"The Morn of Song"...

"Though with a scornful wonder we see her sore oppressed,
by schisms rent asunder, by heresies distressed,
yet saints their watch are keeping; their cry goes up, "How long?"
And soon the night of weeping shall be the morn of song."
                    - "The Church's One Foundation" - verse 3.  Words: Samuel J. Stone 1866

I have difficulty with these words.  Not because I disagree with them, but because I know their truth.  I have felt the pain of the Saints who have labored and given their lives for the Church.  I see the things that are tearing the Church apart: the decisions, the issues, the conflicts, the disagreements.  And I hear their cry.  I hear the change in the language that we once used to avoid: the name-calling, the labeling.  And I hear their cry.  And I, too, ask, "How long?"

Over the last few weeks, it seems as though the conflicts, the name-calling, the posturing and the defensive positioning, have given the Church more than just a black eye.  We've done damage to the Kingdom.  We've disrespected the Saints who gave their lives for it.  We've taken for granted the Cross.  And I hear their cry.

Whenever a conflict arises, the optimal thing to do, according to the experts, is to look at it as a challenge for growth.  "We can grow from this experience" they say.  "We can look at it as an opportunity" they say.  But the one thing that I find missing, the one thing that is sorely absent, is the act of penitence.  What have I done that has caused this rift?  Where have I been a part of the injustice?  Where did I benefit from or cause pain to another?

Please do not get me wrong.  In no way am I suggesting blame or fault.  Nor am I seeking to affix the proper victor's wreath to either side.  I am merely asking the theological question: Where is God in all this?

I remember reading years ago, although I cannot recall the source, that a reporter had once asked a question of the late President Lincoln during the height of the Civil War, a question of theology.  The North and the South had both claimed they were fighting for "right" and claimed God to be on their own side during that great and bloody conflict.  The reporter asked Lincoln which side he believed God to be on - the Union or the Confederacy?  Lincoln, so I recall, pondered the question for a brief moment, and then responded in his typical folksy way, but with all the sincerity he could muster, "I believe that God is at the side of every widow, and orphan, and childless mother and father."

There comes a time when we must stop trying to prove the other wrong as we seek to be proven right.  There comes a time when we must begin to ask the right questions: How can I be most faithful to the one who disagrees with me?  What am I seeking in my heart - to be right, or to be a servant for the Kingdom?  Am I putting my own desires, my own agenda, my own wants and needs ahead of Christ's calling?  Where am I willing to sacrifice myself for the sake of the Kingdom and Christ's Church?  Or to paraphrase Bonhoeffer, "Where is the cost of my discipleship?"  How am I leading others to Christ Jesus with all that I have and all that I am?  How am I responding in grace?

I am not naive enough to think for a moment that what I've said here will change those who are so deeply entrenched into their positions that they cannot see the other's point of view, and begin an honest, listening dialogue with each other.  But I am hopeful.  Trench-warfare scenarios do not last forever.  Truces come, and the fighting ceases.

At least that's what I've been told about the real reason for this Season of Advent.  There is a light coming into the world.  I pray that it will be one that will soften the hardest hearts, and bring about a peace that passes all understanding.  Mountains will be made low, and valleys will be lifted up.  Rough places will be made smooth and the crooked ways will be straightened.  This night of weeping shall not last.  Soon there will be a morn of song.

Grace  and peace,
Brad

Old and New Traditions…

Our family just got back from our traditional Thanksgiving Week campout.  We spend the few days before and after Thanksgiving in our travel trailers in an RV park nearby our home, so that we can spend some time “away” without having to take several days to “get there and back.”  We enjoy the time together, Jan gets to try new recipes for the big meals, and we all get to set around a campfire in our portable fire pit every evening.  Usually my sister flies in from California, and Jan the kids have the week off from school.  It is a relaxing time to catch up on what’s been happening with everyone, and we get to just chill.  It is truly a time to remember for what we are thankful, and why.

Traditions are funny things, aren’t they?  You try something once, and if you really enjoy it, you wind up trying to duplicate it, or even improve upon it.  Before you know it, you’ve begun to plan on it, even count on it happening again and again.  Planning a Thanksgiving getaway usually begins in late August, and we start looking at a map.  “Where can we go, that we don’t have to travel too far?”  Before long, a destination is chosen, then the menu planning begins.  I can almost see the wheels turning inside Jan’s mind as she begins to plan out the meals, draft the shopping lists, and organize the spices that she will need to take along.

A new tradition has come about in recent years that I did not plan on, but happily have assumed.  For years, whenever my family went camping, we always had fried potatoes and onions for most meals – especially for breakfast.  Dad’s famous recipe included using an old Coleman stove that had never been cleaned – he said “it added flavor to whatever you cooked on it.”  As the years went by, I bought a stove similar to his, and began to help him do the morning cooking – eggs, bacon, or sausage – it didn’t matter.  Then eventually, I took over the morning fare.  Someday, I hope that Braedon will take on this tradition as well.

Traditions have a way of growing on you.  Before you know it, they shape you, mold you, and fill you with meaning that cannot be easily described.  As soon as we get home from thanksgiving, the next set of traditions are started – decorating the house for Christmas.  It’s all a part of getting ready. 

Which is what Advent is all about.  It is about getting ready for the coming of the Christ Child in our midst.  We make room, we decorate, we prepare, we clean, we start our lists – not just the ones involving baking, and mailing Christmas cards.  But the real lists.  The ones that we need to keep that will remind us of who we are.  And whose we are.

Scripture reminds us of the ways that Advent explodes onto the scene - it doesn't!  We want fanfare, and we get modest hints.  We want the glorious, the fantastic; but the Prophets share the secrets of what is to come.  We want the message to be clear and concise; and we get cryptic, almost hidden allusions to what is about to happen.  "Behold! A young woman is pregnant and is about to give birth to a son, and she will name him Immanuel (or "God is with us"). (Isaiah 7:14, CEB).

Somewhere, there are shepherds - perhaps not looking after actual sheep - but shepherds nonetheless.  They are keeping silent watch.  Waiting.  Anticipating something remarkable.  And alert.  Somewhere there are star-gazers, fortune-tellers by trade, who will be made aware of something spectacular, and it will turn their lives upside down.  Rulers will find that their power and their thrones will be no match for what God is about to do.  Poverty and suffering will be faint memories of the past, like mists that disappear in the morning sun.  And people will begin to sing songs that the heavens will hear, and the choruses will be full, and the Son of God will arise.  But it will happen, suddenly.  Without provocation.  Without warning.  In the twinkling of an eye.  And then our traditions will begin to make sense.  And our worship will have meaning and purpose.  But in the meantime, keep faithful.  Be mindful of the traditions that have shaped you in the faith.  

I pray that this Advent season will somehow bring back some of the old traditions – the ones that molded and shaped you into the faithful disciple you are now.  And I pray that this Advent season will also instill in you some new traditions – ones that will shape you and nurture you to grow even deeper into the spiritual being you were created to become. 

Get ready.  God is doing something new – again!

Grace and peace,

Brad

The new Catacombes

I have just returned from a two-week, whirlwind tour of the Footsteps of Paul throughout Italy, Greece and Turkey.  We landed in Rome, took a quick bus tour through the city, saw the Pantheon, and boarded a cruise ship that would be our home for the first 9 days of the tour. We set sail toward Sicily, where we viewed an ancient Greco-Roman amphitheater, a couple of churches, and a wonderful view of Mt. Etna.  Got back on the ship, set sail for Athens, where we disembarked for a quick tour of ancient Corinth and then Athens, especially Mars Hill (see Acts 17:15ff for where Paul spoke the Greeks' statue to an "Unknown God"), the Parthenon, and a spectacular 360-degree view of the city of Athens. Back on the bus, back to the ship, and we set sail overnight for Turkey, where we visited ancient Ephesus and Miletus.  Back on the ship, then sailed to Crete for a quick half-day excursion, and then back on the ship for a full-day and a half at sea back to Rome.

When we got to Rome this time, we were actually allowed to tour for two days.  We saw the Vatican (were standing in St. Peter's Basilica while the Pope was officiating at Mass), and all the artwork, including the fantastic Sistine Chapel.  (As Steve Martin would say, "did you know that he painted that whole thing in one stroke?")  We also visited St. Paul's Cathedral, where his remains are entombed; saw the Forum, and the cistern/prison where Peter and Paul were both imprisoned;  the famous Coliseum, and several more churches/basilicas/cathedrals...

From Rome we went north to Assisi (my favorite town!), where we saw St. Francis' remains entombed in the church there; plus Ste. Clare's church and her remains.  Then on to Pisa, (where they do not know the wonderful old hymn, "How Firm A Foundation") to see the banana-shaped Leaning Tower; then on to Florence, the birthplace of the Renaissance.  After Florence, we traveled back to Venice, where we toured the city, saw the canals, and realized that it has become so expensive in Venice that they people who work there are forced to commute in from outlying areas.

Throughout the whole trip, the thing that occurred to me most often was that we were visiting places that not only shaped human history, but also our faith's journey.  We were seeing the places where the Church grew up, as it were.  We were witnessing the Church's growth from infancy to adolescence to adulthood.  We saw places where Christians literally lived and died for their faith.  Not just the biggies like Paul and Peter; but everyday, ordinary people.  Christians like you and me.

The most spectacularly moving place for me was when we visited the Catacombes in Rome.  We wandered around in the catacombes beneath the city for what seemed like hours - the places to which Christians fled to escape persecution - the places where the faithful came to bury those who had died.  Every where you looked, there was a crevice dug into the walls where there would have been a body laid.  In some places, whole rooms were carved out for large families.  The bodies of the faithful would have been buried on these shelves, then covered over with tile or brick and sealed with a home-made mortar.

Wandering around in the places where people huddled for fear of their very lives.  To think that Christians, who were suffering such great persecution at the hands of heartless, cruel, dictatorial leaders, had the courage to continue to meet together in these dark tunnels beneath the earth's surface in order to encourage each other to hold steadfast in the faith, it shook me to the core.

Ironically, there are still places in our world where Christians meet in secrecy.  While on the cruise ship, I encountered my Stateroom Attendant, who asked me in the hallway, "Are you a Christian?"  I responded, "Yes, I am."  He then invited me to come to a small worship service where some of the crew would be gathered.  He asked me to bring a message of hope - to a tired, yet truly faithful crew.  Crew members from all over the world worked on this ship, over 1,200.  Only a handful were dedicated to helping to hold one another accountable in their walks of faith. The worship service was on the second deck, near the bottom of the ship, and it was to be held at 11:30 pm.  In so many ways, I was going back in time, traveling down to the catacombes of the Ship.

Yes, the sites were all delightful, inspiring, and awe-filled.  But the best sights to see were not above ground. Yes, there are still catacombes.  And there are still Christians who are gathering to help encourage one another, teach each other, and support each other in their efforts to be faithful witnesses to our Lord Jesus Christ. They were hungry for a word of faith from someone outside - a word of hope, a word of encouragement.  So I shared that.  And I was the one who was truly blessed.

Grace and peace,
Brad

Breathing...

Ever watch a child try to hold his/her breath?  It is rather humorous to watch!  They take a deep breath, puff out their cheeks to full inflation, and then begin to change colors!  Parents of old  would panic and do anything to get them to breathe again, usually culminating in cowing to the child's wishes (mind you, my parents never did.  They just waited until I gave up, or passed out on the floor and started breathing on my own automatically).

A few years ago, I taught a class on Spiritual Disciplines, and introduced to the class the notion of the Breath Prayer.  It is a discipline that reminds the individual to be aware of the ever-present love of God.  It is a short phrase or two, usually with the first part of the phrase being quietly said while inhaling, and the second part being quietly said on the exhale.  Repeating the phrase several times tends to calm the spirit, and bring peace and the knowledge of the presence of God.  It can be any sort of phrase that will draw one into the presence of the Living God, and bring about a sense of peace while dwelling in that presence.

My breath prayer is relatively simple, and one that is modeled after many familiar ones: "Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on me, a sinner."  Breathing in after the first phrase, out after the second, in on the third, and out on the fourth, brings a rhythm to me that reminds me of God's presence and instills a holy peace.

Lately, I have been traveling a lot.  In the last two weeks alone, I have been in Chicago, El Paso, and Dallas; each trip for a different purpose due to my relationships with three different functions I serve within the Southwest Texas Annual Conference of the United Methodist Church, or for my new position as Executive Director for Oasis International Missions, Inc.  Next week I will be in Kerrville, then the following week in Houston, and after that I will be traveling overseas to Southern Europe.  Again, each trip is for the many different roles that I portray within the greater relationships that I have with my new job and the Annual Conference. The travel is kind of fun, but meeting people and sharing with them what I do for Oasis is absolutely fulfilling in a way that I have missed.

 This morning's devotional reading was a single verse from Paul's second letter to Timothy, in which he said simply, "Remember Jesus Christ, who was raised from the dead and descended from David.  This is my good news" (II Timothy 2:8, CEB).  Paul was reminding Timothy to keep his eye on the most important aspect of the ministry.  Forget Jesus, and you've forgotten what your mission is all about.  Keeping your mind and heart on the most important person keeps us focused on what's essential.

Interestingly, I have found that my breathing had become labored lately.  I noticed that I was having a hard time taking a deep breath. Sleep wasn't coming as easily for me as it had in the past. I was struggling, and I couldn't figure out why.  Yes, my travel schedule was full, and sleeping in strange hotel rooms tends to rob me of a good night's sleep, but I was having trouble focusing on what was before me.

Until I read this morning's devotional and scripture.  And it dawned on me.  I had forgotten to breathe.  No, not the mechanical, physiological breathing process.  I had forgotten my breath prayer.  And in so doing, I had literally starved my spirit of the life-sustaining power of the Holy Spirit.  Remember when God created all there is - including humanity?  "...the LORD God formed the human from the topsoil of the fertile land and blew life's breath into his nostrils" (Genesis 2:7, CEB).  God gave us the breath of life - the life spirit that comes from God's own breath.

While I had been running around, I had realized that I was tired, because I was "holding my breath" so to speak.  I had forgotten to breathe in God's Spirit/Breath, and was suffocating.  Once I came to my senses (difficult to do when you are faint from not breathing right!), I breathed in and out using my breath prayer.  And I realized that God was still near, waiting on me to run out of breath, collapse, and ultimately come to him again.  Which I did.

And now that I'm breathing again - my soul is not nearly as tired as it was.  (Who knows what color I was turning before I finally came to my senses!  No, wait.  God knows.)  Keep breathing, folks.  In and out.  Be filled once again with the Life Breath of the One who loves you most.

"Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on me, a sinner.  Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on me, a sinner.  Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on me, a sinner.  Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God..."

Grace and peace,
Brad