The Thought That Counts

(Or, "why giving gifts doesn't necessarily mean you sold your soul")

Yes, exchanging gifts around Christmas has gotten out of hand. Every year it’s bigger and better gifts, bigger and worse debt, and bigger and more useless piles of “stuff” that we never use. Black Friday brings out the worst in humanity, malls and big box stores are evil, Jesus is the reason for the season but not the reason you’re shopping at Dick’s, blah blah blah.

Listen, I agree. The retail side of Christmas is out of hand and a tragic sign of where our culture’s priorities lie. For many, gift giving has become more trouble than it’s worth. For these and other reasons, both sides of our family have begun cutting back in gift giving in recent years. Lisa and I tithe a percentage of our gift budget to charitable organizations each Christmas. We’re scaling back so we can spend more time in church than at the mall this month. But let’s not be too holier-than-thou. The fact is, there’s not necessarily anything wrong with giving and receiving gifts with others.

That’s right, I said it. It’s still okay to exchange gifts and be a Christian. I have spent considerable time this season shopping for people I care about. I’ll admit, I’ve put more thought into some gifts than others, but with all my gifts I’ve thought about the receiver. Who are they? What are their interests? Will they really use this? Will they appreciate it?

You see, gift giving offers us a chance to think about people around us. We smile just thinking about how much she’ll love it, or how his eyes will light up when he unwraps it. Or, when we struggle to find a good gift because we don’t know the person very well, we recognize the room for growth in a neglected relationship. Gift giving can be a meaningful way to reflect on and express our love for each other as spouses, siblings, children, parents, aunts and uncles, nieces and nephews, co-workers, or friends. In fact, for some people gift giving is the most comfortable way to express love for another.

I’m not saying we all have to give each other gifts, because it isn’t the purpose of the season. And this is in no way a call for others to give me gifts – I have already received enough Christmas gifts to last a lifetime. But I’m also not saying we have to feel guilty if we have a desire to give. We can be reasonable gift-givers and Christians. We can worship Christ on Christmas Eve and open up gifts on Christmas morning, and not be selling our souls to the devil.

My parents, sister, and I chose to not exchange gifts this year. Yet when we gathered for a family Christmas dinner last night, my mother had placed a small gift for each of us by our seat at the table. My first response was to roll my eyes and think, “Oh Mom, it’s not about giving gifts. I thought we agreed to not do that this year. Return it and save your money, because Lord knows we don’t need this.”

Instead, I gladly accepted the gift, which was a small carved nativity. I said a simple “Thank you,” and admired it for a moment to show my appreciation for the well-thought gift. Then, as a family, we bowed together and prayed, and broke bread together as we celebrated being in the presence of each other and of the Christ child. And it was then that I realized, in this season when we celebrate the joy of the greatest gift of all, that there can also be true joy in the giving and receiving of lesser gifts, when the gift giving is reasonably done out of love.

The Home Stretch

It's here. It's Christmas week. The Advent calendars are nearing their end, the Christmas Eve service is almost ready, and the incarnation is about to break forth into our dark world.

I have a long list of things to do this week, both at work and home. I'd imagine that's true for most of us. However, this week is going to be awesome. And do you know why? Because we'll celebrate the mystery of the Christ child - a virgin mother, a heavenly Father, a stinky stable, a feed trough, angels, shepherds. We'll be led in by luminaria, illumined by candles, comforted by a familiar story, and sent out singing carols.

Christmas is going to be awesome this year. Christmas is going to be awesome this week. No amount of trivial tasks will steal the joy of the message of Christmas: God is with us.

When Christmas Isn't So "Merry"

(This is an adaptation of my sermon from Sunday, Dec. 12, 2010, the 3rd Sunday of Advent. It is a proclamation of the Gospel in the midst of what has been a particularly difficult period of grieving in our congregation and community recently.)

I have to be honest with you – I’m getting really sick of hearing about teenage and young adult deaths. We've had too many of them in this area and/or affecting our congregation over the last month and a half - 4 lives lost in a plane crash, one life lost because she didn't hear the train, and 3 lives lost in car accidents - plus a surviving driver struggling with unnecessary guilt.

I’ve grown weary with the frequency I’ve used the phrase, “I’m sorry to hear about your loss,” in recent weeks. It’s not that I’m not sorry, or that I don’t want to offer support and comfort. It’s that we shouldn’t have to be dealing with these things together as a community. It’s just not fair. I can’t help but think that, as much as my heart is aching over the deaths of these young people I never knew, how much heartache do you who knew them have? And how much heartache are their families feeling right now? It’s inconceivable, and it’s completely unfair. No parent should ever have to bury their own child, no matter how old or young. I don’t believe God wanted any of these things to happen, and I don’t believe that God caused them, but I do believe that our God knows our pain, weeps alongside us, and is taking care of these beloved children.

As a congregation, we have become too familiar recently with what the prophet Isaiah calls “sorrow and sighing” (Isaiah 35:10). It’s enough to put a damper on our holiday season: writing Christmas cards, decorating, shopping for gifts all seems so trivial when I think of the grief that so many families are experiencing right now. I just can’t stop thinking of the empty seats these families will have at the dinner table on Christmas, and how painful that will be. I can’t even begin to imagine the depth of pain.

Like many Old Testament prophets, Isaiah offers words of hope in the midst of despair. It may be for different reasons than our own, but the Israelites are filled with sorrow and sighing just as many of us are filled with sorrow and sighing. The merry for us right now has disappeared, and it’s simply Christmas – and a blue Christmas at that.

We’re always longing for a merry Christmas, and I sense that this year it is especially true. Even if the rest of the year is awful, we want to be happy and merry on Christmas. At least give us that one day where we can forget about the sorrow and sighing, we plead. Give us this season of cheer and happiness. But like many things of this world, when the happiness and merriment of Christmas day wears off, we’ll find ourselves in the same place we were before that day – in sorrow and sighing. It’s enough to make us believe that Woody Allen may have been right when he said, “More than any other time in history, mankind faces a crossroads. One path leads to despair and utter hopelessness. The other to total extinction. Let us pray we have the wisdom to choose correctly.”

But there is a 3rd way, says the prophet Isaiah, and that way shall be called the Holy Way. It will be a highway through the desolate desert that leads us back home to God. Advent is a time when that highway is built, and that highway is then paved by the Christ child. God establishes a road to joy, where sorrow and sighing flees away. While we are out trying to find or buy happiness this Christmas, God is busy making us a Holy Way, a highway of joy.

Let me tell you something – many people would have you believe that happiness is to be pursued, that happiness can be bought, that happiness can come if only you think positively. And that may be true – we can find happiness in many things. But when what makes us happy loses its luster - and it will - we begin to realize that none of those things can solve our problems, and none of them can heal our pain. Happiness is just a brief pause, an interlude, from sorrow and sighing. Happiness doesn’t fix anything. It is good, because sometimes we need that break from the realities of life, but in the end it is just that – a break. Giving someone a good book this Christmas, or cooking the perfect turkey or ham for Christmas dinner, won’t fix or solve anything for anybody, even if it makes them happy for awhile.

You see, happiness is not what the Christian is called to pursue. No, we are called to pursue joy, and that is an entirely different and a far greater thing than happiness. Happiness is well and good, but it does not change anything in our lives. Joy, however, is transformative. Joy is not a temporary state of being, but an everlasting rest in the arms of God. And the joy that comes from God alone comes to us on Christmas, in the form of a child named Jesus, as a light to pierce the darkness of our lives, because God so loved the world that he chose to live among us, and invite us to find joy in the Christ child.

Nothing we buy or do this Christmas will make our problems go away. Nothing will bring back those who have died, nothing will fill that void in our lives. But there is help on the way. In these sorrowful times, I have no words for you that will make things happier. I cannot explain or comprehend what is going on around us. All I can do is continue to do what I've spent a lot of the last few weeks doing: sit with my head in my hands, crying out on behalf of the grieving: “O come, O come, Emmanuel. O COME, O COME, EMMANUEL."

Did you ever notice how dark some of the verses of that hymn are? It is not a festive tune to get us into the holiday spirit. O Come, O Come, Emmanuel is a hymn of deep longing for God to meet us in the darkness we find ourselves in. Listen to these verses (emphasis added):

O come, O come, Emmanuel,
and ransom captive Israel,
that mourns in lonely exile here,
until the Son of God appear.
Rejoice! Rejoice!
Emmanuel shall come to thee, O Israel.

O come, thou Key of David, come,
and open wide our heavenly home.
The captives from their prison free,
and conquer death's deep misery.
Rejoice! Rejoice!
Emmanuel shall come to thee, O Israel.

O come thou Dayspring, come and cheer
our spirits by thy justice here;
disperse the gloomy clouds of night,
and death's dark shadows put to flight.
Rejoice! Rejoice!
Emmanuel shall come to thee, O Israel.

Do you hear those words? In the midst of death and despair comes a human cry: O come, O come, Emmanuel. We cry out from the deep pain and suffering that weighs us down. We recognize that no Christmas cheer will lift us up except the coming of Christ. But, Christ is on the way. Joy is on the way. And we shall be lifted up. Rejoice! Rejoice! Emmanuel shall come to THEE, O West Newton. And when it comes, sorrow and sighing will flee away for good – because God will be with us, lifting us above our troubles. So, I do hope your Christmas will be merry, but for some of you, I know there will be very little, if anything, to be merry about. But whether we are merry or not this Christmas, we are sure to find one thing this Christmas: the overwhelming joy of a child in a manger, the beginning of the Holy Way to God, and the hope and promise that one day, all sorrow and sighing will flee away. Rejoice! Rejoice! Emmanuel – God with us – shall come to thee.

Incarnational Moment

Here we are, eating, drinking, and being merry in a mall food court, and unsuspectingly, God breaks in and sings forth new life. THIS is what Christmas is all about - the incarnational moment in which God rises from among us, and in doing so picks up our spirits as well.

Following the Star

“When they saw that the star had stopped, they were overwhelmed with joy.” –Matt. 2:10

Once again, the holiday season has crept up on us. It seems like only yesterday we were taking summer vacations, having cookouts with the neighbors, and cooling off at the pool. Yet, with autumn comes the return of school, activities, and cooler temperatures, and before we know it, we are stuffed with leftover turkey and decorating the house for Christmas.

Life is a journey, and these days it seems we’ve quickened the pace on that journey. Nowhere is the pace quickened, the stress levels heightened, than this season of Advent and Christmas. Added to life’s usual obligations are all of the seasonal tasks: decorate the house, string the lights, make plans with family, bake the cookies, attend (and host!) the parties, buy the gifts, and don’t forget about the tree!

Which star are you following this Christmas? You may be following the star of busyness, turning Christmas into a series of never-ending tasks. Or, you could be following the star of competition, striving to have the brightest lights, the prettiest tree, or the perfect Christmas party. Perhaps you find yourself following the star of consumerism, fine-tuning your Christmas list and searching for the perfect gift.

Yet, there is another star – the one the wise men followed into the presence of the Christ child, where they were overwhelmed with joy. In your journey through this holiday season, I hope and pray that wherever the stars lead you, you will be led also to stop, enter the manger, and upon meeting the Christ child, be overwhelmed with joy.

Remembering My Baptism

Yesterday, I visited the church where I was baptized for the first time since I was 2 years old. Although I spent my first 2 years at Crafton UMC, this was the first time I recall being in the building. As I was there, the words echoed through the sanctuary: Remember your baptism and be thankful.

I've heard those words before, but yesterday, those words had new meaning. Now, when I thankfully remember my baptism, I am able to picture the physical location, whereas previously I could not. It's a significant moment in my spiritual journey that has more life to it than it did 2 days ago.

Now, I think back to the Crafton UMC congregation of 1983, celebrating the baptism of an infant named Erik Andrew, son of Tom and Connie Hoeke, promising to help raise this child in the Christian faith. I doubt back then they thought they were baptizing a future United Methodist pastor, or that they would not see that child grow up beyond age 2. Surely, other churches have had a more memorable role in my spiritual life. But Crafton UMC will always hold a special place in my heart. I will always be thankful of this community of believers and the commitment they made on behalf of the church universal when I remember my baptism.

Election Day Prayer

Under your law we live, great God,
and by your will we govern ourselves.
Help us as good citizens
to respect neighbors whose views differ from ours,
so that without partisan anger,
we may work out issues that divide us,
and elect candidates to serve the common welfare;
through Jesus Christ the Lord. Amen.

From the Book of Common Prayer

Name Change and Redesign

Let me take a moment to explain the name change on the blog. The previous name, The Blog That Saved Pittsburgh, was meant to be a play on the old Dr. J movie called, The Fish That Saved Pittsburgh. I've never seen the movie, mostly because it sounds like an awful waste of 2 hours, but I thought I was clever at the time I set this blog up. However, I failed to take into account how obscure this movie really is, so most people took the name of this blog to be heretical narcissism. Neither me nor my blog are saving anyone in the Pittsburgh area, from sin or bad basketball. Let's leave that to Jesus and Julius.

Hence, the new name, and with it a snazzy re-design. Last week, I had a colleague call me a "closet charismatic." He explained that when we think of a charismatic Christian, we think of a hand-waving, praise-song singing enthusiast. But that is not how I often worship. I'm more contemplative, which is a nice way of saying that I'm lost in thought all the time. But he said that even though I'm quiet, he can tell that I'm always seeking to praise God with all that I do and all that I am. I'm a charismatic at heart, but it's hidden behind a veneer of peaceful silence.

It is one of the best compliments anyone has ever given me. Praise the Lord.

Pace

Last week, I found myself on retreat in the forests of northern Pennsylvania. The retreat was mandated by the Board of Ordained Ministry, and I can't say I went into the time apart with much excitement. After all, this mandate came on the heels of a hurried and emotional week at the church, and took 2 days away from the upcoming week, ensuring busyness would greet me when I returned home. Yet, despite my murmuring and arguing about another ordination requirement, I found rest and peace during this time.

One afternoon, we were given a time of silence. I used part of that time to walk the grounds of the retreat center on that wet autumn day. My walk began at a brisk pace - remnants of my cross country days in high school, or perhaps my state of mind at the time. But then I found the retreat center's labyrinth, so I entered. Instantly, the narrow path with numerous twists and turns slowed me to a leisurely stroll.

Slower and slower, I walked the labyrinth's path, following it to the center, pausing there, then slowly retracing my steps as I followed the path back out. As I left the labyrinth, I kept walking. But something was different. My pace had remained as slow as it was inside the labyrinth.

I entered the labyrinth at a hurried pace. But the embrace of God's path slowed me down, centered me around God, and sent me back into the world at the appropriate pace. With that slower pace, I noticed things I hadn't prior to my time in the labyrinth: the babbling brook to my right, the feel of the gravel path below my feet, the beauty of the changing colors on the leaves. And it was all so beautiful.

To where are we hurrying today? Will we make time for prayer? Will we let God draw us in, bring us to our knees, and send us out again at a slower, more appropriate pace? If we cannot stop, will we at least reflect on why our life has reached the point where there's no time left for a walk with God? Will we start walking with God again until we find the right pace?

Equinox

"Then God said, 'Let there be light'; and there was light. And God saw that the light was good; and God separated the light from the darkness. God called the light Day, and the darkness he called Night. And there was evening and there was morning, the first day." - Gen 1:3-5

The very first act of Creation was light. More specifically, it was the creation of days and nights, regular periods of alternating between light and darkness. And in this first act, this first evening and morning, was the creation of equinox.

Equinox, Latin for "equal night," is the word we use for the two moments each year when every part of the earth receives approximately 12 hours of sunlight and 12 hours of darkness. Every spring and every fall, we experience an equinox on this planet: equal night for everyone, every place.

Even in the first act of Creation, God is concerned with equality. The Night and Day created by God mirrors our shared lives. Most of the time, half the world is in one season, and the other half of the world is in the opposite season. Depending on where we live, we receive different amounts of sunlight and darkness. Except for the equinox.

In life, sometimes we are in the midst of prolonged light, whereas others are living in prolonged darkness. We are not promised that we will have equal amounts of celebratory moments as our neighbors, nor are we promised equality in the dark nights of life. Some of us will have a "sunnier" life, whereas others of us will have a "darker" life, a reality over which we have less control than we want to believe.

But occasionally, there are moments of equinox. In the system of Night and Day, God built in equality, even if just for two moments a year. The vernal and autumnal equinoxes are signs of God's justice, breaking into our rhythm of seasons and time twice a year. Twice a year, we are reminded that God does not play favorites.

On this day, the northern hemisphere is journeying from summer to winter, while the southern hemisphere is journeying in the opposite direction. Equinox is the point in which those journeys intersect. If even for a moment, we are in the same season. Take a moment to thank God for this gift of equal night, remembering our brothers and sisters around the world who receive the gift with us.

The Gift of Hope

"It will not solve your personal troubles, give you health if you are sick, reward you with money if you are poor, or diminish your grief. But it might grant you the gift of hope." - Jimmy Cannon, sports journalist

I came across this the other day in a book I'm reading. This line was written to describe baseball, but it seems rather appropriate to our faith as well. Christ does not promise us problem solving, good health, wealth, or happiness. But he does provide us the gift of hope.

A Word on Hospitality

"Do not neglect to show hospitality to strangers, for by doing that some have entertained angels without knowing it." - Hebrews 12:2

Earlier this summer, Lisa and I registered on warmshowers.org. Warm Showers is an online social network that connects touring cyclists to each other and to potential hosts along their journeys. We have friends who use this to find housing as they tour, and we would like to go on bike tours someday, so we decided to start by giving hosting a whirl.

It's odd and a little scary to host strangers in one's home, but we've become familiar enough with the tour-cycling community over the last couple years to know it's not as scary as it may seem. Also, Warm Showers does have some security built in that helps with peace of mind. We decided this would be a perfect opportunity to offer hospitality to weary travelers - an expected practice for early Christians and often written into the rules of living for monastic orders.

Wednesday night, we had our first guests, Paul and Jane from New Jersey. This lovely couple is celebrating Paul's retirement by biking from Portland, OR to Washington, D.C. As you can imagine, they're almost at the end of the road. We shared dinner and conversation, and they delighted in telling their greatest and most horrifying stories from the road - all of which seemed to happen in Montana. And by 8 am Thursday morning, as quickly as they had arrived, they pedaled into the sunrise on their tandem bike.

We couldn't have asked for more pleasant inaugural guests. Surely, not all of our guests will be as pleasant, but we look forward to the opportunity to meet and host new people. We feel blessed to be able to practice our faith in this small way in our small trail town.

Theodicy and the Pittsburgh Pirates

"Finally, I think the baseball gods have looked down on us, and said, 'Enough's enough.' " -- Pirates manager John Russell, after Saturday's walk-off win

It'll take more than one exciting walk-off win to erase 2 decades of ignominy, but the divine punishment inflicted on the Pirates for all these years is about to end. That's what their manager thinks, anyway.

We remaining intelligent Pirates fans believe that it won't be long (2012?) before this team has their "Crossing the Jordan" moment, entering into a promised land of winning seasons, pennant races, playoffs, and positive national media attention. But until then, we are left to ponder the theodicy question posed by John Russell, Pirates skipper and accidental theologian:

Why would a good God allow this much suffering, for so long, to befall a once-proud National League baseball franchise? And has God finally decided to plague the Houston Astros instead?*

For starters, God is not smiting the Pirates for their cocaine and greenies culture of the 80's, or some other evil. If God always punishes evil, explain to me the Yankees. Or Ben Roethlisberger. God does not inflict suffering on the Pirates any more than God inflicts cancer on someone who hasn't been to church enough. To say that God causes pain and suffering is anti-thetical to the fundamental Christian belief that God is completely and universally morally good.

But even if God does not cause suffering, God obviously allows it to take place. Why? The simplest explanation, as played out in sports, is that life is a zero-sum game - for every winner there must be a loser. Or, perhaps it reminds us that while "God is good, all the time," the world is not and we are not. Maybe suffering is a result of human sinfulness, and we have thrown the proverbial wrench into the side of God's creation and mucked it all up. The apostle Paul offers yet another explanation:

"We also boast in our sufferings, knowing that suffering produces endurance, and endurance produces character, and character produces hope, and hope does not disappoint us, because God's love has been poured into our hearts through the Holy Spirit that has been given to us." -- Romans 5:3-5

I don't think any of us know the full explanation as to the existence of human (and ballplayer) suffering in the world, but I also wonder if that is the point. Rather than question God's role in causing or allowing human suffering, maybe we are called to something greater. Perhaps the best thing we can do is let the suffering move us toward the hope that "does not disappoint us."

As a Pirates fan, I have hope. When that hope is someday realized, all these years of suffering will make it worth the wait.

*I am completely aware of my glib use of the word "suffering," and by no means equate the constant failings of the Pittsburgh Pirates with the real suffering in the world. As a white middle-class American, I readily admit that I haven't a clue what suffering is.

Obituary - Erik's iPod

Erik's iPod, also known as "Hoeker's iPod", died on the morning of Friday, August 6, in its home in West Newton. It began having health issues on a recent vacation to the beach, and subsequent efforts to reboot and restore were unsuccessful. The iPod, one of the last of its kind, shared 7 years of music and other media with its owner, including countless exciting road trips. It enjoyed shuffle mode, music by the Clarks and Eagles, NPR podcasts, and downloaded sermons. Viewing hours for a replacement iPod will be Friday afternoon at the Best Buy in Greensburg, PA. In lieu of flowers, the family requests that donations of music files be made to the replacement iPod.

Permission Granted

Here at First UMC of West Newton, the time-honored way of celebrating Communion is by kneeling at the altar rail to receive the bread and cup. We celebrate with small cubes of homemade bread and the "shot glass" distribution of the juice.

When I first arrived here, I was struck by the extreme passivity of the parishioners in this sacrament. They would not do anything unless directed by the pastor. They stand at the altar and stare at me or their shoelaces, waiting for the imperative to "kneel as you are able." Then they receive the bread and cup, but will not eat or drink until the pastor gives some verbal cue to do so. The first time I presided over Communion here was a bit awkward, as I had not prepared to give such directives. I did not expect pastoral ministry would require me to boss people around in the celebration of a sacrament. I'm not the type of person who particularly enjoys telling other people what to do - especially in something as simple as eating a cube of bread and drinking a shot of grape juice. Who are these people, anyway? These are adults; they shouldn't need me to hold their hand and walk them through every step of Communion. Perhaps this is what the Bishop meant when he commissioned me to "Order."

But now, I'm beginning to understand. These people don't need someone to give them verbal cues. They're not waiting for permission. What's really going on here is a deep understanding of why we call it Holy Communion. These people know this isn't a frivolous monthly practice. While we ought not take Communion too seriously, we should approach it with some sense of reverence. After all, this is Jesus Christ, broken for us, poured out for us, present with us in the giving of the bread and cup. Maybe we ought not to rush into the eating and drinking, lest we suffer from spiritual indigestion. Maybe we should take our time and allow someone to tell us what we are really doing at the table, so we have time to process the magnitude of our actions.

And, this congregation also understands why it is Holy Communion. With each group of 15-20 that approaches the altar, they wait to kneel so all may kneel together. They wait to eat so all may eat together. They wait to drink so all may drink together. In this, the celebrant is not the "boss" but the conductor. I am not ordering them what to do and when. No, I'm helping them eat together, to commune. Perhaps this is the role of a pastor - to help the assembled kneel together, eat together, drink together, and pray together, so that Christ may come alive in our midst. May it be so on the first Sunday of every month, and all the days in between.

5 Things Never to Say to a Young Pastor

5. So, who's the senior pastor?
Me. Contrary to popular belief, sometimes young adults can be trusted in a single pastor appointment. In fact, until recently, these appointments were quite common.

4. Oh, our kids/grandkids are your age!
The observation itself is not usually annoying, but you can see that the speakers are imagining their kids/grandkids as a pastor. This often leads to them realizing that their kids would not be a good pastor because they see them as: a)irresponsible, b)not into religion or its traditions, c)still kids even though they're adults, or d)all of the above. They then associate you with all of these things, and start doubting whether or not someone their kids or grandkids' age has any wisdom to share.

3. I'm sure you're great with the youth!
Age has less to do with being gifted in youth ministry than one might think. Some young adults, many of my friends included, are great at youth ministry. Others, myself included, are not. In fact, my father is more gifted in youth ministry than I am. I love the youth, I enjoy hanging out with them, teaching them, and learning from them, but I'm not gifted in youth ministry. Not all young adults are.

2. Oh, so you're going to do contemporary worship/get rid of our traditions/kick out the old people?!
Nope. Just because you think younger people hate everything you love and love everything you hate doesn't always mean they do.

1. You're too young to be a pastor.
Thanks. In one sentence, you have completely invalidated my choice of vocation. How is this any less offensive than telling a 60 year old, "You're too old to be an administrative assistant"?

Looking for a Savior

Finally, the day is here. Pedro Alvarez, the Pirates top prospect, will make his Pittsburgh Pirates debut tonight. Here's a taste of what he offers:



The entire city awaits with anticipation. He has long been touted as the "savior" of the franchise, and the expectations are such that one would hardly be surprised to see him riding into town on a white stallion, performing daring feats of rescue, or turning everyone's hot dogs into filet mignon.

Alas, it is just the most recent example of a group of people looking for a savior in all the wrong places. Americans saw Barack Obama as a savior of a nation less than 2 years ago. Businesses in decline seek saviors to bring things out of the red. Even churches are not immune to such misguided thoughts, often anticipating a change in pastor will turn things around more than Jesus Christ ever would.

I'm excited that Pedro is here, but the fact is he's going to have days where he's 0-4 with 3 K's - maybe starting with tonight. He's going to make errors at 3rd that cost us the game. He's going to hit into crippling double plays. And even if he blossoms into an All-Star slugger, that will probably take a few years to materialize. I'm as excited as anyone about seeing him play in the Bigs, but let's not expect him to be perfect. Let's remember that the savior of the world he is not. That job is already taken.

On Fire With Enthusiasm

"Catch on fire with enthusiasm, and people will come for miles to watch you burn." - John Wesley

On Sunday, I confirmed 4 young women in our congregation. As part of our confirmation classes, I took them to our United Methodist Conference Center, where they met our bishop. While there, they learned about Imagine No Malaria, the UMC campaign to eradicate malaria by 2015. The bishop told them that for just $10, an insecticide-treated bed net can be sent to a family, thus saving a life from malaria.

After leaving the bishop's office, 2 of our confirmands pulled out $10 bills and pleaded for me to allow them to run back into his office to give him a donation. The other 2 confirmands begged me to lend them $10 so they could do the same thing. All it took was a few minutes with the bishop, and these 4 young women were ready to save the world from malaria.

It gets better. The following Sunday, one of the confirmands came in with a wad of cash in her hand. "Here you go," she said. "It's half of the money I got for my birthday as gifts this week. Can you give this to the bishop for the malaria thing?"

We adults think we're hot stuff with our 10% tithing, and here's a teenager ready to give half of her birthday money to help people halfway around the world. With these 4 confirmands, you'll never hear me call them the future leaders of the church. No, they're leaders of the church right now. They've allowed themselves to catch on fire with enthusiasm, caring enough for all God's children that they will give generously from their many blessings.

Now, they're leading a 4 week event in our congregation to raise money for Imagine No Malaria. It was a privilege to confirm them on Sunday, allowing them to profess their faith in Christ, to stand on their own as members of Christ's church, and to be so caught on fire by the Holy Spirit on Pentecost Sunday that people will come for miles to help these young, vibrant leaders eradicate Malaria.

Two

Two years ago, I married the most wonderful woman in the world. Life has been nothing short of amazing over these two years. In that time, we've hiked through mountains, beaches, cliffs, canyons, and volcanoes together. We've attended baseball, football, basketball, and hockey games. We've seen plays, musicals, and concerts. We've traveled to urban centers of civilization, and escaped into uninhabited landscapes. We've shared the joys of marriage and new birth in the lives of siblings and friends. We've begun a new life together in West Newton. I am amazed at the memories we've made in such a short period of time.

But perhaps the best memories of all are the less spectacular ones. Sitting on the porch swing and listening to the ballgame on the radio. Taking an evening walk through town. Watching old movies. Standoffs about who must do the dishes. Laughing for hours at our ridiculous cats. Staging epic ping-pong battles for the best prize of all: bragging rights. Tripping over each other every night as we brush our teeth in our incredibly small bathroom.

It's been a great 2 years, and I am just as madly in love with Lisa Joy Lindquist Hoeke as I was the day I met her - the freshman girl bold enough to hang a Terrible Towel on her dorm room door in the heart of Cleveland Browns territory. We share an anniversary with two couples in our congregation: one celebrating 35 years of marriage today, the other celebrating 60 years. Here's hoping we make it through another 58 years.

Punctuation

Today, I drove by a restaurant whose sign currently reads, "Let's Go Bucs?" At first, I thought perhaps someone mistakenly put a question mark where there should be an exclamation point. But then, I realized that it was probably meant to be mocking sarcasm of the local baseball team, as has been customary for years in this area. So I began to wonder what message the punctuation was trying to send:

"Is this all we have to keep us going between the end of hockey season and the beginning of football season?"

"Seeing as all the inexplicably popular but mediocre (at best) players have been traded away, who are these guys?"

"Are the Pirates going to move to a new city?"

Everyone knows by now that the Pirates are one big question mark. Some people find hope in that question mark, and others find only despair. But the point is, it's been a long, long, long time since we've had a baseball team worth exclamations -- whether you look at the 30 years and counting without a title, or the 17 years and counting without a winning record.

The Bible was originally written and transcribed sans punctuation. This means that the punctuation marks of scripture are actually interpretations of the text. So, when we read John 20:16, for instance, and we hear Mary say, "Rabbouni!" (which means teacher), it means that someone in the annals of history interpreted Mary's words as an exclamation. But what if it was a question? What if Mary wasn't so sure this gardener was her beloved Jesus?

Our own encounters with Jesus are punctuated as well. Sometimes, we see the presence of Jesus in our lives, and we can hardly hold back as we exclaim, "Rabbouni!" Other times, we sense his presence, but we're not sure if it really is our Lord and Savior, so we curiously ask, "Rabbouni?" And then there are times that Jesus is simply there, and in our need for comfort and rest, we breathe a sigh of relief: "Rabbouni." Finally, there might be times that our encounter with Jesus opens us up into a deeper discovery, a new understanding, or the beginning of a sacred story, and we expectantly whisper, "Rabbouni..."

Whatever punctuation is placed on your faith today, I pray that you have encountered the Risen Christ today. For the Christian, every day is Easter. Every day is the day of resurrection.

The Five Families

On Tuesday, at our Vacation Bible School planning meeting, the VBS director kept talking about "The Five Families." The curriculum calls for splitting children into families, and she thinks we'll probably have five families, based on the number of kids we usually have. At one point, she looked at me and said, "What? Why do you keep smiling every time I talk about the five families?"

Laughing, I replied, "Every time you mention 'The Five Families', I think of The Godfather. It sounds like we're doing Mafia VBS." My response was met with complete uncomfortable silence, as I quickly realized I was the only male in the room.

I was the only person in the room that was not alive when The Godfather was first released, yet apparently I was the only person who had ever seen it, or any of the trilogy for that matter. I need more guy friends.

What Tiger Woods and Ben Roethlisberger can teach us

This weekend, Tiger Woods is playing competitive golf for the first time since his adulterous habits became front page news. Whether or not you plan to watch him play golf, chances are you have your opinions about Tiger’s personal life. It is well known that he has cheated on his wife often, a serious moral transgression in the eyes of many.

This Monday, charges may be filed against Ben Roethlisberger, who is being accused of sexually assaulting a 20 year old woman in early March. Whether or not you watch football, you probably know that Roethlisberger is one of the stars of the NFL, a 2-time Super Bowl winning quarterback for the Pittsburgh Steelers. This is the second time in less than a year that allegations of sexual assault or rape have surfaced around Roethlisberger, and it adds to the growing list of recent off-field troubles surrounding Steelers’ players.

Tiger and Roethlisberger’s incidents have garnered a great deal of attention over the last several months. They are viewed as just further evidence that athletes and celebrities live wild, entitled, out-of-control lives with no consequences. “These pro athletes just do whatever they want,” I recently heard someone say of Roethlisberger.

But the real problems we should be discussing do not lie with Tiger, Big Ben, or any other high profile athlete. We shouldn’t be concerned that Tiger seems to have little regard for the sacred covenant of marriage. We should be concerned that millions of other men and women break that covenant daily, committing acts just as egregious as Tiger but without the press coverage.

And we shouldn’t be poring over the news each day wondering what happened in the bathroom of a college bar between Roethlisberger and a 20 year old woman. We shouldn’t just be skewering Roethlisberger as a man that allegedly feels he’s entitled to have his way with the body of another person without regard for consent. We should be worried about all the other men (and women) in the world that mistakenly assume that they too are entitled to such self-pleasing actions.

While we’re at it, we also shouldn’t be worried about the reports of domestic abuse that surfaced around this time 2 years ago involving Steelers’ star linebacker James Harrison. We should be worried about the domestic abuse and violence that takes place every day, but is never reported by the newspapers (and sometimes not even by the victims).

Don’t misunderstand me. Tiger’s actions are reprehensible. The allegations against Roethlisberger, if true, are utterly intolerable. I don’t mean to excuse their actions (or alleged actions) in the least. However, it is important that we let the implications of these stories sink in a little more deeply. I fear that too often, we hold such activity at arm’s length. It is those entitled athletes that commit adultery. It is those young rich football players that have their way with women. It is those people with too much money and time on their hands that use and abuse other people.

Too often, we allow ourselves to believe that such things only happen in some faraway fantasyland, where the rich and famous live and play. But chances are, someone on your block has committed or is committing adultery. Whether you realize it or not, someone you know has probably been a victim of sexual assault. And it is highly likely that no matter how small your church or workplace may be, you probably have a victim or perpetrator of domestic abuse sitting not too far away. It is not just those celebrities that we don't know, but also the people that we do know.

So, if we learn anything from the recent reports of immoral and/or criminal behavior among star athletes, it is that such things happen all around us. No matter where we live, these problems are present. And we must face these injustices, whether we encounter them on the front page or the neighbor’s backyard. These issues are serious. They are real. They are very dark corners in our very broken world, not just in the public eye, but in the places in which we live, work, and play. I pray that we may remember that these things do not just happen among the rich and famous, but also happen among us. I pray that we then may be able to find ways to shine Christ’s light in the darkness, helping us to be in ministry with the victims and perpetrators of such activity, so that we may one day live in a world where such injustices do not exist.

He Is Risen

"Why do you look for the living among the dead? He is not here, but has risen." - Luke 24:5

A New World Order

For most of my life, the Pittsburgh Pirates have been awful - a symbol of incompetency both on and off the field. They have spent the better part of 2 decades as the worst run and worst performing franchise in the history of professional sports. And, for most of my life, the Steelers have been wonderful - a symbol of success and class both on and off the field. For almost a half century, the Steelers have been a source of great pride. They have been a franchise worth looking up to in every way.

I used to love when football season came around, because the Steelers provided a welcome distraction from hearing all the bad news of the Pirates. Now, I find myself embracing the start of baseball season as a welcome distraction from the current free fall of the Steelers. Much of that pride and class is gone, and I'm really sick of hearing about the daily messes created by these spoiled frat boys called Pittsburgh Steelers. It's becoming clear that no matter how bad the Pirates may be this season, they will not disappoint me nearly as much as the Steelers have in recent months and years.

Let's Go Bucs!

Now I'm out of the office pool!!!

Courtesy of my old roomie, Michael Goodman. Hilarious.

Closing Hymn

Deep Thoughts on a Monday Afternoon
By Pastor Erik

The most important element in planning worship is the closing hymn. It's what congregants sing, hum, or whistle as they leave the house of the Lord and re-enter the world in which they live. They take that closing hymn with them to the diner down the street, to the grocery store across town, to their child's soccer game, or to mother's Sunday dinner back home. The closing hymn, if chosen well, can be a sermon that keeps on preaching the whole day long. Pastors and worship planners would do well to thoughfully and seriously take up the task of choosing the closing melodies and lyrics of worship; the Sunday afternoon of the faithful depends on it.

Mercy and Judgment

Sermon for Sunday, March 7, 2010
Third Sunday in Lent
Scripture: Luke 13:1-9

This morning’s passage from the Gospel of Luke is quite an interesting bit of scripture, isn’t it? Here in the 13th chapter, we find a Jesus on his way to Jerusalem, and as Lutheran scholar Kae Evenson puts it, he is “railing against this and that and then telling an odd story about a fig tree.”

The “railing against this and that” is Jesus’ response to a crowd eager to magnify the sins of other people. As we gather from Jesus’ response, there seems to be good motivation for drawing attention toward the sinfulness of persecuted Galileans or laborers of Jerusalem. The crowd’s hope is that in pointing out the sinfulness of “those other people,” the sinfulness of the speakers themselves will be overlooked, forgotten, or merely seen as trifling compared to those really bad sinners down the block.

And this is not the only place in scripture where we encounter an antiquated punishment/reward system based on our relative sinfulness or righteousness – a system that assumes all human blessing is reward for righteousness, and all human suffering is punishment for sins. Old Testament wisdom literature, for instance, and the book of Job in particular, spends a great deal of time addressing the subject of divine reward and punishment, divine mercy and judgment. And here in the 13th chapter of Luke, as in Job, we find a God who challenges these self-righteous attitudes – the judgment we wish on sinners worse than us, and the mercy we reserve only for ourselves. Through the words of Jesus, we are cautioned against being rash to judge the wickedness of others, and we are also cautioned against assuming that, as self-ordained “lesser sinners,” we are free from having to face the judgment that our neighbors must face.

And then, there is the odd story about a fig tree. The owner of the fig tree is ready to chop it down. It hasn’t produced fruit for 3 years, and it’s time to make room for a tree that will. “Cut it down! It’s wasting soil!” screams the owner to his gardener. This fig tree has had enough chances to bear fruit, and it has wasted those chances. But on the tree’s behalf, the gardener pleads for mercy, asking the owner to give this poor little fig tree one more chance to bear fruit. And the owner displays mercy to the tree – gives it yet another chance to bear fruit.

Isn’t it nice to be a tree? Taken on its own, this parable assures us that even when we’re fruitless fig trees, God still gives us more chances than we deserve to grow into the productive trees we’re called to be. But unfortunately, this “odd story about a fig tree” is told in the same meeting, in the same context, and in the same breath as the “railing against this and that.” And it’s intentionally told this way, so that we may understand that if we believe in the mercy of 2nd, 3rd, and 4th chances in our own lives, then we better believe that the same mercy is offered to our neighbors as well – the people we mistakenly label as “worse sinners.” What Jesus does here in Luke 13 is delicately hold a railing against judgment in tension with a parable about mercy, and in doing so he gives us more to think about than we can explore in a simply Sunday morning sermon – on a communion Sunday, no less.

But the juxtaposition of mercy and judgment here reminds us of our propensity to apply God’s judgment to the sins of others, while at the same time applying God’s mercy to our own sins. We turn up our noses in self-righteousness at the sins of others, contemplating how we can throw scripture in their faces to warn them of a wrathful God, lightning bolt in hand, ready to inflict judgment on them at a moment’s notice. And then we continue on our way to church, where we pray, “Lord, have mercy on me, a sinner.” And then we thank God for the grace and mercy that wipes away our sin.

But then one day, we stumble upon Jesus’ words in Luke 13, and he challenges us to look at things from a different perspective. Rather than focusing on the judgment of others, perhaps we should start thinking that we may be judged just as harshly, if not more harshly, than our neighbors. And rather than holding onto mercy as if it’s something that we own, something that we’ve purchased, perhaps it might be a good idea to plead for mercy on behalf of our sinful neighbors as well.
All too often, we paint a picture of a judging God examining others, and a merciful God examining ourselves. But the God of scripture and the God that is present with us this morning is not a one-dimensional God. Our God gives out both judgment and mercy, when God wills, to whomever God wills, and however God wills. And God’s son harmonizes the story of judgment and the story of mercy in this morning’s text, creating one new story: a story that journeys from Bethlehem to Jerusalem, ending with death on a cross leading to an empty grave.

Jesus knows that both judgment and mercy are essential to his story. He knows that to omit either would be to tell a story different than the good news. To speak of judgment without mercy or mercy without judgment would be as empty as celebrating Easter without a preceding Good Friday, or celebrating a Good Friday with no Easter on the horizon. It would be as incomplete as tasting the blood of Christ’s death without also tasting the bread of Christ’s life, or vice versa. For the Christian story is a paradoxical one – one that celebrates both death and life, tastes both bread and cup, and proclaims both judgment and mercy.

But, we must be clear that the judgment of which we speak is God’s judgment, and the mercy which we desire is God’s mercy. No judgment we make on our own sins or the sins of another has any significance, and any mercy we proclaim for ourselves or for others is wasted soil. As Christ calls us to “repent or perish” on this Third Sunday in Lent, we are reminded by his words that God’s judgment is what makes repentance necessary, and God’s grace and mercy is what makes it possible.

This is a story of judgment and mercy, of repentance and forgiveness, of death and life. This is the Gospel story, that paradoxical story in which our God uses death on a cross to bring us new life. Thanks be to God for holding us all accountable with judgment, and for offering the mercy that saves us from getting what each one of us sinners deserves. For we all deserve harsher judgment than we can bear, and we all are given greater mercy than we could ever imagine. In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

Sadness and Joy

It was a bitterly cold Sunday morning in early February. I dragged myself out of bed early that day and headed out to pick up Dan and Will, two of my best friends. On a typical Sunday, we’d all be heading off to church, but this Sunday was different. On this particular winter morning, we granted ourselves a special dispensation from attending church, so we could head downtown to witness a historical moment in the history of the city of Pittsburgh. With coffee and donuts in hand, we stood on the banks of the Allegheny River, right under the Sixth Street Bridge, and watched this.

And just like that, Three Rivers Stadium, home of the Pirates and Steelers for over 30 years, was gone. All three of us spent much of our childhood attending baseball and football games at Three Rivers. For all of us, our formative memories as sports enthusiasts took place there, our fathers toting us there from the time we could walk, teaching us about these wonderful games that gave us such joy.

There we were, ready to watch our childhood home turn into a pile of rubble. As the time of implosion drew near, we shared stories of our childhood visits to Three Rivers. Together, we lamented the loss of something that meant so much to us. But as the morning wore on, our eyes began to be drawn away from Three Rivers and toward the new structure just across the river: PNC Park. Our sadness of losing Three Rivers began to give way to our excitement about a new, beautiful, baseball only stadium. And so it was that our emotions were tossed about that morning, alternatively weeping for what was lost and shouting for joy at what the future held. Dan was more excited than sad, but Will and I were still more sad than excited. But together, we stood there and watched as our past was torn down, and the future called us in.

In Ezra 3:10-13, we hear a very similar story: the beautiful story of the Israelites laying a foundation for rebuilding the temple in Jerusalem. As the foundation was laid, the community came out to celebrate the completion of the first phase of the rebuilding process. And as we hear, some were reminded of the previous temple, and wept at the loss of what they once held so dear. Others shouted for joy, energized by the prospect of what was in store in the future. But in this holy moment, the shouts of grief and the shouts of joy came together as one sound, “so that the people could not distinguish the sound of the joyful shout from the sound of the people’s weeping.”

I suspect that some of us in the Christian Church may identify with the weepers – those who mourn the loss of former glory, those who fondly remember the wonderful religious heritage that has preceded us. It is a heritage from which we all have come, one that formed and shaped the church we see today.

And, I suspect there are also some of us who identify with the joyful shouters – those who are energized and excited about what the future holds, those who might even look on religious heritage and say, “Good riddance!”

The reality is that most of us are probably somewhere in between. Many of us lament the loss of what we had as the body of Christ, but are also excited about what we might yet have. But what’s so interesting about this story in Ezra is that everyone – both the tearful and the joyful – are there. Whether they celebrate the foundation being laid or they shed tears over it, all are here to support the rebuilding of the temple. Whether they want the temple rebuilt in this way or not, they care enough to show up. And in a beautiful, spirit-filled moment, all the shouts of lament and shouts of joy blend into a single shout, and it becomes impossible to distinguish the tearful from the joyful. It is one body, with one voice, coming from one past, marching into one future.

What a beautiful model for facing the uncertain future that is before us now. What an example these Israelites provide for us – whether we long for the past or we wish to race energetically into the future, it is time to become one voice. It is time to balance each other out, for each of us to add to the one sound, rooting ourselves in the past but also embracing the future that lies ahead.

If you are a weeper, we need you to remind us of the glorious past that got us here. And if you are a joyful shouter, we need you to show us the way into the future. It is time to become that one voice, where no individual is silenced, where each one of us contributes to a joyful noise in praise of the Lord.

So, whether we weep or shout for joy or fall somewhere in between, let us all praise the Lord with our voices. Let us honor the reality that we have different voices, and we all may view the past and future a little differently, but if here in the present we center ourselves on the Lord, those many voices will combine as one voice, even if just for one moment. So let us cry. Let us shout. Let us praise God together.

And are we yet alive,
And see each others face?
Glory and thanks to Jesus give
For his almighty grace!

What troubles have we seen,
What mighty conflicts past,
Fightings without, and fears within,
Since we assembled last.

Does God make the schedule for MLB?

Today is Ash Wednesday, the first day of Lent. Today is also the first day of Major League Baseball's Spring Training, as pitchers and catchers reported to camps at noon. Lent ends on Easter Sunday, which this year is celebrated on April 4. That also happens to be the date of baseball's opening night. So, in a crazy alignment of professional baseball scheduling and the liturgical calendar, Spring Training and Lent perfectly overlap in 2010. This made me realize just how much these two seasons of preparation have in common. Without further ado, the top 5 ways Spring Training and Lent are similar:

5. I look forward to them both.

4. We turn our eyes upon Jesus, as well as Jesus.

3. Both are times of intense examination.

2. Both consist of purging what is bad and calling up what is good.

1. Both end with the hope-filled celebration of a new beginning.

Mr. Winter is not a benevolent deity

Our power went out again yesterday afternoon, just before the new storm arrived. I escaped just in time, plodding along snowy roads at 25 mph all the way to my parents' house. Lisa met me there after work, and we became "homeless" freeloaders once again. Our house got power back last night, but we still haven't made it back.

Lisa went to work today in our Subaru, so I'm still stuck at my parents' house with our Corolla. The way the roads are, I won't make it back in that little front-wheel drive car. There's too many gigantic hills between here and there that it surely will not climb, no matter how much it thinks it can.

It's a good thing I brought my laptop with me, and a really good thing my dad is also a pastor, so I can borrow his resources and at least get some work done. Meanwhile, we're making up our plan as we go from hour to hour, constantly monitoring weather reports and road conditions. This is the worst storm I've ever lived through, and it is absolutely, certifiably crazy. I'm someone who lives almost completely by routines and rituals, so all this is really a challenge for me. Normally I love winter and snow, but right now I'm not excited about all the interruptions and the plans going awry. Still, thanks be to God that for us, it's merely been a week of inconvenience. It seems like most people are getting by just fine as well...for now. There's no telling what the next hour, day, or week will bring.

Punxsy Phil Was Indeed Correct

As you've probably heard by now, the "6 more weeks of winter" kicked off this weekend with quite a snowstorm in the mid-Atlantic. Here in Southwestern PA, the 21 inches of snow in less than a 24 hour period made for the 4th largest single storm in the history of the region. Another storm is apparently on its way with a pedestrian 5 inches expected Tuesday night. Reports say that over a hundred thousand households in this region alone lost power for an extended period of time starting late Friday night. Our church and parsonage, along with more than half of our town, was part of that statistic.

We were fortunate enough to have only about 44 hours without power (and thus, heat), in our home and at the church over the weekend. Many are still without power, but it seems like both Allegheny Power and Duquesne Light are working quickly to restore power, hopefully before this next storm. As far as I know, all of our congregation survived or is surviving without injury or much property damage, although many are scrambling to prevent bursting pipes after they froze over Saturday night when the temperatures dipped into negative.

Lisa and I have found the entire ordeal to be quite an adventure. As much as possible, we tried to make the most of the situation. Saturday morning we woke up to no power, but our house was still 63 degrees inside -- not any different than a normal winter morning. We walked over to the church and shoveled snow there for about 2 hours, then returned home for another half hour of shoveling. We then spent the afternoon reading, napping, and eating whatever we could in the fridge that was in danger of spoiling. For dinner, we couldn't cook anything because our stove is electric. But fortunately, the church has a gas stove. So, we went to the church and made dinner over there, cooking and eating with the help of flashlights and electric camping lanterns.

We called around to spread word that church was canceled on Sunday, and returned to our then 54 degree home for some board games and yes, ice cream - it was the only way to save it! We turned on all the faucets overnight to avoid frozen pipes, which in hindsight probably saved us from burst pipes. We pulled out our down sleeping bags and had a nice warm night of sleep in them. But, when we woke up Sunday morning, our house was down to 34 degrees. Thinking it wasn't the best idea to spend the day in that environment, we ventured out on the still icy roads for brunch in a warm restaurant. When we returned home, it had risen to 36 degrees, but still too cold to stay in. Plus, how would we watch the Super Bowl???

Fortunately, many of our parishioners live on the west side of town, where most homes had power. One family had offered to let us stay with them as long as needed, so by Sunday afternoon we decided to take them up on their offer. We packed up our things, headed over, and took our first showers since Friday morning. We shared dinner together in a warm home, full of laughter. We played Wii and watched the Super Bowl together. It was nothing less than extravagant hospitality, and we were very fortunate to have such a wonderful family open up their home to us in our "time of need." As a pastor, I typically spend a lot of my time being there for others, serving them in their own times of need. It was strange to be on the other side of that for once, being the one served rather than the one serving.

Finally, we returned to our home at 10 pm Sunday night after hearing from a neighbor that power had come back on around 7 pm. The house was still 48 degrees, but definitely warm enough to live in again. We went to bed dreaming of waking up to a fully heated home. And when we arose this morning, we were back up to 63 degrees in the home! Thanks be to God!

Today, many people are still without power, and some are furiously battling frozen pipes in danger of bursting. A neighboring United Methodist Church is currently assessing their broken boiler, which it appears will need to be replaced. We're not out of the storm just yet, the roads are still sheets of ice in many places, and another storm is on its way. But in these adventures of winterland, I cannot help but think of how fortunate we are. I've used that word a lot in my description of the weekend, because that's how I felt and continue to feel. We are lucky. We are fortunate. We are blessed.

Thank God that our "emergency" means that for almost everyone around here, life will return to normal within a week's time. In the midst of our storm (literal and figurative), I continue to remember those who are still recovering from truly devastating disasters -- ones from years ago, as well as those in Haiti who have become homeless for more than the day or two we were "homeless."

Personally, Lisa and I are very blessed that our abundance has made this no more than a 2 day inconvenience where our biggest worry was, "How will we watch the Super Bowl?" I am grateful for the hospitality that many people have extended to their neighbors, including that which we received. I am grateful for the men and women who continue to work around the clock to repair power lines and get electric back to as many people as possible in what has thus far been a miraculously short period of time. I am also thankful for those who continue to work hard to keep the roads as clear as possible. Both snow plow drivers and power company workers have probably had very little time for rest over the last few days, and their families probably have not seen much of them at all. What services they provide, services that we so often take for granted! It is times like these that remind us how truly blessed we are to have electric in our homes and businesses, as well as clear roads, and it is because of others that we do have these luxuries. Thanks be to God!

The Sacred Narrative of Baseball

About a month ago, Lisa and I made the switch to Directv as our cable provider. As part of that switch, we acquired the MLB Network as part of our channel lineup. The MLB Network is, in a word, heaven on a television screen. It provides baseball programming 24/7/365. As a huge baseball fan, I have enjoyed the new opportunities that exist for my viewing pleasure, including but not limited to:

- Prime 9: A countdown show listing the top 9 of a particular subject - catchers, characters of the game, pitching seasons, clutch hitters, etc.

- World Series highlights: so far, I've only watched the Pirates' colossal upset of the Yankees in the 1960 Series, capped off by Maz's walk-off home run in game 7.

- Studio 42 with Bob Costas: A diminuitive baseball fan who also happens to be a respected TV journalist sitting down with legends of the game and asking them to reminisce.

But more than anything, I've come to adore the network's airing of classic MLB games, ones that stand out as historic moments in America's National Pastime. The Pine Tar Game with George Brett and Billy Martin. The Carlton Fisk Game: Game 6 of the 1975 World Series. And currently, through the wonders of DVR, I'm slowly making my way through Game 7 of the 1991 World Series, where an aging Jack Morris faces a young John Smoltz in a pitching duel for the ages.

I know how this game ends. After Jack Morris pours his heart and soul into 10 innings of shutout ball, besting Smoltz's 8 shutout innings, the Twins finally push across a run with a pinch hit fly ball single by Gene Larkin, thus winning 1-0 and becoming world champions. I vaguely remember this scintillating World Series from my childhood, and now I am re-living it thanks to MLB Network. But why, you may ask, am I watching a game that was played 18 years ago, a game that has no element of surprise left, one that I know how it ends?

I watch it for the same reason I read stories in scripture time and time again. Historic baseball games, while memorable games standing by themselves, remind me that each game is part of a larger narrative, the sacred narrative of baseball. Game 7 of the 1991 Series is a great pitcher's duel, but it also signifies a moment cut out of the long story of baseball history, a story much longer and larger than the career of any man who has ever played the game.

In this particular game, we see a young Braves team, led this night by some kid named John Smoltz, a man who today in 2010 is perhaps at the end of a hall-of-fame career. The Braves here are a team on the rise, one that loses here in 1991 but will be back to the playoffs every non-strike-shortened season from this point through 2005. Brian Hunter looks like a middle schooler in this game. Chipper and Andruw have yet to arrive in the "Show." Even Bobby Cox looks much younger and leaner. Yet, Leo Mazzone sits next to him on the bench, rocking back and forth like always.

In the other dugout is the Twins, and they too are symbolized by their starting pitcher. Jack Morris is, in 1991, at the twilight of a very good career, one defined by tenacity, competitiveness, and an unwillingness to give in, even to manager Tom Kelly as he tries to remove him from this final game of the season. The Twins enjoyed success in the late 80's and early 90's, led by Kent Hrbek and Kirby Puckett. But as seen by the makeup of the 1991 team, a youth movement is beginning: Chuck Knoblauch at 2nd, Chili Davis at DH, and Scott Erickson emerging as a force in the rotation.

In this seventh game of the 1991 World Series, clearly the focus is on the starting pitchers. But on the edges, subplots catch my eye, moments that remind me how this one piece of baseball history is delicately woven into the sacred tapestry of baseball's history. It is for this reason that I enjoy watching classic games like this one. As a student of the game, through these memorable moments I begin to understand the larger narrative more fully. It is much like reading the book of Job as its own piece of literature, and then reflecting on how it fits into the larger narrative of humanity's relationship with the divine, or reading the stories of Jesus' birth as great stories of origins, and recognizing how it weaves together Old and New Testament texts almost seamlessly.

Above all, both scripture and classic baseball games remind me that we are all in the process of discovering our place in the narrative of humanity and its relationship with the divine. We seek and discern our call within the narrative, recognizing that we may not fully realize our role until our labors are a distant memory. But we dig into the batter's box nonetheless, anticipating the known yet unknown - we know there will be a pitch, but we know not what form that pitch will take. We swing the bat with all our might, hoping to make a connection - perhaps even one that will deliver us home for a celebration that will live on forever. And we circle the bases of life, wondering why we are here on this night, performing this task, and how it advances this over-arching story that envelops us all.

Jubilee

Sermon for Sunday, January 24, 2010
Scriptures: Leviticus 25:8-12, Luke 4:14-21

Lithuanians love basketball. So when our mission team arrived in the summer of 2000 to a United Methodist church in the slums of Kaunas, one of our first orders of business was replacing their old basketball hoop. In the parking lot of the church was an old, dilapidated basketball hoop. The frame was rusty, the backboard half missing, the net completely missing, and the rim was severely bent down due to years of slam dunk abuse. Yet the neighborhood teens played on – it was this hoop or nothing. But we Americans would not stand for such terrible athletic equipment, so we bought them a brand new hoop. The rest of our 2 weeks there, countless hours were spent in pickup basketball games between us and the neighborhood teenagers. Sometimes we played Americans vs. Lithuanians, sometimes we mixed it up. They trash talked us in Lithuanian, and we trash talked back in English, neither side understanding the other but all of us busting up laughing. And with this being my first trip out of the country, I distinctly remember being amazed at the connections we made on that basketball court despite the many differences between us. We were Americans from the suburbs of Pittsburgh, and they were Lithuanians from the slums of Kaunas. We were from different cultures, spoke different languages, ate different food, participated in different local customs. In many ways, we just didn’t connect with each other. But we quickly found that, all of us being around the same age, we enjoyed many of the same things – trash talking on the basketball court, hanging out with friends, chasing girls. And, if it wasn’t for a common connection to Jesus Christ through the United Methodist Church, we probably would never have met. And with those pickup basketball games, where cultural and language barriers threatened to divide us, we all shared sacred moments of fellowship with people that lived half a world away from us.

Seminarians love to argue. I remember many class periods when debates and arguments raged on for long periods of time. We’d debate the divinity of Christ. We’d argue over theology until we were blue in the face. We’d disagree over the proper way to minister with the poor. We’d challenge each other on ethical and moral issues. And arguments of all kinds would often spill out of the classroom and into the hallway, the courtyard, or the student lounge. But there was one place that those debates and arguments never happened: Cannon Chapel. Our worship space was used for more than worship, but we never used it as a forum for debate. No, we knew that a sanctuary was just that – a safe space. It was a space set apart as sacred, way too sacred to defile with our petty squabbles with each other.

The rhythm of a typical day at our seminary included morning classes leading up to an 11:00 worship service, followed by lunch, then a slew of afternoon classes. I always loved worship in seminary. We would spend mornings with each other debating and arguing the topic of the day, knowing that in large part our debates were fueled by all the differences among us. We had students from all around the world. We had students of all different Christian denominations. We were a smorgasboard of race, ethnicity, nationality, and culture. We had a variety of opinions, experiences, and lifestyles. We were all so different, yet we shared a desire to study and worship the one true God. I used to love the contrast between class and worship. One minute, we’d be arguing with each other over a theological tenet that seemed to take on ultimate importance, and the next minute we’d be singing “Marching to Zion” side by side. In the morning, we’d admit that we didn’t always understand or agree with each other’s life choices, but then we’d serve each other communion, and sit down to lunch together. Despite our many differences, we always found a way to rise above those barriers of race, class, culture, denomination, and lifestyle. And no matter what our relationships the rest of the day, worship was always a truly sacred time of glorifying God side by side with brothers and sisters in Christ.

The people of Haiti have suffered yet another great tragedy. I’ve been amazed these last couple of weeks how much people have been willing to reach out to the people of Haiti. I wish that we had all been better about it before the earthquake, but at least people are sending aid to the Haitians now. And it’s amazing how relief is coming in from all over the world, from religious as well as secular organizations, from individuals as well as governments. United Methodists are partnering with Muslims, Catholics and Protestants are singing hymns together on the streets of Port-au-Prince, and even the United States and Cuban governments have been cooperating to get aid to Haiti more quickly. In a country where a great tragedy has taken place, people are responding with sacred moments of jubilee, ignoring barriers and simply helping brothers and sisters in need.

Tibetan Buddhist monks know how to have a good time. I’ll never forget the day I learned this. The late afternoon sun was shining beautifully on the quad of Emory University, and in the patch of grass between the theological library and the ancient artifact museum, we were holding a fiercely competitive ultimate Frisbee game. As usual, we had to dodge all the passerby on the sidewalks, but on this particular day, there was one group of passerby we just couldn’t ignore. It was a group of 3 Tibetan Buddhist monks, complete with their traditional red and yellow robes and shaved heads. As the monks approached, they looked upon our Frisbee game with great interest. So, we invited them to play Frisbee with us. For the next 5 or 10 minutes, we just jogged around throwing the Frisbee back and forth with these Buddhist monks. There was a cultural barrier, a language barrier, a religious barrier, and even a wardrobe barrier, but we took a break from our competitive game and simply played with the monks. We pretended to play a real game, but the rules were suspended, and we weren’t keeping score or anything. But I don’t think I’ve ever had so much fun in my life. It was, in one word, awesome. It was truly a sacred moment that I will never forget.

I’m guessing that the people who attended the synagogue in Nazareth on the day Jesus got up and spoke experienced an unforgettable moment as well. The hometown boy has returned, and is asked to read scripture in worship. He chooses Isaiah 61, and reads the following:

The Spirit of the Lord is upon me,
Because he has anointed me to bring good news to the poor.
He has sent me to proclaim release to the captives,
And recovery of sight to the blind,
To let the oppressed go free,
To proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor.

And he rolled up the scroll, gave it back to the attendant, and sat down. Now the year of the Lord’s favor is a reference to the year of jubilee, which according to Leviticus was to be celebrated every 50th year. The year of jubilee was defined by many of the things proclaimed in this passage: good news for the poor, release to captives, freedom from oppression. The year of jubilee was a time when families were reunited, all debts were forgiven, and slaves were freed. For the year of jubilee, everyone was equal. The barriers that usually got in the way of human relationships – finances, disagreements, and exerting power over one another – were wiped clean. Every 50th year, jubilee was celebrated, and as it says in Leviticus, it was a very holy time. In the year of jubilee, people were, for a brief time, lifted above the barriers that separated them into a sacred moment of joy and fellowship with each other.

Here in the 4th chapter of the Gospel of Luke, Jesus has come to proclaim jubilee once again. Empowered by the Holy Spirit, he has come to wipe away all debts, eliminate our relationships of power with each other, put away all our disagreements, and reunite us with each other and with God. He has come to usher in God’s kingdom, available for everyone, and he announces to the worshippers that the kingdom of God will look a lot like the year of jubilee. The kingdom of God is defined by holy times of unencumbered relationships with each other.

That fall day when we played Frisbee with the Tibetan Buddhist monks, I remember thinking, “This is what heaven must feels like.” When I would attend worship with my classmates in seminary, I used to feel like together, we were lifted from the din of classroom arguments into a shared encounter with the divine. And over the last couple of weeks, I’ve looked upon all the relief efforts in Haiti and thought, these relief workers are truly the hands and feet of Christ. These stories I’ve shared with you are just a few examples of how, by the power of the Holy Spirit, we all experience jubilee moments in our lives from time to time.

Leviticus 25:12 defines a jubilee moment as a moment that is holy to us. Jubilee moments are holy moments, filled with the Holy Spirit, that lift us above the ordinary, above the differences, above the barriers. They are moments defined by an encounter with the divine, relating with each other simply as brothers and sisters beloved by God. They are even moments that give us glimpses of the glory of the kingdom of God. What are the jubilee moments in your life? Has the Holy Spirit led you to jubilee recently? Have you shared in holy fellowship as you’ve reunited with a group of friends? Have you put aside differences with relatives to share a meal together? Have you worshipped or served alongside someone of a different denomination? Have you played basketball with Lithuanians or ultimate Frisbee with a trio of Tibetan Buddhist monks?
I’d like for you to take some time to think about jubilee moments in your own life. When has the sacred lifted you above the ordinary? When have you felt the Spirit leading you into perfect relationships with your neighbors, even if just for a moment? When have you felt the presence of Jesus Christ providing you a moment defined by holiness and pure fellowship with your brothers and sisters? As you leave this place, think about your own experiences of jubilee. Write them down. Say a prayer of thanksgiving for those moments. And remember that those moments are the work of God, giving us glimpses of the kingdom of heaven by the presence of Jesus Christ and the power of the Holy Spirit.

And as you move forward, I encourage you to pay close attention for the jubilee moments in your life. Let the Holy Spirit continue to lift you at times from the ordinary and into the experience of the divine. Let Jesus usher in God’s kingdom for you, one jubilee moment at a time. For the year of the Lord’s favor is here. Let us proclaim and celebrate the jubilee moments in our lives. In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.