Yom HaShoah and the Lectionary
Once upon a zealous church leader became passionate on behalf of a new movement in the church.
Because no group of people is given to quick or easy change, not everyone was enamored. In fact some church officials had decided that the new fangled ideas were too radical to embrace, that the ideas put the people in peril. These officials censured the most zealous voices as best they could in an attempt to maintain calm. Other leaders considered the new ideas and simply found them to be redundant; the truth of what was new was available also in the old. Truthfully, most church members were unaware both of the movement and its censure while it was unfolding.
The zealous church leader wrote letters of protest and so did his friends, letters decrying the unchurchly-like behavior of the so-called church. Eventually there was a parting of the ways, into the us and the them. ‘Us’ got a new name and eventually forgot that they were ever a part of ‘Them’. Years passed, decades passed, centuries passed.
When members of the new church read the weathered copies of the Zealot, they point to a pattern of how the church was dismissive of new ideas. Members of the ‘Us’ now outnumbered ‘Them’, and members of ‘Us’ began to make generalizations about ‘Them’. The assumptions were damning; ‘They’ were unable to adapt to new ways, ‘They’ had failed to embrace the lifeline, ‘They’ had tried to stop ‘Us’.
Reason is elusive when fear creeps in. All of the players in days of the letter writing are long since dead. The current members of both ‘Us’ and ‘Them’ are so far removed from the original conversation that most often both sides misunderstand the original disagreement, a conflict that undoubtedly has been totally misappropriated and misunderstood. But in a world of ‘Us’ and ‘Them’, it is kill or be killed.
So it is that members of Roman Catholic and mainline Protestants will read the lectionary text from Acts 3 this Sunday in the shadow of the annual Holocaust Day of Remembrance.
avoiding the pile
I am surrounded by piles.
To my left are the accumulated notes from meetings, to my right papers to distribute or file. In front of me is an inbox that is overflowing and over on the window ledge are books that have been recently used and not returned to the shelf. The piles are, of course, in addition to the normal desk accoutrements, like a couple of cups and mugs and toys (just a couple).
I would like to tell you that I know what’s in the assorted piles, that it is some bizarre form of organization; but my mother told me that lying is a sin and minister’s should probably not sin so brazenly.
Equally brazen a lie would be the suggestion that I actually like it this way. On the rare occasions that my desk is clean I feel like a queen.
I could explain that it is just my personality and that would be truth, at least in part. But it is an explanation and not excuse.
What is true is that I am naturally inclined to opt for the path of least resistance. Although I blindly (and apparently) boldly walk into conflict situations, the truth is that it is my naïveté that leads me beyond my avoidance.
To be sure this non-driven aspect of my character has advantages. If I were driven by a need for measurable accomplishments, I would be driven equally mad by the unpredictability of each day in parish life (and, for that matter, parenting). Undeniably an ability to go with the flow has been asset for this minister mom.
But the flow can become overwhelming and maturity is the ability to acknowledge the shadow side of one’s personality and begin learning to mitigate these implications. As important as it is to accept my calendar challenged personality, it is likewise valuable to acknowledge the importance of clearly communicated time commitments. I don’t choose my feelings, but I choose how to respond to them. I don’t choose my personality, but I can choose how to navigate with it.
Today might be a good example. This morning I realized that I had a long “to do” list that seemed daunting. My inclination was to take a nap. I practiced navigation skills as I listed the tasks. Admittedly, I listed them in the form of a rant while whining to a friend, but a crabby list is still a list and having seen the tasks neatly typed in the message I was able to face them and prioritize. For me, facing the list is the hardest part and once I had done that the tasks began to fall away. Wonder of wonders, I can now see light at the end of the tunnel!
Of course, with the light I can also see the piles on my desk, piles which are blinding. Which maybe is what the saying “blinded by the light” is all about? I could clean my desk now, but I think the nap is beckoning.
how does god do it?
As I see the pots of lilies and tulips ready to burst, I know that Easter is upon us.
This week we tell the story of Jesus’ betrayal and cruel death, a painful story that will enable us to descend deep enough to feel the full splendor of the rise on Easter morning.
I find myself wondering about the relative importance of the particularity of this timeless story. Christians spend a lot of energy arguing about the historicity, the factualness, of this story and with each passing season I become more convinced that the argument misses the point.
The story bears witness to a promise, a promise that each cycle of death will be followed with birth. More than a century ago, Scottish anthropologist Sir James George Frazer collected and published an anthology of religious and spiritual stories entitled, “The Golden Bough”. In his work, Frazer concluded that as we evolved so too our stories and our religious rituals. We began as a species to develop religious stories and traditions that matched the truths embodied in our world, no truth more fundamental than the promise of spring’s new life.
Last Sunday as I shared the story of the Easter Chick, Erin (a particularly precocious preschooler) asked the question. “Katy,” she started innocently enough, “how did God do it? Jesus was alive and then dead and then alive again. How did God do it?” It was every minister’s nightmare, the child on the steps embodying the wisdom of the ages. Indeed, how did God do it?
The reason that the question feels nightmarish is that we assume that we have an answer. Metaphysically speaking, there is no answer. Spiritually speaking, which is far more important, we still find ourselves without definitive process. The unanswered question haunts us as it keeps the mystery beyond our reach, out of our control.
The particularity of our story is no more mysterious or magical than the lily itself. Out of a lifeless bulb emerges the splendor of the fragrant blossom. Indeed, how does God do it?
Perhaps as we witness the miracle of new life bursting in and around us, within and beyond the stories of our faith, it would be a good time to acknowledge all that we do not know. Laying down all that is unknown, we can rest in the certainty of the One who does.
it’s our time…
As a chronic underachiever in school, I was much more comfortable with embracing ‘enough’ than striving for my ‘personal best’. I learned early in life that I could avoid undue disappointment simply by aiming low. The single most loving thing a seminary professor did for me was a comment on a paper that read, “Katy, you showed me just enough” to simultaneously demonstrate both level of ability and lack of effort. What he was trying to teach this recalcitrant student is that I have a choice.
Standing perched on the edge of Holy Week, poised to “announce” the advent of our Capital Campaign theme, I am struck by the choice that stands before us.
In more than 40 years we have avoided the words “Capital Campaign” at EUCC. We’ve gathered money for this project or that, but always shied away from the large scale intentional effort. We justified our avoidance with a nod to our mission focus, which is true but incomplete.
Another truth is that we’ve discovered that we could avoid disappointment by keeping our sites low. In recent years, our posture has shifted. Perhaps captured by the renewal of the “Still Speaking” campaign or by our own journey with Sponge Bob and the Rainbow Fish Tree, we have begun to dream bigger dreams. We have recognized the importance of challenging ourselves. We have dared to now name our intention to accept a leadership role in our wider community on behalf of our Still Speaking God. Similarly, we have taken the action steps necessary to put in place a long avoided Capital Campaign.
Bea Stoner, our Capital Campaign Consultant is back in town this week to train both our Leadership Gifts Team and also our Visiting Stewards. The Leadership Team met a week ago and a large subset gathered again last night for a final run through of membership lists. A flurry of emails sizzled yesterday across cyberspace as we settled on a logo to match our theme, courtesy of Jeff Morris (AKA Communications).
So perhaps it is a bad to admit that I am more than a little intimidated by the process. In fact I have a long history of talking about Capital Campaigns with congregations and then leaving before the action ensues. But given that the building is crumbling around us, now appears to be the time to rise to the occasion. Some challenges cannot be avoided indefinitely, and this is one of them.
The liturgical calendar, the cycle of the seasons in church life, offers a timely lesson for us this week. We are invited to practice the spiritual movement of Palm Sunday’s announcement that leads to the difficult work of Holy Week, later to be followed by the splendor of Easter. This celebration before the descent serves to empower us through the valley, serving as a witness of the celebration still ahead. Having made our announcement, we are diving into the hard work of the campaign, and keeping our sites focused on Celebration Sunday (June 7).
Admittedly the celebration of the moment is textured with no small bit of trepidation. But so too it was for Jesus. And quite frankly, this journey is a whole lot safer than Jesus’. Underachieving has it’s place, but this isn’t it. It’s our time… to aim high and fly.
