Until recently I was a frustrated contemplative. I spent 18 years in a mainline Protestant denomination that is strong on social justice and light on dogma. It’s been perfect in many ways. Mostly it was perfect because my husband served as a music director within the denomination for more than 40 years, and because of him I got to know so many wonderful people.

Before that I’d been a devout and committed Catholic. And please don’t make Catholic jokes thinking I’ll laugh along because … I won’t. In fact, that was one of the hypocrisies among some of my fellow “open-minded” congregants. It was perfectly acceptable to be open minded toward Jews, Muslims, any of the dharmic traditions, Wiccans, agnostics and atheists. But open minded toward Catholics or conservative Christians? Umm, not so much. There are ways to disagree over church polity and policies, theology, and religious practices–but I’ve never found it particularly Christian to make fun of another denomination. I am prepared to go toe to toe with any priest on theology and would love to open up windows on Canon law to let a bit of fresh air in. But denouncing a religion or its committed followers? That’s a base instinct, not high mindedness.

And one of the things I most love about Catholicism is its balanced approach to contemplative practice AND social justice. They are intricately linked. But I had a hell of a time finding like-minded contemplatives in Protestant circles. I’ve tried and tried to find—and then create—a place for contemplative spirits, but it’s been a Sisyphean effort. This past summer I read John Dorhauer’s book “Beyond Resistance: The Institutional Church Meets the Postmodern World” this summer. I told my husband, “If you want to understand me at my core, read this book.” At the same time, I was also reading Rajiv Malhotra’s “Being Different: An Indian Challenge to Western Universalism.” And what I realized is that over the years my contemplative spirit has been so nourished by dharmic traditions—because it found no sustenance in the Protestant realm—that my theology, concept of prayer, and fundamental belief in self-transformation is completely foreign to the majority of Protestant pastors and congregants. It’s no wonder I’ve felt so stymied—“Being Different” helped me see how differently MOST of Westernized Christianity views God, life, and interfaith relations.

In June I was ordained as an interspiritual minister, by One Spirit Interfaith Seminary. As Rev. Dorhauer alludes to in his book, there are more than a few ministers and others who discount this so-called ordination, as they see it. The pastor of the church I no longer attend refers to my “graduation” from One Spirit but will not refer to it as either a seminary nor refer to my ordination. I had considered Christian ordination for more than 12 years—but the curriculum was still so stifling, so 50-years-ago, even at the most prestigious progressive seminaries. I needed something rooted in the interspiritual/contemplative understanding, and I found that at One Spirit. I’ve been leading a multifaith meditation once a month for almost two years now, and I’m blessed to have that as my community. I also study the Yoga Sutras with a local teacher and group, and I find that incredibly rich and spiritually fulfilling.

That said, I’m so deeply saddened about the soul-less experience I’ve had in three mainline Protestant churches in California and the one in North Carolina, where we now live. I attend retreats at Kripalu and Omega, and I’ve been surrounded by tons of people hungry for spirituality and community but who have had similar soul-starved experiences in their previous Christian communities. THESE are my people.

So I had a bit of spiritually geeky moment. I thought about how Martin Luther didn’t set out to begin what would ultimately become the Protestant Reformation. He simply wanted to have conversation about what he saw as errant, hypocritical and spiritually problematic issues he and others saw leading people away from the Divine. So I decided to create my own experiment and write my own 95 theses.

I believe the church is ripe for another “restoration” – and I tried to help things change from the inside. But I also need spiritual nourishment and community. So I will advocate for the next restoration from the outside. Maybe I can at least help others who have left Christianity not settle for bitterness but see that beneath our pain lies a great love for what could be.

Yesterday was the 501st anniversary of Martin Luther tacking his 95 theses on the door of Wittenberg Church. I chose a more 21st century approach–and sent them to Rev. John Dorhauer, president and general minister of the United Church of Christ. He’s already sent an initial reply saying he plans to look at them more closely in the next several days. I look forward to perhaps having a conversation with him. But if not, this exercise was necessary for my own clarity.

A New 95 Theses

 

Worship

1. Worship leaders have altogether abandoned embodying sacred presence in favor of a casual, supposedly accessible demeanor. Can’t we lead with presence as well as warmth and welcome?
2. Shouldn’t worship manifest the paradox of the sacred ordinary?
3. Most services have made the sacred ordinary and the ordinary irrelevant.
4. The content of the service has become solely intellectualized—and ironically soul-less.
5. We seem to cater to the possible rather than stretching the spirit to possibilities unimaginable.
6. The church hymns are merely one way to achieve collective participation. We could be more creative in how we envision and invite people into a communal action that is simultaneously prayer-rooted.
7. Does anyone look forward to the hymns, or have they become a comfortable musty blanket we refuse to let go of?
8. Music should stir the soul and evoke transcendent experiences.
9. The lyrics reinforce an external God that cannot meet the spirit’s hunger for the paradox of Divine transcendence and simultaneous immanence.
10. Isn’t it odd that in an age when we have more access than ever before to recordings of quality soul-stirring music that we piously cling to live, church-endorsed music by small numbers of well-intentioned members? Is it time to examine our implicit bias against recorded music in worship?
11. The watered-down liturgy does not refresh a parched spirt but instead water-boards the soul’s Eternal Flame.
12. The worship service, built on remembrance, keeps us focused on the past while hoping for a salvation in the future. Shouldn’t worship help us experience God in the present?
13. How would church evolve if worship became a place for us to practice believing AS Jesus believed, that we each are Divine?
14. Our prayer throughout the service petitions, praises, or thanks a God external to us. What if we were to learn from the Pentecostal tradition or Christian mystics and let God pray THROUGH us—maybe even without words?
15. What is the essential purpose of Christian worship today? Most services seem heavy on fellowship with a soupcon of inspiration while neglecting anything that leads to personal transformation.
16. Does the actual act of attending church change anyone and, if so, how do you know?
17. In #44 of Luther’s theses, he said a person buying an indulgence does not become a better person. The act of attending worship seems today’s equivalent of buying an indulgence.
18. People could spend one hour per week in meditation and spiritual reading and do far more for their spiritual development than attending a worship service.
19. What could emerge if we helped congregations learn more about the less obvious parts of worship, such as prayer postures of sitting, standing, even—gasp—kneeling?
20. What if we taught them how to center for worship rather than just putting the words in the order of worship?
21. What if stillness became a desired, counter-cultural act of worship instead of an imposition?
22. With all the staged and production efforts put into worship, have we cast aside humility (the real kind not the insecure kind)?

Preaching

23. By making sermons the pinnacle of the service, we revere the preacher’s word rather than the Word.
24. This leads to self-important preaching that comforts the already comfortable, so that preachers don’t risk making any large donors uncomfortable.
25. In today’s age, people have virtual access to gifted speakers on spiritual issues—so maybe preachers need to rethink what their worship service can distinctly offer potential congregants (hint: maybe there’s more to a service than a sermon).
26. If pastors only want to preach select scripture, how can Christianity claim the entire Bible as holy writ?
27. Far from serving as a crutch, which some pastors claim, the lectionary invites preachers to dig deeper and wrestle with the angels of the text rather than take the easy path to avoid challenging passages.

Theology 

28. When the church makes out Jesus as a wise man only, devoid of Spirit, post-modern Christianity becomes a cultural cloak for humanist clubs.
29. At the same time, if Jesus is upheld as the only one capable of such divine wisdom, we have delegated away our birthright.
30. It’s not enough to rework the language of theology without overhauling the underlying beliefs.
31. The theology itself must undergo a transubstantiation of its elements.
32. As long as the paschal story remains the crux of the tradition, the church reinforces a Christus Victor theology.
33. If unity with God is possible only through grace and not possible in the now, that explains why spiritual practice has become irrelevant.
34. Most congregations seem to worship fellowship over true communion.
35. If the postmodern church believed in resurrection, it would humbly serve as a death midwife to help usher in a new Christianity.
36. Instead, much like Peter, the church rebukes the path that must be courageously walked and reactively takes up its sword against perceived threats to its transformation.
37. Under the guise of spreading the good news, the church has operationalized belief and thereby refused to trust that the Spirit blows where she wills.

 

Mainline Protestants Excommunicate the Holy Spirit

38. According to PRRI, white mainline Protestants are far more likely to be neither spiritual nor religious (42%) than they are to be spiritual but not religious (18%).
39. The post-modern church has been so intent on demystifying the ineffable to make it intellectually palatable that it’s excommunicated the Holy Spirit.
40. Is it possible that people are leaving progressive churches not because we ask them to believe too much but because we offer so little to believe in?
41. A two-dimensional portrait of a multifaceted Divine delivers theological pablum that malnourishes souls.
42. If the church conveys the Holy Spirit as irrelevant, Christians can only anchor belief in a transcendent impersonal God and/or a historical figure who is personal but not transcendent.
43. Is the celebration of Pentecost nothing more than the birthday of the church?
44. When the Spirit is excised, the soul of the church is imperiled.

Neglected spiritual development

45. We teach the Who, What, and Why of the faith—but we completely de-emphasize the How.
46. A sermon or intellectual discourse on How cannot possibly substitute for praxis.
47. Christianity fails to offer any means to deconstruct the ego in service of spiritual maturity.
48. Other than Catholicism and Eastern Orthodox Christianity, most of Christianity has failed to help people navigate the liminal space of unknowing where sacred presence meets us.
49. While the UCC national website lists a few spiritual practices, what percentage of its pastors either know about or advocate them?
50. Spiritual practices would serve as the fuel for social just work, serving both the practical need to prevent burnout while developing another kind of knowing that doesn’t judge the value by apparent results—also known as faith.
51. Why do church leaders continue to lead book clubs that read about prayer instead of helping people learn direct experience of non-petionary prayer?
52. Why has the postmodern church all but abandoned the art of spiritual direction for church members?
53. The dharmic traditions understand and practice the value of embodied wisdom transmitted from person to person, also known as spiritual companioning. Jesus himself modeled this and asks this of those who follow him.
54. Teaching spiritual practice would also unfetter the codependent bonds between church leaders and congregational members, as people learn to listen to the Divine Authority inside.
55. Church retreats offer little more than fellowship in the mountains.
56. People who attend retreat events at Omega, Kripalu, Esalen and other national centers reveal a spiritual hunger that the church has starved.

 

Seminary inadequacy

57. Even the most esteemed and progressive seminaries continue to reinforce “our God is better than your God” by focusing on scriptural defense.
58. The proliferation of pastors with doctorates indicates the importance placed on intellect, often at the expense of spiritual development or even pastoral capability.
59. Given the continued decline of church membership, wouldn’t it be better if seminaries reoriented training to develop their students’ pastoral qualities rather than historical scholarship?
60. Are seminaries training spiritual leaders who can shepherd people into the unknown, even if they may not have jobs attached to that future?
61. The church claims it offers a democratic model of congregational polity but still trains authority figures who believe knowledge is leadership.
62. How long until non-Catholic seminaries require their students to demonstrate expertise in “another way of knowing” where the Spirit is teacher, through contemplative practice?

Church leadership 

63. Wouldn’t the church be better served by bi-vocational head pastors than salaried staff?
64. Bi-vocational pastors would reorient the role of pastor to its original intent while enabling a dissolution of patriarchy and clerical hierarchy.
65. Pastors fail Christianity when they judge the health of congregations by attendees and checks, rather than the transformation of their attendees.
66. Is there a relationship between a pastor’s commitment to continuing professional education and the health of that congregation?
67. Most pastors are church-group administrators who lack a moral and spiritual depth that points to greater truth beyond what we can rationally perceive.

Progressive church toward non-Christian traditions

68. The church needs to stop all forms of religious appropriation.
69. When the church subsumes practices of other traditions—such as meditation, asana practice, honoring the directions—without crediting their origins, it further oppresses the sacred paths of other religions.
70. Any church that claims “integrating” these practices is paying homage to another tradition is the religious equivalent of cultural appropriation.
71. Advocating “Christ consciousness” is an offensive Christianization of a Divine reality that transcends religion.
72. Until the church releases its claim that Jesus “reconciles the world to himself (or the Creator),” it professes an arrogant and privileged stance of Christian superiority.
73. What other tradition egotistically claims that its central figure unites the rest of the world—in other words, non-followers of that path—with God?
74. While they honor and celebrate the person of Jesus, the dharmic traditions believe that unity with the Divine does not depend on him or his life.
75. Claiming that Jesus reconciles the world to himself (or the Creator) is equally, if not more, offensive to agnostics and atheists.

Progressive church toward other denominations

76. Many progressive pastors are hypocritical in their so-called open mindedness, blatantly condemning conservative Christians and Catholic Christians.
77. If we believe that other denominations are errant, perhaps our vision of Christianity is too small.
78. Can progressive churches hold onto their values without denigrating other denominations and their followers?
79. Other than saying that we “recognize the baptism” of all Christians—which is a tad self-serving—how do we demonstrate that the church believes in unity in the essentials and diversity in the non-essentials with other Christians?
80. Building houses together and community service projects for homeless people, marginalized groups, etc. are acts of charity toward those recipients, but they are not committed acts of charity toward other denominations.

Ritual

81. What we ritualize transforms us.
82. The dearth of meaning-filled ritual in church leaves people to find ritual in secular settings: Oscars parties, sporting events, etc.
83. There’s absolutely nothing wrong with ritual in secular settings; the issue is that the church has have failed to provide sacred ritual that offers a connection to something greater.
84. The postmodern church has swung too far away from ritual, for fear of worshipping the ritual rather than what it points to.
85. What if churches helped people understand how ritual enriches our spirituality as long as it doesn’t substitute for faith?
86. More and more Millennials ask their friends to officiate their weddings. Maybe that’s because the church offers nothing special that enriches this milestone in their lives.
87. Shouldn’t clergy be the ones known for specializing in sacred ritual?
88. The irony is that church fears death so much that funerals cannot include grief anymore, only celebrations of life.

Sexism in Christianity

89. According to the National Congregations Study, women are lead pastors of only 11 percent of congregations, and only 25 percent of those churches with liberal theology.
90. Of those congregations with women pastors, the majority have 100 or fewer members.
91. Women are often relegated to assistant pastor and youth leadership roles, despite equal or better education and experience compared to our male counterparts.
92. The church has failed to recognize—and then appreciate—the differences between men and women’s spiritual journeys, which leads to gender inequality and a perpetual dark night for women in Christianity.
93. The church has created excellent resources on racism and LGBTQ—where are the resources focused on eradicating sexism within the church itself?
94. What modules are available to assist congregations in recognizing and overcoming implicit bias within its decision making?
95. What if the church incorporated holy days that honored the Divine Feminine, through the lives of women spiritual leaders across traditions such as Dorothy Day (Catholic), Susan B. Anthony (Quaker), Rosa Parks (AME), Sojourner Truth, Peace Pilgrim (non-denominational), Corrie ten Boom (Dutch Reformed), and others? The church could schedule these holy days to correspond to relevant times in the liturgical cycle and national life.

 

 

Here are questions on my mind this week:

• If multiple people share examples with you that the pastor is sexist, and over the years no action has been taken by the church council, do you consider finding a different church? If not, why not?
  • Because it didn’t happen to you?
  • Because maybe these particular women are “sensitive” to remarks?
  • Because no one is perfect and this isn’t that big of a deal?
  • Because you like the people there and don’t want to find a new place?
• How might the church change if men and women were not complicit in a pastor’s sexism?
• What will it take before we hold those in positions of moral leadership–such as pastors–responsible for sexism and unchecked bias? How is it possible that we hold higher standards for business leaders than moral leaders?
• Do you recognize the seemingly harmless comments and suggestions that are, in actuality, sexist?

Here’s my starter list of sexist things said in a church setting:

• “You should consider a starting a women’s ministry–maybe working with congregations led by male pastors.”
  [Women leaders are often redirected to work in women’s ministry and with children.]
• “Women tend to care more about deepening their spirituality.”
  [Shhh … Don’t tell that to Richard Rohr, Matthew Fox, Jack Kornfield, Reb Zalman, etc etc etc]
• (Said about a colleague in clergy) “I don’t know how she does all that she does–she has two small children at home.”
  [No one would ever make that statement about a male pastor.]
• “Are you sure you can handle X, given that your husband is having surgery a few days before that date?”
  [Again, men would not ask this question of another man. While this sounds like a caring question, it plays on the assumptions that a woman would be 1) emotionally ill equipped; 2) the care-giver responsible for her husband’s recovery.]

 

Microagressions in Ministry: Confronting the Hidden Violence in Everyday Church, Cody J. Sanders, Angela Yarber

Study: Female Pastors Are on the Rise (and so are our impossible expectations for them), Christianity Today, Feb 2017

She: Five Keys to Unlock the Power of Women in Ministry, Karoline M. Lewis
“Undoing the rampant sexism in the church, however, is more difficult; reports of sexism are even downplayed and disbelieved, because ‘we all mean well’ in the church. No one really means to be sexist; it is just the way it is. This excuse makes it all the more difficult for you to navigate its inevitability. It becomes harder still when you are a leader in the church, whether a pastor, a minister, clergy, or a lay employee, and so OF COURSE YOU WOULD NEVER respond so unkindly as to CALL OUT SEXIST COMMENTS OR MAKE SOMEONE FEEL BAD WHEN DID NOT HAVE NEGATIVE INTENTIONS. To take on sexism, the church would have to revise its script so drastically that it is simply not willing, or cannot face, the rewrites.”

*Delivered to the congregation of Wake Forest Christian Church. The full bulletin is available here: Bulletin 091618.

Scripture: Mark 8: 27-38

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Have you ever noticed how many stories about the disciples show them not having a clue about who Jesus is, what he’s about, or how he’ll respond in a situation? I find that kinda comforting. Whenever I’m not sure *I* understand the Divine, I remember that even those closest to Jesus were a tad off the mark.

Who do people say that Jesus is? Some say John the Baptist come back to life, some say he’s Elijah, while others say he is one of the prophets. Everyone had a different lens on who Jesus was. In fact, that is the entire point of Mark’s gospel. His was one of the earliest written, and scholars say that early followers of “The Way” – as the movement was known then – the early followers viewed Jesus primarily as a miracle-worker. There’s was a magical and mythical perspective. So the author of Mark peppers the text with anecdotes of people saying, who is this Jesus who teaches with authority? Who is this JESUS who casts out unclean spirits—where does he get his power? When he heals a paralytic and forgives the man’s sins, they aren’t so much troubled by the cure. But they are beside themselves that he has forgiven sins, because only God can do that.  The author of Mark is using the miracle-worker stories to show that Jesus was more than that. And so this question of who Jesus was has been at the center of theological study and reflection ever since. Unfortunately, it’s also been the source of division … and worse.

In the scripture passage we heard, Peter answers: Jesus is the Messiah. His understanding of what a messiah would be is shaped by the growing Jewish expectation of that era. Because, seriously, the oppressive rule of the Romans had been crippling them, the people of God have been treated so unfairly, and these unethical, immoral leaders had reveled in their power for far too long. How do you make it through that, unless you believe God would surely intervene in history and make good triumph over evil, overthrowing their enemies and oppressors? In the Greek, Peter says Jesus is the christos—the anointed one—connected to the anointing of kings in ancient Israel. So this christos will come with great power, to restore the rightful destiny of the Israelites, in earthly and religious context. We can see how Peter’s perception of Jesus is shaped by where he is in his life, his spiritual development, and cultural influences. For him, this Jesus is the powerful one who will bring political liberation to the chosen people. His perspective on who Jesus is—it’s limited. He’s not really understanding the breadth and depth of who Jesus is. Which is why Jesus rebukes him for this misunderstanding.

There’s a teaching in the Talmud—the ancient Jewish book of rabbinical commentaries—that that says, We do not see things as they are—we see things as WE are. We do not see things as they are, we see things as WE are. Our perspective is only as large as our world view—and while we think ours is the right one, we, too, may have a limited understanding.

In his book Integral Christianity, Rev. Paul Smith writes about the various stages or lenses through which we may view Jesus, God, the Bible, and more. You don’t need to remember the names of the stages he refers to, just listen for how the same Jesus, the same christos, can be understood differently:

“The tribal lens sees a magical wonder-worker Jesus. The warrior lens perceives a vengeful Jesus. The traditional lens sees a suffering Jesus who died in our place on the cross to save us from God’s wrath. The modern lens sees a human (only human) Jesus who is a wise teacher. The postmodern lens sees an inclusive Jesus who embraces everyone, along with all of their various spiritual paths. The integral-and-beyond lens sees a mystical, reformer, prophetic Jesus who fully realized and manifested his divine identity. He includes the best of the preceding Jewish paths and transcends the no-longer-adequate elements.”

All of these views are true to an extent—and each of us may be more comfortable with one view rather than another, which is absolutely fine. What we need to keep in mind, like Peter, is that we are susceptible to believing our view is the only right one. Even though we have the benefit of 2000 years of Biblical study and interpretation, even though we are well educated and have a worldly perspective, even WE may not see things as they are—but as WE ARE. Is it possible that we may need to let go of what we think we know, so we can be open to possibility of a greater truth?

I really hope your answer is yes, because I would like to stretch us beyond the question of whether we believe in Jesus. Sorry, let me say that with different emphasis so you might hear me differently. I’d like to stretch beyond the question of whether we believe IN Jesus. Because I’d like us to focus on how we can believe AS Jesus. So please understand: I’m not saying it’s irrelevant whether we believe in Jesus; I’m suggesting a more inclusive approach. When we focus on whether we—or anyone else—believes IN Jesus, we inadvertently set up an us-versus-them polarity that has been the source of wars, division, and oppression of other faith traditions for more than 2000 years.

The stories in the Bible show us a Jesus who loves outsiders. It’s the good Samaritan, not the leading Jews in the same story, who exemplify what it means to be a good neighbor. It’s the children, who were considered little more than property at the time, that Jesus suggests as role models. He cures a Roman soldier’s daughter, dines with tax collectors, prays and speaks with women, even those who have had 5 husbands. And, for me, the story that’s most telling? It’s actually going to be the scripture for two weeks from today. When non-followers of Jesus are healing people in his name, the disciples try to stop them because “they’re not one of us.” They’re healing people in Jesus’s name but they aren’t technically followers of Jesus. So, surely they should be stopped, right? But Jesus says, no, let them continue. I’ll stop there so as not to get in the way of David’s sermon!

Jesus wasn’t teaching the disciples and the crowds to believe IN him. What Jesus was teaching people was how to believe AS he did.

One of the ways we can believe AS Jesus is to welcome Great Mystery into our lives. Thich Nhat Hanh, world renowned Buddhist leader and social activist, likes to say that we should “have tea” with anything in our lives that makes us uncomfortable—like ambiguity, or not knowing. In our Western culture, we prefer immediate gratification. We’d rather check a box, jump to a conclusion, and make a decision than sit with a question. Faster is better. I do not see that exemplified in the stories of Jesus. At all. He may indeed reach a decision quickly or discern quickly—but the difference is, his objective is not speed… while for us, it often is. His goal is to continually open himself to live his way into answers … to let God’s Truth unfold in him. Through him. Even though his closest friends often misunderstood him, he stayed open for the sake of following a Divine Knowing that they could not yet comprehend.

When we welcome Divine Mystery, we allow God to be bigger than we could ever put words to. We cultivate curiosity, not assurance. We listen for a prayer, rather than speak it. Most of all, every day, we practice knowing that all of us, underneath all that we can see, are interconnected. We are bound by a Oneness that is unfathomable on the best of days and outright confounding on the not-so-good days. And yet beautiful nonetheless.

Another hallmark of believing AS Jesus is the ability to see big and small events in our day-to-day lives as opportunities for transformation. Y’all realize that another word for transformation is … change, right? We try not to use that dirty word in church cuz it tends to freak people out. The truth is, all of us are very open to change—as long as it’s the change we want and not what that other person wants … I’ll leave that for Carl to moderate in the next congregational meeting.

Here’s the paradox of transformation in the spiritual context: we very often come to God, to Jesus, to church because something needs to change in our lives. We may be seeking relief, consolation, clarity in troubling times … and those are perfectly wonderful reasons to seek God. The challenge is when we then assign God, Jesus, church the sole job description of comfort provider. “Yes, I would like to order some comfort from the chief comfort provider service, please.” Uh uh. Look again at the scriptures: Jesus heals people from blindness, paralysis, disease, even death. Have you ever known someone who had to learn how to see again? The disorientation, the issues with light, depth perception … Do ya think those folks had it easy learning to see again? Or learning to walk? Learning to … live, rather than merely survive? Even when Jesus is in the boat with the disciples and he calms the storm—seems comforting enough, right? What does he do right after that? Asks Peter to walk on water.

Speaking of Peter and that incident of walking on water, it is possible to have a transformative moment or inspiration and then go back to our old way of doing things. I speak from experience but I’m sure that’s not true for anyone else here. Let’s imagine how one of our beloved Bible stories would turn out if transformation didn’t lead to a different way of living.

The Zoroastrian wise men see a star at its rising and go to Herod to find out where the King of the Jews is to be born. They’re seeking wisdom and insight from a leader outside of their religious tradition, so that they may honor this would-be king. Walking on, they find the baby Jesus and his family, offer him praise and honor and then go to sleep for the night. In the morning one or two have a sense, maybe a little inexplicable nudge, that says they should return by a different path. But one of ‘em says, heck no. We took this path here, so we need to take the same path back home. No need to go reinventing the wheel. Not sure that story would’ve made its way into the canon of Biblical texts. Not much inspiration to be found in that version of events, right? It’s only epiphany if we let our new way of seeing—our way of believing AS Jesus—make a difference in our daily lives.

So, now, let me ask—are you willing to take one small step toward having tea with Great Mystery? Could you be willing to take one small step toward seeing our daily lives as opportunities for transformation? If so, then allow me to try something a little unique in the midst of a sermon. And if you’re not willing, well … humor me because it was really only a rhetorical question …

We’re going to practice believing AS Jesus, in the way we center ourselves for worship. So I invite you to close your eyes for a moment. Or if you prefer, you can leave them open and allow them to maintain a soft focus that allows anything in your field of vision to slightly blur, to be comfortably fuzzy.

Notice your breath. You don’t need to change anything. Just notice. This breathing of yours, it happens all by itself. You don’t need to DO anything. So you can relax and just appreciate that IT IS.

Jesus knew that God is as close to us as our very breath. Breathe that in. As you inhale, imagine you are breathing in the very essence of God. The Holy Spirit that Jesus spoke of … Spiritus … it is rooted in the same word for breath … for inspiration … breathe in the breath of God.

Invite the breath of God to infuse every part of your lungs … to bring life to your whole being. Let yourself be filled with the presence of God.

Listen to the breath of God within. It may not be a voice but instead a subtle knowing. A brief nudge. In the depth of your soul, ask, What does God want you to know for today?

Take a moment to be grateful for this breath of God— in which we live, and move, and have our being.

Now let that gratefulness and awareness grow. Let it extend to the person to your left, to your right. To the people in front of you, behind you. Each one of us is filled with the breath of God. And as each person extends that gratitude in a circle outward, these circles of gratefulness overlap … and grow stronger … your breath is unique and individual for you …. and yet … yet in this space, in this place and time, the breath of God is also united as One. This is the beauty of sacred community.

You can return to this prayer any time you want. You can practice it any time you show up for worship and want to center yourself.

For now, I invite you to return your awareness to your breath. To feel the pew underneath you, to feel your feet on the floor. And when you’re ready, gently open your eyes and return to this sanctuary.

May the God of our understanding always be large enough to draw us further along the path. May the Jesus of our knowing always accompany us in transformation. And may the breath of God, the Holy Spirit, IN-spire our very being all the days of our life.

 

A couple years ago I was hitching a ride with a pastor to attend an interfaith event. I had just begun seminary, and he asked how my study was going. We had an interesting conversation, and then the topic of ordination came up. (I know, this sounds like last week’s post, but I promise you it’s not. This topic just seems to come up when I’m around ordained Christians in particular.) He surprised me when he said, “I don’t even know what ordination means anymore … honestly …” I was quiet for a moment, taking in the enormity of what he was saying and wanting to respect that enormity. Was he questioning his path? Was he suggesting that ordination isn’t what he thought it would be? I wasn’t sure, so I said that for me it’s a covenant–a promise of how I will show up in the world. And he said, “Well, of course that …”

A friend and I have had numerous conversations about our understanding of ordained and non-ordained ministry, what they share in common and where they might part ways. We wrestle with a desire to dissolve longstanding biases and exclusions that have kept many beautiful people from a path of sacred service. That said, should anyone who wants to be ordained be ordained? Are there qualities that suggest someone is not suited to ordination? How do we make room for people who may benefit from the process of personal growth inherent in a seminary education? None of us is perfect, and no one has all the qualifications for ministry as a result of study and even practice. We are all works in progress. At the same time, my friend and I have been on the receiving end of too many ministers who were far, far away from living into the questions of ministry. We don’t want others to experience what we did. So some broad guidelines seem necessary to ensure that people with the title of minister offer some reasonable level of spiritual expertise and maturity to those who need them.

Based on our wholly unscientific and subjective experiences, here are some unofficial—and yes, cheeky—signs you might not wanna be a minister:

• You’ve always wanted a gold star from God. Throughout the years, you’ve been overlooked, underestimated, and maybe even sidelined. Ordination is your chance to prove wrong everyone who has yet to acknowledge your God-given gifts—including you! Your raison d’etre will be pronounced by no one less than God, and you can make sure everyone knows it by using your transcendent title with each introduction.
  • Hard truth: striving for validation is the same whether we’re stuck on the title of vice president or minister. The latter might seem more noble. But the truth is that it’s merely ego dressed up in spiritual robes.
• You’re shopping for ordination. You need a religious organization that can deliver ordination with the speed and efficiency of Amazon Prime. You’re on a mission from God: you’ve got people to help and souls to save, so there’s no time to waste on personal growth, wrestling with deep spiritual truths, and contending with paradox. You can cram your homework into one month, tops. Besides, you took religion classes years ago, and you can Google any denominational beliefs you need to brush up on.
  • Hard truth: there is no short-cut to prepare for ministry. That said, there are hundreds of ways to minister right now, no waiting necessary, that don’t require ordination or a title. If we see ministry as a job opportunity that requires a specific title, we may need to expand our understanding of what ministry is. Those we minister to will thank us for the time we take.
• Black and white look good on you. More than just a fashion choice, black and white describes your preference for order, answers, and either/or thinking. You like guidance that says “do this, not that.” Or, maybe your version of black and white is that no rules are ever needed. Everything can be reduced down to its common denominator.
  • Hard truth: many seek out religion for comfort, for answers—yet the Divine Mystery calls us to explore the grey areas that make many uncomfortable. Discernment is undervalued in the West, and our society and media do not praise nuanced answers. Ministry calls us to hold in perfect tension the possible and the not yet.
• Life’s wounds still require frequent bandage changes. You know well the archetype of the wounded healer. Rather than insight and deepening compassion, though, life’s disappointments have morphed into merit badges of victim-hood. If others would just consider your feelings, your needs, your experience, you could be less suffering and more servant.
  • Hard truth: none of us gets through life unscathed. And some may even get more souvenirs of the journey than others, for no understandable reason. If we haven’t done our work, we can’t get out of our own way to truly be present to others. It doesn’t mean we won’t ever be triggered. It does mean that because of our substantial spiritual and psychological work, our spiritual maturity shows up as equanimity, humility, and empathy far more frequently than our triggers.
• The Enneagram, Myers-Briggs, and “What Color is Your Parachute” all say you’re suited to ministry. Those other career paths led nowhere and, to top it off, your coworkers were dolts. But research shows that your personality is totally suited to ministry—it says so right here. Add to that, your grandmother has always said you’d make an incredible minister. You can’t wait to ditch your job and find everlasting joy and meaning along your new sacred path endorsed by God.
  • Hard truth: Whatever difficulties we had in previous jobs—annoying coworkers, whining customers, demanding managers, mis-communicated expectations—won’t magically go away because we’re now ministers. In fact, there’s a possibility it will seem like all those problem-people have shown up on steroids because we have misunderstood the very nature of life, our work, and the calling of ministry. Again, we have to do the work to resolve the challenges in our present lives, because, frankly, that is truly the heart and soul of ministering.

 

 

 

Ephesians 4:1-6

A few months ago I had an interesting conversation with a group of Christian clergy and lay leaders. We met just a month before my ordination, so that was the starting point of our conversation. The first question went something like, “So … you’re about to be ordained by something called One Spirit? How exactly does this interfaith ordination-thing work?”

Some of you know that I can be … a tiny bit irreverent. I wanted to explain interfaith ordination as an intensely sacred and profound ritual—kinda like the Hogwarts sorting hat in Harry Potter. I did not.

We moved on to talking about my desire to bridge the divide between the “spiritual but not religious” and church communities. Someone asked if I would consider myself a Christian. I explained that I’ve always been fond of a quote from Maya Angelou where she says, “I’m grateful to be a practicing Christian. I’m always amazed when people say, ‘I’m a Christian.’ I think, already? It’s a process. Y’know, you keep trying. And blowing it and trying and blowing it.” So I said, I think of myself as Christian-ing. It’s a work in process. Blank stare. After a few minutes, one of the clergy leaders said, “I realize you’re anti-dogma, anti-church, anti-institution … so I want to know, are you MAD at the church?”

And I realized: there’s something about this interfaith thing that isn’t sitting well with a few people here. It’s like they think I’m cheating on Christianity.

I can’t say this kind of exchange is common but at the same time, it’s not exactly rare. I’m not Christian enough for some traditionalists, and I’m too Christian for some spiritual but not religious. For some progressives, I’m a little too contemplative. For some contemplatives, I’m a little too interfaith. And I just want to admit here—in front of God and everybody—that I plead guilty to all that and more.

This unity thing … this unity of all believers is an admirable goal. But we gotta move beyond tolerating others to focus on honoring the Divine Mystery that connects us.

In Paul’s letter to the Ephesians, he’s pleading for unity among the early Christian communities. In the opening line, I would say he’s kinda guilt-tripping them, where he says that he’s currently locked up. The deal is, he’s been imprisoned for preaching that gentiles—non-Jews, outsiders, former pagans—could follow “the way” of Jesus. The two groups, Jewish Christians and Gentile Christians were … a tad at odds with each other.

The Jewish Christians wanted Gentiles to convert first to Judaism and keep the laws and “tradition” that rooted Jesus and his message. The Gentile Christians, though, wanted to follow the Jesus who pointed to a new understanding of the law and tradition. So this letter, this encyclical, is like an old-school direct mail piece to the Gentile Christians in Ephesus. Paul’s opening reference—that he’s in chains for the Master—that’s his way of saying, hey, remember that I’m kinda in this spot because I advocated for you guys … so you might wanna hear me out.

And he reminds them: look, you are part of one larger community—you are more than the divisions you’re focusing on. You believe in the same God—regardless how you came to this belief. He says the way forward is with humility and discipline, to be able to note the differences while mending fences. And even more, we have to go toward God as one, both inwardly and outwardly.

Because … If we truly believe that we are all weirdly, inexplicably connected … there is no them. There is only US. One interconnected, wildly messy and complicated US. That’s not to pave over all our differences, our individuality. We are called to hold both our interconnectedness and our individuality in a both-and relationship. We have to choose to embrace paradox. That means we have work to do. We have spiritual work to do.

Two years ago I was taking a class on prejudice—how to be aware of it, not how to get more of it. Reverend Mark Fowler was our professor; he’s deputy CEO of Tanenbaum Center for Interreligious Understanding in New York City. In preparation for the course, we were asked to take any five of the online Harvard Implicit Association tests. The tests deal with our implicit bias around categories such as weight, disability, race, gender, skin tone, gay/straight, women and family and men and careers, religion, Arab/Muslim, Asian. And there are two new ones since back then: presidential bias, and racial white/black associations with weapons and harmless objects. I have flyers in the back that list the website if you want to check these out.

Here’s how the test works: After you answer a few simple questions about your preferences around the topic you’ve selected, you view a variety of images and words and quickly associate them into particular groups. For example, you may be shown a group of “positive words” like lovely, happy, smiling—and whenever these show up on screen, you need to click a key with your right hand. And there may be words they’ve assigned to a “negative group,” words like disgust, sneering, awful—every time those show up on screen, you click a key with your left hand. You take this part as quickly as you can while still striving to be accurate.

Back to our class on prejudice. Rev Mark asked us to email him the results of the five tests so that he could get a sense of us. The first thing he calls our attention to is that of the 70 people in our class, only 10 of us chose to take the implicit bias tests related to religion. He was like, really? You people are studying religion and only a handful of y’all wanted to find out how ya might view religions? Lesson #1.

At one point he opens it up for us to share our impressions of the tests and any surprises we may have had. Well… you should have heard the wailing and gnashing of teeth of us bleeding heart liberals (I self-identify here) saying how the test is totally inaccurate, and there’s no way we have even the slightest leaning toward sexism or racism or any other -ism. We backed that up with stories around how we make a point of holding the door for a person of color, or how we make sure we have a diverse group of people in meetings to discuss key issues.

The point is, the test is intended to reflect IMPLICIT bias. This is the stuff that we’re not completely conscious of that influences our behaviors. So humbling. So painfully insightful.

The Swiss psychiatrist Carl Jung talked about the metaphorical shadow. The personal shadow is where we tuck away, out of sight, all that stuff we say we aren’t, what we don’t wanna be, the qualities we refuse to be. The shadow is the dark side of our personality—anything we consider evil, inferior, unacceptable.

If I’m convinced I could never behave like so-and-so … Yeah, I might have some shadow around that. If I say, there is no way I have issues around Muslims. Or, that point of view is the stupidist thing I’ve ever heard. Do you hear my self-righteousness, my utter disdain? Is it possible that in that moment I have lost true insight and wandered over into self-justification? Hello, shadow. (Oh, and if I’m pretty sure I have nothing in my shadow … well … that could suggest it’s a lot larger than the average one, ha.) The thing is, the human shadow—when we name it and work with it—is a great teacher to help us show up as the kind of people we actually want to be in the world, not just the people we think we are.

Jung also talked about the collective shadow. Nations, organizations, communities, religions —these collective bodies all have shadows, too. And again: It’s only when we refuse to acknowledge the shadow … that’s when it has great power and becomes dangerous. It’s like pushing a beach ball under water … eventually that sucker is gonna pop up. And the deeper we push it down, the stronger it’s gonna pop.

There are leading social psychologists who SUGGEST that the rise of nationalism, xenophobia, and religious intolerance we are seeing around the world—that this is the collective shadow popping up. This may or may not be true. One of the most difficult things to do when we’re in the midst of a cultural shift of this size is to accurately diagnose it. That said, I hear a number of leaders saying things like, “This is NOT who we are. We are not a nation that separates families.”  Or, “We are not a country that condones violence.” And I think, well …  it would be more honest to say, this is not who we want to be. But to say that’s not who we are? It may sound like semantics, but I’m not sure it’s just words. Because this is not the first time our nation has had a policy of separating families. And we, WE —this intricately and mysteriously connected vine of humanity—WE are separating families today. As painful as that is to say, we cannot heal a collective problem if we do not own it, collectively.

So what is our path forward?

In the Tibetan Buddhist tradition, there is something known as the Shambhala teachings. The Shambhala teachings are based on the understanding that there is an innate human wisdom we can connect to—to help solve the world’s problems. This wisdom does not belong to any one tradition or region of the world or particular people. It is a universal tradition of human warriorship that has existed throughout the ages. The teachings say that in the midst of societal crisis, Shambhala warriors rise to lead their people through chaos. Shambhala warriors are not warriors in the sense of fighting and aggression. Shambhala warriors are those who are brave AND simultaneously kind. And what’s interesting is that the Shambhala definition of bravery is not being afraid—of yourself. We have to be able to see what we don’t want to see about ourselves. We have to be clear-sighted. It’s Jesus’s teaching that we remove the log from our own eye before removing the speck from someone else’s. We have to do our own work.

The way forward is embracing paradox—being brave and kind. It’s embracing both-and answers—as well as no answers, sitting in mystery. As post-modern, intellectually inclined folk, we tend to prefer answers over mystery. We have a preference for action over contemplation. Head- over heart-centered spirituality. I’m not saying we have no place for mystery, no heart-centered spirituality. I’m suggesting that we could do better at balancing them.

And the way forward also calls us to reclaim some spiritual values that we may have placed on a shelf at some point, for any number of reasons. Humility, forgiveness, equanimity, discernment. I have yet to find a spiritual tradition that doesn’t have these values, and more, at their core. If we are going to show up as brave and kind warriors in the midst of chaos, we need to consider training for these qualities. It’s not enough to be kind and brave on behalf of the outsiders, the poor, the oppressed. We do have to do that, of course—and do everything possible to equal the playing field. And … we have to see the divine mystery inside of the oppressors. The people who tick us off. The bullies, the liars, the people who abuse power. That’s not as easy. That requires spiritual practice.

We need to train ourselves to be comfortable with being uncomfortable. Emotionally, intellectually, spiritually. We live in a culture that values speed, constant action, and “being productive.” In fact, there’s a Buddhist teacher who says that the West’s form of laziness is “being busy.” In other words, it’s our go-to distraction to keep us from doing our own work. Spiritual practice builds spiritual muscle. I personally don’t care whether it’s an “official spiritual practice” or something that is spiritual for you, which may be different than what is spiritual for me. I do want us to ask ourselves some tough, honest questions:

• What activity will both nourish my spirit WHILE making me more patient, generous, compassionate, and brave over time? What is mine to do?
• Can I engage in this activity regularly rather than in fits and starts? In other words, can I practice?
• As a result of this practice, do I get occasional “aha” moments that can be insightful and maybe even uncomfortably revealing? Does it contribute to my growth, not just comfort me?

We are living in a time when we need the rise of more and more Shambhala warriors. And wishing doesn’t make that come true. We have work to do. We have work to do on a spiritual level to find our way through the world.

This unity thing is not easy. But I don’t think any one of us showed up here, in this place, today because we were looking for easy answers. We come together as a community seeking transformation—for ourselves and for the world. And we hold to this deeper truth that everything we are and think and do is permeated with Oneness. May it be so.

[Sermon delivered to Umstead Park United Church of Christ on Aug. 5, 2018; also created the the worship service itself]

 

If you could get an extra hour of free time every day, what would do with it? No, really—let’s pretend the space-time continuum has just been rearranged, and physicists tell us we get about an hour more each day. How would you spend it?

Ok, here are some other questions:

If you learned that a couple friends were—without your knowing—tracking your everyday, fairly boring habits, as well as your likes and dislikes, so that they could manipulate you, would you care? (As long as the manipulation is subtle and not overt, is that ok?) Would it matter if they found some weird way to make a gabillion dollars off this ability to subtly manipulate you, without you realizing it? How about if they shared this scheme with others so that they, too, could manipulate you and make money off you, would that matter?

Just a few more questions—because we have that extra time, y’know.

Do you wish there were a way to reduce the polarization in our country? Do you want something you can do, individually, to decrease the generalized tension and divisiveness? Something that could help “both sides” agree on factual information and get less caught up in “I’m right, you’re wrong” stand-offs?

There is a way to get about an hour of time back, to stop others from manipulating you and your friends, and to do something that builds more “us” and less “them.” Be anti-social. Stop using Facebook and other social media. Even for goodness.

It really doesn’t matter if we’re posting cat videos or spiritually uplifting content. In fact, the sweeter, the funnier, the more “like-able” our posts, the more we perpetuate the cycle. In fact, just showing up to browse—even if you don’t post—contributes to the problem. By the nature of Facebook’s business model, our online participation in any way, shape, or form allows us to be unwitting accomplices in a milieu of manipulation. (But if I like it, can it really be bad for me?)

Meanwhile, here’s how our seemingly insignificant social media habits affect us.

• It atrophies our reasoning ability and increases confirmation bias, because as Tristan Harris, founder of the Center for Humane Technology, says, “Polarization is built into the business model.”
• It decreases empathy and serves as a platform for narcissism—yes, even when sharing spiritual words of wisdom
• Despite the marketing hype that we’re connecting with others, we’re actually increasing our loneliness
• It leads to distraction, impaired memory function, and an attraction to what’s new rather than what’s important
• We increase judgmental perceptions—of others’ lives and our own

Let me be clear: I don’t believe social media is evil. I do believe that like so many other things in life, we’ve talked ourselves into using something because it seems innocuous and because we think we can counteract any of its downsides. Those negative effects don’t apply to us, just others. We’re better than that. Besides, we only spend a little time on social media; it’s not like we’re addicted or anything. (We may be distracted and unfocused, but dang if we don’t have the ability to churn out rationalizations in the wink of an emoji.) I don’t need to be convinced by others who engage in amazing social media experiences. I’m happy for you. I conducted my own non-scientific experiments to track my sense of purpose and well being. I was very mindful of what kind of content I posted, how I engaged, how much time I spent. Sure, I had some good interactions occasionally. But overall, the return on investment was not worth it.

From my perspective, social media directly thwarts the values I want to nurture in myself and others: deep listening, contemplation, humility, equanimity, and personal connection. The technology itself rewires our brain functioning, countering both the spiritual purpose as well as the secular, beneficial side-effects of meditation. I prefer thoughtful, nuanced pieces that make me think, rather than hyped-up headlines (like the one I purposefully created for this blog) and echo-chamber content. I can access the content I want online in other ways. The business model makes money off gorged egos, individual and collective. So much so that even when we engage for positive purpose it nonetheless subtly, surreptitiously cloaks our egos in faux furs of virtue. We’ve convinced ourselves that sharing content that results in hundreds of hearts and thumbs-ups is the same as changing hearts and minds, which it is not. And finally, because I’m a bi-vocational minister, I need to be stingy with my time. I want to align my personal values to the way I spend this one wild and precious life.

 

I don’t have words for the crises (yes, plural) on the border. I don’t. I’ve tried. In my disbelief, the best I’ve been able to do is to keep myself from despair and numbness. It’s like trying to stave off frostbite of the soul. I don’t know the answer to the problem, but I do know that slipping into overwhelm disables hope of finding … well, hope. Sometimes the best I can come up with is what I will not do, what I will not settle for.

I’m tired of people saying, “This is not America.” It may not be the America many of us aspire to—fair enough—but to suggest this is not who we are flies in the face of reality, past and present. We can’t fix a problem we’re unwilling to claim. It is indeed America, and it’s not the first time we’ve separated children from their families. In the founding of our country, slave families were often split as slave mothers, fathers, children were sold or “given” to other slave owners. From the late 1800s up through 1970, the US government stripped Native American children from their families and sent them to “Indian boarding schools” so that the US could “Americanize them.” Capt. Richard H. Pratt, founder of one of the schools, stated their purpose was to “kill the Indian and save the man.” During the Depression era, Mexican families on the borders were considered threats to American jobs and forced out of the US, often separating parents and children. Then we have the xenophobia of WWII where our government interred thousands of Americans of at least 1/16^th Japanese descent, including children under the age of 10 and the elderly and physically challenged. Up through today, we also have the practice termed Jane Crow, where single mothers of color are more likely than white single mothers to have their children forcibly removed from their homes by government agencies and put into foster care.

We cannot keep lying to ourselves. Nor can we look away and claim we cannot bear to watch this current situation play out. The world is too dangerous for us to turn our heads.

This is a time when spiritual warriors for peace and mercy need to step into their calling. We must train for these periods in time by not shying away from the horrors of inhumanity. We sit with the pain, the injustice, the cruelty so that we can be more effective in confronting them. Just as the Student Nonviolent Coordinating Committee trained Civil Rights workers in the philosophical and tactical practices of nonviolence modeled by Mahatma Gandhi and others, we resist knee-jerk reactions of verbal and physical violence. We won’t give in to the temptation to demonize even the perpetrators of injustice. We ground ourselves by practicing compassion in the midst of cruelty. And because of this training, we can then step onto the front lines to embody a different way of being.

In a recent episode of On Being, host Krista Tippet spoke with Rami Nashashibi, founder and executive director of the Inner-City Muslim Action Network in Chicago, and Rev. Lucas Johnson, coordinator of the International Fellowship of Reconciliation, the world’s oldest interfaith peace organization. Both are committed to the spiritual discipline of nonviolence. Johnson recalled a moment that Civil Rights leader A.J. Muste experienced: “Another moment for A.J.. Must was, he was demonstrating on a picket line and the reporter came up to him and said, ‘Mr. Muste, do you believe that your demonstrating will change the country?’ And he responded by saying, ‘Young man, I’m demonstrating so that my country doesn’t change me.’ And so I think there’s this place where we have a responsibility to hold to the power of love that we know to be true and to not allow the world around us to deaden that in ourselves. And I think it’s really tempting. And not allowing that to die in ourselves is a part of what enables us to engage others in that way, but it’s a real struggle.”

The following intercessory prayer is from the Archdiocese of Chicago’s Office for Immigrant Affairs and Immigration education:

For the children who are US citizens, but live in fear of broken families because of the undocumented status of their parents, that God may bring them Hope as we work toward conversion of hearts and minds. Let us pray to the Lord.

For the teens and young adults who were brought to this country as children and have now been deported to a country they barely know, that God will be with them and guide them to reunite with their families. Let us pray to the Lord.

Recalling that Our Lord told his disciples to “let the children come to me,” that we may welcome the children of immigrants and work to provide security and dignity to the lives of their families, we pray to the Lord.

For the immigrant children who have known only this country and work hard at school, that they may know the value of their work through the support of the DREAM Act, we pray to the Lord.

For immigrant families, suffering in the shadows from poverty and brokenness, may God bless them and protect them as we all work for a reform of the immigration laws. Let us pray to the Lord.

For immigrant families searching for life and dignity, that they may find it wherever God leads them as we work together for conversion of hearts and minds. Let us pray to the Lord.

For the immigrant that faces rejection and pain in this country, that they may know the value of their life and work no matter where they live, and that they find a welcoming community here in this country. Let us pray to the Lord.

Recalling the fear that the disciples felt after the death of Jesus, may the immigrant in this country come to know the power and strength of the Holy Spirit through our welcoming embrace. Let us pray to the Lord.

That by seeing God’s presence more clearly in every human life, we may repent of the ways that we have failed to honor, protect, and welcome that life, including the life of the immigrant, we pray to the Lord.

For those fleeing the violence and corruption in their homelands of Mexico or South America, that they may find safety and security as they search for safety in a new land. Let us pray to the Lord.

That God, who always hears the cry of the oppressed and the immigrant, may enable us to hear those cries and be moved to conversion and transformation, working to reform the unjust immigration laws in this country. Let us pray to the Lord.

For God’s forgiveness for those citizens who have not been welcoming and tolerant of the immigrant in this country, that they may come to realize God’s call to welcome Christ in the immigrant. Let us pray to the Lord.

For our community, that we may come to greater understanding and acceptance of our differences, we pray to the Lord.

 

I ask you to put your politics aside for a moment. Maybe more. Put your politics aside not because politics and spirituality are not connected or shouldn’t be connected. They are, whether we like it or not. I’m suggesting we put aside our politics because they have become costumes garishly disguising our deepest needs, masking the truth that needs to be laid bare. So with what I’m about to say, do your best to avoid rushing to the solution supplied by your political convictions. I promise you can pick them up later.

We live in the midst of chaos and constant change. Of course, every age believes theirs is more tumultuous than another, so let’s not compare or rank our situation. We can simply acknowledge this as true. And as long as we’re walking down this road of truth, let’s be honest that some of our stress is our own making. We don’t make time for real rest. Nature abhors a vacuum, but humans have shoved double the activity into whatever time they have. Because we can.

At the same time, we witness events and tragedies beyond our control. Volcanic eruptions destroy homes … active shooters terrorize schools, communities … serious diseases visit our loved ones. We watch the news with shock: the lack of civility, the blatant injustice, the repeated inhumanity. We feel the mounting pressure at work, the short-tempered impatience with … well, everything.

Notice your breathing. When we’re stressed, our breathing becomes shallow. Contrary to popular belief, you don’t need to take a deep breath. You actually need to exhale. When we breathe shallowly or hold our breath, carbon dioxide builds up in our lungs—and increases stress in our body. Our autonomic system wants—NEEDS—oxygen. But your lungs don’t have enough room to take in oxygen, because they’re sill filled with un-exhaled carbon dioxide. You need to exhale. Repeat it with me now, you need to exhale.

The thing is, this also holds true metaphorically. What you take into your awareness must also be expelled. With intention. Unfortunately, what we typically do instead is mindlessly chase some activity to distract ourselves that never really does the trick. We keep trying to draw in happiness like oxygen. We binge watch Netflix. Shop. Sleep. None of these things are bad in and of themselves. They just aren’t what we need.

Let’s just focus on one aspect. How much time do you spend watching the news? And what do you *do* about what you take in mentally? Nothing? Kvetch? Feel like all is hopeless? Well, I hate to tell you, but that’s not processing what you took in. That’s swimming in it.  You have to exhale.

First of all, do you actually know how much news you take in each day? If you’ve ever done a food diary, it’s the same idea. Set aside one week to write down how much time you spend reading news and opinions—online or in the paper—listening to it in the car, watching it on TV, etc. After each entry, write down one word that represents what you feel and think. Like most of us who mindlessly snack on food, you may be surprised by the total you’re digesting.

Now you need to exhale. Literally and metaphorically. If you watch an hour of news each day, spend an hour each day doing something directly related to what you just absorbed into your body.

• Donate a proportionate amount of money to a charity directly related to the topic that disturbed you most.
• Write an email or make calls to your senators or congress people to affect change on the issue; the measure of success is not whether they make change, it’s whether you make change by contacting them.
• Make a plan to shift the dynamics within your own community. Immigration issues concerning you? Find a local organization you can volunteer with. And actually show up. Regularly.
• When in doubt, meditate. For toxic news, the practice of tonglen is particularly helpful. So is metta meditation. If nothing else, spend an hour in silence—no music, no reading, no doing of any sort. Just breathe. Doing nothing is one of the most subversive things you can do.
• Journal about what bothers you and where that comes from. Don’t let yourself get away with restating talking points and political positions. Ask yourself, why is THAT a problem for me? And when you have that answer, ask yourself again, and why is THAT a problem? What’s underneath your convictions and your emotions? Where has this come up before for you? Write about that. Don’t let yourself settle for surface-level answers. If your journaling resembles  something someone else could write, you need to keep digging. You can’t resolve what you don’t recognize as your own to heal within yourself first.
• Find a coach or spiritual mentor to talk about what’s going on. A spiritual approach is quite different than talking things over with your friends and family. You can process things at a deeper level with a qualified professional.
• Walk it off. Or run it off—you get the idea. Whatever you do, you need to find something physical to process the mental angst. We can’t think our way out of everything. We need to embody our way forward. And it needs to be an intentional way to “get out” the stuff we took in. Approach your workout mindfully—not as a way to look better or lose weight, but as a way to physically expel the time exposed to troubling situations.

Pay more attention to the true cycle of life, and do your part to make one day a little better. You don’t need to save the world but you do need to take one step that is yours to take.

For a little extra inspiration, here’s one of my favorite artists, Carrie Newcomer, performing Breathe In, Breathe Out.

In My Soul, Rabia al-Basri

In
my soul
there is a temple, a shrine, a mosque, a church
where I kneel.

Prayer should bring us to an altar where no walls or names exist.

Is there not a region of love where the sovereignty is
illumined nothing,

where ecstasy gets poured into itself
and becomes
lost,

where the wing is fully alive
but has no mind or
body?

In
my soul
there is a temple, a shrine, a mosque,
a church

that dissolve, that
dissolve in

God.

Almost two months ago I met with the Commission on Ministry of the Christian Church. A couple folks had suggested to me that, in addition to my ordination from One Spirit, I should consider seeking standing in the Christian Church. This was not originally on my radar, but I thought it could be worth exploring. So I completed all the appropriate paperwork and requirements to request my first meeting with the Commission.

Made up of both clergy and lay leaders from the denomination, the Commission supports and guides candidates for ministry who are recommended by their local churches. The intent is to be grassroots oriented rather than top-down. It was clear from the start that I was NOT their typical candidate.

“Can you explain how ordination works in this … this … interfaith seminary called … what’s its name? … One Spirit?”

Although I explained that the process and decision is not much different than in Christian seminaries, they couldn’t seem to wrap their heads around the concept of interfaith ordination. The unspoken question that hung in the air was, by whose authority are you ordained? I decided to be polite and not mention how often I’d met a number of Christian clergy members and wondered the exact same thing.

“Do you consider yourself Christian?”

I paused here, because I wanted to answer authentically and be true to myself. And I recalled a quote by Maya Angelou: “I’m grateful to be a practicing Christian. I’m always amazed when people say, ‘I’m a Christian.’ I think, ‘Already?’ It’s a process. You know, you keep trying. And blowing it and trying and blowing it.”

So I gave my version of that along with a bit of process theology. I explained that I prefer to think of myself as “Christian-ing,” a work in progress. They were clearly not satisfied, because they asked the same essential question three more times in a variety of ways. I wished I’d asked them if they’d checked how Jesus would answer that question.

Then came the question that really took the wind out of me.

“Have you tried the Unitarians? Why don’t you seek ordination through them? Why would you consider ordination as a Christian minister?”

I couldn’t speak. I felt kicked in the stomach. I’m sorry, what did you just ask me? Seriously?

I took a deep breath and tried to stop the tears from welling up as I said, “Because Christianity is my native language of faith. When I studied Buddhism, Hinduism, Taoism—with every religion I study, my brain makes automatic connections to Christianity. I’m not trying to, it just happens. All I know is, studying other religions has made me understand and live my faith differently. And I would like to help others do the same thing.”

Here’s where the traditional church could use a wake-up call. Interfaith doesn’t mean someone is “unfaithful” to a particular tradition. Nor does it mean that a person stops loving a particular tradition. It’s a both/and path, not either/or.

Authority, identity, purity. Can you hear that? Authority, identity, purity. These were the primary themes of their questions, or should I say, their doubts. Authority: Who authorizes your ordination? Identity: Who ARE you, anyway? Purity: We need you to choose one way. When a person, organization, or institution doubles-down on authority, identity, and purity, you can guess that they’re operating from a place of fear. They’re protecting and defending. They’re not operating from a place of expansiveness or radical hospitality. Love—and Spirit—does not make these demands.

Jesus did not teach or heal by the permission of the religious authorities. It got him in a heap load of trouble. As for his identity, most everyone—even his closest disciples—misunderstood who he really was. He had to continually correct them, sometimes rebuke them, for their misperceptions. And more than 2000 years later, even the most gifted theologians need pages and pages to explain his both/and—human and divine—nature. Was he pure? I believe so. In the same way that light is both wave AND particle. And by the way, so are we.

I’m in no way comparing myself to Jesus. I just find it wildly ironic that the Christian Church, which relies so heavily on Biblical study, has forgotten its roots. It also makes me extraordinarily sad. Not for me, personally. Like I said, having standing in the Christian Church was not part of my plan so this event was not determining my future. I’m sad because many churches lack the self-awareness to see how they’re filtering out all sorts of people who would like to breathe new life into the faith.

This is also my greatest hope: that those of us who have experienced this filtering out will flock together. We don’t need a dedicated building. We don’t need “authorized clergy.” We don’t need to hold fundraising campaigns, run committee meetings, and devote our time to operationalizing our faith. There’s nothing wrong with these things, per se. They’re just not requirements for us to come together and seek the Sacred together. In fact, without them, the Way becomes a lot more simple.

Note: the following sermon was written for my colleagues in One Spirit Interfaith Seminary, the month before our ordination.

When I was 24, I moved to cross-country from San Francisco to Minneapolis so I could pursue a master’s in music performance. Like most 20-somethings, I was idealistic and filled with resolve. I’d joined the church the year before, so I was totally focused on finding a way to use my God-given gifts to make the world a little brighter, in my own small way. The thing is, I wasn’t a community builder or a social justice activist—but I’d been a musician since I was 9. So music seemed like the one thing I could do with a sacred focus. I would pursue a mission of music.

So I loaded up the car and moved to Minneapolis. I didn’t know a soul. That itself was overwhelming. I rented a quaint little 1-bedroom apartment in an ivy-covered brick building that seemed perfect. But two days later I broke my lease, paid a hefty fine, and moved out because, oops, I’d naively chosen a part of the city featured on the nightly news for random shootings. I pounded the proverbial pavement and strung together three part-time jobs – jobs that sucked the life right out of me. But I remained focused on my mission. And then, when it was time to register for classes, I hit a wall. The music department told me they didn’t have room for me to study with the graduate flute studio instructors; I’d been assigned to the undergraduate instructor instead. Oh, and only undergraduate students were allowed to participate in the performance groups. That’s like telling a law student that she’ll need to learn her trial skills by sitting in the gallery of the local courthouse. All of it, the whole situation, began to sink in. I realized that if I continued on this path, in two years I’d be $36,000 in debt, competing for 2 to 4 orchestral positions per year across the entire nation, and doing so without the proper performance experience. My mission seemed riddled with problems.

I made an appointment with Bishop Michael at the Basilica, where I both worshiped and worked one of my part-time jobs. Through a hot mess of sobs and sniffles, I asked, how do I know what God wants for me–from me? Why does God give us gifts if we’re not able to live them out? How do I know whether God is showing me a flaming red arrow to go back home or whether it’s a spiritual test I’m supposed to persevere?

Bishop Michael paused, leaned back in his creaky wooden office chair, and said, “Sometimes you just need to live the question.” This was such a perfectly wise answer—that made absolutely no sense to me. I’m pretty sure my next thought was, is strangling a Bishop an extra-extra mortal sin or just an average mortal sin?

As we, the One Spirit class of 2018, stand on the threshold of ordination, we are likely to have our own struggles in living out our sacred callings. No two paths are alike. Yet they all share a few key questions –questions that, as Rilke said, we’ll need to live so that we can eventually live our way into the answers.

Are we convinced we know where we’re going? Some of our classmates have been officiating life cycle events for years and probably know enough to teach their own courses on sacred ceremonies. They have a good idea of their ministry going forward. Others have found new callings, through spiritual counseling, grief work, sacred activism, and more. They have a beautiful sense of purpose they’ve never felt before. And they may be in the process of creating a “heart plan,” as one of our colleagues calls spiritual-business plans. And then there’s some of us who aren’t entirely sure how to answer the question, “Hey, Lynn, you’ve just been ordained—what are you going to do with that?”

Perhaps I’m a tiny bit biased, but I’d like to think that the less we know, the better off we might be. Allow me to sacrilegiously paraphrase the Sermon on the Mount: blessed are the clueless, for we will be open to new expressions of the Holy.

I’m not saying that anyone who senses a direction should throw it all away. I’m suggesting, let’s hold that direction lightly. If we are absolutely sure we know the way forward, well … it’s possible—maybe—that it’s ego dressed up in spiritual clothing.

What we can do instead is follow each Divine Nudge—and not get attached to it. Each nudge may be a stepping stone to something more beautiful than the path we THOUGHT we were walking.

Because the truth is, we each have more than one gift to offer at any second we’re alive. We also have more than “one right path” to pursue. But on any given day, our helpful little ego-minds will tell us that our ministering should look like THIS. Our communities will cry out, we need you to do this and to BE this! And our loving family and friends will have other ideas for us. And yet. And yet. We need to keep checking in with our still small voice. A lot. In fact, probably more than we think is necessary.

CS Lewis said: “It comes the very moment you wake up each morning. All your wishes and hopes for the day rush at you like wild animals. And the first job each morning consists simply in shoving them all back; in listening to that other voice, taking that other point of view, letting that other, larger, stronger, quieter life come flowing in. And so on, all day.”

Another question to live: Is it time to try something else or stay the course? As we make our way, we are likely to face some significant challenges. They might be financial, or related to our lack of experience in a particular area, or we might experience significant resistance within the community we  serve. It also could be “E,” all of the above.

I happen to believe that many of our setbacks and brick walls are life’s spiritual practices for surrender, of letting go. In Gandhi’s list of 7 Deadly Sins, he includes “religion without sacrifice.” I have some religious baggage around the word “sacrifice.” But what I think he’s suggesting is that every spiritual journey requires an honest practice of letting go. My biggest and most frequent lesson—because apparently I need it—is to sacrifice my perception of sacrifice. I have to constantly redefine, reshape, and undo my very understanding of letting go.

It might be that what we need to release is some limiting belief or behavior that had a long track record of working for us. Until it didn’t.

So in the midst of our struggle, we can ask ourselves: what’s our growing edge in this situation? Or maybe, what would my dean assign me as a stretch goal? Have I typically been very self-sufficient and now I need to ask for help? Is this an opportunity to deeply practice self-care? Is there a different perspective that’s trying to get my attention? Maybe I’ve convinced myself there’s one right way to see this situation and its resolution. Maybe I’ve always believed that “doing” is better than “being,” and now I need to find balance. Or maybe most of my life has been devoted to quiet acceptance and now I need to speak up and step out. Underneath it all is, What can I let go of so that I can embrace Spirit more fully?

Finally, do we need to reconsider what success looks like? Based on my own experience, this is a third little pothole along on our paths. Our Western culture emphasizes that bigger is better. We want lots of people to attend our retreats, our talks, our monthly meditation group. We keep track of how many weddings, blessings, and funerals we officiate in a year. In fact, we may even be drawn to spiritual role models because they have a number of best-selling books, land a spot on Super Soul Sunday, and forge a spiritual path where no one’s gone before. These are fabulous accomplishments, don’t get me wrong. I just wonder if we’re confusing success with … well, success.

My sister Laura and her husband Bruce are retired, and they moved from Illinois to Hawai’i to live the good life. (Jealous? Yeah, me, too.) A couple of years ago she had an idea to buy a place she could turn into a retreat house that ministers on any of the islands could afford to stay in for recharging their spirits. She assembled a group of spiritual advisors to function as a Quaker Clearness Committee. As part of her research, she then networked her way to various others across the US who had created retreat centers. She developed a business plan, which was a spiritual stretch for her, she told me. Last year they sold their house and invested a fair amount of their retirement savings to purchase a small house on a big plot of land that seemed a perfect setting. Since then, they’ve spent untold hours clearing the land to create a walking path for future retreatants, hired an architect to remodel the house, and created an online presence. When I talked to her a couple months ago, though, they’d put whole project on hold. She’d learned that regardless how affordable she made their rates, ministers on other islands couldn’t even afford the airfare to island-hop.

So here’s the question: If she’s not able to bring her vision of this retreat center to fruition, for whatever reason, does it mean she hasn’t been successful? Does it mean her vision was wrong? Most of us are kind, compassionate folks who don’t ever want to label someone else’s vision a failure. So let me ask that differently: if we were in her shoes, what would we think?

Here’s a slightly different perspective. After they die, what if a group buys that property because, with all the work Laura and Bruce started, they can actually see its potential to become … a wildlife visitor center? Or a camp for underprivileged youth? What if, without Laura and Bruce taking the steps they’d taken, these folks wouldn’t have been able to envision this potential? Wouldn’t have been able to fulfill their own dreams? Is it possible that our path, our vision, our calling is never just ours? What if our so-called success is intricately bound up with those who have come before us as well as those who will come after?

If we truly believe that we are all connected, maybe the measure of success is never individual. Maybe our faithfulness to doing what’s right in front of us—doing what we can, where we can, without judging the results –maybe that’s the fullness of our calling. Maybe it’s never been about us. Maybe it’s always about … US.

I’d like to leave you with this excerpt from a homily written by Father Ken Utener. Pope Francis quoted this a few years ago in an address to the Roman Curia.

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Prophets of a Future Not Our Own

It helps, now and then, to step back and take a long view.

The kingdom is not only beyond our efforts, it is even beyond our vision.

We accomplish in our lifetime only a tiny fraction of the magnificent enterprise that is God’s work. Nothing we do is complete, which is a way of saying that the Kingdom always lies beyond us.

No statement says all that could be said.

No prayer fully expresses our faith.

No confession brings perfection.

No pastoral visit brings wholeness.

No program accomplishes the Church’s mission.

No set of goals and objectives includes everything.

This is what we are about:

We plant the seeds that one day will grow.

We water seeds already planted, knowing that they hold future promise.

We lay foundations that will need further development.

We provide yeast that produces far beyond our capabilities.

We cannot do everything, and there is a sense of liberation in realizing that.

This enables us to do something, and to do it very well.

It may be incomplete, but it is a beginning, a step along the way, an opportunity for the Lord’s grace to enter and do the rest.

We may never see the end results, but that is the difference between the master builder and the worker.

We are workers, not master builders; ministers, not messiahs.

We are prophets of a future not our own.

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May it be so for all of us, too.