Long Story, Short - July 15, 2011

this land is your land

Around the beginning of Genesis 12, Abram (as he was known at the time) was conducting a real estate search and his agent suggested he leave the family homestead and look for a place to settle down with a little more acreage - space to spread out.     

While searching he came upon a place known as Canaan.  You might say it was a rural area, not densley settled.  There, God made the promises that became the foundational covenant of Judaism, and ultimately reside among the main tenets of Christianity. 

That distinctive covenant that encourages Jews to claim a certain piece of land in the name of Israel is also the heart of the conflict in the Middle East.  The ongoing struggle for peace between Palestinians and Jews has caused several thousand years of conflict replete with war, death, injury, famine, poverty, and homelessness.

this land is my land

Father Abraham had many sons, no doubt, raising some questions about just who the rightful owners are.  Whose land is it really?  Does Israel hold a sovereign claim to the land?  And is there a special right that the Jews have because of a promise to Father Abraham?  After all, Abraham had descendants other than the Jews.

the central question

This week's sermon topic is fueled by a question from one of our church members:  Is it God's will for Israel to control the land it claims?  

It's a difficult question:

• First,  because knowing God's will confidently on any topic calls for long and careful discernment.  
• Second, things are further complicated by the reality that those outside the Judaeo Christian faiths do not submit to the claims of our sacred text as a sort of "deed" to the land.  
• Third, the Biblical text is not particularly clear about the geographic boundaries of this land, and there is no survey of the property included in the Bible.  

fine print on the deed:  HOA fees in perpetuity

If we do choose to view the Biblical text as a reliable deed on the real estate, there is some fine print to read before we sign on the dotted line in front of the notary.  This real estate comes with some "Homeowner's Association Fees":  you'll find that the blessing is bestowed upon Abram and his descendants in order that they might be a blessing to the world (v2).  And that, my friends, is some hefty ongoing maintenance.  We Christians who view ourselves as part of that initial promise are going to be billed, too!

Come hang out with us this Sunday if you're in the Greater Washington, D.C. area.  We'll sing, pray, and think hard about our ongoing responsibilities to be a blessing to the world.  We gather for worship at 10:30a.m. on Sundays and you are invited.  Heck, bring your realtor with you!

Scanning the MLS,
Pastor Gary

Attuned Relationships

Reading David Brooks' The Social Animal, and I'm compelled by this quote:

"Children born into a web of attuned relationships know how to join in conversations with new people and read social signals.  They see the world as a welcoming place.  Children born in a web of threatening relationships can be fearful, withdrawn, or overaggressive.  They often perceive threats, even when none exist.  They may not be able to read signals or have a sense of themselves as someone worth listening to.   This act of unconscious reality construction powerfully determines what we see and what we pay attention to.  It powerfully shapes what we will end up doing."

It suggests what Ed Friedman and Murray Bowen have taught me by way of their thinking on Family Systems:  That the quality of the network of family relationships has a direct bearing on the outcome of a child's ability to self-define and his or her own realization of happiness.  It suggests that pastors who are interested in seeking the salvation of individual souls might rightly give fuller consideration to the strengthening of families they serve.

A Sermon on Judas and Providence

I don't usually publish my sermons in manuscript form, but a few folk have asked for this one in writing. So, here it is, preached on July 10, 2011 at First Baptist Church Gaithersburg. John 17.12 is the main biblical text, alongside John 14.15-31.

A child arrived just the other day. He came into the world in the usual way. What was unusual is that his parents accepted $15,000.00 for the naming rights to their son.

The name? GoldenPalace.com. Yes, that’s the boy’s first name.

Even more stupefying is that he’s not the first child to be named thusly. The online casino has been buying up odd things like naming rights to babies, tattoos on people’s bodies, and even paid $40,000.00 for a box of Justin Beiber’s hair.

You might scoff, as I did, but one thing’s for sure. The child’s future will definitely be influenced by his name, and in many ways in his destiny will be co-opted by the naming rights. You might even say he is predestined. Who names their kid “GoldenPalace.com?”

Or Judas. Who would name their kid that?

It’s likely that Judas Iscariot’s parents hoped to script for their son a glorious life, but the name became synonymous with “traitor” when Judas Iscariot betrayed Jesus to the Jewish officials in exchange for 30 pieces of silver. Formerly the name Judas was a valiant, heroic one among the Jewish people. Now the word Judas evokes strong and violent images of betrayal, suicide, even the phrase “son of perdition.”

Despite the noble heritage of his name Judas played against the script, choosing to exert his will over Jesus, attempting to usurp the power of God, and manipulating the Jesus movement for his own causes and reasons. We know things didn’t work out so well for Judas, but a question remains stuck in my craw: Did Judas really have a choice? After all, the Gospel of John records in Jesus’ prayer a reference to Judas as “one destined to be lost.” (17.12).

Did Judas betray Jesus of his own free will? Or did he do it because it was destined from the beginning of time? It’s a question you’ve asked and it’s a part of the sermon series “Go Ahead and Ask” for July at FBC Gaithersburg. I hope you’ll explore this tough question and ponder our own freedoms before God’s providences.

Today I aim to draw two Biblical texts into parallel with one another. The first passage is the frustratingly mystical words of Jesus’ prayer to the Father just before he is handed over for trial. The prayer spans all of chapter 17 in John’s Gospel, and perhaps you’ve noticed that there is a natural 3-part division to this prayer.

· 1-5 – Jesus prays for himself, asking for the Father’s glory as the “hour” has come.

· 6-19 – Jesus prays for his disciples who will be left in the world after his death, resurrection, and ascension. Jesus prays for them particularly because he knows that life is about to get very difficult for his followers, as it is for him, too.

· 20-26 – Jesus prays for the church universal so that love might indwell all of his followers. Looks like God are still working on that prayer.

It is in the middle, largest section that our first text is sequestered. It’s almost secretly placed and if you’re reading in a hurry you’ll miss it. “I guarded them, and not one of them was lost except the one destined to be lost, so that the scripture might be fulfilled.” (v. 12)

In exploring this passage, I’ve come to note that there are some competing manuscripts that are equally reliable or trustworthy and read instead of “the one destined to be lost” but “the son of destruction.” Some translations use the phrase, “the son of perdition” – perhaps your personal Bible reads with one of these variations.

Son of Perdition – a phrase that appears twice in the NT – once in our passage today, and once in the writing of Paul – 2 Thess 2.3. It is also thought by many Bible scholars that the apostle John was making a reference to this concept in Revelation 17.8 and 17.11 in his use of the phrase, “the beast that goes into perdition.” We can’t state this with 100% certainty, but it is a reasonable conclusion.

The word perdition has both a Greek and Aramaic root meaning that are similar in nature to one another. The bottom line is that the word means “utter loss, eternal destruction, and disassociation.” So, you see then, the variant translation “the one destined to be lost” is really quite the same concept.

In calling Judas a “Song of perdition,” Jesus leaves me in a quandary – an apparently it leaves you in one, too, prompting the question of whether or not Judas was truly free as a human to choose to betray Jesus, or if he was created from the beginning of time to do so.

Son of perdition – one who is doomed. Perhaps you’ve known someone who was fated? Bad luck, bad choices, bad karma, bad whatever…just over and over badness. Are they destined to be that way? Sometimes it seems so. But it doesn’t mean they aren’t free to change.

For me, that’s the tension in this story. Judas is free – he goes to make his deal. As it says in John 13.26, “Satan entered into Judas’ heart.” But I don’t believe it happened suddenly, over night, or in the dipping of his bread. Instead, the stage likely had been set for a very long time. We get glimpses of Judas throughout the Gospels. In one scene he is the treasurer, keeping the money of the disciples as the travelled about. In this context he is called a thief.

In another story he is critical of Mary for wanting to anoint Jesus’ feet with the expensive perfume, proposing that the money could have been used for the poor. If indeed Judas was a thief, then he’d have wanted that money in the treasury for his own gain – we don’t know that for sure and it’s certainly hard to measure the intentions of others. Many of us assume things about others, and many times our assumptions are correct…however, not all assumptions we make are right or true.

Judas will be forever remembered as the traitor of Jesus. At his hand, Jesus was led to a mock trial, torture, and execution in a brutal fashion. When we look for villains in the Gospels, Judas is the first one we think of. But there were others.

• · Pontius Pilate was one, the Roman procurator, literally washed his hands of judging Jesus.
• · The Jewish Sanhedrin that conducted the mock trial in the “name of justice” were another.
• · The Pharisees who raised the bribe money for Judas should be counted as players in the betrayal.
• · Even Judas’s fellow apostles also abandoned Jesus in his hour of need. Who among us does not know of Peter’s triple denial of Jesus? In my study is a beautiful little French painting of St. Pierre, and prominently placed in the landscape is a rooster, proud and tall on a fence, the sign and symbol of betrayal by way of denial. Odds are high there’s a rooster or two running around in your back yard.

It is fair to conclude that Judas’s betrayal was the darkest one, because he sealed it with a kiss and collected a substantial sum of money for his work. It was easy work but held some uneasy consequences.

At the Last Supper, “As soon as Judas took the bread, Satan entered into him” (John 13:26). But later that evening, when a mock trial condemned Jesus to death, Judas “was seized with remorse and returned the 30 silver coins to the chief priests and elders. ‘I have sinned,’ he pleaded, ‘for I have betrayed innocent blood.’ So Judas threw the money into the temple and left. Then he went away and hanged himself” (Matthew 27:3-5).

This suggests that Judas intended something else by his betrayal than a monetary reward, and that line of thinking has led other scholars to conclude that Judas betrayed Jesus so that he could force Jesus to react to the arrest and become the political liberator of Israel from the Roman oppressors.

There is much to know from Judas’ name. Judas’s name Iscariot implies that he belonged to Sicarii, the most radical Jewish group, some of whom were terrorists. The story of the Sicarii reads like a movie script. Their very name means “dagger men” before the time of Jesus and by the time of Jesus the name meant “contract killer.”

They used stealth tactics to murder their targets. They would hide their sicae (small daggers) underneath their cloaks and then at crowded events such as pilgrimages or high holy days they would sneak up on their target, assassinate them by stabbing them when no one was watching, and then blend immediately back into the crowd. Their targets were usually Romans, Herodians, or rich Jewish sympathizers who were comfortable with Roman rule because of the financial gain.

The Sicarii are cited in the work of historian Josephus as a group who banded with the Zealots in 70 AD in committing atrocities to provoke the country to war with Rome, and leading ultimately to the Roman destruction of the temple in retaliation.

I stress all this information because you need it to fully understand the nature of Judas. I am convinced by my research and study that Judas – the Son of Perdition – was really "lost" before Jesus got to him. He had given himself over to a way of thinking that you could properly equate with modern day terrorism, which at it’s roots is a way of thinking that puts the value of human life beneath the value of political principles and ideals.

I am equally convinced that Judas’ intentions were to force Jesus into battle with Rome, the notion of which was entirely antithetical to Jesus’ teaching about establishing the Kingdom of God – not as a political party or a geographic region, but in the hearts of all humans. So what we really see in Judas and Jesus is competing ideologies – one of political nationalism over against one of building up the Kingdom of God.

It leads me to wonder in what ways the church – and in particular our church – may have become somewhat like Judas Iscariot when we focus on building buildings and establishing legitimacy by the standards of the world rather than working to build the church in the pattern after the kingdom of God; that is to say, in the hearts and minds of followers of Jesus, not in the brick and mortar of our edifices.

Quote from Inception: What is the most resilient parasite? Bacteria? A virus? An intestinal worm?

An idea.

Resilient... highly contagious. Once an idea has taken hold of the brain it's almost impossible to eradicate. An idea that is fully formed - fully understood - that sticks; right in there somewhere. The smallest seed of an idea can grow. It can grow to define or destroy you.

As surely as the ideology of the Sicarii had gotten into the head of Judas, it destroyed him. But God used that for good, a part of the plan, as it were, to bring about the redemption of the world through the death of His son. But it’s also possible for the ideology of the Kingdom of God to seep into our brains and become an idea that grows and defines us as a church. As we push forward into our vision and our future, we have to be captivated by this idea of the kingdom of God and put down each and every notion that we have of church which is like Judas.

What would happen if we did that? Would our energies be consumed paying off mortgages and bonds and building bigger better church barns? Or would we be consumed with building better hearts and minds, making for better people, which would make for better families, which would produce children not consumed with consumerism, but people – real people – who would be taken, dare I say “raptured” by the concepts of the Sermon on the Mount, or praying truly “thy will be done, on earth as it is in heaven?”

Scriptural commentators note that Jesus chose Judas, not the other way around. Jesus called him “friend,” suggesting that Jesus’ redemptive death somehow required their partnership. Jesus was convinced that he must suffer and die in order for humankind to live. I had a mentor who once said “God calls some of us so that He can keep us.” Maybe that’s true – I can certainly testify that my thinking and devotion and practice and belief of Christianity are much deeper because of my vocational life as, what Lonnie Brown calls a “Paid Christian.”

But it might be equally true that God calls some of us to be lost – to be those Sons of Perdition. I don’t like that notion, it doesn’t line up with the God I believe exists out there and all around us. But frankly, I don’t think it matters whether or not I like that notion of God, because God is going to be God in God’s own way – no matter what I try to do, say, or think.

We are not to first to ponder these things about Judas and Jesus. In WB Yeats’ short play called Calvary, there is a made up dialog between Judas and Jesus as Jesus is dying on the cross. Allow me to share a line or two from the play:

Christ: My Father put all men into my hands.

Judas: That was the very thought that drove me wild.

I could not bear to think you had to but to whistle

And I must do; but after that I thought,

‘Whatever man betrays Him will be free’;

And life grew bearable again. And now

Is there a secret left I do not know,

Knowing that if a man betrays a God

He is the stronger of the two?

…

Christ: but my betrayal was decreed that hour

When the foundations of the world were laid.

Judas: It was decreed that somebody betray you –

I’d thought of that – but not that I should do it,

I the man Judas, born on such a day,

In such a village, such and such his parents;

Nor that I’d go with my old coat upon me

To the High Priest, and chuckle to myself

As people chuckle when alone, and do it

For thirty pieces and no more, no less,

And neither with a nod nor a sent message,

But with a kiss upon your cheek. I did it,

I, Judas, and no other man, and now

You cannot even save me.

Christ: Begone from me.

For Yeats, Judas had freedom and his betrayal was an exertion of will, to betray a God must be a mighty heady feeling, as if you’ve outsmarted the smartest being in the cosmos.

It was not until Jesus rose from the dead that his disciples began to grasp that his kingdom was truly not of this world. And still, 2 millennia later, we struggle to grasp this truth. So the question we’ve asked: Did Judas have free will – is really not the essential question. It’s not the essential question because it is truly unanswerable…unanswerable because your choices in answering the question are either a) God predestined Judas to be lost and he had no free will…thus raising more questions about the deeper nature of God and whether we are simply pawns on a chess board; or b) Judas was freely given over to his own devices, and God foreknew the outcomes; or perhaps c) Judas had free will to not betray Jesus and God would have looked for and found Judas # 2, or #3, or #4 – counting on the fact that humans are ultimately gloriously vain creatures.

The answerable and important question lies within you and me about ourselves: Are we going to strive for our own kind of kingdom? Or are we going to strive for the Kingdom of God? It is the choice that confronted Judas, Peter, James, and John. It is the choice that has confronted every Christian in the line that is between you and Jesus, person to person, down the hallways of time.

What’s it all mean to you and me?

1. There’s no “devil made me do it.”

2. I believe Judas was forgiven – he confessed his wrong when he threw the money back into the temple. – He was truly one for whom Jesus had died. By that inference, we can conclude logically that no one is too far from the reaches of God.

3. All of us have the capacity for great good and great evil.

Long Story, Short - July 8, 2011

you named your baby what?

A child arrived in the usual way the other day. What was unusual is that his parents accepted $15,000.00 for the naming rights to their son.

The name? GoldenPalace. com. Yes, that’s the boy’s first name.

Even more stupefying is that he’s not the first child to be named thusly. The online casino has been buying up odd things like naming rights to babies, tattoos on people’s bodies, and even paid $40,000.00 for a box of Justin Beiber’s hair.

You might scoff, as I did, but one thing’s for sure. The child’s future will definitely be influenced by his name, and in many ways in his destiny will be co-opted by the naming rights. You might even say he is predestined. Who names their kid “GoldenPalace. com?”

Or Judas. Who would name their kid that?

Judas was a righteous name

It’s likely that Judas Iscariot’s parents hoped to script for their son a glorious life, but the name became synonymous with “traitor” when Judas Iscariot betrayed Jesus to the Jewish officials in exchange for 30 pieces of silver. Formerly the name Judas was a valiant, heroic one among the Jewish people. Now the word Judas evokes strong and violent images of betrayal, suicide, even the phrase “son of perdition.”

Despite the noble heritage of his name Judas played against the script, choosing to exert his will over Jesus, attempting to usurp the power of God, and manipulating the Jesus movement for his own causes and reasons. We know things didn’t work out so well for Judas, but a question remains stuck in my craw: Did Judas really have a choice? After all, the Gospel of John records in Jesus’ prayer a reference to Judas as “one destined to be lost.” (17.12).

the big question for this week

Did Judas betray Jesus of his own free will? Or did he do it because it was destined from the beginning of time? It’s a question you’ve asked and it’s a part of the sermon series for July based on questions you, the members of FBC Gaithersburg, have asked. I hope you’ll join us for worship this weekend to explore this tough question and ponder our own freedoms before God’s providences.

See you Sunday,
Pastor Gary

Liberia Updates - Sunday Summary

Sunday, June 19, 2011

Today was a great Sunday. The weather gave us a break from the heat with showers throughout the day. There were nice breezes and less humid air in between the showers.

The day began with breakfast at Arnold’s house, as usual. It was a heavy meal and I don’t usually each much breakfast. However, I took the advice of Jim, my roomie and “tour guide.” Jim said, “Eat well, church lasts a long time here and you don’t know when you’ll be eating again.”

I just realized I’ve not introduced Jim to you yet, allow me to correct that post haste!

Jim Fasould is an American from Chicago who has been serving as a missionary in Barcelona, Spain for over 40 years. He will be 70 years old in December but can run circles around most folk. He is energetic and gregariously friendly. He is the founder of the Spanish Bible Institute & Theological Seminary in Barcelona, and he and his wife have served that community together for almost all of their married lives. In fact, Jim and Carolyn celebrated 46 years of marriage today via cell phone. He is here helping the seminary organize their operations. He has been working with them to write job descriptions, org charts, policies, and procedures. He has quite the mind for organizing things, and works on his computer tirelessly.

Jim and I are sharing a two bedroom duplex, and we’ve had great conversations during our down time. He is a good bit more conservative that I am theologically, which makes sense because he comes out of the independent Bible Church tradition in Illinois. But my core belief and practice is that I will partner with any Christian who is willing to work with me, and so our conversations and efforts here at the seminary seem to be mutually edifying. I brought the bug spray he forgot, and he’s got the ibuprofen stash that I forgot (and have desperately needed to break the headaches I’ve had from no caffeine). He's truly an enjoyable guy and we're making for pretty good roommates, at least from my perspective. My snoring doesn't bother me, but I dont' know if it bothers him.

So back to my notes on the day.

On the way out the door we met our neighbors in the duplex. They arrived on Friday night and they are from Western Canada. They are doing mission work in Ghana on behalf of the Church of the Nazarene, and their work is branching out into Liberia. The Dorothy Pryor Baptist Compound is used to host missionaries such as them, so they are staying here while they work in the Nazarene churches nearby. John, their group leader, was on the porch this morning and in a brief conversation I learned that they train pastors and lay leaders to be more effective in ministry.

The drive to Salem Baptist Church was through Monrovia, my first really good look at the city. I’ll be posting pictures as soon as I get back (the internet connection is too slow here to spend hours posting photos that will take just a few minutes from home. Again – infrastructure). The city is like any third world metropolitan area. It has a high density of population, and the accompanying trash and filth that goes with lots of people packed into one area.

Road conditions range from good to horrible. At one point on the road we slowed down to maneuver through some giant pot holes (mortar hit??) that stretched the width of the road. Each of the holes were 1-2 feet deep and filled with muddy rain water. In the middle of the street three men were shouting for drivers to give them money saying, “Give us the money, we will fix the road when we get enough money for materials.” Those same guys have been there for years, I’m told, and the wads of cash they collect don’t seem to be enough to fix the road!

Salem Baptist Church, where I preached this morning, is one of the historic congregations of Liberia. It is located in Brewerville and it’s the home church of Olivia Hill, wife of Arnold Hill, the LBTS president. Today was Women’s Day, and all the women wore yellow. It was quite a stunning sight from the pulpit, I must admit, to see all those dark skinned women dressed in delicate and vibrant yellows. I get the feeling God noticed them, too, not just because of their eye-catching yellow dresses and hats, but also because of the passionate worship they offered. Among the men and the women there was dancing, singing, clapping, shouts of joyous praise, and, I believe, the wails of release of pent up frustration and disappointment. I don’t think it was manufactured and I do think the Spirit of God was present.

I envy these folk in at least one regard: they are able to let it all out in worship. This reserved white guy hung in there clapping and singing the songs I knew. I even managed to pull off a reasonably impassioned sermon to match their expectations. But I suppose that, at the end of the day, I’m somewhat stoic in my worship. There is likely a subtler point here that I debate taking the risk to reflect on here fully.

I’ll say this much: I’m not sure my faith is deep enough to worship with their zeal and passion. Maybe it’s the years of intellectualization of my religion. Perhaps it’s part of the waning and waxing of my intimacy with God. We say that baptism is an outer expression of an inward grace, so maybe worship is an outer expression of the inner workings of belief. If that’s so, then the inner workings of my belief need some tinkering.

A holy nap followed worship today, then dinner as usual at Arnold and Olivia’s house. Monday holds a day of working with the writers, editing their stuff, and seeing where we stand for work on Tuesday.

Liberia Updates - Saturday summary

Saturday, June 18, 2011

Today being Saturday meant that everything was very relaxed. Turns out that despite the relaxed pace, it was the better of the first three days for productivity. More rain and the Saturday ‘tude made for an 11:30 start, which allowed me some time to connect to the Internet and answer a few key emails.

It also offered a relaxing time of coffee and conversation with a few of the LBTS faculty members. I am coming to understand their way of decision-making and measuring progress through these conversations. Here in Liberia, the civil war may be over for 6 years, but it frames everything.

• Why is that building falling down? Because of the war.
• Why can’t you get electricity nationalized? The government has to be rebuilt.
• Why can’t students get here on time? There are too few roads.
• Why don’t you just partner with an American school for some online course work? Because the power isn’t on long enough for consistency and the internet connect is too slow.

The list goes on, and it all points to the infrastructure that was once solid and aiding the emergence of Liberia as a place of economic opportunity but is now laid waste by war. The government buildings have been burned. The airport is now run through the former cargo warehouse/terminal because the passenger terminal was destroyed in war. Land and real estate were seized by the government through imminent domain, leaving the formerly affluent in a state of poverty. It is impossible to estimate the loss of intellectual capital – how many brilliant minds with limitless potential were blown away at the end of a gun? How many wizened and experienced people are no more because they were macheted to pieces?

I’ve been in the third world many times and have stared straight into the face of systemic poverty. This, however, is a different kind of poverty. Nothing here is untouched by war, especially the people. I’m told here, “It takes hundreds of years to build a country, but only one year of war to destroy one. We had sixteen years of war.”

And yet:

There is a glimmer of hope and optimism. There is a sense of joy that abides, and some say that the lingering peace is re-creating the trust necessary for people to do the work of rebuilding and personal investment. In no way can I say whether that’s accurate in the short time I’ve been here, but I do see signs. For example, there is new construction underway. A lot of it is going on, though I’m pretty sure little of it would meet OSHA safety standards for workers. There are small storefronts with new signs and windows. There is an air of hope about the future among the students with whom I’ve talked. They see opportunity and want to bring change to their country. They don’t want more violence, and all the political rumors are that the current president, Ellen Sirleaf, will be reelected quite easily this coming Fall because she is trusted and seems to be working toward restoration and against corruption. There is much talk about modeling the country and its businesses on Western models, perhaps to a fault.

My basic conclusion is that these Liberian people have the talent, natural resources, and the hope to see their country rebuilt into something better than before the war. The question of their will and drive remains to be decided. A lack of unifying vision is present. The question of American aid also remains. Naturally, the complexity of the situation leaves me wondering just what America should be doing, if anything. We are invested here and owe at least consideration for the way in which this country served as our dumping ground for freed slaves of the 1800’s. The country is US friendly and follows US Foreign policy on most practices. They are our friends, they are, in fact, our kin.

Liberia Updates - Friday Pondering

This time in Liberia has been a major lesson for me in infrastructure and governmental action in economic development. Americans should not discount the value of our basic infrastructure: highways, electricity, water, sewer, and education. As much as I complain about government, American government has done some really amazing things, and made good decisions based on foresight and vision. I see more clearly now than ever that without visionary leaders in government, we cannot move forward as individuals to realize our own part of the American dream.

We get some stuff wrong, no doubt. But by and large, the power of the people in a representative government is a pretty good operation. I'm further convinced that critics on both sides of the aisle should spend some time understanding the complexities of infrastructure and economic development.

Liberia update - Thursday June 16

This posting is in rough draft form, my apologies but I don't have a lot of time for a polished post. I'm planning to make daily posts as internet access allows. I'll post them here for you to read and me to edit later.

Thursday, June 16, 2011 – 10:25pm

Wednesday provided a safe arrival at the airfield in Monrovia. I’d taken out of Dulles on Wednesday at 2:30, flown to Atlanta. The next leg of the journey was an overnight flight of eleven hours or so to Accra, the capital of Ghana. I had no visa for Ghana so I waited on the plane for almost two hours. In some way that was the worst part of the trip, stuck on the runway and unable to get out of the plane. Finally, we took off at 12:30pm local time and landed in Monrovia at 2:45pm local time. Total travel time was just over 20 hours.

Clearing customs was not difficult at all, I had already done the proper paperwork at the Liberian embassy in Washington the week prior. Toby Gbeh and “Brooks” the Dean of Academic Affairs were there to meet me. It was a 45 minute drive to the seminary, where we stopped briefly before heading on to the Dorothy Pryor Baptist Campground, closer in to Monrovia and about a 20 minute drive. Both the campground and the seminary were built by Southern Baptists over the years. The campground is also the residence of the seminary president, Arnold Hill. On the campus are numerous buildings. One is like a hotel, others are smaller, containing two to four apartments.

Both the seminary and the campground are compounds surrounded by tall fences and closed in with metal gates. The gates are tended by watchmen twenty four hours a day, one of the many tangible signals that the country of Liberia is not very far removed from its civil war. The tops of the walls have shards of glass on top for additional security, an additional reminder of the need to keep someone on the outside from getting on the inside.

Conversations with members of the seminary community and the staff at the campground have been enjoyable and informative. On Wednesday afternoon I explored the campground alone, catching beautiful views of the Atlantic Ocean down below me. On the walk I encountered several folk, and was engaged in conversations along the way. Some things I learned:

• There is little infrastructure in the country and electricity is only available for purchase near the downtown government district. Even then it is prohibitively expensive. I was told that electricity for one month for a family of four in a small home was about $700.00 and about double that if they chose to run air conditioners. That’s about three times the monthly salary of that same average family. The net result is that most people rely on generators or have no electricity at all.
• There has never been a hurricane, tornado, has a population of 3.5 MM people that speak 16 different dialects plus English.
• According to at least two staff members, Southern Baptists built the campground and the seminary on land that was donated to them for that purpose. When they decided to pull out, both properties were put up for sale and the local Baptists had to buy them to avoid it being sold to developers. I’m hopeful there’s another side to this story, and I’ll look into when I back in the states.
• Electricity on both the seminary campus and the campground is provided by generators. Due to high cost of fuel, the generators run only in the day time at the seminary and only in the evening hours on the campground.
• The rainy season is just beginning here, and based on the two storms I’ve experienced so far, I can’t imagine what the middle of the rainy season is like.

Thursday began with a huge and delicious breakfast at the home of President Hill. Pancakes, meat sandwiches, oatmeal, and coffee got me fueled well for the day. Preaching in the chapel service was my first task of the day. It was the last chapel session of the semester, so there were lots of recognitions for academic achievement. The students are in the middle of final exams, so there is all that end of a semester weariness married to the excitement over graduation for some, and a study break for others.

The writing workshop I’m teaching began today. We had nearly 50 participants and after a day on the basics of curriculum writing, we walked through how to format teaching plans for Sunday School teachers. We divided into four groups and each team assigned a set of Bible texts over which they’ll be writing lessons for the rest of the workshop.

The work day ended with serendipitous chance to talk to my family on the phone. We’d not planned on talking because calls on AT&T to my phone are about $3.50 per minute. We’ve limited ourselves to a few text messages a day, but even those are $.50 each. However, I learned today that the seminary has a cell phone that only costs about $.05 per minute, so I used some down time this afternoon to call home.

Late dinner and conversation at Arnold’s house, and then a return to my quarters. Time to hit the bed, long day tomorrow!

The African journey begins.

As I write I'm in Atlanta's colossal airport awaiting the next leg of the journey to Liberia. I'm flying Delta, and they have not earned any goodwill with me today. First, I learned just today that my "direct" flight to Liberia involves a stop in Accra, Ghana. That includes a 2 hour layover, reboarding, and 703 more air miles back west to Monrovia. It really wasn't that I missed the fine print - there just was no fine print.

Then there's the baggage.

Delta allows you two free bags on international flights. So I get to the gate at check-in this morning with one bag that weighed 59 pounds - nine over the limit. The bag was filled mostly with books that I am taking for the workshop I'm conducting, not extra shoes, my darlings. I was told I would have to pay a $75 over-weight fee, even though I was only taking one bag. The logic of this eluded me as I stood their fuming. I argued my cause with a service manager but was met with a stern inflexibility and a disposition that I could've sworn was just a tad shy of "gleeful."

"It's a new fee, and I'm sorry but there's nothing I can do about it."

The Cooperative Baptist Fellowship is funding the trip, so it wouldn't really be money out of my pocket but I was thoroughly incensed. My money or no, it was just wrong.

So, I stepped away from the counter, looked down the terminal and there it was, a shimmering well-placed oasis of overpriced airport accoutrements that included: a luggage section. $24.99 later, I was the owner of one very over-priced duffle, into which I transferred all the heavy books. I then walked back up the counter and checked my two free bags to Monrovia - grinning like the cat that ate the canary. Watcha think about that, Delta?

If you're interested in the project in Africa, check back here often.

A Pretty Good Joke

Came across this jewel on the website for A Prairie Home Companion:

My grandparents raised a big family. The reason they had so many kids was because my grandma was hard of hearing.

Pretty regularly when they went to bed and turned out the lights, my grandpa would say, "So, you goin' to go to sleep or what?"

And Grandma would say, "What?"

Africa Bound

In just a few weeks I'll be heading to Liberia to work with a group of pastors to write Sunday School curriculum. The Cooperative Baptist Fellowship (CBF) is funding the travel expenses and I'm going as a representative of that organization. Some of you are probably asking a few basic questions:

• What is CBF? [It's a Christian organization that is still trying to figure out who they are other than folk who used to be the sane ones among the Southern Baptists]
• What's Sunday School curriculum? [It's a lesson plan to help ordinary people teach the Bible to other ordinary people]
• Where is Liberia? [West Africa, on the coast]
• Is that the place NATO is currently bombing? [no, that's Libya. Seriously? You just asked me that?]

I'm excited about the opportunity to help shape the spiritual formation of Christians throughout Liberia. I'm also a little anxious.

First, there's a whole boat load of meds I'm supposed to take and my doc's office is moving a little slowly in tracking them all down. Yellow fever, malaria, hepatitis, and typhoid top this list of illnesses the CDC tells me I should worry about.

Then, there's the training I'm going to lead. Exactly how did I became qualified to teach leaders from a totally different culture how to write Bible lessons for their people? Perhaps no one else was willing or able to go? I don't fully understand the culture or needs of the people I'll be serving, and even on a good day I'm not sure I understand enough Scripture to offer a helpful word.

But there's something else that's worrying me. It's a little hold-over from the first time I set foot on the continent in 1996. As a 25 year old seminarian I experienced African culture by way of a 22 day stint in Zimbabwe. It was a total immersion. If it had been water I would've drowned. Virtually alienated from everything I found familiar in my heretofore Southern rural upbringing, I heard a word from God as clearly as I've ever heard from the Mysterium Tremendum. Want to know what I heard?

"Get out."

Ok, I joke, it wasn't exactly those words. It was more like, "You're not supposed to be a missionary." It was there that I saw myself as the time oriented Westerner with a taste for comfort, cable, cell phones, and a day planner. Prior to that, our family had seriously contemplated serving God in some missionary capacity, but after that trip it was clear to me that the sacrifice I'd admired in countless other "sent ones" was too much for me. I was, frankly, ashamed. After all, shouldn't I be willing to go where ever God sent me? In theory, yes. But my well-fed flesh was weak.

Since that time I've matured at least a little bit and along the way became the pastor of an extremely diverse congregation. I'm still not sure how that happened, but it is so. Our congregation membership is about 35% of West African origin and I've learned a lot about their culture by being their pastor. Working with multiple cultures in one congregation is, in many ways, like being a missionary. But still, I worry that I'm not prepared to serve these folk, and deeper still, I'm worried about what I may hear from God on this go-round to Africa. Maybe God won't say anything more than "Go, teach, get home." There's a subtle stirring in me, however, that says I should be listening closely for something else.

Long Story Short, May 20, 2011

inconceivable truth

Billy Graham has been on my mind lately. The world-famous evangelist has been a beacon of faithfulness for Christians for more than 50 years because his message of redemption is timeless.

He is getting on up in years and a recent hospitalization put him back in the news. Reading about him, I meandered through various quotes and stories from his life, and came across a story that I’d never heard before.

Graham meant to set the church back?

In the 1960’s he held a crusade in Montgomery, Alabama. He insisted that the choir be racially integrated, and a local newspaper editorial charged that his demand had “set the church back a hundred years.”

Graham responded out his compelling vision for the church, “If that’s the case, I failed in my mission. I intended to set it back 2,000 years.”

This Sunday I’ll bring a message about Stephen, the apostle who was stoned to death for preaching the heresy that Jesus was the Son of God. What inconceivable truth had Stephen encountered that made him willing to die for simply speaking it? And the question for us: do we have that kind of zeal and loyalty to Jesus? Do we need that kind of passion?

Billy, Stephen, Jesus, and you.

Like Stephen, Billy, and Jesus, I submit that we need a clear vision of the Kingdom of God, and of the church, that compels us to deeper faithfulness. Not just faithfulness in our hearts or words, but a faithfulness that causes us to live differently. I hope you’ll join us for worship this week as we celebrate our annual Multi-cultural Sunday.

See you Sunday,

Pastor Gary

The True Darkness of Distrust

This piece was published in advance of a sermon about trust on 2/13/11

the true darkness of distrust

Trust is a slippery word. I trust my teenage son, but I'm not going to leave him unsupervised with matches and flammables. I trust in our political system but I surely don't believe every politician. I trust my business partner but we still maintain good accounting records. The phrase "trust, but verify" describes the kind of trust I'm talking about.

But what about when it comes to trusting God? We can't "supervise" God. We can't verify all things we supposedly entrust to God, but can only hope that one day we'll be able to verify that we were right to trust God. I suppose you'd also call this faith.

is that a "sunday school" answer?

When the Psalmist says, "when I am afraid, I put my trust in you" (56.3), I'm left wondering how do I do that? In the midst of real fear, real tragedy, or real suffering, how exactly do I trust in God? I get frustrated when I'm told, "Just trust God more, everything will be fine," even though I've used the line myself. Does that line mean I need to pray more? Read my Bible more? Do more good deeds to get God's attention? I have to be satisfied to "trust, but not verify" because it is only over time that we can look backward, see what God has done, and believe that God is a God of consistency and will see us through the next big thing.

finding solid ground

The best I can tell you is that trusting God is rather like standing at the water line on a beach as the tide sucks the sand from beneath your feet. You know there's terra firma somewhere down there, but you have to get buried to your calves to find it. You keep on sinking until you find a place to stand. So maybe trusting God is about standing still long enough to let your soul sink into the truth of God. And maybe trusting God is not about doing more, but simply being more present to the God in the moments of life. Maybe trusting God more is not about gathering doctrines or truths to be our firm place to stand, but about emptying ourselves of self through worship, even if that worship looks like wailing despair.

I hope you'll join us for worship on Sunday, where we'll think about this more in a sermon called The True Darkness of Distrust.

It'll be great.

Trust me,
Pastor Gary

Long Story, Short - February 4, 2011

conflict - can't live with it, can't live without it The forward progress of humankind is forged from conflict. Tunisia, Egypt, and Yemen verify that. So did Steve Underwood, my high school US History teacher. His wonderful classroom antics imprinted history on my brain like few other teachers. He had "one-sided phone conversations" with dead presidents. He wore crazy costumes to teach about key battles. But the greatest thing he taught me is that without conflict there is no creativity. With conflict there is no forward motion. Without conflict, nothing happens. Sometimes conflict is broad based, like the national conflict prevalent in this week's news from Cairo. Sometimes the conflict is isolated, internal to an individual. But whether you're in the classroom, the work place, or the church sanctuary, conflict is and eventuality in all relationships. Spouses will argue. Siblings will get angry. Workmates will offend you. Fellow Christians will anger you - and you them. The question for Christians is not if we'll have conflict, but what we'll do when it comes our way. meek and mild? Unfortunately, Christians tend to shirk from conflict, especially in church, and often to the detriment of all. Perhaps we've overemphasized the "meek" side of Jesus without understanding the way he brought conflict to bear meaning. Or maybe we back away because we don't want to be trouble makers, characterized like those other trouble makers we've known. Or maybe we avoid conflict because we just don't care enough. Sometimes caring necessitates confrontation. conflict doesn't just go away The Bible assumes conflict is a part of reality, and Jesus teaches directly about how Christians should deal with conflict in Matthew 18.15-20. It involves face to face honesty, genuine openness, and a willingness to stick with the persons involved in conflict until a resolution is reached. We'll discuss this in depth in this Sunday's sermon, and I hope you'll walk away with some Jesus-like strategies for dealing with the conflicts you've been avoiding See you Sunday, Pastor Gary

My Mother's Eyes

That's my mother in the top third of the picture, I'd guess at about 15 years old. She was a natural beauty, and I think my older daughter looks a lot like her.

My mother would have turned 60 this past Monday. I say "would have" because she died at 50, back in 2001. While others were enjoying MLK Day in their own good ways, I was thinking a lot about "Mama."

Mid-afternoon I picked up the phone and called someone who knew her long before I did: her mother. Like others her age, Grandma rambles and her memories are sometimes disjointed. We talked for more than half an hour, and about half way through I asked, "Grandma, wouldn't today have been Mama's birthday?"

"Well, yes," she said like someone who'd been reminded they ought to turn the tea kettle off before the house burns down. She got silent for a moment and I fought the urge to fill the void. When she finally spoke it was like someone gathering items from around the house to be put away at the end of the day.

"It's the worst thing in the world to bury your child. God didn't intend it that way. God wants us to be buried by our children." The words were smooth, like some worry stone you've been carrying in your pocket for a very long time, the kind you rub on when you need to fret. Clearly, she'd been rubbing on this idea for a long time, turning it over and over and over in her mind.

She put them in the air with her Carolina drawl, but those worry stone words were heavy and they thudded right through the phone. They just sat out there between us, there on the ground like something simple and obvious. LIke "Look at that tire, it's flat." Or, "I think the chicken's done, let's eat." The words are true, but they didn't really reveal any great truth.

"Yeah," I said softly. I didn't want to stop her from talking because I wanted her to say more. I wanted her to tell me some wonderful memory about my Mama as a child. Like maybe how she was really good at her times tables when she was only 7, or that her hair was thick and dark the day she was born.

Nothing followed.

So I filled the silence with another "yeah," my voice trailing off.

Maybe it's senility, maybe it's her meds for depression, or maybe she just can't go there. Or doesn't want to. Either way, I figure she's had a pretty hard life and nobody should push her into remembering things she doesn't want to deal with.

Before too many more milliseconds, she moved on to talk about my sister. She has three stories about my sister. They're pretty funny stories, but I've heard them all before. Every time I call her, in fact. Along with the "have you heard from your sister?" questions. I artfully dodge them, in the same way she doesn't talk about my mom. I guess the apple doesn't fall far from the tree.

So I contemplated my mom on Monday with my own memories.

Don't feel sorry for me, though. I'm a realistic person with an honest memory about who she was. She had her fair share of problems, and they got carried into all her relationships in one twisted way or another. One of her problems was chronic pain. She took a lot of prescription meds for that. Some of them weren't hers.

Another problem was some form of mental illness that, to my knowledge, never got accurately diagnosed. If I was the speculating type, I'd tell you she could have been bipolar or maybe had borderline personality disorder. Who knows? It's been almost ten years after her death, why worry about it? Maybe I worry about because some days I wonder if I'm on a manic high or a depressive low. Perhaps you've been there, wondering if you're just a little "too creative" or your thinking has become too expansive. Such speculation about my own mental health doesn't seem to be very healthy, however, so I try not to linger there any longer than necessary. And remembering all her faults doesn't much help me these days.

Instead, I've tried to draw some good from her life. She did, after all, love my father, carry me in her womb, bear me into the world, and nurture me the best she could. It wasn't always great, but between my dad, God, and plenty of other good people, I've always had more than I needed of everything important. My mama gave me some great things and not all of them were what you'd call grace gifts.

• I remember that she made sure I got piano lessons and a love for music. I hated it when she made me practice, but now I'm glad she did.
• She took me to see Alabama, my first concert of any kind. And Charlie Daniels opened for them.
• She took me to see all my grandparents and family, and to my knowledge never did anything to come between me and her in-laws.
• She made me pick peas in the garden in the middle of the hot humid North Carolina summer.
• I saw her start a fight with her brother and a sister by clocking them with rotten tomatoes when no one else was looking.
• Her Sunday roast could have been a lethal weapon, but I'd pay a pretty penny for some of her country style steak.
• Our home was always clean (maybe to a fault), the beds were always made, the laundry was always done, and there was dinner almost every night. Some of those dinners were edible.
• She had a very green thumb, and I wish I'd have paid closer attention to how she did that.
• It took her a while to love Traci, but from their first breath she loved my kids fiercely and tenderly, and she made sure there was always money there for dance lessons and t-ball uniforms during the lean years of our marriage.

There's more I could say, but I suppose this is enough for public consumption. Cecilia Gail Bass Long was a simple person who came of age in a complicated world. She loved well, but she was also "mean as a striped snake." She could rant and rave like a pro. Not every memory of her is good. In fact, it's taken ten years of her being dead to say that I remember more good things than bad things, so maybe my memory isn't as honest as I've led you to believe. But here's the take home message for me: I can live in the past and be forever and continuously bruised by the hurt she brought, or I can live with an eye toward the future and count all that's behind as water under the bridge. After all, how long does a person have to be dead before you stop blaming them for your problems? The best I can do is take responsibility for me.

Perhaps that's the best gift of all.