Spiritual But Not Religious

Lillian Daniel is senior pastor of First Congregational Church, United Church of Christ, in Glen Ellyn, Illinois.  She published an explosive article over a year ago that’s still reverberating throughout mainline Protestant conversations.  It’s titled “Spiritual But Not Religious? Please Stop Boring Me.”  I also found this recent interview of Rev. Daniel very helpful.  I’ve been pondering her assertions since I read her article. 

She refutes the idea that those who claim to be “spiritual but not religious” are somehow unique or on a higher plane than those who participate in a religious community.  She unabashedly defends the benefits of being part of a congregation, and says she is done apologizing for Christian churches and pastors who are nothing like her and the congregation she serves.  She’s direct, unapologetic, and forceful.

Rev. Daniel is careful to say she isn’t speaking to those who’ve left after being hurt by the church.  Every pastor has heard story after story from people whose deep pain cuts our hearts and stirs up our righteous anger toward hurtful congregations and pastors.  Yet often these congregations aren’t anything like hers, and she’s tired of people lumping all of Christianity together.

Her words hit a nerve.  Her article is polarizing—some are profoundly offended, others are energized.  Her article has almost 600 comments on The Huffington Post, many of them critical.  I heard Rev. Daniel speak about this topic at the Festival of Homiletics in Atlanta last May.  The audience was made up of a thousand pastors from many different denominations.  She received a standing ovation.    

A particular comment in the interview I reference above has stayed with me:

When I speak on this topic people often accuse me of not being compassionate, and often it’s my fellow mainline clergy in the Protestant world, particularly in the liberal traditions, and I myself am in the liberal Protestant tradition. Their attitude seems to be, “These are wounded people, and if we are just kind and nice and listen to them, they will show up in our pews.” I think that’s been the mainline evangelism project for the last 50 years: “If we’re nice, they will come.” And how’s it working for us?

Pastors (often women pastors) use niceness as a crutch.  There is terror in the possibility someone will think we’re opinionated, direct and unapologetic.  We diminish our extensive training and education that qualify us to preach, teach and guide.  This translates into our congregations.  The upheld and cherished value becomes “we’re a nice congregation.”  When people ask what they love about their church, the answer is “We’re friendly and welcoming.”  Or—“Our pastor is really nice.”  Or—“We’re not like that church down the road.”  We don’t expect anything of our congregations.  And in Minnesota, the cultural values line up well.

So often our evangelism tactic is purely reactive.  We're so afraid of offending we start every conversation with a new person with an apology.  “I’m sorry, but I don’t think I know you.”  “I’m sorry, do you understand our antiquated bulletin?”  Or—even worse—we become so paralyzed by fear we don’t approach anyone new.  Or—even worse than that—we’re apathetic about our church and don’t think anyone would really want what we have to offer.  We’re surprised when we see new members join, and we hope they stick around even after they discover our foibles.  We try to please and we forget to challenge.

I find Rev. Daniel's unabashed love for her congregation and denomination refreshing and inspiring.  She sincerely believes being part of a religious community is valuable and life-changing.  She believes the church offers crucial benefits to our faith.  She claims participating in a church is deeper and more meaningful than reading The New York Times or hiking in the woods on Sunday mornings.  To be a part of a religious community means to be fed, shaped and inspired.  She’s proud of what her community has to offer and she doesn’t apologize. 

Evangelism comes from our hearts.  It’s not about filling pews to balance the budget.  True evangelism grows from our own unabashed love for our church and our faith.  We evangelize when we show others how our faith has made a difference in our lives.  We move others when we’re honest about our belief in God and the role of our religious community.  We don’t need to apologize for the inspiration and guidance we find in our church.  Rather, we boldly claim our faith changes us, and being challenged by our religious communities is integral to our growth.  We pray people in our communities are challenged and stretched.

We’ve been nice long enough.  It’s time to be proud and challenging and confident.  Let’s embrace the countless way our religious communities make a difference.  Let’s sing their praises and claim our unique offerings to the world.  We have much to offer. 

Christmas Sermon

Sermon for 12-24-12

Text: Luke 2:1-20

Let us pray:  God Incarnate, God with us, enter into our lives this day and every day.  May the Good News of Jesus Christ claim our hearts and give us hope in the midst of our everyday lives.  Amen.

I’m going to share something with all of you.

I’m a bit of a Scrooge.

I have a strong stubborn streak, and whenever I’m faced with expectations about how I’m supposed to act or be, I get bucky. 

I get bucky about Christmas.

The expectations are overwhelming.  I don’t enjoy wrapping presents (I said it!).  I don’t like crowds, so taking the kids to see Santa is painful.  I don’t like being told I’m supposed to be cheerful and happy.  Sometimes I am happy.  Sometimes I want to be grumpy at Christmas, or sad, or disappointed or tired.

I get caught up in the idea that somehow I am holding Christmas up—holding it all together. That if I slip and let something fall, Christmas won’t be right.  What if I don’t get the Christmas cards out on time?  What if I don’t get that favorite cookie made?  What if I don’t get that present mailed?  There are so many expectations and so little time, and that makes me grumpy.

Christmas is hard to pin down because each one can be so different, and it changes as we get older.  

Some Christmases can never be replicated.  I’ll never again have a Christmas like the one when I was in elementary school—when Santa brought me a red-haired Cabbage Patch doll named Jill. 

I’ll never again have a Christmas like the first time I led Christmas Eve worship as a pastoral intern in Boise, ID and I went out to Olive Garden with the Associate Pastor between services and my husband and I spent a quiet Christmas Day together—just the two of us—our very first Christmas together as a married couple. 

I’ll never have a Christmas like my first leading a congregation in a church in a tiny town, when a young boy came back to my office with me after the service, chatting the entire time.  When we came back to the sanctuary, everyone was gone, including his family (his parents and his grandparents each assumed the other had taken him).  We waited together in the dark and quiet church, looking out at the cold and snow.

And now I have Christmases with my own kids, which brings a specialness of its own.

I know you can all share a multitude of Christmas memories.  Each Christmas is different, and we collect Christmas stories as the years go on.

I’ve spent Christmases full of new and profound grief, Christmases spent sleeping as I recovered from intense college finals weeks, Christmases when my whole family got the stomach flu and threw up together, Christmases trying to blend two families, Christmases changed by divorce, Christmases ending old traditions and starting new ones.

Christmas is full of memories, hopes, dreams, expectations, stress, disappointment, joy, strife, and grief.  As we get older, we realize many of the Christmas songs we love are full of longing and feel bittersweet.  The Christmas hymns we sing are full of memories and carry history in our hearts and as we get older they become bittersweet as well.  

Christmas is fickle, and every year is different—some years are great and some years aren't so great.

But one thing is always the same.

Every year, we hear this Christmas story from the book of Luke.

Every year, we hear about Jesus arriving in a humble stable to people just like us, people harried and not quite ready for his arrival.  The angels visited a group of shepherds, who were people on the outskirts of society, able to give nothing. 

Jesus doesn’t come after we have it all together.  Jesus doesn’t wait to arrive until after all the presents are wrapped and under the tree and the house is clean and ready for guests.  Jesus doesn’t wait until we’re appropriately cheerful and full of the Christmas spirit.  Jesus doesn’t wait until our relationships are mended and we’re finally nice to that uncle who we have to invite over for the holidays. 

Jesus doesn’t wait until our faith is strong.

Jesus arrives in the middle of all of it.  God chooses Mary and Joseph as his parents, people who are young and unsure and scared—and who aren’t ready for him.  God surprises the shepherds while they sleep and watch over their flocks on the hill. 

Christmas is not about us.  We’re not holding it up.  Even if we have the worst Christmas ever, even if we don’t buy a single present or bake a single Christmas cookie, God arrives.  Even if the hardships of life bear down upon us and we feel like we’ve completely given up on God, God arrives in the midst of it all and says, “Do not be afraid.  I bring you Good News.  For this day a child has been born for YOU, who is Christ the Lord.  All is well.”  God hasn’t given up on you.

It doesn’t matter what kind of a Christmas you’re having.  If you’re having a wonderful Christmas this year, be thankful and blessed.  If you’re having a terrible Christmas, be lifted up by the hope and new future given to us all by the birth of a baby boy.  May God’s unconditional love surround you and give you comfort and joy this season.

Now let’s keep singing and rejoicing, no matter what.

Amen!

No One Could Blow Them Out

Before worship yesterday, I pondered what I would say about the horrific events in Connecticut. The children were leading worship so I wasn't preaching.  I decided to light two candles on the altar in remembrance (thankfully realizing 28 lit candles wouldn't mix well with wiggly, excited kids) and say some brief words at the beginning of worship.  I wanted to be vague (so I wouldn't scare any children) and talk about how our act of worship--led by our children--was our way to stand in the face of unimaginable violence.

When I stood up in front of the congregation to say my opening remarks, I directly faced the kids bouncing around at the entrance to the sanctuary, waiting to process in.  They sparkled with energy (not only because many of them wore itchy shiny gold halos).  I could almost see the cloud of nervous joy rise up like dust around their feet.  They were safe, enjoying life, and surrounded by people who love them.  My gratefulness at this simple morning overwhelmed me and the emotions were too much.  I stood in front of the congregation without words, and we wept together in grief and thankfulness for the lives of our children and children everywhere.

I'll never forget how the children led worship yesterday--not because it was perfect but because it was profoundly meaningful.  I'll remember the twins who geared themselves up to say their lines by taking a moment to breathe deeply and say "Okay!" to themselves.  And the girl who ran past the microphone, barely getting her line out before disappearing into the pews.  And the girl who stood an extra moment in the spotlight, grinning out at the crowd.  And the boy who tripped over his flowing robe, and the girl who spoke so eloquently I had a vision of her as a future teacher, and the boy who said his lines so earnestly, and the sisters with the matching pigtails and smiles, and the boy who took a bit longer than the rest to line up to sing, and the tiny girl who stole the whole show.  And the words of Scripture, words of hope and prophecy reminding us to love our neighbor, read by children's voices.

After worship, I became distracted by conversations and a long meeting.  When most people had left, I turned out the lights in the quiet building.  I noticed two candles still burning on the altar.  No one could blow them out.

8 Lessons I’ve Learned After 8 Years of (Mostly) Solo Ministry

I’m not a seasoned pastor by any means, but this list is full of what I’ve learned at the beginning of my career in ministry.  The lessons, both painful and enlightening, are still fresh in my mind, so here they are, written as for a new pastor:                 

1. Network.

Having a group of other pastors to talk honestly with and glean ideas from is essential.  If you aren’t part of a weekly text study, join one.  If you can’t find one, start one.  It'll be your lifeline and your weekly sanity check.  The resources you’ll share and receive will be invaluable.  My first call was in a very rural area and the pastors in my text study shared my weekly frustrations, lonely days and celebrations.  I developed a beloved friendship with a wise pastor whose passion for rural ministry still showed after 40 years.  Recently my family and I visited him and his wife in their new retirement home.  We hadn’t seen each other for a few years, but the continued warmth and support was evident as they served us a special lunch and he set up his trains in the basement so my son could play.  You’ll need the help and support of fellow pastors, and a few of these relationships become sacred.  Be active about searching them out.            

 

2. Listen to friends and family.

You’ll also need to be intentional about keeping up your friendships outside the church and spending time with your family.  Ministry lends itself to living in a bubble and it’s important to leave it periodically.  Get some real-world perspective.  Have fun.  If they think you’re working too much, burning yourself out, or becoming weirdly focused on liturgical traditions/writing down every single sermon illustration you notice/rehashing a conversation with a congregation member, you are.  Listen to them.   

           

2. There will always be another Advent.

I remember planning my first liturgical season.  I was convinced it had to be the best! Lent! Ever! After a few seasons of this, I realized there will always be another Advent—that’s the beauty of a church year.  Pace yourself.  Church work is a marathon, and if you run at a sprinter’s pace you’ll tire quickly.  You don’t need to find room this year for every beautiful confession or every single Advent hymn. 

4. Failure is the only option.

Get comfortable with spectacular, public failure because you’ll experience a lot of it.  You can’t preach most Sundays for many years without preaching a terrible sermon.  And by terrible, I mean a sermon you preach as quickly as possible and immediately burn.  I guarantee you’ll plan some wonderful programs and no one will show up.  The bulletin will have embarrassing misprints and you’ll forget the name of the baby you’re about to baptize.  All of these are great learning experiences and will only make you better prepared for what’s ahead.  They’re painful but necessary.  They also make you appreciate the programs that do work and the sermons you’re very proud to preach.  And don’t forget the Holy Spirit works mysteriously in the midst of it all.  Pastors need lots of grace, and ministry doesn’t let us forget it.

Besides, parishioners love to see your human side and tease you for your mistakes.

5. Ministry is all trial and error.

Don’t let the failures get you down.  Risk is an essential part of ministry.  You’ll take all sorts of creative, personal, and public risks.  Often you won’t know what works with a congregation until you try it.  If no one shows up for a program, use that information to hone your future planning.  If you try something and many people get angry, you’ve discovered an area of passion. 

People will complain and grumble.  Trying to please them all will paralyze you and your ministry.  Let go and embrace risks as an individual and as a community.

 

6. Strategize.

So many people want so much of my time that I need to do lots of prioritizing—and saying no.  Know what’s essential.  I once had a rural pastor tell me there are three things every pastor needs to do: preach the best you can, visit people in their homes, and love their kids.  I find if I faithfully do hospital and home visits, preach thoughtful and well-prepared sermons, and honestly engage the youth of the congregation I serve, I receive a lot of grace when it comes to evening meetings and bulletin misprints.  Good preaching takes time, and that means something else has to give.  Every context is different, but you’ll need to find out what matters most to a congregation—and you—so you can prioritize.

Play up your strengths and interests and recognize your weak areas.  Don’t just go with a canned Confirmation program.  What interests you?  Do you love world religions or pop culture?  Are you a musical or movie or sports buff?  Incorporate your passions into your teaching and preaching.  If you’re excited about a topic, chances are the congregation will be too, and you’ll all have more fun.  Look for people with different strengths than yours and let them handle your weak areas.  You’re not expected to do everything, even though we pastors like to think we can.

Enjoy the slow weeks.  You’ll have lots of crazy weeks with funerals and retreats and Holy Week (sometimes all in the same week).  When you encounter one of the magical weeks without Confirmation or sermon planning, take an afternoon or an extra day off, and enjoy it.  And for goodness' sake, take all your vacation!

7. Find good feedback.

You need good feedback to hone your skills and tap into the congregation’s passions.  You’ll need to double-check your missional direction.  Find a few trusted people in the congregation to give you honest, helpful, constructive feedback and check in with them often.  Be careful they don’t become feeders for congregational complaints.  Rather, use them as your eyes and ears in the congregation.  What’s working well?  Why is a certain area lacking energy?  Let them take the pulse of the church for you.

8. People like to feel useful.

Stop prefacing requests with “I’m sorry, but…” or “If you’re not too busy…”  This has been the hardest lesson for me to learn.  I don’t like asking for help.  It’s been difficult for me to realize I’m inviting people into opportunities to serve, and many people like to feel useful.  By depending on the same few people I know will say yes, I end up with burned out volunteers.  Reach out and give new people the chance to participate.  Don’t be afraid of failure or people saying no.  Just keep asking.  Better yet, find people who have the gift of invitation to support you.  At one church I served, one woman recruited over 100 Vacation Bible School volunteers every year.  It was her ministry.  What a blessing! 

I end with a bonus lesson that overarches this whole list: trust your instincts.  You can read a ton of books about evangelism, pastoral care, preaching and administration.  Yes, there is always more to learn.  But only you know the church you serve.  You know their points of pride, their insecurities and their idiosyncrasies.  Trust yourself to translate what you’ve learned into their context.  Sometimes you need to leave the books on the shelf and go your own direction.  Just like your own list after eight years of ministry may look very different than mine.

Ministry is exhausting, unpredictable, and frustrating.  It's also exhilarating, profoundly meaningful, endlessly creative, and full of joy.  Pray for strength and patience, and know you’re not alone.  Take good care of yourself.  And remember—in the end it’s God’s ministry, not yours. 

Links for the Weekend

Stewardship’s been on my mind, so here are some great links about finances, giving, and living a meaningful life:

Do you want to give to the victims of Hurricane Sandy?  ELCA Disaster Response is one option.

I’ve been turning to The Simple Dollar for practical tips on finances and living a meaningful life.

How charitable are our communities?

Stressed that Christmas is only six weeks away?  Check out these six steps to a relaxed Christmas.

Exhaustion is not a status symbol.


And some random links:

Mark Hanson (presiding bishop of the ELCA) asks us the important question now that the election is over—now what?

Is church—as we’re currently doing it— not working?

If you don’t know about Rachel Held Evans, you need to.

Enjoy! 

Sermon for Sunday, November 11

This sermon was informed by the book Ministry and Money by Janet and Philip Jamieson--a wonderfully practical book for pastors.

Text: Malachi 3:8-12

Let us pray:  Giving God, grow in us generous hearts.  Help us to give, not out of guilt or only obedience, but out of joy and freedom, knowing you bless us with all we need.  In Jesus’ name, Amen.

When I first began planning for this eight-week Stewardship series, I wasn’t so sure about it.  Eight weeks is long time.  I worried some of you would get very tired of it.  I was afraid it would begin to feel like an eight-week-long fundraising effort.  In the midst of a presidential election, it could feel like overkill.

Yet I’m learning a lesson.  Stewardship is such a broad topic and covers so many parts of our Christian lives that I’m starting to feel like an eight-week series may be too short.  It’s a relevant and essential topic.  Stewardship is so basic to what we believe as Christians that it seeps into every area of faith.  As Lutherans we believe God blesses us first with mercy and forgiveness, and we live out our faith in response to those gifts.  It’s the same with Stewardship—God gives us gifts and talents and everything we need, and we give them away faithfully and joyfully. 

Stewardship is also relevant because it addresses the power money has over us in our everyday lives.  We make choices about money each day.  We worry about it.  It makes us feel stupid.  We feel trapped by it.  We enjoy it. 

The church has something very important to say about money.  As a theologian, I have something important to say about money.  If the church doesn’t talk about money, we’re missing a huge part of people’s lives.  There is a strong relationship between our faith and our finances and we need to discuss it.

So often we like to think of money itself as sinful.  Rather, money is neutral.  It’s simply a tool.  What we do with it reflects the state of our hearts.  We can allow it to have power over us, or we can use it to make a difference in the world and give us great joy.

Today’s Stewardship theme is tithing.  Here’s what I think about it, and here’s how I use the concept in my own life.

Tithing hasn’t always been easy for me.  When my husband and I began our first calls in small rural congregations, we had a lot of student debt that challenged and still challenges us in our ability to give.  For a long time I felt extraordinarily guilty about not being able to tithe.  My giving wasn’t joyful because I always felt badly that it wasn’t up to a tithe.  That magic 10% number haunted me.  It didn’t allow me to enjoy what I was giving. Yet we move closer and closer to our goals every year (even exceeding some), and we’ve found that the more we give, the more we want to give.  But we’ve forgotten about tithing.  Once we all reach that 10% number, why stop?

I know what the struggle to tithe involves.  I don’t think the concept of tithing is meant to guilt and shame us.  It’s an Old Testament concept—we heard it in our text from Malachi today.  Jesus barely talked about tithing, and it was only in warnings about religious hypocrisy—don’t claim you tithe just to impress others.  Tithing hasn’t always been the way the church has raised funds.  It’s actually a more modern concept from the past 100 years or so.

Here’s what I think about it:  It’s a good guideline.  It’s a great goal.  But it’s not meant to shame you.  It’s not an obligation.  And it’s not a graduation once you get there.  For God isn’t Lord over just 10% of our belongings.  God is Lord over all, including the other 90%.

I like the idea of a tithing as a spiritual discipline.  It’s something we practice doing—and it’s not always easy.  Tithing is meant to be inspiring, not shaming.  It’s meant to be exciting, not a heavy burden.  It’s meant to be a source of joy and not guilt.  It’s meant to free you, not entrap you in impossible expectations.  Give what you can, and pray that God will allow you to give more and more as you grow in this part of being a Christian.  Rejoice in what you can give, for God will use your gifts.  Our reading from Malachi says, “God will open the windows of heaven for you and pour down for you an overflowing blessing.”  God calls us to tithe, but I believe God will use whatever we give as a blessing to others and the world.

Of course, I think Christ the King is a worthy cause.  I believe in what we do here, or I wouldn’t be giving my career to the mission of this congregation.  I’ve seen lives changed by what we do.  Our mission is not to stabilize the budget, although we are responsible to keep it balanced.  Our mission is to make a difference, to eliminate suffering, to empower and heal people and families, to build relationships, and to spread the gospel.  Don’t give to the budget.  Our budget is a tool to foster our mission.  Give to the budget that allows us to do our mission.  Give to help us connect, and teach, and keep.

Give so we have a warm and welcoming building where people can come to have their children baptized, watch them get married, and bury their loved ones.

Give so kids have a safe place to come with people who care about them as they learn about what God means in their lives—and that they are important and valued children of God.  We make it a priority to have a Youth and Education Ministries Director.  Give so she can continue to empower the congregation to grow in its youth and education ministries.

Give so our musicians can continue to bless our worship with wonderful music.

Give so our outreach ministries can continue.  As a congregation, we tithe 10% of the money we take in each year.  As a congregation, we experience the freedom and joy of knowing God’s blessings aren’t something we need to keep all for ourselves.

I believe in what Christ the King does. There are countless other ways Christ the King lives out its mission.  I also believe in your generosity.  If you want to increase the mission of this church, please consider increasing your gifts—even by a little bit.

And don’t only give to the church.  Give to whatever makes your heart burn and ignites your passions.  Stewardship isn’t just about giving to the church.  It's a way of life!  Stewardship is about living generous lives that know freedom and joy.  What are you passionate about?  Is money holding you back from following your dreams?  Trust in God and take the leap!

May we all continue to grow into the freedom found in living generously.  May we hear God’s call to live with open hands.  One way to really make your faith feel real is to give—give what you can, and ask God to inspire and challenge you in your future giving. 

Amen.

A Prayer for Election Day

Listen to me, God.

I join in the chorus, loudly: I’m so tired of political ads.  My 2-year-old picked up the phrase, “I’m sick of this,” from hearing me say it every time an ad fills the TV screen or blurts through the radio, the announcer sounding so serious, as if I’ll trigger the apocalypse if I vote for the wrong candidate.

I feel anxious every time I hear about a poll.  The pollsters and slick media faces want me to worry, because it’ll pull me into the vicious circle.  Worry.  Get more information.  Worry some more.  Watch TV more.  Listen to the radio more.  Worry.

I wonder how I’ll feel on Wednesday morning.

I know what I want the results to be.  I know what I don’t want them to be.  I don’t trust those who think differently than me.  They don’t know the real story—the real consequences for their decisions.  They haven’t thought it through, because if they really, really thought about it, they’d see it my way.  They’d see I’m right.

The hardest part for me is realizing I’m not in control in a flawed system that will dictate my life.  I feel like the results of the vote will sit in my living room and I’ll have to walk around them like the beanbag chairs my kids drag around.  I’m out of control as I try to choose between two flawed candidates and vote on two flawed amendments.  Why can’t it be clear-cut?

I put it in your hands.  I don’t give you much, but this I will lay in your lap.  Gladly.

Give me strength, courage and compassion as I make the leap in the voting booth tomorrow.  Help me to think about those without a voice, because I need to speak for them.  Give me thoughts of children’s faces and those who are vulnerable and forgotten.  Is your Holy Spirit in the voting booth?  I hope it is.  Please, let it be.

On Wednesday morning, give me peace.  I’ve spent so much time thinking I’m right that it’s going to take me a while to stop thinking everyone else is wrong.  Be patient with me.  I’ll need courage as I embrace the decisions of the community—whatever they may be.  Give me compassion for my neighbor, even the one with different political leanings.  He came over yesterday to help us move furniture, offers the use of his snowblower and is a good neighbor.  Help me remember. 

But please, don’t put out the fire in my gut (is that the Holy Spirit too—or my pride?).  There’ll be another election soon.

Amen.