From Israel to Charleston

A couple of years ago I spent an amazing ten days in Israel and Jordan. I met incredible people and saw places that made both history and the Bible come alive.

The person who fascinated me the most was our guide. We spent nearly the entire time traversing Israel with an interesting fellow. I have thought about him much in the past few days.

Our guide was a retired gentleman. I am not sure what his job was before retiring, it appears to have been secretive. He was both knowledgeable and curious. When he discovered I was a pastor, he asked me to bring my Bible along and read pertinent passages about the places we visited (even though he is a secular Jew).

At the border with Syria he told the story of his involvement in the Yom Kippur War. He was working his job when his unit was called up. Within twenty-four hours he was on the battlefield in a tank! He shared his fear that if they lost the battle everyone he loved would die. He told about helping stop the slaughter of a large group of P.O.W.s. Eventually, he became quiet and said that he had shared all he could muster.

What I remember most distinctly was our visit to Yad Vashem, the Israeli holocaust museum. Silently making our way through the corridors, I was filled with reverence and pain. I completely lost track of time. Nothing else seemed important. As you get ready to leave the museum and head out on the grounds, there is a book that you can sign or leave comments. I desperately wanted to place my name there. But I had to wait a long time on the people in front of me. It was an older gentlemen, pushing a much older woman in a wheelchair. From the brief conversation I overheard, it was clear that this was his mother, who had come from America for her great-grandson’s Bar Mitzvah. The man mentioned to a security guard the she was a holocaust survivor. When it was her turn at the book, she stood. She began to write. It took her a long time. I waited patiently. She began to cry. Finally, she could write no more and collapsed into her wheelchair. Her son pushed her outside.

I approached the book, ready to write my name. But my eyes were attracted to the tear-stained page on which the woman had written. It simply said, “I miss you.” And then below it had name after name after name of relatives lost in the holocaust. I tried to write my name, but my weeping made it almost impossible.

As I shared this experience with our guide, he told me about his wife. She lost much of her family in the holocaust. He said that a couple of years ago he found a great deal on a car. She refused to let him buy it. Because it was a Volkswagen.

Whenever I hear Israel mentioned on the news, or read about Israeli politics online, I think about these things. Not because I am somehow now determined to side with Israel on everything. But because it helps me understand. It puts me, just a little bit, in the shoes of a Jew. It reminds me that behind words and rhetoric there are experiences and suffering and pain.

As I think about controversies here in the United States, I wonder if much of what we are lacking is a sense of understanding the story of others. It is one thing to know something about the holocaust, it is quite something else to visit a holocaust museum with people who barely survived it. Too often we speak in abstraction about right and wrong. To hear other’s stories makes it real. It doesn’t necessarily mean we will change our stance, but we will now be thinking about what our position truly means or does to others.

I am thinking today about the “rebel” flag. There may be lots of reasonable reasons to keep it up. I am for freedom of speech.

But can you imagine flying a Nazi flag in front of my friends from Israel?

Walk a little bit in another person’s shoes. Try to imagine what it is like to see a flag flying that represented a cause that held your great-grandparents in slavery.  Attempt to see that flag planted in the middle of the night in your front yard.  Visualize it being carried by men in white hoods as they parade through the streets of the very town where I grew up, just a few years ago.  I understand it may represent a lot of different things to you, but can we think about what it represents to them.

Perhaps our most under-utilized spiritual gift is our imagination. With our imagination we can attempt to see things from other perspectives. With our imaginations we can struggle with what it would be like to be a descendant of a concentration camp survivor. With our imaginations we might gain a little appreciation for what it is like to be black in the southern United States. I know we can never truly walk in other’s shoes. But I think it is time that we used the imagination God gave us to hear some stories and feel some pain.

The beauty of the incarnation is that it is the ultimate act of imagination.  God does not have to wonder what it is like for us.  He became us.  He walked in our shoes.  And He calls us to imagine with Him what life is like for others.

Whether the flag stays up or comes down is ultimately, perhaps, not the biggest deal. But before you decide, have you talked with some black people about it? Have you tried to see it from their view? Is this just all an abstraction, a game of logic?  Or can we think in terms of real people?  Are we willing to imagine?

The Finicky Christian

My wife likes us to eat healthy. Lots of fruits and vegetables. And most of my kids fall right in line with this. They pretty much eat whatever is put on their plate. But a couple…not so much. One of my children, who is growing like a weed, is magically “not hungry” when a vegetarian soup is served. Another of my children just accidently overlooks the plate full of steamed vegetables. This annoys my wife, but I get it. Because I was a picky eater (My wife would claim I still am a little). Don’t get me wrong, I love vegetables. I just don’t dig fruit so much.

However, finicky not only describes how some of my kids approach food, it also describes how many Christians approach church. Church is viewed as an array of choices. So many in fact that numerous Christians are looking for a church that perfectly pleases their religious palate. Because we have so many church choices, there is very little need to partake of something that we don’t like. We can just keep looking for what we prefer.

So the chase of the “perfect” church begins. I like this theology, but I prefer that type of worship. I want a church that loves and takes care of the poor, but also has amazing classes for my four-year old. I want a church to take the exact right stance on every social and political issue. I want a church that calls me to a deep commitment to Christ, but understands that a whole lot of Sundays I won’t be there because I like to camp and travel. I expect a church to love me like I am family, but stay out of my personal business. And a church needs to understand that if I leave, it is not because I am not committed, but because the church is just not authentic/loving/compassionate/liberal/conservative/(fill in your own reason) enough.

Ignore the fact that there is no church on earth that can possibly fulfill all of this. Or that a church that even pulls a decent portion of this off would be an amazing place. For the finicky Christian, the impulse is to not consume even one thing that doesn’t please.

For years we have talked about the consumerism that plagues our churches. That it is easy to view church simply as another business whose job is to keep the customer (me) happy. I feel like we are moving toward something different. The finicky Christian isn’t merely interested in being happy or entertained (which is shallow), but rather believes they are right. They have figured out the answers. And church should conform as closely as possible to their viewpoint. So churches pretty much stink. If only they would do what I tell them. That is scary, and beyond self-righteous.

I run into more and more Christians who tell me they have no church, and don’t really want one. They are following Christ, and that is all that matters. They are Christians at large. I understand that the church can be a rough place. That horrible theology and practice, and even abuse or neglect, are real and could make anyone not want to attend. And we should all push for changes that help our churches look more and more like Jesus.

But I don’t think that’s the deal. For the finicky Christian, if a church can’t be found that really floats their boat, well….then perhaps there is no need for church. The church must change in the way I see fit, or I will leave. Whoa.

Of course, as any parent knows, there is something that can be done about finicky eaters. At our house, you can either eat what you are served, or you can be hungry. We are not making another meal because you refuse to eat broccoli or tomatoes.

But when it comes to finicky Christians, there is no way to force someone to do what might actually help them grow and mature. Instead, with our large number of churches and the advent of social media, we have made it easy to simply gripe, complain, and switch churches. Write a couple of Facebook posts about the hypocrisy of Christians, complain to your best friend that most churches aren’t doing enough to help people, and then you can say you tried to make it work, but churches don’t want to change.

For the finicky Christian, any breakup with the church is an “it’s not me, it’s you” situation.

But here is the big problem. Because we are so picky, we remain children. Part of being mature is the growing understanding that it ain’t all about me. That a group of people is highly unlikely to fit all my preferences and meet all my needs. But that is learned through sticking things out. I often call marriages “maturity factories.” They kind of force us to grow up, change, and mature. There is only one stipulation: you have to stick it out long enough for some growth to happen. Sometimes the reason church matures us is because IT IS NOT the way we would choose it. But again, that takes time.

When I was about eight years old, we sat down for dinner one night and there was some fresh, green onions on the table. My parents seemed to really enjoy them. I wanted to try one, but I wasn’t sure because while they may have been fresh and green, they were onions. When there was one left I took it. My mom said that I could have it, but I needed to actually eat it. No problem. But then I took a bite. Ugggghh. I kept chewing and chewing, but it wouldn’t go down. I sat and chewed and sat and chewed. How can food somehow grow in your mouth? Plates were now being cleaned. I was the only one left at the table. My mom gently encouraged me to just swallow. It will be okay.

This story would probably sound strange to my children. Because I love onions. I can eat one like an apple. I am not saying that I love onions because my mom made me keep chewing. I am just pointing out that often the problem isn’t the onion, it is the kid.

For many of us it may be time to grow up, and eat our vegetables.

Church

(The bulk of this was written after our worship service Sunday evening)

As minister at a small church, my times of worship too often consist of running around.  I am solving problems, coordinating people, helping visitors, taking kids to the bathroom.  I often go an entire service without actually making it to my seat.  So when I get to slide in a row next to my wife and kids, it is a wonderful, if fleeting, moment.

Sunday I had such a moment.  Only I got way more than I expected.

As I found my wife in the crowd (in such moments it helps to be married to a tall redhead) and moved onto her row, here is what I noticed.

On the row in front of us were four people.  A young married couple, holding hands.  Looked like two people in love.  And they are.  But I also know that he has truly struggled with addiction.  And she recently got out of prison.

Next to them, a man I have known for years.  He is the definition of the working poor.  Sometimes dirty, always smelling of cigarettes.  He sits on the same row where he used to sit with his wife.  She died a year ago this week.  Seeing him reminds me that I need to announce that tomorrow night we are having a dinner and fundraiser to try to buy a headstone for her grave.

Beside him, an older gentlemen.  The oldest man in our church.  He can no longer see well enough to even read the bible.  But that’s okay.  He has accomplished the task of memorizing most, if not all of it.  He bounces and claps as we sing, he doesn’t have much rhythm.  But he moves anyway, as if his loss of eyesight has made him believe that no one can see him.  Oh, that’s not the truth.  He doesn’t care because He loves Jesus so much.

And underneath their chairs is my three-year old son.  He is playing with the little bitty cars he is earning for going in the potty.

This odd juxtaposition is not odd.  I see something close to it every week.  I am used to it.  But I don’t think I should be.  There are so many places on earth where this mix would not happen.  Sadly, one of those places can sometimes be church.  As I look, I should be in awe.  For what I am seeing is what church actually is.

You see, church is not the songs we sing and the prayers we pray.  Although it is that.  And church isn’t just the people who are there.  It is that too.  But it is more.  Church is the place where the mystery of God’s work in the world is glimpsed for a moment.  Where a song of praise and a recovering addict and communion and a half-blind man and a sermon and a little boy with his play cars all somehow seem perfectly harmonious.

We too often want so much from church.  Great music that moves us.  A sermon that is funny and heart-wrenching.  People that genuinely seem interested in us.  Classes for our kids that are exciting.  It may be a lot to ask, but that is what we are looking for.

But I think maybe, just maybe, we don’t want enough from church.  Music and sermons and children’s classes don’t seem to matter when we glimpse God at work. Because in the moment we notice God’s hand we see beyond what we want, into what we truly need.  The gospel.  Made real.  Made alive.  Among us.

I am not sure this can be replicated.  That a mission statement or staff meeting can make it happen.  It is only the work of God.  The love of Christ.  The guiding of the Spirit.  But Sunday, at least for a few minutes, I got to be along for the ride.  And I knew it.

So all I could do was look.  And sing.  I looked at an addict, an ex-con, a widower, a blind man, and a little boy.  And I sang.

I look at my son and at them.  And I sing.  Bless the Lord, O my soul, O my soul.  And I look at him and at them.  And I sing.  Worship his holy name.  And the couple in front of me raises their hands as one.  Sing like never before, O my soul.  And the old man is half-turned around, clapping off-beat and smiling at me.  I will worship your holy name.

 

Resolved: To Never Say This Again

As a child, nothing could strike fear in your heart quite like the phrase “do you understand me?”  Anyone who has ever heard it, or even said it (I shamefully raise my hand) knows the true meaning of the line.  The speaker is not trying to discover if their communication has been comprehended.  Oh no.  All that is being conveyed is: THIS CONVERSATION IS OVER, DO WHAT I JUST SAID!  No child would ever say in response, “I’m sorry, I didn’t understand what you just said.”  The proper response is simply “Yes, sir.”  And we all know it.

That’s why this is bad communication.  Because it is a communication ender.  Even if misunderstanding lingers in the air, it does not matter.  This conversation is over.

As a parent I have attempted to remove this type of communication from my parenting playbook.  Personally, I prefer asking a child to repeat back to me what I just said.  That way I know if they actually comprehended.  And if they did, they now know that I know they understand.

There is a similar phrase being used by Christians.  It sounds good.  It sounds right.  It sounds like Jesus.  But it is a communication ender.  And often it is used to bludgeon opponents.  The phrase: “I just want to love people.”

On the surface, I love this phrase.  Because, I want to love people.  I deeply desire to love my family, my church, my neighbors, the people I meet every day, the hurting, the poor, my enemies…  The call of Jesus is to love people.  Paul says that to do anything, even something great, without love is pointless.

The problem is, while the phrase sounds great, the way it is used is the opposite of love.

Christian A:  “I believe that X is wrong.  It is a sin.”

Christian B: “Jesus tells us not to judge.  I just want to love people.”

Now do you see what Christian B has done.  Either agree with me, or you don’t love people.  There is no longer a chance to converse or discuss.  The conversation is ended with:  I LOVE AND YOU DON’T.  Wow.  How loving.

There are big problems with this phrase.  First, it is often used when the topic being discussed is one where church-going, knowledgeable, Jesus following Christians disagree.  Seizing the high ground of “my side is the loving one” is a refusal to discuss the topic and yet claim some kind of victory.  It would be better to simply say, “I don’t wish to discuss.”

Second, the phrase makes an assumption that anyone who disagrees with me does not really love people.  Yet, while we are called to love, the wisdom of how to do so is difficult.  For instance, imagine a young man in his early twenties with a drug problem.  Over and over his family has attempted to get him help.  He consistently refuses to do anything to get better.  After disappearing for months, the young man appears at his parent’s front door.  He is strung out.  He begs to be let in.  Says he is starving.  Has nowhere to live.  Now, what should the parent’s do?  If they let him in, or refuse to open the door, would it be appropriate to argue with their decision by saying, “well, I just want to love people.”?  Often, the loving thing to do is not so obvious.

Third, using the phrase “I just want to love people” is not loving.  Anytime we paint others in a corner, claiming their thoughts and ideas are not in line with the love of Christ, we should do so very carefully.  To refuse to listen to any further discussion, and refuse in the name of love, is mean-spirited.  Disagree all you want.  But the second you claim that someone who disagrees with you does not love people, you set yourself in a high and mighty position.  Quite the opposite of just loving people.

At this point it may seem I have made a mountain out of a mole hill.  But I am convinced that how we discuss difficult issues is often more symbolic of our life in Christ than the answers we reach.  Throughout history, Christians have reached different conclusions and will continue to do so.  How we talk with and about those with whom we disagree, especially in the Body of Christ, is one of our biggest opportunities to “just love people.”

 

Schnapps Snapshot

 

One thing I have never been called is a fuddy-duddy.  A party pooper.  In general I don’t rain on people’s parades.  But a recent phenomenon irks me a little.  And at the risk of looking like a goody two-shoes I want to bring attention to something that I just don’t understand.

Lately, my Facebook feed has been overrun with pictures of glasses and bottles.  Someone is letting me know they are enjoying a beverage.  How nice of them.  Interestingly, the beverages are almost never iced tea.  Or freezing cold milk.  Or kool-aid.  No.  It is usually alcohol of some sort.  My question is why?

Why do so many people feel the need to advertise they are drinking alcohol?

Now, understand, this is not an “anti-alcohol” post.  But since most of the people on my Facebook feed are Christians, I can’t help but wonder why the need to show the world what they are drinking?

Now let me confess: I do not drink.  Personal choice.  But I also don’t post pictures of whatever beverage I happen to be consuming.  So, I really am at a loss.  All I have are theories, so let me toss out a few.

1.  Some people just take pictures of anything and put them on Facebook.  We all know these people.  There is the kite you made with your kids.  Look, a sunset.  Hey, you took a picture of a stray cat and you wanted me to see it.  This would account for a few people’s beverage photos, but it still leaves many more.

2.  Some believe this makes us relevant. There is no bigger slam for church people right now than being labeled “irrelevant.”  We want the world around us to know we get it, that we are in the same boat.  I think some Christians believe that drinking alcohol makes them appear more accessible to the non-Christians around them.  I’m not sure if that is correct (my suspicion is it makes almost no difference) but perhaps those posting photos of margaritas are attempting to reach out.

3.  Some want to show that they aren’t controlled by the old rules.  Many of us grew up in very conservative churches where drinking alcohol was sinful.  As we have matured we have come to see the complete prohibition of alcohol as another sign of the “backwardness” of our predecessors.  We see Jesus drinking wine.  We are more liberal, more free.  More graceful.  And having a beer (and posting it online) is a symbol of our growth, our freedom.

4.  Some have bought the cultural idea that alcohol is necessary. This one scares me.  Several times lately I have read posts declaring something like, “that glass of wine at the end of this day can’t come soon enough.”  Now, perhaps that is just blowing off steam.  Maybe it is just mimicking what we see and hear in our alcohol saturated culture.  Or perhaps it is the beginning of dependence.  Not dependence in the addictive sense (although we all know that is a possibility).  But rather dependence on alcohol as some type of source of meaning or comfort.

5.  Alcohol symbolizes the “good life.”  We are relaxed.  We mountain bike and hunt and snowboard.  We have a ton of friends that we meet for coffee in the morning and drinks in the evening.  A pitcher of sangria shows that life is good.  But is any of that truly reflective of what Jesus meant by “life?”

Now, I am probably completely wrong.  And I am sure I will be informed kindly if I am.  But I am not yelling “SIN!”.  Nor am I calling for tee-totaling.  I am simply asking us to look at our motivations.  To think “why am I putting a snapshot of a mojito on my Instagram account?”  “Am I posting this because I want to look cool?”  I just wonder why the need to show our adult beverage to the world?  What are we trying to say?  And is it worth saying?

Marriage, Death, and Ministers

A month ago I had a completely new experience as a minister.  I performed a wedding and a funeral on the same weekend.  For the same family.  The mix of emotions, the joy and grief, was overwhelming for the family, and exhausting for me.  But, that is my job, my role, my gift in this community.

Over the years I have had the privilege of performing lots of weddings.  That’s what happens when you live in a town with three universities.  Young people come to school, find their partner, and I get to be a small part of that journey.  It is one of my truly favorite things to do.

I have also done my fair share of funerals.  Most of these have been older people.  Grandmothers and grandfathers.  But far too many have been young.  Babies or young adults cut down well before their time.  While it is always difficult, every funeral I am asked to perform is a great honor.

When I was seventeen and made the decision to become a minister, these moments were not what I imagined I would be doing.  I would preach and teach.  I would study.  I would guide people and give wise counsel.  I would lead a congregation in doing great works for the kingdom.

But, a lot of my time is spent on other things.  Hospital visits.  Planning weddings.  Driving people to the doctor.  Visiting with those who have lost a loved one.  Taking people to job interviews.  Listening to people about their health issues.  Giving rides to and from church events.  Working through people’s financial struggles.

I am a talker, but I spend much more time listening than I thought I would.  I am a doer.  But I spend much more time just sitting with people than I thought I would.  I am a dreamer.  But most of my days are spent dealing with the harsh realities of life, rather than dreaming grand visions for the church.

In our age of professionalism, I know many ministers who spend their days studying and preparing.  That is what their church has asked them to do.  To spend their time almost completely on lesson preparation and congregational direction.  If I am honest, there are moments when I am jealous.

But, I can’t imagine spending my time working for the church, and yet most of that time not spent with the church.  And not simply because part of being a minister is sharing life with people.  I think lessons and sermons and counsel suffer when these activities are not consistently a part of what I do.

Sermons are born out of hospital rooms as much as they are out of study.  Wisdom comes from walking with people through financial difficulties as much as it comes from a book.  Leading a church is as much about how we serve and love as it is what we say and the programs we start.

Too often I can forget what an honor it is for people to share the most intimate and difficult parts of their lives with me.  I am often invited in as the only non-family member.  I see the tears, hear the cries of anguish, witness the leaps of faith.  I am there as a symbol of God’s presence, but it is usually my heart and faith that are uplifted.

Whenever I have the opportunity to speak to a young man or woman who is studying to be a minister, I make sure and describe the job completely.  They need to know that along with the preaching and teaching there are late nights in hospital rooms and phone calls where you have truly have no good advice to share.  I do this not to discourage them. Nor do I tell them because it is the truth.  I do it so they can know the full beauty and amazing grace of the life they are choosing.

The Beat Goes On

Last week was the fiftieth anniversary of the Beatles appearing on the Ed Sullivan Show.  Wasn’t alive, but from everything I understand this was a pretty big deal.  Ushered in Beatlemania.  The British Invasion.  Changed Rock n Roll.  Changed pop culture.  Helped a generation find a voice that would truly be heard a few years later.

But the big music deal I want to talk about happened exactly 25 years later.  1989.  The event?  I got a CD player.  A bulky thing that sat atop my turntable.  No more tapes.  Suddenly, the music I could get sounded crystal clear.

First CD I bought was Strange Brew: The Very Best of Cream.  I have no idea why.  It was near the CD player when I bought it (seemed pointless to have a CD player without a CD to play).  And I like Clapton.  What really mattered was the second CD I bought.  Guns ‘n Roses: Appetite for Destruction.  It was new.  It was raw.  It seemed dangerous.

I remember the dj on the local rock station introducing Welcome to the Jungle, the opening track on Appetite, by saying that we should get our parents to leave the room.  Wow.  This was not music you shared with your elders.  Not because it was dirty or obscene.  But because it just boldly felt like something you couldn’t have in common with them.  It was aggressive, angry, honest, and loud.  Very loud.

I would crank it up in my attic bedroom (very similar to Greg Brady’s when he moved upstairs).  My mom would tell me to turn it down.  The music felt so visceral, I would gradually turn it back up.  Admittedly, there was some cursing and a little sexual innuendo, but there was far more honesty about drug addiction and life in the seedy part of town.  While most of the lyrics talked about things I had yet to experience or understand, I knew this music was for me!

Every generation has a demarkation point.  Not some year arbitrarily decided on by census scholars that delineates when one generation magically becomes a different generation.  No, I am talking about those moments when you wake up and think, I (or we) are different from the past and here is the proof.  Guns ‘n Roses was one of those moments for me.

But those a-ha moments are not limited to music or pop culture.  I also experienced them religiously.  Moments when I looked up and realized that I thought differently than my predecessors.  Moments when I decided I wanted to follow Jesus in a different way.  Moments when I knew that the way the “older generation” did church would not work for me.

And so I rebelled.  Not with sex, drugs and rock n roll, but with different ideas about worship, inclusivity, and how to interpret scripture, just to name a few.  Not that these were wrong (I still think they are right), but more importantly they made it clear that I was not in line with the “old way” of doing things.

What is interesting about all this is how it happens over and over again.  A generation comes along and is sure that they have found a “better way.”  Their passion, zeal, and energy are thrown into correcting the past, fixing the present, and setting a new course for the future.  They thrive on being different from what came before.  And then a few years later it happens again.  And again.

Perhaps it is time to sit back, look at this cycle, and learn a little bit.  So let me use rock ‘n roll as an example, as that will probably be a little less volatile than religion for most of us.

Every generation has “their” music.  I grew up with my parents listening to music from the late 50’s and early 60’s.  When I discovered rock ‘n roll in the 80’s, it was like an amazing switch got thrown inside of me.  This belonged to me.  And the fact that my parents didn’t like it only made it more attractive.

What I failed to notice at the time was the connection my music had to their music.  I saw Guns ‘n Roses as so radically different that it could in no way be a part of the same music my parents listened to.  But I was wrong.  Guns’ ‘n Roses doesn’t exist without that antiquated stuff my parents listened to on the Oldies station.  Too often, this is the mistake of the “new” generation: a refusal to see how what we are thinking has any connection to what the previous generation believes.  Instead, we view these ideas as adversarial, and to be honest, we kinda like it that way.  It wouldn’t be near as exciting if the older generation just said, “yeah, you’re right.”

Almost the exact same problem exists for the older generation, only running in the opposite direction.  We don’t see how the music we loved and was so wonderful could possibly lead to this modern stuff.  But we are wrong.  The Beatles paved the way for Guns ‘n Roses.  And often, the ideas of the next generation are the inevitable outcome of what we did.  They may do it louder or in a different manner.  But it is still rock ‘n roll.  Perhaps rather than just proclaiming our era the best, we should give their music a chance and see its connections to ours.

Boy, I have really stretched this analogy, but here is one last thing.  Maybe it would be useful if we all gave up the idea that our music is the best.  That our era is the best.  That our ways are so different no one else could possibly get it.  For any generation to view the one that came before or the one that comes after as completely out of touch, is narcissism at the group level.  We are right.  You are wrong.  Our way is the best.  We proclaim that it is all about the music (or all about Jesus), but far too often it is really all about us.

Just some thoughts to ponder as you listen to some music (or get ready for church).  By the way, I still love me some Guns’ ‘n Roses.  But I also have every Beatles album.  They both rock!

Jesus?, Yes! Church?, No!

An awful lot of hand-wringing is being done over why “millenials” are leaving the church.  This is nothing new.  I have read articles and books for years about why the rising generation (whatever generation that might be) is exiting the church.  It seems to me that “why are young people leaving the church?” is probably a question as old as the church itself.

If you read many of the articles or blogs about this subject, you will hear similar reasoning given for why “millenials” are leaving.  The church is hypocritical.  Doesn’t care enough about the poor.  Is too focused on issues that aren’t relevant in our world.  Cares too much about doctrine and not enough about the lost.  Again, I don’t think these are new issues.  These criticisms are brought by many generations of idealistic young people.  As they should be; they are valid criticisms.

Often, these criticisms are summed up in one particular phrase; “Jesus?, Yes!, Church?No!”  The person using this phrase typically means that while they love what Jesus is about, they can no longer stomach the church.  So they will follow Jesus, but not be a part of the church.

So what should we do?  Obviously, people leaving the church should be a concern.  Part of being the body of Christ is addressing the concerns and needs of all who are part of the body.  And we should listen well to these criticisms.  Anyone who believes the church (especially congregations in America) are doing enough to help the poor and reach the lost is ignorant or naive at best.

However, we should also call all who claim to be disciples of Christ to love His church.  We may not like everything (or even most things) about the church, but we are called by Christ to love His bride as He does.

Let me be honest that I find it difficult to love the church.  Too often I am quick to forgive the lost, but slow to forgive those in the church.  Too often I have pity on the poor, addicted, and hurting, but none to spare for my brothers and sisters.   I find it easy to forgive the outsider, but hard to forgive those who have committed themselves to Christ.  I refuse to judge, except to judge those in the church I find to be too judgemental.

But part of following Christ is loving all people, including the church.

To say “I am leaving because you have not done things exactly as I think they should be done” is ultimately a sign of self-centered, self-righteousness no matter what your age.  If we all left whenever the church didn’t do things like we have come to believe it should, there would be no church.

The apostle Paul calls me to love my wife as Christ loved the church and gave up his life for her (Ephesians 5:25).  Imagine if, because my wife didn’t reach out to our neighbors the way I thought she should, I left her.  I hope the response from every person I know would be to tar and feather me and send me back home.

Now, for one second, forget the wife part of that verse and just look at Christ’s love for His church.  I know it breaks His heart when the church doesn’t follow His ways like we should.  When we don’t reach out.  When we care too much about ourselves.  When we ignore the hurting.  But I think it also breaks the heart of Jesus when we refuse to love the very church He gave His life for.

One comment I read recently offered advice on how to find a church you can love.  Perhaps rather than looking for a church we can love, we should love the church we have.  We should bring our concerns, our struggles, our differences and even our criticisms.  But we should do it as a part of the body of Christ.

And it will be difficult.  Sometimes it takes gritting your teeth to truly love.    In fact, I think the quote we need to hear more is: “Jesus?, Yes!, Church?, Yes! (dadgummit)”.

Coincidence?

Everything went wrong Sunday at church.  We had a late-gathering crowd (later than usual).  The sound system decided to screech and belch and muffle and everything except work.  This mattered even more since part of the sermon was me doing an interview with three people.  God gave me a loud voice that can overcome turning off the mic, but not everyone has this gift.  So, I was frustrated, but moving on.  This is what you do at church.  Things don’t go the way you plan but you keep going.  Can’t just quit in the middle of a worship service.

Then it happened.  During our time of prayer and confession a young woman named Monica came desiring to be baptized.  So, after announcements were made and all usual business taken care of, Monica and Brenna (a woman she had built a connection with at church) came to the front with me.  Monica and Brenna began telling Monica’s story.  Addiction.  Jail.  Children taken away.  And then God showing up.  Monica realizing in jail that she needed to be there to get some sobriety.  Eventually she was helping lead a prayer group of other incarcerated women.  Upon release she ends up at our church with some extended family and her children.  I then asked Monica my favorite question in the world:  “Why do you want to be baptized?”  She said, “Since God has loved me so much and not given up on me, how could I not follow Him?”

At that moment, with tears in my eyes, I looked out at our congregation.  Over on my right were many members of Monica’s extended family.  Some of them are regulars, some not.  But I was reminded that a year ago, almost none of them had been at church.  Only one really.  His name is Rudy.  I had known Rudy for many years when he showed up at our church.  He came with a wonderful lady he was dating, Angie.  Not long after they came I performed their wedding.  Over their time at church we talked often about Rudy and Angie’s desire to see members of their large extended family come to know God, believe in Jesus, become part of the body of Christ.  Rudy and Angie were working on it.

Then tragedy struck.  Although young (48) and in great shape (buffest dude I knew) Rudy mysteriously died while working out.  Along with all the devastation for Angie, Rudy’s kids, Rudy’s family and our church, was the realization that Rudy and Angie’s dream of bringing family to church was not going to happen.

But then it did.  Rudy’s funeral was held at our meager building.  It is still the most people who have ever been in our little storefront church.  And all of Rudy’s family was there.  Angie and I talked about it afterwards.  Rudy would have loved seeing them there, singing those songs, praying some prayers, hearing me preach.

Over the next few months, a strange thing happened.  Many members of Angie’s family began coming to church.  They rallied around her, they held her up, and they watched her faith.  And then, little by little, Rudy’s family began showing up.  A niece, a cousin, some kids.  Slowly but surely they came to the place Rudy had so desired they come.

It culminated this past Sunday, with Rudy’s niece Monica being baptized.  As I looked at Rudy’s family in the audience I proclaimed that “the Bible says God works in all things for good.  Seeing Monica up here tonight is proof.  God has worked in the worst, the most tragic, to bring about the best.  Church, what we are witnessing here tonight is what God is all about, bringing new life where there has been hurt and pain and tragedy.”

We then all went and hurriedly ate dinner (we share dinner every Sunday) and then quickly rushed to our local university where there is a wonderful statue with a baptismal pool.  And even though it was cold and dark, by the light of several iPhones we watched Brenna baptize Monica.

I returned to the church building to shut everything down.  The last few people cleaning up dinner left, and I was alone.  I sat and reflected.  As a minister it is sometimes hard for me to believe in the good.  I constantly hear about people’s suffering, their bad health, their addictions, untimely deaths, family strife.  My wife is a counselor and she hears the same and worse.  It is easy for me to believe in sin and evil.  But as I sat there alone, I was overwhelmed with the love of God, and the good He is trying to bring about.  There was no doubt.

So as I sat in the midst of God’s warmth and pictured Rudy in my mind.  I thought back to that difficult day when Angie called me as she was on her way to the hospital.  I couldn’t remember exactly when it was, although I knew it had been just over a year.  So I looked up Rudy’s obituary online.  Rudy died November 6, 2012.  His funeral was held at our building on November 10, 2012.  Monica was baptized, November 10, 2013.  Coincidence?  Maybe.  But as I walked to my car I looked back at the front door of the building.  I was drawn to the little sign that has our church name and service times on it.  I wasn’t around when the church was named, but whoever did it got it right.  The sign simply says, HOPE.