Faith’s risky adventure

Last week’s theological insights came from kids at Vacation Bible School, where I was leading ”Bible Journey,” one of the activity stations that groups of school-age kids visited each morning. Before we began on the first day, I asked the obligatory question: “Who can tell us what a ‘journey’ is?” My favorite description was from a little girl: “It’s like going somewhere, like an adventure.”

It was my favorite because one of my long-standing pet peeves with church in general is that we too often domesticate the whole business of church and discipleship. Sure, we talk about following Jesus, which is indeed an amazing and often risky adventure. But then we focus on God’s protectiveness, safety, home, and shelter, and we end up domesticating discipleship by draining it of all its adventure and risk. Certainly, I’m grateful for all those protective and safe aspects of God, too, but churches get off-balance when then overemphasize them. When they do, they often struggle to reach men and boys of all ages, and they struggle to retain young people at the time in their lives they are most interested in risky adventures: when they are teenagers and young adults.

Since that’s a frequent rant of mine, I was even more thrilled at the end of the treasure story on the first VBS day. I asked the group a common Godly Play question: “I wonder which part of the story is most about you?” A little boy responded, “The adventure part!”

On Thursday, we came back to this theme with the story of the Good Shepherd, a combination of John 10 and Psalm 23.

The tyranny of seeds

As I look ahead to this Sunday’s texts, I see a theme that used to be one of my favorite topics: seeds. Today, it’s not my favorite topic, as I’m pretty annoyed with the seeds I know.

Annoyance doesn’t make much sense, because these seeds are just doing what they do: they’re growing. About a month ago, I hopped on the grow-your-own-vegetables bandwagon and planted a vegetable garden from seeds. I’ve been composting for a few years now, so I had mixed in a heap of compost to prepare the soil for planting. So, it’s not only the seeds I planted which are now growing–there are all kinds of who-knows-what plants growing out of the compost. (I used to think this was kind of cool. Now that I have a plan for my garden, thankyouverymuch, I find it, well, annoying.)

So now my garden is full of green things–almost none of which I can identify, having never grown vegetables from seed before (or grown them at all, for that matter). I’m afraid most of them are acorn squash, which I have no interest in growing. (Note to self: squash seeds go in the trash from now on, not the compost!) And even if I knew which plants to take out, I can’t really do the weeding now after a minor car accident which makes that kind of kneeling/bending work difficult. So I think it’s going to be survival-of-the-fittest out there for a while.

Which brings me to Mark 4:26-27: “Jesus also said, ‘The kingdom of God is as if someone would scatter seed on the ground, and would sleep and rise night and day, and the seed would sprout and grow, he does not know how.’ ” Kingdom of God aside, that’s pretty much how it’s working out there in my yard. Jesus goes on to compare the kingdom to a mustard seed, a tiny seed which was known for getting into gardens and growing all over the place (even more than acorn squash).

Unlike me, Jesus does not seem annoyed by this. Perhaps his approach to planning gardens is different from mine.

Photo: “Mustard Seeds Germinating” by Swami Stream, licensed by Creative Commons.

Graduating, ascending, commencing

Fifteen years ago today, I graduated from Amherst College on a beautiful New England day. In the photos, the day looks sunny, and I look happy. (I was also surrounded by a whole lot more people than in the photo above from flickr.) You can’t tell from the photos whether that happiness was looking backward or looking forward–it was probably some of both. 

May 22, 2009 has been a much less momentous day than May 22, 1994. I’ve spent this day off writing, cleaning, and pondering Jesus’ ascension into heaven after his resurrection (Luke 24:44-53 and Acts 1:6-11). Ascension Day was actually yesterday, but since we didn’t have a mid-week Ascension worship, our congregation will celebrate this Sunday. 

As the story is told in Acts, while the disciples watched, Jesus was “lifted up, and a cloud took him out of their sight” (v.9). Jesus disappears, and heavenly beings appear.

Abide, abide, abide

Once again this coming Sunday, the gospel is John 15, where there’s a lot of “abiding” going on. At least in the King James and New Revised Standard Versions of the Bible, that’s the word–Jesus abides with/in his followers, and his followers abide in Jesus, his words, and his love. When I ask people what this word “abide” makes them think of, they suggest images of “place”–living, staying, dwelling. Not a bad thing, but when I think of preaching to those who are in transition or on a spiritual journey, that image of “abide” doesn’t seem to fit very well.  If we’re supposed to “abide” in God, how do you talk about the big moves and changes to which life calls us sometimes?

Laying down one’s life

 Well past time to catch up on blogging, after much traveling for meetings…. Tonight I’m contemplating John 10 for Sunday’s sermon. In John 10:1-18 Jesus compares himself to a shepherd, a common image for God in the Hebrew Scriptures also. The comparison leads to a challenge for his followers, when the implications of Jesus “lay(ing) down his life for the sheep” become clear. 

Alas, neither of my favorite John 10 verses (3 and 10) appears in Sunday’s passage, which is only verses 11-18. But there is a word here that I find intriguing, which might help interpret the challenge.

Maundy Thursday: Loving consciously & concretely

Every now and then in ministry I seem to get stuck on one channel, and right now it’s Communion (a.k.a. the Lord’s Supper, Eucharist): exploring it with 5th-graders, teaching it to middle school confirmation students, and preaching on Maundy Thursday.

Maundy Thursday is an interesting worship service for many reasons, but this year, I’m particularly intrigued by the way it combines two quite different stories of Jesus’ “Last Supper” before his arrest and execution.

Surviving winter

 

 

 

 

Despite threats of snow for this weekend, the first day of spring today was absolutely gorgeous here in Reno–bright sunshine, short-sleeves weather. It was my day off to boot, so I had some time to clean up the garden after winter. Clearing out old leaves and remnants of last year’s annuals, pruning, feeding, hoping that the coming snow won’t cause problems to my fragile plants.

I love spring, but as a gardener I get nervous at this time of year. I don’t yet trust my plants and trees to make it through the winter, even after they came back last year at this time.

“Cafeteria spirituality” and Numbers

Today in the daily Bible reading we finished the book of Numbers, so I figured I’d better say something about it before we move on Deuteronomy. Here’s what strikes me: this book is a perfect candidate for the saying, “Take what you like, and leave the rest.”

The Christians I know don’t use this saying all that much, for good reasons. Given the opportunity, it would be easy to “take” comforting things like God’s love and forgiveness, and “leave” hard things like God’s call to justice and service. But the truth is, we don’t get to pick and choose the attributes or stories of God which confirm our own choices and attitudes.

With Numbers, that’s a shame.

Faith and (in?) Leviticus

In the daily Bible readings, tomorrow we read the last three chapters of Leviticus. It’s been a bit of a challenge, which is to be expected, I suppose–all these instructions on sacrifices, the role and rules for priests, laws for purity, etc. Today, I had lunch with the rabbi of the Reform synagogue in my neighborhood, asking her for tips on how to answer congregation members who ask me, “Why should I bother to read this? What does it have to do with my faith?”

Of course, it’s not only for my congregation but also for myself. I’ve written before about how surprised I was recently to rediscover the Ten Commandments as amazingly relevant to my faith, well beyond keeping behavior in line. Maybe Leviticus held some surprises too.

Leviticus & my ordination

Today is the seventh anniversary of my ordination on February 10, 2002. That year, it was the day we celebrated the Transfiguration, which was an added bonus. This year, I began the day with a surprising remembrance of the occasion.

For those of us at my church reading through the Bible this year, today we read Leviticus 7-9, which tells the story of Aaron’s ordination. (Such unexpected connections are one of the reasons I enjoy this daily Bible reading.) Here are the top five ways that my ordination differed from that of Aaron and his sons: