Great (and unlikely) sermon illustrations

I love good sermon analogies, especially when they are so delightfully odd, and yet relevant that I cannot even be jealous that I didn’t come up with them. (Actually, with proper attribution, I can use them myself later on. Most preachers are flattered by the re-use!)

In the last few days, I’ve come across two. First, in her book So Much More: An Invitation to Christian Spirituality, Deb Reinstra has this great analogy about love and free will. God created us with free will so that our love toward God would be freely given. However, that opens everything up to some risk. This is something like kids wanting their family to get a real puppy rather than relying on the stuffed variety. The real puppy shows real affection. (Animal behaviorists, hold your fire! This means you, Dad! It’s not just about the food.) But the real puppy can also create some real problems in the house. I have friends whose dog was so destructive she bent the bars on her steel crate and wiggled the crate over to a recliner which she managed to tear apart through the bent bars. Kind of like we humans and sin–sometimes we will work our way around any obstacle just to do some really bad stuff.

My friend Meg, who is spending the summer doing ministry in one of the national parks, just preached a sermon on doubting Thomas and bears. I’ll provide the link so that you can be delighted by this one as it unfolds with Meg’s special variety of wit.

It’s Official…

Finally, seven years after starting seminary, three years after ordination, a year after starting the whole “presbyquest” process, and six months after starting a search,
I have my first “called and installed” ministry position. Yesterday, the congregation of Fox Valley Presbyterian Church in Geneva, IL voted to call me as their Associate Pastor for Children and Youth.

For my CR readers, let me tell you that these Presbyterians pack a whole bunch of the call process into one crazy Sunday. I preached during the service, they immediately held the congregational meeting,  I immediatly accepted the call, and after greeting more people than I think I did at my wedding, I signed 6 copies of the call papers. (The clerk explained that the 6 copies are necessary because “We are Presbyterians…” A thorough people.)

On Thursday and Friday, we found an apartment, too.

This is my last week downtown, and after 4th festivities, I start work in Geneva. We move into the apartment in about two weeks.

So, of all the questions and prayers that have been swirling this spring, many are now answered: we know where we’ll be living; we know where I’ll be working; we know that the baby gets to take her sweet time in picking a birthday.

The biggest remaining question: while we have an emergency-back-up-boy-name (should our “girl” prove to have been a wily subject during her ultrasound), we are stuck on two girl names. I think this is a delightful question to mull over for the next month or so!

The Whole Household of Faith

  • Deuteronomy 6:4-9 & 2 Timothy 3:14-4:2
  • June 25, 2006
  • Fox Valley Presbyterian Church

At 5:30pm, four weeks into my first year of being a teacher and a minister, Mrs. Bailey caught me on the phone just as I was about to lock my door and leave my classroom and go home to try to recover from another day. There was a problem with her daughter’s Scripture Survey homework, and she hoped I would understand. Kenisha wouldn’t be handing in the Psalms assignment I’d given that day. We were studying lament psalms, the ones where the writer gets really upset, angry even, with God, airs grievances, and maybe at the very end takes a little turn toward hope or trust. But most of these psalms are just the psalmists getting a whole lot of stuff off his chest.

For homework, I asked students to write their own lament. What would they say to God if they had permission to be a little angry? It was a perfect assignment, I thought. Most of my students’ lives were pretty tough. They needed to let off some steam, and I was sure that this could be a great moment of spiritual growth for them.

Kenisha, one of my best students, most interested in religion, great encouraging smile, deep sense of spirituality, would not writing this assignment, said Mrs. Bailey. “I am not raising my daughter to be mad at God,” she said.

Here’s my chance, I thought, teach the daughter, teach the mother, too. And so I tried to explain—we have permission to get a bit angry with God. The Psalmist does it. That means we can, too. These psalms are our model, example prayers we can adapt for our own use…Mrs. Bailey wasn’t buying it, and wondered who on earth I was to tell her this. She started listing her church credentials. Impressive…elder, leader, Bible study years, awards…and she didn’t care one bit if I’d been to seminary, or where I’d gone to college, or how much church credentialing I had. We were not supposed to get angry at God. If David did it, that was one thing. But Mrs. Bailey, Kenisha, me, we had no business being mad at God. (I was starting to think God was getting the best end of the deal, too, not to have deal with Mrs. Bailey’s anger directed heavenward…)

By the end of the conversation, we’d resolved two things. I’d be wise never to throw my own credentials around in front of Mrs. Bailey. And Kenisha was not completing that assignment.

My first taste (and my first great failure) of truly inter-generational ministry to the families of my students. I was little slow to learn it, but Mrs. Bailey was one of the people who began to teach me this: Ministry to children, to teenagers cannot happen in isolation from their families and their communities. What I did as a religion teacher rarely worked without parents, fellow teachers, ministers, friends, and community who blessed the lives of my students with wisdom, grace, testimony, and faithfulness. God’s expectation is that we do not walk our faith alone, but accompanied by family, friends, and community—a whole household of faith.

And while God knows each of us intimately, God interacts with us as a community, asks us to travel together and grow as community.

In Deuteronomy 6, Moses is the midst of a LONG farewell speech to the people of Israel. So long that when we read this passage, we’ve lost sight of the setting (given several chapters back.) All of Israel, every man, woman, and child, every tribe, every household, is gathered to hear Moses, to review their story, to renew their covenant with God. There are things Israel promises to do, and there are things God promises to do. Israel will follow God’s ways, and God will lead Israel into the promised land. And what we read this morning is at the heart of those promises: the covenant is not just for the community assembled in front of Moses in the desert, but for the community yet to come—a covenant with the people, and their children, and their children’s children. This is a covenant, a walk of life, that must be transmitted, passed down, by faithfulness and on-going testimony, from family, friends, and community, by the whole household of faith.

At the center of the covenant is love of God that infiltrates every part of life—heart and soul, mind and strength—a love for God that affects everything we are and everything we do:
intellect and innovation,
art and athleticism,
spending and serving,
playing and performing,
relaxing and repairing.

It’s a heavy order to teach such a complete love of God to each generation, and it can only be done if it is done every minute of every day. From waking to sleeping, door to door, and every step in between.

And that is exactly why God calls on Israel to do this in the context of community. No parent, no teacher, no pastor, is present at every moment of every day. The continuity of the covenant will depend on the whole community.

My dad is a pastor, and perhaps I should not tell all of you this because I hope you will meet him some day. (On the other hand, this could be seen as payback for the occasions when I was one of his sermon examples…) As I contemplated going into ministry, he said to me: be careful about a youth or children’s ministry positions. People want you to fix their kids. That’s an impossible job.

The perfect pastor for youth and children cannot fix kids. No matter how many programs and gimmicks and wacky water balloon fights and great snacks we hand out at church, every body goes home eventually. The greatest influence on any child is her family. The greatest influence on any teenager is his family (yep—I know you‘re not always ready to admit this as a teenager, but you are both doomed and blessed to grow up to be your parents’ child!).

Moses says to Israel—teach these things to you children, when you are at home, and when you are away. When you wake and when you rise. In the rhythm of daily living. Add this to the pressure of being the perfect nuclear family today, and you can count on not being able to pull it off.

One expert on churches and families commented, already 20 years ago, that the expectations placed on today’s marriages and families for emotional fulfillment, with virtually no support expected from the broader community, these expectations are surely many many times higher than they were in previous generations. It is not possible for families to carry all the weight of expectation—from society and culture, even from church—to raise the perfect child, to be the best source of wholeness for every person.

But remember—what God asks of families is addressed all of Israel. Families are not alone. Moses says this just to households isolated from each other, but to families connected in tribes connected into a whole called nation of people interwoven together—not just to households of faith, but the whole household of faith.

And so the whole household of faith, woven together in this community, is responsible for passing on the covenant. As far as I can tell, this means that youth ministers and children’s minister are not called just to teach the children, run the programs, be the accessible, with-it confidant for a church’s teens. They are called to equip the whole community to follow through on the promise to pass the covenant on to the next generation.

I could not contemplate being a pastor for youth and children if it didn’t mean the vision and support of the whole community. And as I have come to know this church, what I have heard about is a community that has great programs, but is just as interested in creating webs of relationships for its children, a network of extended family for its teens. From what I have heard, this a community that is not looking for one person to fix its kids, but rather someone to walk alongside them, and to better equip each member to fulfill the promises they made when a child was baptized.

And that promise does mean teaching and programming, water balloon fights and great snacks.
But that alone will not do it.

One of my ministry mentors reminded me to read the letters to Timothy every once in a while, especially when I need a refresher course on being a minister. I don’t do it nearly often enough. But when I do, I am always struck by all of the images of growth, connection, and family that Paul uses when he talks to this young pastor. He reminds Timothy to treat everyone on the church as if they were dearly loved family members—the younger ones little sisters and brothers, the older ones parents. And he reminds Timothy that this very network has supported him, and shaped him for the things God calls him to do. From babyhood on, Timothy was nurtured by a mother, a grandmother, a whole community, and from them he has learned everything he needs to know to follow God.

From what I can tell, this is a community that wants to equip its children to be like Timothy. To know scripture, to know and love God in every possible way. This is a community that can have the imagination to look beyond programs to relationships.

At 10:40am, ten weeks into my first year of being a teacher and a minister, I was standing in front of my classroom, giving God the most sincere thanks for the faithful witness of Mrs. Bailey. My fourth period Scripture Survey class had all but ejected me from the room as a heretic when I tried to explain the doctrine of the Trinity. Hands were flying up around the room, and comments went along these lines:
“That makes no sense.”
“How can Jesus call God Father if they’re the same thing?”
“Who taught you that?”
“What kind of church do you come from?”
“That’s not what we teach at my church.”

Except Kenisha who sat there looking steadily at me, nodding at what I said, and thinking, “All right…That’s what my mama taught me.” She was my only ally in the room. And I blessed God for her wonderful, faithful mother. This whole “Trinity” thing that I clumsily explained, Kenisha already knew and believed by on-going testimony from her mother.

Thanks be to God—
for the faithful witness of parents, and teachers, pastors and friends,
for the gift of a covenant and a community, and for a new generation.
Amen.

Simple pleasures

Add this to the listof simple pleasures—shorts.

I wouldn’t necessarily call myself a shorts fan. My knees are not my favorite body part, and I like the summery-skirt look better.

But I just put on my new $8.00 denim shorts (maternity, fabulous consignment shop, 30 minutes frantically trying on every pair of shorts that might fit with critique from my husband and mother—yes, I know that’s a little wierd). And they are fabulous, especially since the waist band promises to stay put a little better than the trendy brown ones I bought a few weeks ago. Now that I am cleared to take walks and be pregnant through July and part of August, I hope I’ll get good use out of these!

God moves (my placenta) in mysterious ways

For the past 3 months, way too many aspects of my life have been up in the air. I really don’t like uncertainty. I like to be spontaneous, but uncertainty, especially when it involves:

(a) work and call

(b) where I live

(c) the developing child in my womb

(d) when that child will be forced to make an appearance

is just a little too much. (However, a good exercise in trust! Especially the pregnancy stuff.)

3 months ago, Erik and I found out that our very healthy growing baby was developing perfectly in-utero, but my placenta was not where it was supposed to be., what’s called a “complete placenta previa.” (The best comment on this was Sandi, who said, “You mean you’ve got a Toyota in there?”) Our doctor assured us this was not just the low-lying early pregnancy placenta.  I was basically a blood spot away from a really long period of bed rest in the hospital, and the baby would have to be delivered by C-section a month early.

1 month ago, we were “upgraded” to a partial previa. And then today, we were told that it is now just a “low-lying” placenta.

All of that medical jargon means that the placenta has moved its way up and away from where it wasn’t supposed to be and I can stop being as constantly worried about that drop of blood, whether I am walking too far to get to public transportation, and having a tiny, month early baby. She can stay in there until late August if she so desires! (I’ll probably regret saying that in a few weeks!)
The other exciting news is that the unidentified chunk-o-baby I’ve been feeling underneath the right side of my rib cage is the baby’s butt. And, the baby is really into grabbing at her face. She’s done that in just about every ultrasound we’ve had.

Meanwhile, I’m not sure I fully learned the spiritual lesson in all of this: I’m not always in control. Pregnancy means that God and another person basically move in and take over your body. (I know this is not the nicest way to describe it, but the baby is kind of a little parasite!) And no matter how many books you read, how many nutritionally balanced meals you eat, how much appropriate exercise you do, something could still go wrong. You can’t peek in and check on the baby all the time. There is always something to worry about. And all you can do is trust that God is somehow in there with the baby, making sure that fingernails grow, kidneys develop, and placentas move to where they’re supposed to be. I don’t know if I’ve gotten any better at that trusting, but now at least I have two months to work on it, rather than just the one.

My family online

My cousin Katrina, whom I cannot rave about enough, has just put together her own website. (Seems a certain recent high school graduate suddenly has some free time on her hands…)

And the highlight of the site may well be the video clip of all six of my younger cousins (all of whom I cannot rave about enough) combining their talents for a high school family fine arts performance. I’m proud to be genetically attached to a group that is so talented, and yet humorous.

Synodical Couch Potato

After an afternoon and evening, and a late night, too, glued to the webcast, I am done for the year with the CRC Synod. Check Mary’s blog for good comments, and a few of my rants on the subject.

I am grateful for the men who stuck their necks out for us women in the debate last night, for their tact and passion on the issue. My friend Jay was especially eloquent, and I was proud to know him after listening to his speech. Jay is quite possibly the first minister delegate to Synod who is married to a minister, and he kept saying that he didn’t presume to speak for women, but without female delegates, he was probably about as close we got to speaking!

In my less passionate moments of the evening (i.e. when I wasn’t yelling at the computer screen), I kept wondering how my beloved CRC polity professor (sitting in as an advisor to the Synod) felt about the polity-mess being created by the motions that were passed. And then I felt very grateful that I’ll be at Presbytery meetings rather than Classis meetings for the next few years. There are going to be some pretty sticky situations to sort out in CRC polity based on what happened last night!

This morning, I am trying to convince myself to be as interested in the Presbyterian General Assembly, and reminding myself that I still like Dutch people by watching the Dutch team beat Ivory Coast in the World Cup.

What I’m reading (and paying attention to) this week

  1. Just to get my brain thinking about the new call, yesterday I finished Family-Based Youth Ministry, by Mark DeVries. The basic idea: family will always have a stronger influence on a teenager (even if the teenager is loathe to admit this!) than a dynamic youth worker. Youth ministry must include parents. And, youth ministry must connect teens to the other people in their church, too. Great book.
     
  2. Children Matter, by a whole bunch of authors. A big, fat compliation of ideas, theory, and theology about ministry to children. Again, to get me thinking about the new call.
     
  3. I haven’t started it yet, but sitting in my bag is Lost Icons: Reflections on Cultural Bereavement, a book of essays by Rowan Williams (what a title!). I read it a few years ago, and I want to re-read the essay about childhood.
     
  4. The latest addition to the pile of baby books is Baby 411. Maybe I could put this off for a few weeks yet, but I think it is time to start familiarizing myself with the intricacies of such subjects as diaper contents and baby sleep patterns. This book is so much more straightforward than anything I’ve read, and funny too. The funny part helps because it keeps me from feeling completely freaked out at the prospect of being responsible for the quickly-coming little one.
     
  5. It’s like a car accident I can’t pull my eyes away from: the CRC(NA) Synod  (national gathering) is meeting this week in Grand Rapids, MI. My plan was to  largely ignore the event, other than a little long distance cheering for friends who were being approved as candidates for ministry. Besides, the General Assembly of the PC(USA) is meeting beginning this week, and I thought I’d try to pay more attention to them (remember—I’m currently a minister in both denominations). But then I got sucked in: Preaching to the Choir, the blog of another woman pastor in the CRC who is monitoring things from Grand Rapids, alerted me to the issues about women in office that were coming to the floor of Synod. So now, I’m listening to the live feed on the web.
     
  6. And in an effort to read something light, I’ve been working my way through Frek and the Elixir. Erik recommended it as “Harry Potter, but with biochemistry instead of magic.” I’m not sure I’m going to make it through—every time one plot line seems to resolve, another one takes off, and all of these separate plots are not well inter-laced at the edges. Or, maybe I just don’t like biochemistry that much.

Why I’ll miss church in the city

More news on this later, but a move is in the works for me and Erik, and a move that means I won’t be doing church in the city anymore for awhile.

Working at a big church on a busy corner in the city means that you are constantly in the mix with any possible cocktail of the human condition—dogding slow-moving tourists when you’re in a hurry, smiling at the panhandler on our corner who comes daily with his dog, wondering at the amount of money some people will spend on shoes—and all of that mix comes into the church, too—to gawk at the great stained glass, rest a few minutes (or more) in the pews, go to AA meetings, stop by on church business.

On Sunday, I had two huge reminders of what I’ll miss. After the morning services, a new deacon who had just finished his shift in the narthex giving tours and answering questions caught me at the receptionist desk, wondering about locking up the church. As a deacon, he’s likely one of our more experienced and connected members. But he was fairly surprised that the doors would stay open, and people could continue to come in and mill around the sanctuary for the rest of the day. A locked church sends the wrong message. It is a gift to be at a church that keeps its doors unlocked, where you might run into anyone taking a moment to pray or rest.

And then there was vespers. Halfway through the service, I had to break up a little altercation between two women in the communion line. It seems one had stepped on the other’s foot. Both women didn’t have the emotional resources to let an incident like this just slide, and so had descended into shout-whispers demanding apologies,  casting blame. (A good reminder, I thought, that even those of us with a bit more emotional control probably would say some pretty nasty things about our fellow travellers in the communion line if our social controls didn’t hold us back.) It turned out just fine. One woman just needed a hand on her shoulder, reassurance that she was safe, and a few extra feet between her and the other. The other woman needed to talk it out a bit longer (although, her reasoning was incoherent, evidenced by the moment when she claimed to be an assistant pastor and threatened to have security throw me out of the sanctuary!).

All of these people, thrown into the mix of church together, and all there because somehow they want to experience God. It’s seems so easy when the church is on a busy pedestrian corner. Everyone just drops in. Human life and experience seems completely concentrated.

I have to remember that this is true in any church, even in different settings. My ten week summer assignment during seminary was in a working-class suburban church of thirty people, and that was often more intense than the city church. The suburban churches I’ve worked in truly had an amazing level of emotion and bustle, and even a great amount of drama and God-hunger once you got to know them.

And my new church will have all of thesethings I love about ministry, only in different ways than every other church I’ve worked at.

Breaking in with the boys

The Synod (annual national assembly) of the Christian Reformed Church meets this week in Grand Rapids, MI. I could not have said it better than my friend Mary…

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