskly climbing them with the rest as we all made our dash to the electronics department -- where at least 85% of the crowd was going.

Lisa found a salesperson, where she was hastily told to get in a line if she wanted any chance at getting the TV we came for. We waited in line for about a half hour, which allowed us time to take in the sights and sounds around us. There were people grabbing stuff left and right, calling out to companions, impatiently but calmly pressing in around trapped cashiers, and generally ignoring whatever directives were being given by Sears employees. It was organized chaos -- people seemed too bleary-eyed to be outright rude.

Finally, we were the next in line. A seemingly nice couple in front of us was buying a few things, one of which was a GPS. Problem is, they weren't totally certain which one was the one they wanted. They'd forgotten to bring the ad, and they were getting confused with all the intricate product numbers. It was taking a long time. As they continued mucking up the line with their confusion, I thought to myself, "If I don't get my TV because you are taking too long, I am going to be so mad that I wasted my middle of the night driving a half hour out here."

Normally, I'm a pretty patient person in stores. I don't mind waiting in line behind someone who's taking awhile to check out, because I've been on both sides of the register in such situations. It's better to take a couple extra minutes and make sure everything is right, for the sake of the cashier and the customer. But on Friday morning, I felt myself getting impatient and nervous, because I really didn't want anyone getting in the way of me getting what I want. Almost as soon as I had my selfish thought, I had a sinking feeling. I had succumbed to the worst byproduct of capitalism: greed. I felt like I needed to atone for thinking about my TV above someone else's GPS, my happiness over the happiness of someone else. It felt so dirty that when we got home, I considered taking a shower to rinse off the capitalist greed I was covered in.

After purchasing our TV, we pulled the car up to merchandise pick-up, loaded our booty into the car, and were back home in bed by 5:30. We are happy we got such a great deal on a TV, but not happy about what we had to endure to do so. And I hate what Black Friday turned me into. I can't say I'll never go shopping on Black Friday ever again, but I hope to avoid it at all costs. For one thing, I don't ever want to let something as silly as a good deal on a TV consume me enough to turn me into a selfish person. I don't want to see other people as nothing more than obstacles to my own happiness. I don't want to be "that guy" who doesn't care about other people. One thing is certain: now, when I set up that new TV, I will pray for forgiveness for my own selfishness, and I will remember that my happiness should never come at the expense of someone else's.

Wednesday, November 25, 2009

Anam Cara: Part 2 of Several

An Anam Cara is a soul friend. Join me as I share experiences of soul friends that have walked with me in my continuing journey of faith.

My name is Erik, I’m a pastor, I enjoy reading, cooking, going to ball games, and long, slow, reaffirmation of baptismal covenant services on the beach.

The first time I attended such a service, I was in St. Lucia on a mission trip with my youth group. Our last night there, we headed to the beach for some evening relaxation and closing worship. One of the pastors at our church, Rev. Eric Park, led the service, which was centered on reaffirmation of our baptismal covenants and the celebration of Holy Communion. I will never forget that service, particularly because of the way the sacrament of communion was served.

Imagine the sight of 80 senior high youth and adult leaders, worshipping on a Caribbean beach. Now imagine Eric, a bowling ball of a man, leading the service while standing knee deep in the ocean, holding the elements of bread and wine in his outstretched arms and inviting us to the Lord’s Supper. Imagine further that Eric is wearing athletic shorts, a Scooby Doo cut-off t-shirt, and a bandana on his head. This is the scene of one of the most memorable and comical experiences of communion in my life.

Before then, I had received communion countless times. But until that night, I had never seen it administered by someone wearing sleeveless Scooby Doo vestments. Then again, Eric is the type of guy who, as an adult, still reads comic books and watches cartoons, so none of us were in any way surprised at his attire.

As a high school student, I had already begun to sense a call to ordained ministry. However, I was a teenager, so I wasn’t really sure what it all meant. I needed guidance on the matter. Though my parents were pastors themselves, our conversations on the subject seemed guarded. It was almost as if my parents wanted to support my potential call to ministry, but maintain enough distance that I didn’t feel any added pressure to follow in their footsteps. So Eric began to be a person I turned to for guidance.

Occasionally, I would swing by the church after school to chat with Eric. He shared his passions for Star Trek and comic books with me, and I shared my passion for baseball with him. We found (and still find) common ground with Duke basketball, Steelers football, Seinfeld, and a desire to follow Jesus Christ. And sometimes, we would discuss my call to ministry. Eric gave me a lot of great advice, some of which I remember and some of which I’m sure I have long forgotten. Over the years, Eric has remained somewhat of a mentor for me, particularly now that I have begun to fulfill my calling back here in Western PA as one of his colleagues.

Of the many things Eric has taught me, one very important lesson came on that warm summer night on the beach in St. Lucia. That night, as a high school senior, I learned that to be a pastor does not mean one must sacrifice his or her identity. Eric surely knows when wearing the image of a cartoon dog is acceptable, and when a clergy robe is more appropriate for administration of sacraments. But he did teach me that sometimes, we pastors need to let our personalities shine through. Just because I am now a pastor does not mean I must sacrifice who I am, hobbies and wardrobe included. This I know because of a pastor willing to adorn a cut-off t-shirt while administering communion.

On the eve of Thanksgiving, I am thankful for many anam caras, but I am especially thankful for Eric and the important lessons he continues to teach me. How he spells his name may clearly be inferior to the way I spell mine, but I am thankful to have a colleague and a brother in Christ like Eric Park.

Monday, November 23, 2009

Label Makers

Sermon for Christ the King Sunday
November 22, 2009
Scripture: John 18:33-37

Have you ever gone into work, first thing in the morning, and been met at the door with some seemingly trivial issue or problem that needs immediate attention? Or have you ever woken up on your day off to the sound of your children calling out to you to settle a monumental dispute over who gets the toy at the bottom of the cereal box? None of us like days that start like this. And when our day starts with trivial disputes and issues that supposedly need our immediate attention, we begin to expect a really bad day on our hands.

Well, this is kinda how Pilate feels in this morning’s Gospel lesson. It’s early in the morning, and he’s just reported to work as a Roman official on assignment in Judea, and he’s immediately being pestered with what looks like an insignificant conflict. The local Jews want Pilate to crucify one of their own, some man they call Jesus of Nazareth. The Jews were not much threat to the Roman empire at that time, but before Pilate even has a chance to grab his morning coffee, they are starting his day with a petty argument. I can only imagine him rolling his eyes as he arrives at the praetorium, finding this angry mob of Jews who are about to waste his morning. And immediately, the wheels begin to turn in Pilate’s mind – how can I avoid dealing with these Jews’ petty argument?

On the other hand, he realizes that if he completely ignores the issue, he might have a bit of an insurrection on his hands. If he blows off the Jews, he might do more harm than good. And to add to that, the man in question, this Jesus of Nazareth, is rumored to be some kind of big-shot leader around these parts. Some are even going so far to call him a king. And if he really does have that kind of power – if he really is a king among the Jews – then this insignificant issue may soon become a very significant threat to the Roman empire. And so Pilate realizes that he must deal with this small problem so that it doesn’t turn into a real political threat to Roman rule.

Pilate’s first question, “Are you the King of the Jews?” is his attempt to gauge the threat level of the situation. Is this a red level threat or not? Does this man standing in front of him have political clout or not? Is he able to make the Jewish nation turn against Rome or not? Simply put, Pilate is trying to determine whether this conflict is worth his time so early in the work day.

Yet, Jesus answers a question with a question. He does this ALL THE TIME in the Gospels, and boy it must’ve been irritating to his hearers:

“Are you the King of the Jews?” says Pilate.

And Jesus responds, “Do you ask this on your own, or did others tell you about me?” Essentially, Jesus wants Pilate to admit his motives for asking a question about kingship. And Pilate, in an attempt to avoid directly answering the question, actually reveals his motives quite well when he replies, “I am not a Jew, am I? Your own nation and the chief priests have handed you over to me.”

Thus, we see that Pilate is defining kingship by the usual definition – in political terms. He’s trying to figure out if Jesus is really a political leader of the Jewish nation-state, and if so, how much authority might he have? And furthermore, how much does that political authority threaten the authority of the Roman government for whom Pilate works? Everything Pilate asks and says in this conversation is about politics. He labels Jesus as a king – a label of political status and authority. And he also labels Jesus as a Jew – a characterization, in Pilate’s mind, of political allegiance, of citizenship to a nation state, NOT the religious label it might sound like to us. But as you and I know, labeling or categorizing other people is a difficult and often confusing exercise.

In the past, I have been labeled, in good ways, bad ways, and neutral ways. I have, in my office, the results of the Meyers-Briggs Type Indicator, which labels me as an “INFJ” personality. Last year, I attended a mandatory seminar with the conference that determined that I was an “amiable driver” when relating with others. When I first came to town, I was categorized as a “new young pastor,” which carried expectations that, to the disappointment of some, was not met. And when I go to ecumenical gatherings, I sometimes literally wear the label “United Methodist” under my name.

But some labels I’ve been assigned are a bit trickier. When I started college, I was quickly categorized under the blanket term “liberal,” whatever that means. Yet in seminary, I was just as quickly categorized as a “conservative,” whatever that means too. I personally have never cared for these political and sometimes theological labels of conservative or liberal, primarily because it creates false assumptions about a person’s opinions and beliefs, and blinds us from getting to know the person themselves. Plus, I’ve often found that such labels depend more on the opinions of those around me than on my own thoughts and opinions.

This is why I’ve always shied away from boxing people in completely with labels or categorizing, because sometimes we have different ideas about what those labels mean. We may use labels to help us identify some characteristics, ways of relating, and personal opinions in those that we meet. This is not necessarily a bad thing, but we must be cautious with labeling other people. Because although I am a United Methodist, that is not all I am. And my understanding of United Methodist and your understanding of United Methodist may be different. Although I am an INFJ, which includes the sub-categorization of me as someone who is more “feeling” than “thinking”, this doesn’t mean that I don’t ever think, or that there aren’t times that I value thoughts over feelings. And I might act like an amiable driver in many social situations, but I’m sure there are times that I do not act like an amiable driver at all. And although I am a pastor, the word “pastor” might mean different things to different people. So labels are one way to help us define each other, but they are not the only way to define someone – especially when the meanings of labels are not always universally agreed upon.

Pilate, when using the term “king,” has one idea about what the words king and kingdom mean. However, Jesus has an entirely different view of king and kingdom. For Pilate, a king is a political ruler with total authority over a geographical region, called a kingdom. This is the worldview of king and kingdom – a political leader of a political reality. King and kingdom are purely political terms. But in this Gospel, this kingship talk is somewhat foreign to Jesus. While in the Synoptic Gospels Jesus talks about God’s kingdom a great deal, here in John’s Gospel there are only 2 brief conversations in which the words king and kingdom are mentioned. In John’s Gospel, Jesus is less concerned about political terms and realities of kingdoms and kings, and more concerned with the theological reality of truth.
Jesus Christ did not come into this world to get engaged in our earthly obsession with politics, or our need to create labels for each other. Instead, Jesus Christ came into this world to represent God’s truth and testify to that truth. And that truth is what we affirm every Sunday: that Jesus Christ is of one being with the Father, that for us and for our salvation, he came down from heaven, assumed human form, was crucified, and then resurrected. We acknowledge that only by the grace of God, through these loving acts, all people are offered salvation. And all people, no matter what labels are placed on them, are freely and lovingly offered salvation through Jesus Christ.

I fear that sometimes, in our hurry to label and categorize each other with human, worldly terms, we make the same mistake as Pilate does here. Perhaps, in our need to always have labels for each other, we create a culture in which we are defined only by the labels assigned to us, rather than the person that God has created us to be. But in calling Pilate to think beyond political labels, I wonder if Jesus is calling all of us to move beyond the worldly labels we have created for each other. And I can’t help but think what might happen if we threw away the proverbial label-makers in our mind. What if we moved past the personality and relational labels: extrovert or introvert, argumentative or agreeable, driver or expressive? What if we moved past labels of status: wealthy or poor, superior or subordinate, success or failure? What if we moved beyond political labels: conservative or liberal, Republican or Democrat, traditionalist or reformer? What if we could finally break free of religious labels: United Methodist or Lutheran, Catholic or Protestant, Christian or Muslim, Jew or Hindu?

Through the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus Christ, every single person is offered the chance to belong to him – to belong to the truth. God longs for each of us to bear but one label on our hearts – one who belongs to God. What if the only label we looked for in ourselves and each other was that label? What if we simply labeled each person we meet as someone who belongs to God? Maybe, just maybe, it would be enough to make our messy world begin to look more and more like the kingdom of God where Jesus Christ is King – whatever that means. In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

Wednesday, November 18, 2009

Anam Cara: Part 1 of Several

An Anam Cara is a soul friend. Join me as I share experiences of soul friends that have walked with me in my continuing journey of faith.

When I was in college, I attended the United Methodist Church in our college town, Ada First UMC. The pastor there is Rev. Wayne Albertson. Wayne is a small man, even smaller than me. In fact, it seemed as though his tousled gray hair and the long, scraggly beard hanging halfway to his chest were a futile effort to keep him from getting swept away in the fierce winds of the Midwest plains. And yet, in that small, aging body lives an ever-growing mind and an unimaginably large heart.

Almost every Sunday morning, I would meet some friends for breakfast at the coffee shop, and we would wander over to the 10:30 service at Ada First. And every Sunday, I walked in with anticipation. I was eager to see what hymns we would be singing – Wayne always had a knack for choosing beautiful music that called us to worship. I’d count down the minutes until the choir would unleash yet another heavenly anthem from the very high choir loft. I was giddy as the sermon began, because I knew Wayne was about to tell some grandfatherly story that would perfectly sum up the call that the scripture had placed on our lives that week. But as wonderful as the worship at Ada First was, the part I always looked forward to most was our departure.

I say this not because I couldn’t wait to get out of the church. And despite what many of you might be thinking, I was not eager to get home so as not to miss the kickoff of the Steelers’ games. No, I couldn’t wait for the service to end because I desperately wanted a hug.

That’s right, a hug. While every other pastor I’ve had has shaken the hands of congregants as they left worship, Wayne clogged the pastoral receiving line with hug…after hug…after hug. But I always waited in line for my hug. Almost everyone waited. Sometimes on crowded Sundays, I had to wait 5 or 10 minutes for my hug. Yet every Sunday, for a sacred moment each week, I shared a loving embrace with a smiling, bearded pastor in a sleepy Midwestern town. It was, without fail, the highlight of my week.

I still remember Wayne hugs. He would hug me with more might than one would expect from such a small body. Somewhat annoyingly, his beard would always scratch up against my face. And after the embrace, he’d always hold his embrace at arm’s length, for just a moment, and look directly into the person’s eyes with total, unconditional, Christian love.

I don’t see Wayne that often anymore, but from time to time our lives cross paths for an hour, an afternoon, or a weekend. And when we see each other, we always begin and end our time with an embrace. He still squeezes pretty hard. His beard still irritates my cheek. And he still locks eyes with me. And in those embraces, nothing else matters. In those times, I am sharing a sacred moment with Wayne, a true anam cara, a soul friend. I am thankful for many things in my life, and today I am especially thankful for “Wayne hugs.”