Monday, December 29, 2014

I Know What I Hope...

Luke 2:1-20
Revelation 21:1-4

I Know What I Hope...

Emily Dickinson said that…
Hope is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul,
And sings the tune without the words,
And never stops at all.

Recently, the Pope has come out and spoken on something for which many of us hold out hope... that our furry and feathered friends, our pets, will be in heaven.  I have always believed this might be true, and despite centuries of good priests and pastors and shattering the worlds of little kids, many of us hold to it.  You've probably seen the church signs.  On this side of the street, "All dogs go to heaven."  On that side of the street, "Animals don't have souls, read your Bible."  Back on this side, "Presbyterian dogs have souls, Baptists, ask your minister."  "Being Presbyterian does not grant you a soul, this is not up for debate!"  "Free souls with every conversion and baptism!"  Now don't you wish we had a scrolling marquee?

I tend to believe that all that language about God's Kingdom and new heavens and new earths that includes words about animals lying down together, ox and lamb and calf with predators of all kind... it's so prevalent that I believe a new heaven and earth without animals makes very little sense.  But I don't know.  I know what I hope.

At this time of year, even with the rush, there are times of challenge and reflection and memory that crash together… the interplay of time, eternity, loss, and hope…  We think of the memories we have with all the loved ones gathered here with us at worship, those under the tree tomorrow morning, or around tables all Advent season.  We think back on the memories we've collected, the moments we've shared.  We think of all those who are not here because of time or distance or new circumstances, those who we've lost, and those who we feel with us in a special way this time of year.  We settle in to hear the words in scripture and song that are so familiar, and yet so wildly fantastical.  A king born in a manger, God's son born to a lowly family in a barn, shepherds and kings, a virgin birth, angels and dreams and stars in the sky!

We are challenged in our reason and for our "reasons" in a season that has nothing to do with reason at all. God loved us and came and dwelt with us, Emmanuel.  Hope was born this day.  Explain that.  Explain your traditions.  Explain your gatherings, your gifts, your greetings.  As our Jewish brethren say of God showing up, a miracle happened here.  Maybe hope is enough.  Maybe what we can prove or explain or verify or defend in the midst of our rituals, our celebrations, our joy and our grief is not nearly so important as what we hope.  Do you believe in miracles?  Do you believe in the virgin birth?  Do you believe Mary was 14 or 24?  How about Joseph?  Was the star a supernova?  Did God really come to earth?  Do you believe in angels?  Santa?  Dreams and prophecies?  What do you believe?!?  More importantly... what do you hope?

When I was in seminary, I had a professor by the name of Dr. Carson Brison.  He was a wise man and an excellent story teller and writer.  He wrote a story I'd like to share with you about a student he had in his time at small private university some years ago.

He had a class that met Tuesdays and Thursdays, and his student by the name of Jessie usually came to one or the other.  At the midterms, he sent home progress reports to parents.  When her mother called, he shared some study tips and suggested that coming to class a lot more would help.  Her mom agreed.  As the conversation wrapped up, she asked if he was the "same Carson" who signed the VA benefits forms for dependents of veterans who had died in the line of duty and he confirmed he was.

No one had been able to tell her what happened, but she took comfort in being told it happened suddenly.  Her last memory was a day in the park when he had carried Jessie high on his shoulders.  Some memories never fade.

Jessie's attendance did improve for a short time, but reverted to her former pattern.  When she came, she took notes for a while and then would put her head down.  She seemed constantly to be exhausted.  Her classmates clearly did not admire her.

During the final class period, they studied the passage we read tonight from Revelation 21 and how it related to other apocalyptic literature.  Just before dismissing the class, Jessie raised her hand, and without waiting to be called on, she asked, "That verse..." She glanced around the classroom at impatient classmates.  "That verse about God drying every tear.  Does that mean every tear from that time on... or that God will go back into all time and find every tear and dry all of them too?"

A smart popular student on the front row rolled her eyes, checked her watch, crossed her arms and hunkered impatiently into her seat.  A murmur and several chuckles came from around the room as they began packing their bags. 

My professor had not expected a question from Jessie.  Ever.  Especially not about the interplay of time, eternity, loss, and hope.  He did his very best recover from the surprise, his mind reeling with considerations of interpretation of historical texts, literary and historical and theological contexts.  How hard it is to interpret a text of this kind in a linear way.  And he thought about his conversation with Jessie's mom.  And of course, the bright annoyed student right in front of him.  He felt an answer come out of him and was sure it was no good immediately.  Jessie's disappointment was clear.

The next week, following that abrupt inquiry, my professor put Jessie's question on the exam as purely extra credit, dressed up with lots of academic language, but at its heart, clearly the same question. Only two students attempted to answer the question... Jessie... and the bright popular student who had been so annoyed that day.

In part, Jessie's response was this... The day I asked this question, not quite how you put it here, you didn’t really answer it.  I called my mom and told her my religion professor didn't answer my only question all semester.  I told her it was more like you talked about what you hoped the answer would be.  She said that for some questions in life, it might count more what you hope the answer is than that you have it all figured out.  Do you think she's right?

You don't know this, but my father died when I was very young.  I don't really remember him except one day he rode me on his shoulders so high I felt like I was flying.  I don't know the answer to this question professor.  I really don't.  But I know what I hope the answer is.  I know what I hope.  Is that worth any points?

I think I really need this extra credit to pass this course.  I am transferring home next semester and I need as many classes as possible to transfer.

The answer from the bright popular girl on the front row dealt with the structure of the passage, literary and historical context, grammar and syntax.  She wrote rather poetically, that such texts seem to be dipped in a special coating that makes them resistant to simple answers to tough questions like the one the girl asked.  These writings deal not in the currency of verifiable fact, but in the currency of hope.  She then added a personal note and request to her answer...

I know my answer is a good one.  You know I don't need any extra credit.  Please consider giving my credit to the girl on the back row, the one who slept all the time and kept us late that day and whose question seemed to shake you so badly.  I bet she needs it.  I want her to have it.  I think maybe so do you.  I think I saw what you thought when a lot of us laughed.

My professor shared that he didn't know what happened to the girl or if she transferred.  He doesn't know what moved that bright popular girl from indifference to compassion.  He doesn't know if he made the right decision about her extra credit and final grade.  He still doesn't know a perfect answer to any question about time, eternity, loss, and hope. 

And neither do I.  But I know what I hope.  And my prayer as you leave here is that no matter what you face in the holiday season or your year ahead, challenges and celebrations, joy and loss, when you are asked what you know and you have nothing, I pray you know what you hope.  What do I know?  I really don't know.  But I know what I hope.  Amen.

Monday, December 1, 2014

I do Not Think That Word Means What You Think it Means…

Author's Note:  Most of my recent sermons have not been preached from manuscripts, but from a loose outline of notecards and storytelling.  What follows is very close to what I preached at the Thanksgiving Eve service after our soup supper, but may be somewhat different.

Call to Worship:

Awake, my glory! Awake, O harp and lyre! I will awake the dawn!
Praise him with tambourine and dance; praise him with strings and pipe! 
I will also praise you with the harp for your faithfulness, O my God;
I will sing praises to you with the lyre, O Holy One of Israel.
Praise him with trumpet sound; praise him with lute and harp!
Raise a song; sound the tambourine, the sweet lyre with the harp.

Gospel Lesson:  Matthew 5:21-22, 27-28, 33-34a, 38-45a


21 “You have heard that it was said to those of old, ‘You shall not murder; and whoever murders will be liable to judgment.’ 22 But I say to you that everyone who is angry with his brother will be liable to judgment; whoever insults his brother will be liable to the council; and whoever says, ‘You fool!’ will be liable to the hell of fire.


27 “You have heard that it was said, ‘You shall not commit adultery.’ 28 But I say to you that everyone who looks at a woman with lustful intent has already committed adultery with her in his heart. 


33 “Again you have heard that it was said to those of old, ‘You shall not swear falsely, but shall perform to the Lord what you have sworn.’ 34 But I say to you, Do not take an oath at all


38 “You have heard that it was said, ‘An eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth.’ 39 But I say to you, Do not resist the one who is evil. But if anyone slaps you on the right cheek, turn to him the other also. 40 And if anyone would sue you and take your tunic, let him have your cloak as well. 41 And if anyone forces you to go one mile, go with him two miles. 42 Give to the one who begs from you, and do not refuse the one who would borrow from you.

Love Your Enemies

43 “You have heard that it was said, ‘You shall love your neighbor and hate your enemy.’44 But I say to you, Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you, 45 so that you may be sons of your Father who is in heaven.

I do Not Think That Word Means What You Think it Means…

You have heard it said… you have heard it said… you have heard it said… but I say…

Jesus loved to swoop in and challenge a good tradition and make people think about why they held onto it and whether or not it drew them closer to God and his people or away.

A parish got a new priest. During his first service, when a certain prayer was said, half the congregation stood up and half remained sitting. The half that was seated started yelling at those standing to sit down, and the ones standing yelled at the ones sitting to stand up. The new priest did not know what to do. His congregation suggested to consult a 98-year-old man, who was the oldest inhabitant of the village. The priest hoped the elderly man would be able to tell him what the actual tradition was, so he went to the old people's home with a representative of each fraction of the congregation.

The one whose followers stood during the prayer said to the old man, "It is the tradition to stand during this prayer!"

The old man answered, "No, that is not the tradition."

The one whose followers sat said gladly, "Then the tradition is to sit during this prayer!"

The old man answered, "No, that is not the tradition."

Then the priest said to the old man, "But the congregation fight all the time, yelling at each other about whether they should sit or stand!"

The old man interrupted, exclaiming, "That is the tradition!"

In my family, the joke was always that if we did something once, now it was a tradition.  And my sister would be sure we followed it, especially at holidays.

We have traditions of thanksgiving, like our soup supper that supports the youth in mission and this evening worship services, advent traditions, and Christmas Eve worship services. We even have a weekly “TRADITIONAL” service.

If you’ve ever seen the movie or read the book, The Princess Bride, you know there’s a character who spends much of the film greatly frustrated.  Whenever he vents about his frustrations, he cries out, “This is inconceivable!”  After a few dozen times, one character turns to him and says, “I do not think this word means what you think it means.”

And so it goes with “tradition,” with “traditional.”  What do they mean?

What makes thanksgiving traditional? Meals? Shopping? Not shopping? Food? Family?

What makes values traditional? Old values? How old? Pre-civil rights? Pre-women's suffrage? Pre-revolutionary? Traditional ideas about owning property and people and the superior intellect of a given race or gender are not ideas most of us now accept. And aren’t we glad?

What makes marriage traditional? For most of history, across many cultures, it was marked by mutually beneficial family arrangements, transactions of goods. For thousands of years, it was not just tradition, but custom and law to marry your in-law if the spouse died. Look it up… Deuteronomy 25.

The notion of picking a spouse based on personal affection or attraction or some concept of romantic love is radically new and modern as a cultural norm. 

How many of you would be married to your spouse if your parents had done the choosing? How many of you would have additional wives or be married to an in-law, if those old customs of traditional marriage still held?

So many of our biblical heroes had multiple wives, concubines, and even stranger arrangements. 

What about traditional worship? What makes the traditional service traditional?  Is it what came first? The music? The style? The instruments? The space?

The Organ was conceived of 300 years before the birth of Christ, but its modern design, which is electric, wasn’t created until 1934.  The piano we used tonight?  That wasn’t around until the 1700s.  In our call to worship from Psalms written 600 years before Christ, it mentions stringed instruments, drums, tambourines, flutes, trumpets… All instruments we are very likely to see in our “contemporary” services more often than the “traditional” one.

What about the use of a pulpit? Jesus and the prophets weren’t often to be found on one so much as a hillside.  Sunday worship? Are you kidding?  The Jews worshipped, and still do, on Saturday.

Now, I'm not saying we should rename the Sunday services or even suggesting that one service is more traditional than the other.  It might be.  ;-)  Rename a service?  We’d have an uproar like that young priest.

Jesus came to comfort the afflicted and afflict the comfortable, to challenge us.  When we get comfortable with the way we use the word tradition, we lose our actual traditions. Traditions like faith, belief, one true God, a savior who loves us.  Our best traditions are hope, peace, love, and joy.  Our best traditions aren't turkey/tofurkey… they're thankfulness.  Our best traditions aren't shopping or even capitalism, they're generosity.  Not worship style, but who is worshipped, and where we go when we leave, and what we do.

I challenge each of you to consider your own traditions and the meaning they help you create, if they draw you closer to God and your brothers and sisters of this world.

I want you to consider two things when you look at each of your traditions.  One – does it create meaning?  Do you gain greater understanding, appreciation, memory, some sort of meaning from it?  Two – does it encourage love?  The kind of love that Christ first showed us.  If the meaning is lost or twisted.  Or if your tradition doesn’t look like love to someone else looking in… that tradition no longer holds value.  Throw it away.  Create a new one.

I challenge yourself as you gather around table tomorrow on Thanksgiving, as you make the journey through advent and plan for Christmas Eve and Christmas morning, examine every tradition and ask yourself… Does your tradition create meaning?  Does your tradition encourage love?  Does it create meaning?  And encourage love?  Amen.

Wednesday, September 24, 2014

Bet you didn't see THAT coming...

One of the earliest jokes I remember from my childhood was one my dad told, and then I heard again years later in scouts from Mr. Blackmon.  Both thought it was hilarious.  Now, of course, I do too.  There was a man building a house.  When he was finished, he had just one brick left over.  Guess what he did with it, they said.
  …He threw it away! 

They laughed and laughed.  I didn't get it.  Like the parable we heard today, I tried hard to capture the meaning or a lesson, or anything.  Nothing.  Not being amused by this joke, my dad sensed my frustration.  So he told me another.

A man riding on a train was eating a ginormous pickle.  A woman next to him with her small toy poodle said, "Sir, your chomping that pickle is disturbing my poodle.  Will you please throw it out?"  "No," he said.  "I paid a nickel for this pickle, and I'm going to eat it."  This repeated several more times.  His chomping, her request, his refusal, her indignation.  Finally, she lost it, grabbed the pickle and tossed it out the window of the train.  In his fury, he grabbed her poodle and tossed IT out the window of the train.

When they got to the next train station, however, the poodle came running up.  In his mouth was...  The brick.

We never saw it coming.  That was the point.  How often does God do that in scripture?  Thought you were a fugitive in the desert?  You will save your whole nation.  Thought you were going to drown in a storm?  Here's a giant fish to give you a ride to Ninevah.  Think the whole city will burn for their wickedness, Jonah? Even the animals are gonna put on sackcloth and everyone will repent.  Thought your messiah was going to be born in a palace and come into Jerusalem on a white horse, leading an army?  Here's a humble carpenter, born in a feedbox, riding on a donkey, leading a band of misfits.  Every time... a story with a surprise ending... of LOVE.

How often does Jesus do this with his parables?  His audience is hunkered in.  They're in the know.  They get it.  Everyone else better catch up.  They are the flock, the chosen, the found, the insiders, the workers of the vineyard from day one.  Then he tells them the story of the lost coin... aka... the story of the searching persistent widow... and the story of the lost sheep... aka... the story of the good Shepherd... and the story of the prodigal son... aka... the story of the loving father... and the story of the workers in the vineyard... aka.. the story of the caring master of the house.  You see, these stories aren't about being lost.  They're about being found.  They aren't about the people or the sheep or the coin.  They're about God.  They're about who God is.

The endings are a surprise because it's not how the world works.  Wayward son needs to come back and earn back the trust.  Workers get paid for the work.  We Presbyterians believe in work ethic, the American dream!

Every time we are surprised by the grace of God, in scripture, in a story, in the world we live, when someone offers forgiveness or hope or an unexpected act of undeserved, unearned mercy... that surprise is a product of us believing the lies of this world.  God's kingdom is not built on the rules of this world.

If you’ve ever read Les Miserables or seen one of its many film adaptations, you know the story of Jean Valjean, a criminal who is sentenced to years of hard labor for stealing a loaf of bread while starving.  When he is released, he makes his way through the countryside in driving rain, finding nowhere to sleep, until the priest at a small abbey lets him in.  He feeds him a warm meal and gives him a place to stay for the night.  Not having ever known kindness, Valjean doesn’t know how to respond.  He steals the silverware and makes off into the night.  He’s caught by soldiers who bring him back to the priest.  “He claims to be your friend, Father,” they scoff.  “He claims you gave him the silverware.” 

“Of course, I did,” says the priest.  He turns to Valjean, the only one more surprised than the soldiers, and says, “But I’m very disappointed in you, Valjean.  You forgot to take… the candlesticks.”  Drawing him in close, he whispers fiercely, “Valjean, with these candlesticks, I have purchased your soul.  You no longer belong to this world.  You belong to God.”  A surprise ending… of love.  Unearned, undeserved.  And it changes his entire life.  And the lives of all those he encounters.

In last week’s parable, the older son begrudges the prodigal son.  He didn't stay!  He didn't work!  He wasn't faithful to the father!  He squandered!  He partied!  He strayed!  He doesn't deserve the fatted calf, the ring, the robe, the love of the father!  And he's right!  ........ And neither do... we.  ..... Those workers in the vineyard, those latecomers!  Those lazy hangers-on!  They didn't work as long and hard.  They don't deserve the full pay!  And neither do we.  Our parable today isn't God's business plan.  It's a terrible way to run a business or country even.  But it's how the Kingdom works.  It's who God is.

It goes against everything the world has taught us and pounded into our heads and hearts.  But that's why God has sent us his prophets, his teachers, his one and only son.  God doesn't surprise us because he gets a kick out of it.  Though I am sure he does.  God surprises us because we expect fairness.

We expect God to hand out the paychecks on Friday and we all get what we put in, that we earned God's love, God's grace.  We earned all we have in our lives, rather than all we have and are is a gift from God.  We expect the father to be waiting in his study to hear his son's words of how he screwed up and how he will make it up to him.  But no.  We have a God who sees on the road, headed home to him, and goes RUNNING out to us.  Interrupting our carefully rehearsed speech, our best laid plans.  God is the one who seeks us out and finds us, no matter how far we've wandered, no matter how little we have labored, and loves us because we are his.  Nothing more.

Ad God yearns for all to be found.  The son of man came to seek and to save the lost.  His recruitment didn't end with his Disciples.  His message didn't end with, aren't you glad God loves you?  Now go and be happy.  His message ended with, "therefore, as you go, make disciples."  So when you leave this place, find the people in your life that you know need to be surprised by that un-earned, un-deserved love of God.  Show them that Good News in the love you share.  Because no one ever sees that coming.  Amen.

Monday, August 4, 2014

Love 'em Like Jesus

John 13:35 - By this all people will know that you are my disciples, if you have love for one another.

At a high school in the 1960s, one student was a self-proclaimed Civil War enthusiast.  Though he grew up in the Northeast, he was fascinated by the rebel soldiers and generals.  Someone gifted him a coat that resembled General Lee's and he wore it every single day.  When his class voted on senior superlatives, his classmates voted him mostly likely to secede.

Our identities matter.  And those identities are formed by many things.  It matters how we build ours and what that resulting identity is.  If I asked most of you right this minute to identify yourselves, most of you would reach for your wallet and show me your... driver’s license.

In our country, we begin to identify as adults and independent by our society's greatest measure of skill... driving ability. Our teens are very concerned with this passage into adulthood and aging adults often name the loss of license as the biggest feeling of loss in independence. 

Our accomplishments define us, the best... and the worst... of our ACTIONS.  Christ tells us in this passage that his hope, his one and only command to them in the book of John is to LOVE one another.  And that loving each other as HE loved them would be so profound and so evident, that they would be identified by it.

The emperor Julian of Rome was quoted once as saying that, “The Godless Galileans,” (meaning us, as we Christian have one God and the Romans had many), “The Godless Galileans feed our poor in addition to their own.”

The early church was identified by their love for one another and the stranger, the widow and orphan, no matter who they were. 

Is the Church identified that way now?  Is OUR church?  You... and your family?  In your neighborhood, your sports and rec leagues, your social circles?  Is your family known as that family that loves?  “They must be Christians!  They love everyone!  That’s who they are!”

When I went to my grandfather's wake, dozens of people stopped me to tell me what my grandfather meant to them.  Golfing buddies, bowling buddies, members of my grandmother's Catholic Church, his Presbyterian church, his neighbors.  They all said the same thing over and over... "He always had time for me."

Time and again, whether to listen, or to organize, to fix, or to build.  No matter the project or time or purpose, he made time.  My grandfather was not known for being cuddly, fuzzy, and sweet.  But he was known for his love.  Are we?

The youth you just sent to Costa Rica did you proud.  They accomplished a lot, they built a lot, but that's not what you should be most proud of them for.  And it's not what I hope they bring back and make a part of their lives and identities.  What should make your hearts burst with joy and pride is that they LOVED on one another and on the families, the neighbors, the children of the places we worked.  Yes, they built two houses, yes, they helped two extended families, orphans, and missionaries.  They raised over $200 for the local YWAM staff!  But they loved everyone we brought and everyone we met, and they loved them as he loved us.  They loved 'em like Jesus.

It is that love, that identity they took on as individuals and as a group… that represents my greatest hope for them.  And for us.  IN a few short weeks, 6 seniors from that trip will head to college and face an array of challenges, opportunities, and temptations.  They will form new relationships and begin new endeavors, explore new callings and experiences.  I hope and pray they say and do as they did on this trip, forging an identity based on love.  That they will love 'em like Jesus and they will be known as disciples by that love.  The other 16 kids will head to their high schools and face similar challenges with the support of their families and us. 

I challenge you to be a community that challenges them to keep at it, to keep loving others as they have been loved.  To love 'em like Jesus.  To be a community that encourages them and sets the example of kind words, merciful actions, daily kindness, acts of service to those in need.  Be the families they need to be identified by their love.

In recent weeks, we have had a multitude of people come to the church looking for assistance because our church is known to those in need as a place of love.  I challenge each of you as families and individuals to be the same in the places you live and work.  Be known to others as people who love.  Glorify God in the powerfully obvious and tangible way you love everyone who comes into your life, and by the way you enter into the lives of others. 

These youth have been an inspiring example to me this week of Mission trip.  I challenge you to be an example to them, to partner with them, to walk beside them into a world in need here in Salisbury.  And love 'em like Jesus.


Tuesday, July 1, 2014

Light Up the Darkness

Old Testament Reading:  Isaiah 58:8-9
Gospel Readings:  John 8:12-16; Matthew 5:14-16

(Note:  I preached this sermon from memory, so it may be different than what you see below)

A favorite film of mine depicts our world in the very near future. It's based on science that is actually being done right now.  Scientists, in this story, discover how to take a virus and retrain it to attack cancer cells.  The analogy they use is a very fast car driven by a criminal can do tremendous damage, while one driven by a police officer can be safe and do good.  A virus is the same.  They CURE cancer.  But the resulting virus mutates, gets entirely out of hand and takes the lives of most of the world's population, ravaging the minds and bodies of everyone left so badly that they are no longer recognizable as human.

The main protagonist is immune, and he's a physician, a virologist.  Now, stop me if you've heard this story before.  Evil comes into the world and creeps inside of everyone, leaving them just shadows of the people they were meant to be.  A healer, a hero, a physician, comes to save them.

In the midst of the story, he's joined by a woman and a little boy from South America.  They become his adopted family for a short time, since his own family was lost.  He plays his favorite music for them, a song by Bob Marley, a musician they've never heard of.  He explains that Marley had a theory, a theory that was much like that of a virologist.  He believed you could cure evil and hatred by injecting music and love.  This physician says Marley was scheduled one day to play music for a peace rally and the day before, gunmen came to his house and shot him down in his home.

The next day, he walked out on stage at the peace rally.  People asked him why he felt the need to risk that. He said that the people trying to make this world WORSE are not taking a day off... so how can I?  LIGHT UP THE DARKNESS.

The physician does discover a cure, but it's almost too late.  The creatures who used to be human have invaded his home.  And again, for us as believers, the story gets familiar again.  He has realized the cure is in his blood.  "I can save you!" he yells at them.  To no avail.  They can't understand him.  They're too far gone to comprehend.  The physician gives the cure to the boy and his adopted mother.  And like the scene on Calvary, he entrusts the woman and her boy to carry on the mission and tell the world.  And he gives his own life to save them all those in need of a cure.  He LIGHTS UP THE DARKNESS.

The physician believed against all odds that one person could LIGHT UP THE DARKNESS.  He followed the example of his hero who would not take a day off from a world full of people trying to make it worse.  He believed love could cure evil and hatred.  And as believers, SO DO WE.  Christ came as THE LIGHT.  And his final mission to his disciples and to us is to take that light into a world that can be very dark.  LIGHT UP THE DARKNESS.  And Christ came to show us that an individual, a person can do that.  We can do that.  He did it.  He got others to help him.  And we can too.  People do it every day,

Shane Claiborne, a popular young writer and activist went to college in Philadelphia.  As a student, he became involved in outreach and ministry to the homeless in that city.  Like the members of First Pres who helped make Rowan Helping Ministries a reality, he was not content to merely see the homeless, but desired to know them, know their story, and join their struggle.

Many homeless in Philadelphia were living in an abandoned Catholic cathedral.  The local Catholic archdiocese was not happy with this.  It was a huge liability.  Presbyterians never think like this, do we?  Riiiiight.  They warned the homeless to leave on many occasions, but they had nowhere to go.  Finally, the bishop took action and had the building condemned, ready to be demolished.  The homeless were given short notice to be out by 8am the following day.  Shane Claiborne and dozens of his friends heard about this and flocked to the cathedral to stay the night with the homeless and be arrested with those who remained as a protest of solidarity for their plight.

At 5am, a knock came at the door.  The fire chief and his men were there in uniform.  The students said, "We have until 8am! you can't kick us out!"  "You misunderstand," said the fire chief. "This building is being condemned because it doesn't meet fire code.  And we're sure we can get it up to code by 8am."  LIGHT UP THE DARKNESS.  You see, it just took a few students to see the plight and make it known that their homeless brothers and sisters were in need.  It just took a few firemen to notice them and to solve the problem, to bring light to the darkness, to the hopelessness of those living in fear and need.

The plight of these homeless is not rare.  People in need have never been rare.  People in need of hope, or food, or housing, or jobs, or love, or mental or physical healthcare, or companionship or family.  There has never been a shortage of children who need families or elderly who need visitors, or people who need a church home.  It's not even hard to find them.  They aren't hiding.  WE ARE.  LIGHT UP THE DARKNESS.  You have a light.  You have THE light.

Our VBS kids and youth spent the week learning, hearing, experiencing, and living the stories of Christ and learning how he lit up the darkness.  They are now prepared to share that with others.  And you can get in their way.  Or you can get out of their way.  Or you can go with them and show them who needs it!

Take a moment RIGHT NOW to think of someone who needs that light, who needs hope, who needs something you have or something you and your family or your friends can provide.  Leave this place, go find them, and bring them that light.  Someone once said... "The world is FULL of kind people.  If you can't find one... BE one."  Say it with me…  LIGHT UP THE DARKNESS.  Amen.

Wednesday, May 28, 2014

Green Day - Solar Roadways

Not just a concept.  The idea is currently being implemented.  This news is extremely exciting for all kinds of people.  For an environmentalist, the benefits are obvious.  But when you begin to think of long term cost savings as a nation and as states and municipalities for things like energy, pollution, millions of vehicle accidents caused by snow, ice, downed power lines, wildlife, trees, rocks, and road debris, snow plowing and salting, repaving, painting, signage, and more, it's a no-brainer...

Monday, May 12, 2014

Go Ask Your Mother

Go Ask Your Mother

Luke 19:41-42

Matthew 23:37

As a boy, I was always getting into something. I know, you're shocked.  I would often go to my dad and run things by him or ask for permission to go somewhere or try something.  He was great at that.  He had good advice.  And usually, that advice was... "Go ask your mother."

I see the dads and moms out there nodding their heads.  And I've known many a mom to send a kid to dad for a no or a reason or backup.  It was that REASON that dad was sending me to mom for.  Mom knew the schedule, my friends (who was most likely to get me in trouble)... she knew what was best for me and my sister... and she loved me and my sister enough to tell us no, set boundaries, to make rules, and to teach us right and wrong.  And probably, most importantly, as it is for most of you moms and dads, teachers, and mentors... she longed to instill a love for each other.  Yes, she wanted me and my sister to love and to love her. But she wanted us to love each other.

It's abundantly clear when we read the end of Matthew what God wants from us.  Jesus tells us the only difference between the sheep and the goats on judgment day is who fed, and clothed, and housed, and visited, and loved the least of these.  That's it!  Did we love one another as he loved us?  Jesus came from the Father to show us HOW to be brothers and sisters.  God loves us as a father.  God loves us a mother.

If you doubt for a moment that relationship, that depth of love, you needn't look far in scripture to find it.  I had the opportunity a couple of years ago to visit the Holy Land.  And standing on the hill where it is believed that Jesus looked down on Jerusalem before Holy Week, I read the familiar words in a little chapel built there in the shape of a tear drop.  That passage says that Jesus wept over the city and their treatment of prophets and failures to make peace with one another.  He said he longed to gather them as a mother hen gathers her brood.  A mosaic of that hen and brood adorn the table in that little chapel.  God loves us like that.

When Job flees his God-given call to shepherd Nineveh back to the fold, and then finally gives in begrudgingly, he tells God he shirked this task because he knew our God is "compassionate."  A word that in the Hebrew is a compound word for WOMB LOVE.  God loves us as a mother who carries a child in the WOMB and cares for her and raises her.  God loves us like THAT.

And God wants us to love each other... LIKE THAT.

On this Mother's Day, perhaps we can reflect on the God who is to us as our fathers and our MOTHERS are to us, how we have been loved.  For many of us, our mothers and fathers have similar, but different expectations and hopes and dreams for us.  We make them proud in different ways.  Maybe as a child, you made dad proud doing well at sports and scouts and being a good little entrepreneur.  Maybe mom was most proud when you made friends and sent thank you cards and showed care for your elders.  Have I been a good big brother?  Have I taken care of and cultivated my relationship there?  Does she know I love her?  We age and these measures change.  Is dad proud of our career and job and financial independence?  Is mom proud of the family we've found and the family we've stayed in touch with?  Have you called your sister?  Have you written to her? 

And as I think about my God, my creator, sustainer, and redeemer, do I measure myself by the pride of a father or mother or both?  I find myself thinking about my call and career, my reputation and my home, and decisions.  It is then I have to challenge myself and think about that advice of my father years ago... Go ask your mother.  And if God loves us our mothers do, then have I made God proud?

Have I loved my brothers and sisters?  Have I Been a good brother?  Do my brothers and sisters KNOW I love them?  Have I seen them?  Have I been there for them?  Would they see me as their brother?  Go ask your mother.

I found this clip to be powerful.  Are your brothers or sisters invisible to you?  The world, at its best will challenge you... that homeless person you pass COULD BE YOUR BROTHER OR SISTER.  Jesus says, "that homeless person... IS... YOUR BROTHER OR SISTER."

My challenge to you today, for this week:  SEE everyone.  See your coworker, your client, your problem customer, your deliveryman, your mail woman, your cashier, the obnoxious driver in traffic, that homeless person next to you on the street, that person you haven't met next to you in church today... SEE them... Open your eyes and SEE them as your brother, as your sister.  Love them, hug them, find a way to show it.  Because God loves us LIKE THAT.  Start here today in this place.  Do - not - leave this place not having met a brother or sister you didn't know before you walked in here today.  If you don't do it here, you won't out there.  Linger after this service.  Don't let me catching you headed for the door.  Head for a person before you leave.  And when you do leave... go find your brothers and sisters.  And next week, when you have stories to share with me.  Ask me how you did.  And I'll tell you... go ask _____.  Amen.

Special thanks to Mindy, my pastor friend who first posted this on FB & to my congregation who responded to this video and sermon tremendously with love to really make the effort this week to see new people in their midst.

Monday, January 27, 2014

Child of God (Children's Sabbath)

                Airplane!  What is that to you?  A commons means of transportation?  A modern marvel?  A nuisance?  A cause for anxiety?  An incredibly hysterical 1980s comedy?  Surely not.  To me, airplanes are ordinary.  I started flying at a young age and have averaged several flights a year in my adult life.  Almost everywhere I’ve lived has had an international airport nearby.  And I even worked for a summer at the airport location of a rental car company.  Airplanes are not exciting, not an event or an object of fascination.  But for my two year old son, that’s exactly what they are.  Inside or out, if an airplane is overhead, he will tell you the moment he sees it or hears it.  And he notices all of them.
                Now you might think this indicates a special interest in aviation.  But his fascination, his awe, and his wonder are also piqued by balls, dogs, trucks, stairs, lights, and trees.  For a child, everything is extraordinary.  They see absolutely everything.  And as children grow, they don’t see less, they see more.  They begin to develop imaginations.  My friend took his nephew to the first day of Vacation Bible School with all the other parents and families.  The preacher began to tell the families about the theme and all the things they were going to learn and do that week.  My friend sat with his small nephew in his lap who was listening and playing with an action figure.  As the preacher began to really get excited, he said, “We’re going to put God in your heart!”  The little boy didn’t stop playing or skip a beat, and remarked, “That’s gonna hurt.”  That little boys saw better the ramifications of letting God into his heart than any adult there in the room.  Children see the world as it is – in brilliant detail – and as it could be – in radiant hope and possibility.  This is what it is to be child-LIKE… to be a child of God.
                And who are we?  Who are you?  You are a child of God.
                As we become adults, we lose the ability to see the world as it really is, often by choice.  And we lose the ability to see what it could or should be.  How it is… and how it could be… Let the little children come to me, for it is to such as them that the kingdom of heaven belongs.  We don’t have Gospels full of Jesus teaching children how to be better followers and believers in the God of Israel by being more like the adults.  No, instead we have three Gospel accounts of Jesus telling adults that they should be more child-like!
                Today, we have children helping to lead us in worship [at the 11:00 service] and they’ve been chosen not just so they can learn to lead, but to remind us that they are the ones we are called to be more like.  Bess and Berkley have both been in plays and productions.  They have brought this scripture to life in a way we don’t often do when we read from this chancel.  And I chose them because they are the age Jesus was when his parents first found him in the Temple reading and teaching from the scriptures.  Age is not a perquisite for teaching, nor youth a perquisite for learning.  What can we learn from the youngest among us?
                I sat down at dinner with the First Kids a few weeks ago.  A young precocious girl next to me struck up a conversation.  Very suddenly and casually, between bites, without ever breaking eye contact with her food, she asked me, “Know anything about the ozone layer?”  “Yes,” I told her, “a good bit.”  “I’m gonna fix it.”  “Oh,” I said, sort of amused, but intrigued.  “Yeah, and you know the endangered animals.”  “Yes.”  “I’m gonna save them.”  “Which ones?”  “All of them.”  “Even the dinosaurs?” I asked. “No,” she said incredulously.  “It’s too late for them.”
                I think most inspiring to me is that her mother - who was there - has never told her she can’t do either of those things.  I like to think Jonas Sulk had a mother like that.  I like to think the inventor of the polio vaccine was never told he couldn’t cure it.  I like to think the person who cures cancer hasn’t yet been told she can’t do that.  I like to think she has a teacher like this little girl who responds to her request to pick up trash on her recess hour every day, not with a discouraging diatribe, but a pair of rubber gloves.
                She sees the world as it is AND how it could be.  And I firmly believe at its core, this was the mission of Christ.  What more is building the Kingdom of God than showing us the world as it is and what it could be?  What more is redemption than seeing what is and helping it become what it could – what it was meant – to be?  And if redemption is seeing what is, what can be, and working to achieve that… then where is the greatest redemptive power in the world?  In a child.
                And Christ calls us to see children, and become like them.  The kingdom belongs to them and we’re not getting in like this.  The kingdom doesn’t belong to our maturity, our realism, our material accumulation, our wisdom, our insight, our manners or etiquette.  The kingdom doesn’t belong to our rules or denomination, our curriculums and courses, books, or our devotion.  We’ve read for weeks that there is a time for every purpose, and each of those has a time.  But none of those is of value unless we approach them as a child… seeing what is and what can be.  Our ability to be awed and inspired is essential.
                We see this in the words of Christ and even in the person and experience of Jesus and his family.  When Jesus, is no older than Berkley here, Mary and Joseph find him in the temple, reading and teaching.  This is an important moment!  The only one we get of Jesus as a teen, a child.  Mary and Joseph find him.  They find him because they lost him.  Can we appreciate just for a moment that in all of history, God chose these two people to be his only son’s guardians?!  He clearly did not choose them for their observational skills.  They lost their son for days, it tells us.  Whoops.  They wandered Jerusalem like the first Evangelicals going door to door, “Have you found Jesus?”  I like to think God chose them because these were people who could see Jesus for the child of God he was and encourage him to see the world as it is and how it could be.  That they could let him be the one to change it.  As impossible as it may have seemed to them.  And scary for two young parents.
                What if our children told us they were going to change the world?  Fix the ozone layer?  Save every endangered animal?  Bring peace to the Middle East?  End homelessness or world hunger?  What if we believed them?  What if we let them?  What if we followed their example?  How dream killing would it be to encourage our children to only accomplish as much as we have as individuals or as a generation.  Our redeemer didn’t settle.  And our redeemer doesn’t call us to settle.
                When I was just a child, a youth minister at a Presbyterian church in Columbia, SC offered a prayer at a Super Bowl party.  He said in this prayer, “Lord, even as we enjoy the Super Bowl football game, help us be mindful of those who are without a bowl of soup to eat.”  His young people could see this need.  And these children of God could see a world where that need didn’t exist.  Next Sunday, our children will collect cans of soup and monetary donations for Rowan Helping Ministries, as a part of Souper Bowl of Caring, which has now raised over $10 million nation-wide in 24 years for local food pantries.
                Our church, like most churches in Salisbury, and in this country, is in deep need of commitment, the commitment of the time, talent, and treasures of the disciples on our roles.  I could tell you how much our elementary kids need Sunday school teachers, how much our confirmands need mentors, how much our middle and high school kids need youth and mission leaders, and Kathy would probably love it if I made that pitch right now and reminded you our email addresses are in the bulletin.  (wink wink)  But I’m going to tell you right now that the best reason to do any of these things is because that’s who the kingdom belongs to.  You’re not gonna read it in a book or hear it in our sermons.  You will only begin to learn how to be more like them by being with them.  Spend time with them, watch them, love them, soak it up.
                How will you know it’s working?  It’ll be little things at first.  You might find yourself saying, “Wow” more.  When’s the last time you did that?  Maybe you’ll ask more questions.  One study says the average 4 year old asks 437 questions a day.  When did you last do that?  Maybe writing a blue card for someone won’t feel like enough.  You’ll want to make someone a dinner or sit with them and cry.  Maybe you won’t be able to eat your lunch knowing you passed someone on the way to work who probably hasn’t eaten that much in days.  Maybe you’ll start keeping cans of food and socks in your car because seeing someone in need will rip you to shreds if you can’t share the abundance you have.
                We like words like believer, follower, and disciple.  We like them because we think of them as being mature and adult-like.  When – in fact – Jesus defines them as the opposite.  The depth and breadth of the belief of any child cannot be matched by an adult.  The ability and desire to follow a parent or teacher is most profound in a child.  And to be a disciple of the one who always called our Lord, father, to be blessed… was to be a child of God.  Who are you?  Turn to your neighbor and say, “I am a child of God.”  Because brothers and sisters, if that is true, then every word of Jesus makes sense.  Of course we are called to love one another.  Of course we are called to share, to care, to help, to give, to heal, to visit, to seek and to save.  Otherwise, it’s a crazy message.  It’s not for adults.  It’s not for rational people with safety concerns, financial goals and budgets, phobias and fears, a lifetime of hurt, abandonment, rejection, and pity.  The message of grace… undeserved… unearned… unfair… beautiful grace… that’s for us.  And who are you?  I am a child of God. 
                Walk out of this place today and open your eyes.  Spend this week watching children.  Spend this week opening your eyes and heart to being more like a child.  Feel – everything.  See the world as it is, in every painful and beautiful detail, every problem, every miracle.  And see it as it can be.  Every solution, every way you can help, every way someone wants to.  Dare your kids to dream big.  Let them believe they can do anything God calls them to do.  Ask them every day what they see and what they imagine.  Let them believe.  And believe it with them.

And all God’s children said… “Amen.”

Charge & Benediction:  When I was a teenager going out for the night with my friend, his mother would tell us, "Remember who you are!"  Who are you? (Congregational response: A child of God)  Leave here remembering who and whose you are and that every person you meet is a child of God like you.  Know that you go nowhere alone, but that the Holy Spirit goes with you this day and always.  Amen.

Monday, December 2, 2013


                I have a confession to make.  I have never preached under one of these things (the sounding board dangling above my head from a chain in the sanctuary) and I’m super wary about it.  I have someone out there who has promised to give me a signal if it looks like it’s going to fall.  So I do feel like I’m in less danger.  But I can’t say the same for you.  It’s dangerous to ask the pastor who works with the youth to preach.  He might make you… participate.  I’m going to ask you to do something dangerous… for a 7:00 evening service after a large soup supper… I’m going to ask you to close your eyes.  Go ahead.  Close your peepers.
                I want you to think back a very short time to dinner tonight.  I want you to picture what it was like sitting at your table.  In your mind, look around you.  Who is there?  Is it family?  Is it friends from church?  Maybe some new faces?  Are your children there?  Your parents?  Who is swirling about?  Is there a youth in a bright t-shirt asking for your drink order?  Or an adult telling a youth to ask you for your drink order?  What’s in front of you?  Did you get a big bowl of soup?  Some Chili?  Some homemade bread?  Is it warm and inviting?  Are the smells rising up with the warmth and filling your senses?  Try to imagine taking a bite, what it tasted like, how it smelled, how it felt to be warmed by it.
                Now, without opening your eyes, try to imagine tomorrow.  Imagine sitting down to that meal.  Imagine the people there.  Imagine the feeling as you look around at your loved ones, your family and friends, perhaps people you haven’t seen in a while, or people more new to you.  Imagine the food on the table.  Favorite dishes, traditions, things you skip but someone else loves dearly, the side dish or the pie that someone else makes perfectly.  Let those emotions of the day, the highs and the stress, the joy and the busyness fill you for a moment.  Now open your eyes.  Now give a soft elbow to the person on either side of you… just in case.
                I want to suggest a few things.  I want to suggest that the Passover meal Jesus shared with his disciples, his followers, his brothers, those with whom he’d shared so many meals before, so many homes, so many stories, so much shared joy and misery… was much like what you experienced tonight or what you may experience tomorrow.  We know that Jesus knew what was coming.  We know that could not have been easy.  But I remember my last Thanksgiving with my extended family that my grandfather was present.  I think he knew it was his last.  And I remember him looking around, taking it all in, surrounded by a large family he had loved so well, loved till the end, and I remember the joy in his eyes… And I think THAT is what Christ felt in those moments of his last supper.
                I think too often we are subconsciously influenced even by the term “last supper.”  The only people who have last suppers, last meals… are death row inmates, alone, facing execution for their crimes, unsure of what will come.  But Jesus had committed no crime.  And Jesus was not alone.  And Jesus knew the good that was to come.  I don’t think Jesus faced this meal as a last supper.  I think Jesus celebrated this meal like my grandfather did.  I believe that Jesus looked around the room at those he loved and drank it all in.  I think he ate the food, which must have been so familiar, so steeped in Jewish ritual and tradition.  This was the Jewish Thanksgiving.  It still is.  It’s the meal where they recount the story of their ancestors who escaped bondage and religious persecution and traveled to a new land, a land with new people, a land that was not easy, but full of promise.  And this history was not one of a perfect people making good choices, but of an imperfect people who did not always listen to God.
                The Jews gathered then and now to recount their THANKFULNESS to God for rescuing them, leading them, sparing them, and providing for them in the midst of their hardship and mistakes.  And this makes this story remarkably similar to our own history, and our celebration of thanks, with all its complications and mess.  And like the Jews, we prepare our feasts, our traditional meals, be they turkey or tofurkey, or in the case of my aunt and uncle one year, just side dishes, after they locked their turkey in an oven cleaning cycle…  And we enjoy the company of those we love and reflect on our year and that for which we are most thankful.
                So why does any of this matter, Brian?  Well, you’ve been very good.  You played along with me.  I’m thankful for a room full of Presbyterians who all just played pretend with me and used their imaginations.  J  This matters because this table at which we gather for the Lord’s Supper, for what we call the Great Thanksgiving… is a place of mystery and of imagination.  When we gather, we read words and gather as a people to do this in remembrance of Christ, someone we’ve never met in the corporeal sense, in the flesh.  And how we remember Christ as we come to table matters.  If we only remember the death of Christ, we are only remembering a fraction of the miraculous gift from God.  After it, there is a remarkable resurrection… and before it… well, before it is a humble birth and an amazing life.
And if we are to remember and imagine a part of that meal in the breaking of the bread and the pouring of the cup, perhaps it would serve us to think less of a last supper, and more of a Passover meal… a meal of thanksgiving.  Imagine again with me.  You don’t have to close your eyes.  But imagine… not a last supper before an execution… (this isn’t his funeral) but a thanksgiving meal surrounded by all the comforts of familiar favorite delights, smells, sounds of laughter, and the sight of those you hold most dear.  Hold those feelings from moments ago, those emotions.
When you leave here, I want to ask of you two things.  First, tomorrow, as you sit down with family or friends, or by yourself, I want you to imagine this as your Passover feast.  I want you to imagine what it was like for Jesus and his disciples.  And then… the next time you come to this table, I want you to remember that meal, or any Thanksgiving meal.  And I want you to think not just of the gift of Jesus’ death, but also of his resurrection, his life, his joy, and his love, and the family and friends Jesus held dear in those moments.  We are a people whose identity is shaped by the gathering at this table.  We do this in remembrance of him.  Let us imagine him fully.  Let us remember him well.

Let us pray.

Tuesday, September 17, 2013

REMOVED (see: Rescued) from Church (a Thank You for Children's Church)

Thank you!  I want to take a moment to say thank you to my Sunday school teachers, educators, and ministers.  I want to say thank you for Children’s Church.  Why?  Because it’s not in VOGUE among my peers just now.  And it makes me bats-in-the-belfry crazy.

My mother was a GREAT mom.  One her many mommy parenting success secrets was our play pen.  These were also not in vogue when my mother was raising us.  Other parents would give her anything from a look of surprise to a look of disgust when she told them she had and used a play pen.  You really contain/imprison/restrict your children like that?!  No, my mother was a genius.  A play pen wasn’t just containment.  It was safety when she needed to answer the door or the phone or respond to an emergency.  And when my little sister came along, she had safe sanctuary from a rough and tumble boy while she played and imagined.  I was not allowed in or near the play pen by then and it was her world.  And over the years, it was a boat, a fort, a castle, and so many other fun things for us both.  Used with love and creativity to a purpose, it was wonderful.

What does this have to do with Children’s Church?  Children’s church was a time during the worship service when we were removed from the service.  (I’ll wait for all you new age parents to get your jaws off the floor and begin painting your protest signs and preparing your blog reposts about the value of screaming children during the sermon)  You done yet?  Great.

We were never removed for the whole service (infants were never there for the whole service, but were cared for by very happy folks in the church, many of whom were grandparent age or not yet parents and got their baby fix during this time).  We, as children, were there for all the call to worship, singing, reading of scripture, and children’s sermon (which included baptisms whenever they happened).  Then, we left before the sermon.  Brilliant.

Why?  Because I (and so many kids) were distracting, disruptive, loud, and a handful during the sermon?  YES.  AND… no.  That was a huge help, yes.  My mom, who often attended by herself, was able to sit and focus on the sermon and her adult walk in faith.  And when I hit middle school or thereabouts, I could begin doing the same.  There was plenty of rambunctious activity all during the beginning of the service, awkward loud questions, outbursts, messes.  And yes, that made a joyful noise and was part of us being the whole body of Christ.  It was a joyous cacophony.  But that wasn’t the only reason to have Children’s Church.  It wasn’t just to clear out the distractions at half time.

Having Children’s Church DID teach me.  And it didn’t teach me OR the parents that I wasn’t welcome in church.  My teachers used that time to teach me ABOUT church.  They taught me Bible stories and songs.  They taught me how to sing with my friends, how to play with them, how to respect them, how to listen when someone else was telling us all something important, how to share, how to pass things, how to be kind, why we worship, who we worship, how we worship.  It PREPARED me to actually worship.  It was the Mr. Rogers time I needed as a kid to learn how to be me in my church.  I was taught how to prepare my heart and mind, something lacking in so many.  I see so many teens and young adults tuned out, bored, on their phone, reading a book during worship.  It’s often not because they don’t believe or they’re bored.  They and their parents often tell me that it’s because they don’t know how to focus those hearts and minds or to spend that community time attuned.  It’s so rarely simply a lack of respect, but a lack of awareness.

We have a Sunday school class for confirmands, our eighth graders at my church.  Are most of them mentally and emotionally prepared to attend the high school class?  Could they grasp the material intellectually and even behave well enough to not be a distraction?  Most of them, yes.  But we don’t give them a separate class just to not be a distraction from the lesson in the high school class.  We pull them aside for a year to PREPARE them for the high school class, the high school youth group.  They are not excluded from youth activities or worship or the life of the whole church.  But they are pulled aside for part of the time in order to teach them what it means to be an adult in the Church, to grow them in their faith at this important time, to help them mature.

This is why I am so deeply thankful to my teachers and ministers.  They showed me love, and they helped me grow by using the time in worship to prepare me.  I got to participate in the full worship time more and more as I grew from an infant to a child to an adult in my church.  When my mother taught us to swim, she started us in the kiddy pool and then the shallow end and eventually the deep end and diving board.  As an adult, I do not begrudge her for limiting my access to the entire pool before I learned to swim.  It wasn’t about the splashing and ruckus I might cause that would impede divers or lap swimmers, though I would have, and that would be a good enough reason!  It was about preparing me for greater and greater participation as I learned and grew, with more and more responsibility at each step.  Maybe we could begin thinking of children in worship like that.  Their participation is desired and a joy, and to make it meaningful, we should prepare them and teach them and ready them as they mature and grow.  Loving our kids requires patience and preparation beyond exposure.  I am glad so many people in my young life recognized that.  It has served me well.