And the Papers, They Were Signed and Said: They'd Never Fight Again

This is my unedited Sermon from Feb 23. I delivered it without the Star Wars bit, but I think it adds more to the feelings I wanted to put forth. Without further ado, here you be:

Ninth Grade (or thereabouts) me...

Ninth Grade. Those of you currently in 9^th grade and older know that feeling. What feeling? The feeling of being in Ninth Grade of course. You’re in that awkward phase of puberty, where nothing sounds or fits just right, and sometimes, you just do stupid things. Okay, so we all do stupid things now and again, but the frequency of stupid things happening seems to increase once you hit Junior High (or is it senior high here?) Well, okay. I was in Junior High at Morris Area High School. There were about 500 students in the entire high school, 7-12grade. I graduated with 72. Of that 72, I was the on the bottom of the social proverbial barrel. I was probably one of the most awkward children in 9^th grade, and that didn’t help my social status. So, being the bottom of the proverbial barrel, kids picked on me. Frequently. There was this kid Rick that would smack me so hard on the arm, I’d have bruises. I didn’t hit back, for my arms were even more flimsy than they are now. No, I didn’t hit back. I followed one of the lessons of today’s Gospel. I ‘turned the other cheek’ in a manner of speaking. I would turn so he would then hit my other arm… Yeah… It doesn’t work so well. By following Christ’s example, I ended up with two bruised arms instead of one. There’s bound to be some sort of logic involved in there right?

“Turn the other cheek.” “Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you.” Some of you have heard these phrases before. But how many of you are willing to do so? How many of you are willing to lay down your pride so that your enemy may persecute you more? Is that the point? Is that the lesson Christ is teaching us? Pray for those who persecute you…

Ninth grade is an awkward time to be pondering these questions. Ninth grade is an awkward time anyway. You’re somewhere in that liminal period between Junior and Senior High, with some kids still acting like teenagers and yet some are growing full beards. Guess which one I was. For most of my grade school years, my mother was the youth director at the church, and we were always at church on Sundays, rain or shine, no snow or driving blizzard. We lived ten miles north of town, on the edge of nowhere, so there were some Sundays where all five of us piled into the front seat of the clunky old pickup truck just to make it to church. We were always at church on Sundays, so I’d slowly absorb some of what the lessons were saying. I apparently absorbed today’s lesson right around 9^th grade. I distinctly remember thinking “turn the other cheek” when Rick would hit me, hoping the kid might find some heart in not hitting me a second time. Nope. I wore two bruises, because I was being righteous. I was being the man I thought I should be.

“But I say to you, Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you, so that you may be children of your Father in heaven; for he makes his sun rise on the evil and on the good, and sends rain on the righteous and on the unrighteous.” (Matthew 5:44-45)

All was quiet on the western front, in faraway fields in 1914. German and Allied soldiers who were shooting at each other for days, gave an impromptu ceasefire on Christmas Eve that lasted until Boxing Day (December 26^th). During that ceasefire, they celebrated Christmas together. Sworn enemies that had been fighting for months on end shared meals and song together, all with the bodies of their friends around them; the bodies of men that were shot by the very men that were now celebrating Christmas together. The soldiers came together; put aside the politics and the warmongering, and became a community, all across the western front; for at least a day or two. But, Christmas came and went, and on December the 26^th, fighting resumed, for another four years. For those brief hours of celebrating the birth of our Savior, community was formed, and peace ruled the land. They loved their enemy, at least for a while.

Fast forward a bit. I was a senior in high school, and our choir was putting on a talent show. I wanted to play guitar in front of everyone, but I’d never played in front of anyone before really, so this was my big break. It was 2007. The American military had been engaged in the Middle East for my entire high school career (and as it turns out, my entire college career so far…). As a bleeding heart socialist in a conservative community, I was the sheep in the pack of wolves that was Morris Area High School. They were in a way, “my political enemies” I could have played something antagonistic, but I chose a different path. I chose a better way. Again, I turned the other cheek. I knew what I wanted to play, but I had to pass it with the choir teacher. Mr. K knew me well enough to know that I was going to sing something political. He was pleasantly surprised when I presented him with a song from 1950.

Ed McCurdy wrote, “Last Night I Had the Strangest Dream” in 1950. It has been covered many times since, and I heard it from the Chad Mitchell Trio. It’s amazing such a song can be so timeless, but I got up there, in front of everyone, and I sang these words of peace:

Last night I had the strangest dream

I'd ever dreamed before

I dreamed the world had all agreed

To put an end to war

I dreamed I saw a mighty room

The room was filled with men

And the paper they were signing said

They'd never fight again

And when the paper was all signed

And a million copies made

They all joined hands and bowed their heads

And grateful prayers were prayed

And the people in the streets below

Were dancing 'round and 'round

And guns and swords and uniforms

Were scattered on the ground

Last night I had the strangest dream

I'd never dreamed before

I dreamed the world had all agreed

To put an end to war.

From that fateful night...

I sang those words, in front of all of my friends, their parents, and half of Morris. With my foot rapidly quivering the entire time, I proclaimed to those gathered there, that we should indeed put an end to these wars. Enough was enough. Seven years later, Iraq no longer has major American military presence, and we’re hopefully leaving Afghanistan this summer.

            

Return with me, to a long time ago in a galaxy far, far away. This time, we meet Luke Skywalker on the ice planet of Hoth, (similar to the climate we currently reside in) freezing to death. He had just had an altercation with a large monster and was losing consciousness. Before he loses coherency, Luke hears Obi-Wan calling from the distance. Obi-Wan instructs Luke to head to the Dagobah system to learn the ways of force from Yoda.

            

A giant battle soon ensues; Luke and the Rebels flee from the Empire’s attack of the planet, and Luke ventures off to learn the force from Yoda. Yoda, a once proud Grand General of the Republic, is hiding out on this planet far, far away from the clutches of the Emperor’s grasp. Luke crash lands on this swampy planet, and soon discovers Yoda. After a discussion or two with Yoda and Obi-Wan, Luke begins to learn the ways of the force from Yoda. He carries Yoda around on his back, lifts rocks using the force, and learns to hone his skills. Yoda then tells Luke, “A Jedi uses the Force for knowledge and defense, never for attack” 

Later on, Luke is sitting with Yoda, when he feels a disturbance, and he wants to check it out. Yoda tells Luke, “Your weapons, you will not need them.” But he takes them anyway. Luke wanders around in the swamp for a while, and then sees him. Darth Vader: the man who killed his father (or so Luke thinks). Vader draws his lightsaber. Luke draws his. A slow motion lightsaber duel ensues, and Luke soon chops Vader’s head off. Too easy. Vader’s head rolls on the ground, and then, a cloud of smoke. Underneath Vader’s shattered mask is not Vader’s face, but Luke’s. This surreal vision was only the manifestation of Luke’s daringness to bring his weapons. The idea was that if Luke continued down his aggressive path, Luke would become what he hated most: Darth Vader.

Christ didn’t say “Turn the other cheek” because he wanted us to be weak willed. A classmate of mine explained that in those days, for a person to slap another once in public was an outrage, but for a person to slap another a second time, on the other cheek, meant that the slapper was the one disgraced. They went over the line. Christ wasn’t telling us to not fight back, but that the slap shouldn’t happen at all. To slap another twice was more disgraceful for the slapper than for the abused. “Pray for those who persecute you” isn’t a commandment of defense, or to make yourself feel better, it’s a commandment of ending violence. If we truly followed the “Eye for an eye, tooth for a tooth”, we’d all be blind and in need of dental surgery. If we only turned the other cheek, and prayed for those persecuting us, we’ll still have those two bruised arms. This text is not about the perpetuation of violence, but about a call to END the violence.

In a country where many are killed due to gun violence; where many are abused by their partners; where kids are picked on at school; we need to implement a change. Christ commands us to find a better way.

Remember that February is Black History Month. Remember the sacrifices Martin Luther King Jr. and others made to end the violence in this country. There are better ways of resolving conflict. Christ told us this 2000 years ago, and think of all the wars since then that have been waged in His name. Find a better way folks. Don’t just turn the other cheek, but pray for those who persecute you to stop the persecution, to find a better way.

I leave you with a video of a recording of John Denver and the Chad Mitchell Trio singing "Last Night I Had the Strangest Dream"

Hermeneutical Heresies

Two weeks have passed (and then some) of my first Spring Semester here at Luther Seminary. As a quick rundown, here are my classes:

Synoptic Gospels: Mark
Pastoral Care
Creation and the Triune God
Early and Medieval Church History
Rural Church Administration (second half of the semester)

And, because it's been a while since I've written in my blog, here's an update:

Over J-Term, I worked a lot at church, stayed home with Sam for the 5 (FIVE!!!) Snow (Frigid cold) days, worked on Greek and Hebrew (not as much as I would have liked), and played a fair amount of video games... (I stocked up because I don't really have time now...)

Also, I've asked my Rabbi, Joseph Edelheit to be my Spiritual Director as a request from my Candidacy Committee. He is happy to proclaim to folks he introduces me to that I had to request permission from the Dean of Students to have a retired Rabbi as my Spiritual Director. It's an honor to have him guiding me through my next few years at seminary, and I thoroughly enjoy our conversations together.

I'm also in the process of finding a counselor, also as part of my candidacy process. Hooray! The last time I was placed in front of a counselor (besides Mr. Graves giving me advice on college) was when my parent's divorced and the three of us went to Lutheran Social Services in Alexandria to talk about said divorce. None of us said much of anything, and the counselor got frustrated with us, so, we didn't return. That was my last formal counseling meeting. (again, besides pre-marital counseling with Tiffany and Pr. Randy)

I also purchased my first truck, a blue 97 Dodge Dakota. It's pretty, runs reasonably fine, and it was reasonably cheap in comparison to everything else. The 4WD has also come in handy, especially in our own parking lot. I've had to use it at least on 3 occasions, and it looks like I'll get to use it again tomorrow. Hooray!

SO, with these new additions to my already hectic life, spring oughta come real quick. Spring... it seems like such a long ways off, especially considering the amount of snow expected to pile on tomorrow. But, there are 40's in the forecast, so ya know... who knows.

On that note, let's (the obligatory hortatory subjunctive) begin. I wanted to officially start off this post with two definitions tonight:

First, Hermeneutic: a method or principle of interpretation
Second, Heresy: a belief or opinion that does not agree with the official belief or opinion of a particular religion. (In the original Greek, αἵρεσις means choice)

Ya know... Lots of choices...

I need to commit heresy. I need to commit a(n) hermeneutical heresy(ies) against myself. Yep. Let me explain. A little more than a week ago, I had a wonderful conversation with Joseph (my Rabbi) as part of my Spiritual Direction (it's really become a lot of life direction as well). (I should write a book someday...) (maybe without all of these J.D.-esque parenthetical thoughts everywhere...)

Anyway, we were conversing about my most recent sermon on Vocation, and he had suggested that I needed to revise it. He suggested that I needed to re-frame the thought as not a single moment of calling, but an entire lifetime of calling. Thus, I should not have focused solely on Luke's calling from Ben as a one time moment, but more of a constant calling of saving the galaxy.

How Luke goes from this guy...

  To this guy...

And to finally this guy...

So as to not show that Luke has only one time in his life that he's called, but that he has had multiple times in which that he is called, to show much more of a story. The idea is, that we are each called not once, but multiple times throughout our lives.

To put it in perspective, I feel that I've been called to be a campus pastor. I have an entire Call Story that goes with that calling. But I only focus on that time at the stoplight with the garlic bread. (If you don't know about the garlic bread story, I'll tell you sometime...)

Joseph also suggested that I should not be so sure of my calling; that my confidence in my call may be a cover for anxiety and fear of what lies ahead. My confidence as to my role in life may not be so confident after all...

And this my friends, is where I commit my heresy.

You see, my CYF professor, Andy Root, explained hermeneutics perfectly this way: he had our class take our forefingers, hold them above our head, and spin them in a circle clockwise (you can try this if you want), watching them spin clockwise. Then, he had us slowly lower our fingers below our nose, (slowly now...) watching as our fingers went from spinning clockwise, to spinning counter-clockwise below our very noses...

Hermeneutics, he explained, is perspective. Our fingers didn't change the direction they were spinning; only our interpretation of the direction changed. Our perspective changed when we moved our fingers from above our head to below it. Our outlook on the world changes, when our perspective changes.

When I moved to California, I had no idea about the daily struggles of immigrant workers. I had no idea the constant fear they lived under. I had no idea of the realities that were "anchor babies". Mothers were scared of deportation when their "anchor babies" lived here in America. When I finally moved back to Minnesota, my hermeneutic on immigration changed. My hermeneutic on LGBT relations changed. My hermeneutic on California(ns) changed. Life changed.

So when life changes, perspectives change with it. This is where I need to commit that heremeneutical heresy. My life has changed in the last few years. I went from college freshman status to newlywed status to parent status to graduated status to seminarian status in less than 4 years. In all that time, I've had the same outlook on my call, and the same outlook on my future life. I think it's time for heresy.

I need to re-frame my outlook on my call. Maybe God was indeed calling me to be a campus pastor. Maybe, however, I should take a hint from others and look at other prospects as well. I still have an undying love for campus ministry, and will continue to fight for it's survival, but maybe I need to broaden my horizons a bit.

When I was 6, we were moving from Saint Cloud to Donnelly, and it was my last day at Roosevelt Elementary (which is now an ECFE center). It was recess, and I was wearing an amazingly awesome red sweatsuit. (Yes, red sweat pants, red sweater). It was windy, and I think this was my first (memorable) in-touch moment with God (or my spirituality), but I can clearly remember sticking my arms out (like a sail) and walking with the wind. With my pants and sweater fluttering in the breeze, I can remember pretending I was a leaf, being carried by the wind, and I slowly glided across the playground, being carried by the wind.

That is where I need to be again. I need to be that leaf again. I need to let go of my inhibitions, and go where the Holy Spirit leads. I need to let go of that confidence, and realize that life is truly up to God. Life is not a road map, but a river; constantly ebbing and flowing, turning this way and that, with tributaries leading to more rivers...

So. All in all, I'm a heretic. I'm committing hermeneutical heresy, but I need to sit back, and let the Holy Spirit guide me and my family. So then, and only then, might my heremeneutic change, and life may once again join that river ever flowing...

Amen

"Come and See" in a suburb not so far, far away...

This is my sermon that I preached today, 1/19/14 at Maple Grove Lutheran. I tailored it specifically for this congregation and context, but the overall message is the same. Again, like the last sermon I posted, you get the added benefit of pictures. (Because, it is a blog after all...)

Woefully wistful...

Luke Skywalker was a lonely moisture farmer on the far outer rim world of Tatooine. Far from the Emperor’s reach on the galaxy, Luke was barely aware of the War between the Empire and the Rebel Alliance, or the battle going on above him. Until two special droids happened upon him, he was quite content living his peaceful life as a moisture farmer. Unbeknownst to him, these two droids held the key to saving the galaxy. Soon after discovering these droids, Obi-Wan Kenobi came to the rescue when Luke was attacked by roaming raiders. Obi-Wan knew what these droids meant to the galaxy. Obi-Wan knew who Luke Skywalker was, and the power he possessed. He knew Luke was destined for great things, he only needed to convince Luke of that.

You could poke an eye out with that...

The Rebel Alliance needed Luke’s help, and Obi-Wan knew it. So, after explaining to Luke the dire situation, and without going into too much more detail, Obi-Wan essentially said to Luke, “Come and See…” “Come and See” what power you possess. Come and feel the power of the force. Come and save the galaxy. Luke protested. He bartered. He put up every defense he could think of. But upon finding out dire news, Luke knew he had no choice but to indeed “Come and See”.

“Come and See”.

In today’s Gospel, the newly proclaimed Lamb of God told his first disciples to “Come and See.” Through the disciples, through the Gospel, he thus calls us to “Come and See.” We each have a “Come and See” moment at least once in our life. When we are little, our parents tell us to “Come and See” what they have for us. Christmas is a “Come and See” jubilee of presents, family and fun. And yet still, there are more prolific events in our lives that are even more of “Come and See” moments. I’m talking about your calling. I’m talking about Vocation.

NOT Vacation... But that is pretty...

No, not VACATION, but VOCATION. One of Luther Seminary’s professors, Rolf A Jacobson, defines vocation best in this way:
“The thing you do that was given to you to do in the way you do for the benefit of those you are doing it for.
Got that? Vocation - not to be confused with vacation (taking a break from things) or vacuation (getting stuff out of your system) - is the thing(s) you are called by God to do, with gifts and talents God has given you, to which you commit your passion and excitement and energy for the sake of God's CREATION.
The word comes from a Latin term, vocare, meaning "calling" - which implies a caller: God. God calls more than just pastors. God calls each of us, gives us many gifts, and gives us a lift up by means of the Spirit. Actually, we all have more than one vocation. Our Christian vocations include our jobs, our roles as family members, our roles as friends, as neighbors, as citizens, and so on. Vocation is all about loving the NEIGHBOR and serving in God's name.”

For it is not merely Gospel writers, parents, Jedi Masters or employers telling you to “Come and See”, it is God. Divine Will. I’ve written a few times about Divine Will, for the concept intrigues me. However, I have my own personal experiences with it that inspire that intrigue. For it is that I am called to eventually be ordained into pastoral ministry. Ask me sometime about my Garlic Bread story, but suffice it to say that I kicked around after high school a little, met Tiffany at Lutheran Campus Ministry in Moorhead, and felt the call from God shortly after entering college. I feel that I am called to specifically campus ministry, but for now, I’m still a Junior at Luther Seminary. I have three years of education and internship ahead of me, plus at least three years at a first call until I’m able to fulfill my true calling.

I came to Luther Seminary before I even graduated from Saint Cloud State University with my Bachelor of Elective Studies degree. I entered into the Children, Youth and Family program and thus was thrown into flurry of interviewing for paid youth ministry opportunities. After being discouraged from multiple NO’s from other congregations, I had a lovely call from Pastor Chris inviting me to check this church out. I’m so very thankful for that call. Today’s Psalm says, “He put a new song in my mouth, a song of praise to our God. Many will see and fear, and put their trust in the LORD.” (Psalm 40:3)

Yeah, it was something like that… Anyway, that call from Pastor Chris was God saying to me, “Come and See”. So I came, and I saw. I saw what wonderful people you are. I saw the beautiful ministry that goes on here. I also saw the hurt from wounds still fresh, yet God’s healing presence is ever present. I saw the tremendous opportunity for growth this church has for me; and the tremendous growth opportunity this church has for itself. I plan to grow alongside you, making this church a better place for us all. And here I am, in front of you all, thanking you all for this blessed opportunity. Without your support, I wouldn’t be able to be here. Without your continued support of all the youth activities, I wouldn’t be able to be here.
Isaiah tells us how he’s been called to be the prophet that he became in our first lesson. For it is that in Isaiah that we first learn of the call for the Messiah, that shoot of Jesse. “You are my servant, Israel, in whom I will be glorified.” (Isaiah 49:3) Isaiah was called to “Come and See”, the disciples were called to “Come and See”, and each of us are called to “Come and See”.

Everybody needs somebody...

Each one of us are called to be somebody for someone. Each one of us is called to be whatever God wills us to be. Each one of us is called to “Come and See” the glory that is God’s creation. Remember last week when it was unbearably cold, and the wind was so cold it would freeze your brains? When it was so cold that the governor closed every public school in the state? Did you dare stop to listen? Did you stop in that frigid cold, for a few seconds, just to listen? You see, sound travels so very well in that cold. Moisture has trouble forming in that cold, so sound waves have nothing but physical objects to block them. What that means is you can hear practically everything you couldn’t before. I remember last week when I briefly just stood there and listened, the snow sounded different. The snow felt and sounded like Styrofoam. At other times in that frigid cold, I have stood in that stillness, and heard the crinkling of the ice on trees; the smoke coming out of a chimney with a low hum; a rabbit hopping a block away. And somewhere in that cold; that frigid air; that stillness, God was there.

You know... that cold...

“Come and See”, Jesus said. Next time it gets that cold, (hopefully it waits until next winter), just stop and listen. “Come and See” the glory that is God’s creation. There are two images I think of when hearing the words “God’s creation”. This frigid image of stillness, and an open field. Maybe some of you have had the pleasure of growing up on farms, in the middle of nowhere, so some of you may know of this, but I encourage each of you to get out of this bubble that is the cities. I encourage each of you to drive until any hope of civilization is miles away. This is another reason I’m thankful for being called to Maple Grove. I miss the openness. I miss the sprawling prairies of Western Minnesota. Maple Grove is on the edge of the cities, and I like that. You don’t have to drive too far to be in the middle of nowhere. Not so long ago, this was the middle of nowhere. I used to joke that Donnelly was on the edge of the planet, with the drop-off just over the horizon. But even so, when I need to clear my head, I imagine that open field in the middle of nowhere, with nothing but the sound of nature to keep me company. In the summer of 2015, I’ll be inviting the Junior High youth to “Come and See” the beauty that is Greater Minnesota. (...more like Better Minnesota)

God calls us each to “Come and See”. It may be our vocation that God is calling us towards. It may be God calling us to see God’s beautiful creation, but that Lamb of God is calling us for a purpose. In the words of Smith in The Matrix Reloaded, “It is purpose that created us, purpose that connects us, purpose that pulls us, that guides us, that drives us; it is purpose that defines us, purpose that binds us.” We seek this purpose daily. Even if we think we know what God’s purpose for us is, we may still be wrong. That’s what faith is for. Faith is that binding agreement between us and God. God has faith in us, we have faith in God. Paul said it best in today’s epistle reading from 1 Corinthians, “I give thanks to my God always for you because of the grace of God that has been given you in Christ Jesus, for in every way you have been enriched in him, in speech and knowledge of every kind - just as the testimony of Christ has been strengthened among you - so that you are not lacking in any spiritual gift as you wait for the revealing of our Lord Jesus Christ. He will also strengthen you to the end, so that you may be blameless on the day of our Lord Jesus Christ. God is faithful; by him you were called into the fellowship of his Son, Jesus Christ our Lord.” (1 Corinthians 1:4-9)

The Lamb of God calls everyone, saying “Come and See”. God calls all of us. Go, and see God’s purpose for you in your life, and live in the splendor of God’s creation.

Amen.

In a Box, High Up on the Shelf

I'm not gay, but I was in 5th Grade when I was first called a fag. Before then, I was picked on for my underbite, my rockin' hand-me-down sweatsuits, my less-than-stellar appearance, whatever. Fifth Grade was the first time my sexuality was questioned by a classmate. Fifth Grade was the year I lost my cousin and my paternal grandmother. Fifth Grade was the beginning of my activist life.

Before then, I had little knowledge of what sexuality was. Fifth Grade was the big year where boys got to learn what boys had downstairs and girls got to learn what girls had downstairs. (Sixth Grade was the big year where boys got told what girls had and girls got told what boys had) Of course the videos were corny and outdated. Of course everyone was awkward and inappropriate about it. Puberty happens when it happens.

I was nice. I wasn't an asshole. I wasn't a jock who cared about sports. I was smart. I loved learning about space and science. I loved the little trivia games we had. I loved playing oboe (a "girl's instrument") in band (I never practiced, but I loved playing it). I didn't pick on anyone, I made dad-jokes even then. Somehow, all of that, meant that I was gay. When it happened, I did what every curious child would do. I looked the word up.

When I looked it up in a dictionary (before wide use of the internet), this is similar to what I saw:

So, I wasn't a schoolboy in Britain, or anything pertaining to one, and I wasn't a cigarette. It led me to the last definition and thus the following word, Faggot. There it was, right underneath. Faggot: A male homosexual. (can't be female of course...)

Fifth Grade. My sexuality was first questioned when I was too young to understand why.

From then on, it was continuous. As I grew up, the teasing didn't stop, they were just more inventive. Butt Pirate was my favorite... There was a kid from Texas who would call me a gay fucker in Spanish. There were kids of all ages calling me a gay fucker. I knew I wasn't, so it didn't make sense to me why they knew something I didn't. There were cute girls, and I had long-lasting crushes on a few of them, but I never asked any girls out until much, much later. We lived 10 miles away, I was too young or unable to drive, and we were poor. There was no point.

California Sunrise... In January...

My parents divorced and I moved to California with my younger brother and my mother. I joined choir, and met some really cool folks. After our first choir concert, the nice ones asked if I would like to go out to Denny's with them. It was the first real social engagement I had had with multiple people who weren't related to me. So I went out with them, and during the conversation, one of them asked what I thought of gay people. I told them that they were cool ordinary folks and I kinda knew a couple from working at McDonald's... They nodded and went on talking, and then a note came to me and it said, "Bryan's gay." Oh. I smiled. It was then that I knew I was in. I was cool. I was a trusted friend, and that knowledge was good.

From that point on, I had a trusted friend that was part of the LGBT community. It was then that I knew I had to fight for their rights alongside them. That was when I proudly wore my 'ALLY' Button on my heart (figuratively of course). Gay was no longer a label of fear, but a friendly, smiling face. I wasn't gay, but I had a trusted friend who was, and that was important to me.

Remember that dude?

I moved back to Morris a changed man. It seemed everybody grew up my senior year. That is until... Facebook. Facebook suddenly became available to those without .edu emails. (which is how I acquired one, but I still had to be invited from a current facebook user...) One of my classmates made a pro-life note on facebook, and it sparked a discussion in the comments. A LONG discussion... about 40 comments until... Someone threw in a homophobic remark... and then another... and another flurry of comments went flying by. Half of the upperclassmen were in this discussion (okay, maybe not half... but a lot) My Senior Class President, the representative of all that is good for my class... said something to the effect of, "all those gays better leave the country" or something...

Either way, the discussion was printed out and given to the principle. People were talked to, but no recourse was done. Then, sometime in the course of that year, the liberal kids showed up in school with shirts from UMM that said, "Gay? fine by me..." Which of course provoked the conservative kids to show up wearing shirts that said, "Gay? NOT fine by me..." Both shirts were soon banned from the school... Soon after that, I started placing DFL and LGBT-Ally propaganda on my locker, above my locker, anywhere for people to see that I was lamb in a pack of wolves. I wanted to get out of that town, and get on with my life...

Christmas Day 2009

Life... funny how it all worked out. I bounced around for a few years after graduation, and wound up working at the Flying J Truckstop in Fargo. I was a server in the restaurant (above) there for a year or so, and whilst I was there, I met a handful of lovely colorful characters. I also got to hear all the conservative banter from all the truckers. One night, I was alone up front with no customers when a driver came barging in.

"Are you the only waitress?", he exclaimed. "No," I said, "I'm a waitER, and yes, I'm the only one." He replied, "NO, you're a WAITRESS, you're working up here, you're a WAITRESS." "Alright sir," I sighed, "I'm the only server yes. What can I get for you?" He huffed, turned around and proceeding to stomp out of the restaurant. He met my coworker, a female server at the door, and talked with her for a while. Then, he left. I heard later that he complained to both my coworker and to the C-Store next door about how the restaurant DARE hire a fucking faggot. How DARE they allow one of THEM to work. I was so mad... I went to the back room and yelled. A lot. I almost quit. I saw the man again, a few times. I wasn't allowed to serve him, for fear I might 'get the gay on him' or something... The manager never kicked him out...

I'm not gay. I have wonderful, brilliant and inspiring friends in the LGBT community. I fully support, fight for and insist on their full rights guaranteed to them and every other person in this country. But that's not what I'm getting at. That's not why I'm telling you these harrowing tales. I'm telling you because I can't tell my youth. At least, not yet.

You see, I feel it is very important to inform my youth about this, because I'm sure they or their friends have been picked on. I'm sure they know of someone who's been bullied for something they're not. And I know they hear the conservative rhetoric about LGBT folk, especially after the Duck Dynasty crap. It's current, it's relevant, and I wanted to talk to my 7-12graders about my stories and what the Bible really says in the 4 or so verses that mention something resembling homosexuality. But I can't.

It was suggested to me that I need to be obedient to the church. I need to learn my context, and feel it out. I need to take it slow. I was told that I can't be put in a box like I should be. That little box on the Shelf... My point, my friends, is this, and it's a recurring theme: Can my past experiences be put in a box, high up on a shelf... all for the sake of my church? Does my calling hinder my past? Where do my advocacy and activism boxes go? When does doing the right thing take a side to... political pressure?

CAN I NOT BE MYSELF?

CAN I NOT ADVOCATE AND FIGHT?

Where is the line between right and wrong when I cannot do the right without being in the wrong? I feel like I'll face this dilemma frequently in my future calling... The church is meant for more than playing nice.

One last thought: I think I've told this story before, but I think it's prudent now. My rabbi always told the story in class about the time in his rabbinical office when a man asked him if the rabbi would accept the man for his homophobia. If the rabbi was so accepting of LGBT folks, would he accept the man for being homophobic. He never told the end of that story, and I think that's the point. It's always the question. We must seek the answer, but probably never receive it.

Amen

Honey Smoothies

For this blog post, I give to you my sermon from this morning (which also happens to be part of my Pentateuch final). I went off the lectionary, because honestly, I preached about the slaughtering of the children last year (and it's rather a depressing text), and I wanted to not let a fine sermon used for a final go to waste. We had to use a text from the Pentateuch for my final, so I picked Numbers 20:1-13. It's only found in the daily lectionary on a random Tuesday or something... It's one of my favorite stories, and you'll soon find out why. And every good sermon must have a Gospel somewhere, so I went with Matthew 6:25-34. An oldie, but a goodie...

(You get the added benefit of pictures) (for it is a blog after all)

Do we have to? Are we there yet? Can we listen to something else? He keeps elbowing me… All of us have been there. Stuck in the backseat with your smelly brother on a long car trip over the river and through the woods to grandmother’s house you go... Okay, so maybe you don’t all have smelly brothers. Maybe you don’t all have smelly sisters. I don’t have any sisters, but I’ve had enough car adventures with my smelly brother to know that it stinks, BOTH figuratively and literally. That point where the smell starts giving you a headache; the air conditioner (or heater) isn’t working well enough and you start to sweat profusely (or shiver profusely) (let’s face it, you’re never comfortable in the backseat) until you can’t take it anymore. You cry out with as many complaints as possible, because you’ve had enough of your tight quarters next to your smelly brother.

           

Your dad yells from the driver’s seat, “Cut that out, or I’ll pull over and you can walk the rest of the way!” (Knowing that he was merely threatening; that there was no truth behind it.) (Or, at least you hoped.) So, you sit back and endure the rest of the trip, next to your smelly brother. But, maybe you’ve been that father, or mother, who has said such things to your children. (Even though you were merely threatening, but there was no truth behind it.) (Or at least they hoped.) Stress makes us do crazy things sometimes, especially in the last month or so. But, crazy enough to defy God’s divine will?

           

Moses had valiantly rescued the Israelites from the clutches of Pharaoh’s grasp. He guided them across the Sea of Reeds (or the Red Sea) by the thousands. God gave Moses the tablets with the 10 Utterances (Otherwise known as the 10 Commandments) not once, but twice. God gave the Israelites manna; promised them a land flowing with milk and honey (sounds sticky). Sure, they had to walk around in the wilderness for 40 years, but God had set aside a land just for them. A land flowing with milk and honey (still sounds sticky) and they had had enough. Their feet were tired, their livestock were dying (probably stinking up the place), they had no fresh fruits (sounds like Minnesota right now), and most damning of all, they had no water. Stress may cause you to do some crazy things, but dehydration is a whole other animal. We’ve all seen the movies of people walking forever in the desert and seeing mirages (Spaceballs comes to mind), doing and seeing anything to get water. But, defying God’s divine will? That may be going a bit far, don’t you think?

After Moses and Aaron had heard enough whining, they went to the tent with the Ark, and asked God for wisdom. God commanded that Moses was to speak to the rock in front of the Israelites and it would bring forth water. Crazy eh? It’s like squeezing water from a rock… Oh wait… So Moses takes the staff, goes in front of the people, and smacks the rock. Not once, but twice. Had Moses smacked it once, it would have been a major “oops” at most. Had he smacked it once, Moses might have been able to enjoy honey smoothies with the rest of the Israelites in the Promised Land. Had he smacked it once, it would have been a mistake. He smacked it twice. Not once, but twice. Twice shows intentionality. Twice shows that the stress and dehydration have gotten to him enough that he’s done listening to God’s commands. Twice shows that Moses is fed up with wandering around and he wants results. Moses hit it twice, and thus he died before ever reaching the land promised to him and the Israelites.

            This summer, I had the blessed opportunity to traverse the land of our northern neighbors with New Wine. During the trip, I would overhear some youth saying things that were racially and religiously offensive. I told them this story of Moses. I said, this is what you said, this is why it’s offensive, and now you know. You are no longer ignorant about it. That’s your first strike against the rock. The second strike, I get to yell at you. This way, they learn a bible story, they learn why what they said was wrong and offensive, and it gives them a chance for redemption. However, once they are no longer ignorant of the offense, and I catch them saying similar things; that shows intentionality. Once you get pulled over for having a headlight out, you can’t blame ignorance if you get pulled over again.

I learned this rhetoric from my rabbi, Joseph Edelheit, the Director of Jewish and Religious Studies at Saint Cloud State. He uses it when he hears students say offensive things, and thus I adopted the practice. I think it worked well this summer, and I will continue to use it. Hopefully, I won’t have to all that often.

           

            And yet, there’s still something missing… My brother Erik is completing his final year at Wartburg Theological Seminary, and he’s always vigilant when listening to sermons. Where’s Christ JoN? Where’ the Gospel JoN? Where’s the Gospel in such a LAW LAW LAW text? DON’T DISOBEY GOD. HE WILL TAKE AWAY YOUR HONEY SMOOTHIE.

A couple books before this text, when Moses goes atop Mount Sinai, he receives the 10 Utterances from the Lord. Moses comes down the mountain to see that the Israelites had DISOBEYED GOD and made a golden calf idol. They were worshipping this golden calf. God threatened to wipe them off the face of the planet, but Moses pleaded with God to stay God’s hand. Moses asked if God had led them out of Egypt, then why was God so willing to slay them after this offense. God saw Moses’ reasoning, and decided to not destroy the Israelites. LAW LAW LAW. Where is the Gospel? For that, we have to look at the whining. We have to revisit the smelly brother.

           

            In the Gospel of Matthew, Jesus is preaching the Sermon on the Mount. Blessed are the cheesemakers and such… But towards the end in Chapter 6, Jesus utters these words,

            ‘Therefore I tell you, do not worry about your life, what you will eat or what you will drink, or about your body, what you will wear. Is not life more than food, and the body more than clothing? Look at the birds of the air; they neither sow nor reap nor gather into barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not of more value than they? And can any of you by worrying add a single hour to your span of life? And why do you worry about clothing? Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow; they neither toil nor spin, yet I tell you, even Solomon in all his glory was not clothed like one of these. But if God so clothes the grass of the field, which is alive today and tomorrow is thrown into the oven, will he not much more clothe you—you of little faith? Therefore do not worry, saying, “What will we eat?” or “What will we drink?” or “What will we wear?” For it is the Gentiles who strive for all these things; and indeed your heavenly Father knows that you need all these things. But strive first for the kingdom of God and his righteousness, and all these things will be given to you as well.

 ‘So do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will bring worries of its own. Today’s trouble is enough for today. (Matthew 6:25-34 NRSV)

            When I was younger, I was always worrying. I seem to have grown out of that because my wife, Tiffany insists that I don’t worry enough anymore. But when I was younger, my father noticed this and shared with me his favorite verse. “So do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will bring worries of its own. Today’s trouble is enough for today” (Matthew 6:34). So this text has become a marker for me. I cling to the wisdom it holds, and perhaps that is why I don’t worry as much as I should.

            So maybe Jesus has a point. Maybe we shouldn’t worry too much. That smelly brother isn’t going anywhere, and there isn’t much you can do about it. All you can do is sit back and relax as best you can. I had a choir teacher in high school that got tired of us whining all the time. He proudly proclaimed once, “Life sucks, so get over it.” Not very consoling to a high schooler…

            Instead, take consolation in the fact that things will hopefully, eventually get better. The car ride will end, and fresh air can be felt again. The sun will rise on a new tomorrow, and God is there, walking with you. Smacking the rock twice may garner consequences here below, but all are welcome at the Lord’s Table, with plenty of honey smoothies to go around. Merry Christmas.

Amen.  

Out of the way, it's a busy day... I've got things on my mind...

So, I'm sorry it's been a while since I have written a blog post, (before Thanksgiving in fact) but as the title suggests, I've been busy. After Thanksgiving with Erik and Rachel, finals were in full swing and life happened. It's a busy time of year for all of us, and even now, I'm squeezing in a lunch with Pastor Todd of Living Waters Lutheran in Sauk Rapids before he leaves on a trip to a foreign land. I'm currently waiting for him to finish his pastoral duties before we can eat, so here I am, squeezing in this blog post while I have a few minutes.

It's a busy time of year. Finals are finished, tomorrow will be the shortest day of the year (well, okay... all days are 24 hours long, but tomorrow has the shortest period of daylight) and Christmas is upon us in a few days...

Ahh, Christmas. That magical time of year where we get to open presents, see family, and share this holiday cheer...

I had the blessed opportunity to give a devotion at a senior care facility in Maple Grove yesterday as part of my pastoral care education through my current position. I couldn't really think of anything to say right away, but then it came to me, and I'll share it with you now.

A Christmas Card from long ago...

I told them that when I'm in stores or the mall this time of year and I hear "Mele Kalikimaka" or "Christmas in Killarney" over the radio, I have powerful memories come over me. I remember that when we were young(er) and celebrating Christmas at the Grandparents' house in Saint Cloud, all the cousins would gather round and dance to those songs. My grandfather would be sitting there in his chair with his holey socks and overgrown legs, waiting to catch one of us in case we fell (or maybe to capture us to wrestle with us in his chair) (he had super long arms and could reach us from almost anywhere) and my grandmother in her seat on the couch.

Every time I hear those songs, those vivid memories of those Christmases invade my being, and I am overwhelmed. I told these elderly senior citizens that these overwhelming memories of long past loved ones are God's way of tapping us on the shoulder as if to say, "it's okay. They may be gone now, but they'll always be with you." They'll always be with us, in our memories; in our stories. 

Christmas is a blessed time of year, and let us all remember the good times. Let us also then create new ones with our loved ones, so that we may look back on these days filled with strife more fondly. 

Merry Christmas, and God Bless us, Everyone.

Amen

Thanksgiving and Leftovers

(DISCLAIMER) Like most things in life, better things usually come later. Please read until the end before making judgement on the following...

No Stuffing at the First Thanksgiving... Just the way it should be

Rejoice always pray without ceasing, give thanks in all circumstances; for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus for you. - 1 Thessalonians 5:16-17 (NRSV)

Thanksgiving. It's less than a week away. Well, at least for us Americans. Our neighbors to the north, those silly Canucks, had their own Thanksgiving a month ago (October 14th to be exact). Tiffany, Sam and I are headed to our neighbors to the south however, to the land of those silly Iowegians, better known as Iowa. My brother is finishing his final year at Wartburg Theological Seminary and thus, it is our last (and first) chance to go visit him whilst he's down there. Thankfully, it's not too far.

Thankfully, Sam is old enough to not freak out too much on long car rides anymore. However, after this Christmas, I think the fam and I will let everyone come to us for holidays. I think we'll just stay home for holidays from now on, wherever that home may be. I'm thankful we have a home to stay home in.

However, thankfulness is something that I need to work on. I seem to have let some thankfulness slip over the years. I remember having to write Thank You cards after Confirmation, Graduation, Wedding, Baby Shower... and then neglecting to do so for the Confirmation and Graduation. Having to be reminded constantly was really... saddening, even though I still didn't do it. Why was I reluctant to Thank people? Why are we reluctant?

I was reluctant this month to thank the Luther Seminary donors for my scholarship. Yes, I received a scholarship to come here. I was awarded it this spring when I met a few of my current classmates for the first time. There were about 20 of us; we were all promised a scholarship, and told there were multiple FREE RIDE scholarships. I had my hopes, dreams and sights set on one of those FREE RIDE scholarships. Why not hope? Because I'm not THAT special. That's why not.

I should have known that the lowest possible scholarship was going to be mine, and not bothered to hope for anything more. Yes, I got a scholarship, but it was the lowest possible scholarship they offered. When I first heard that I received the scholarship, I was hurt. I worked so hard, tried my darnedest in the entire process, and I got the leftovers. I was more hurt than thankful, when I should have been overjoyed to hear such wonderful news. Many of my classmates had no such scholarship. Some received better ones, some received FREE RIDE scholarships. I got the leftovers.

Even the leftovers say "Thank You"

I see these FREE RIDE scholarship winners everyday, and I have to ask myself why they got one and I didn't. What was different about them? What special qualities did they have that I didn't? Could it be that they were able to be much more active in school and have better grades than I because they didn't start a family in the middle of college?

If they had based it on economic need instead of grades and activities, I might have been able to get a better scholarship, maybe even a fabled FREE RIDE scholarship. However, it seemed their priorities were stacked against me, and I'll have to be alright with that. I'll have to be thankful for those leftovers.

It's sometimes hard for us to thank people for stuff we don't feel thankful for.

It's hard to thank the great aunt who gives you a loaf of bread for your birthday.
It's hard to thank the ex-girlfriend who gives you a coloring book for Christmas.
It's hard to thank the new mother-in-law of your recently remarried father for pajamas.
It's hard to thank the donors for a leftover scholarship.

It's hard to thank sometimes. But it doesn't mean that we shouldn't.

I know I should have thanked the donors, I just... didn't make it a priority.

It's hard sometimes, when I really am thankful for things, and I can't contain my gratitude. How can we differentiate so much on what we are thankful for?

It's easy to thank God for family.
It's easy to thank God for friends.
It's easy to thank God for the food on our plates.
It's easy to thank God for the life we have.

It's easy to thank sometimes. But it doesn't mean that we shouldn't.

So what about those leftovers?

Oh yeah... those leftovers...

I received a scholarship. $500 a class/year. It's not a FREE RIDE but it's enough to make a difference in my financial aid. And I should be thankful for that. I am. I am thankful for the scholarship, however the donors will never know that due to my... delayed gratitude...

So this Thanksgiving, and every Thanksgiving... When you're given the leftover canned cranberry sauce, the organ meat of the turkey, the burned pecan pie, the mushy stuffing, just say "Thanks". You may not want it; you may be overjoyed with it. In any case, be thankful. 

There's a lot of people across the world, across the nation, across the state, across the road... That have less, that are given less...

There's a lot of seminarians at Luther that have less, that are given less... 

So be thankful. 

Amen.

P.S... Thoughts on paying for seminary (with or without a scholarship and financial aid), and paying for education in general will addressed next time... Until then, Happy Thanksgiving!