A Religious Experience at the Symphony

It’s no secret that I am an aficionado of violin music, particularly the music of today’s most well-known violin savant, Joshua Bell.

Last night, for my birthday, the wife took me to see Bell perform live with the Academy of St. Martin in the Fields orchestra.  It was an all Beethoven program, and it was amazing.  More than amazing, it was a religious experience.

Being particularly interested in the violins, I spent most of the evening watching the violinists – especially Bell, of course – as they performed the music.  As I watched, I noticed that the different violinists appeared to take different approaches to their instruments and to the music.

For some, it was as though musician and instrument were the best of friends, the musician gently tucking her instrument under her chin and whispering to it with a quiet intensity – sitting quite still and smoothly drawing the bow across the strings as.  Musician and instrument – engaged, as it were, in a delicate conversation.  Together, these  two closest of friends created the music, music of beautiful tone and elegant beauty.  One could tell that these musicians and their instruments belonged together.

For others, though, it seemed as if the concert was a form of gladiatorial combat between musician and instrument – a musical death match.  No gentility here.  Instead, the musician grabs his instrument and wrestles it into submission, pinning it to his shoulder and raking the bow on its strings.  Concertgoers watch them exchange blows, as the musician jerks his body back one moment as if struck and forward the next as if dealing a retaliatory blow.  Yet somehow the force of the combat called forth the best from both musician and instrument, resulting in a music no less beautiful and all the more poignant for the battle that produced it.

Then there was Joshua Bell.  Bell is one of those unique individuals for whom the violin is neither friend nor foe – it is part of him.  The distinction between Bell and his Stradivarius is more than just blurred in the performance, it is removed altogether.  Instrument becomes an extension of the man’s life, and he pours his heart into it.  One might say it is like lovers, but even that does not adequately capture the intensity of the union between Bell and his instrument.

And the music!  Oh, the music.  It is almost too much to take.  Words fail in describing its beauty, its eloquence, the passion of its sound.  One watches Bell and quickly understands that making music is more than just a way to make money.  It is more than a hobby.  It is something he must do.  The music is there inside of him and one gets the impression from watching him perform that releasing that music is a catharsis, a necessary self-emptying without which he would go mad.

It struck me as I was watching that Bell was the living portrayal of something the prophet Jeremiah once said when people told him to stop preaching:

“But if I say, ‘I will not mention his word or speak anymore in his name,’ his word is in my heart like a fire, a fire shut up in my bones.  I am weary of holding it in; indeed, I cannot.” (Jeremiah 20.9)

I have always enjoyed this verse but, until last night, I have not completely understood it.  It seemed like something cute to say about being a pastor and my calling to preach.  But when I watched Bell in the throes of ecstatic revelation while playing, I recognized that he not only got this verse (even if he’s never heard it), he lives this verse every time he performs.

And as I watched and listened in silent awe last night, I felt the question arise unbidden in the deepest part of my own being – is that how I feel about my calling?  It is not music but gospel that wells up inside of me – am I so passionately desperate to get that message out, to share it with whomever might be listening that the very thought of not doing so drives me mad?

Or is gospel something I just offer up each Sunday because that’s my job and it’s a way to make money to pay the bills?

Joshua Bell is a prophet with a violin.  All of us who claim to have something to share with the world would do well to catch a performance of this modern day Jeremiah.

I'm All Talk

Okay, maybe not ALL talk...but mostly talk.  At the very least, I think anyone who knows me can agree that I talk a lot.

I realized that this week as I prepared for worship and as I began to prepare for a challenging series of lessons this summer.  I realized it even more just a few moments ago as I perused the last few entries on this blog.  I seem to have a lot to say - about what it means to follow Jesus and what the church should look like and that sort of thing.

I talk a lot.

But I don't do so much.

For example, I talk a lot about the poor and how we have a sacred responsibility and calling to care for them.  But I stop at McDonald's or the gas station several times a week to buy myself food that I don't really need.  I don't give my resources to actually do something about the poor.  Instead I buy the latest new release for my Kindle.  And I'm not just talking about money.  Instead of giving my time to advocate for the poor or get involved, I sit in my recliner and read about other people who do those things.

For a second example, I talk about being an "ally," about standing up for those in the lesbian, gay, bisexual and transexual community who are regularly abused by those both inside and outside the church.  But I don't actively do anything to stop that abuse.  I haven't even built up the courage to speak about it publicly (though that's coming soon...).

I could go on, but I think that I've made my point.  Part of it.

Because I'm not entirely talk.  I can list some things that I have done, some ways that I have been active.  I could applaud myself for those steps.  But the steps I take aren't radical.  They don't speak to a deep commitment or passion for these issues.  They speak instead of a life that is willing to give at the margins of my comfort zone.

I don't think it's entirely intentional.  Often I simply don't think about the ways that I perpetuate the very systems that cause poverty and hatred and abuse.  Other times I settle for the excuse that I don't know how to get involved on a larger level.  But that's just an excuse, a cover up for the real problem.

Which is that I'm a lazy Christian...or a cowardly Christian.  I don't know how to get involved because I choose to not know.  I could if I wanted it bad enough.

But do I?

Right now, I'm not even sure I want to skip my morning trip for caffeine before church in the morning.  I "need" that caffeine...

...so I can talk some more.

As You Were With Moses? Yippee.

I've been doing a bit of reading in the book of Joshua recently.  I love his story, the way that God worked through him to achieve great things for God's people.  I find Joshua to be one of the best examples of leadership.

I was struck by something new this week as I read through the first chapter - particularly the second part of verse 5, where God makes the following promise to Joshua:

As I was with Moses, so will I be with you; I will never leave you or forsake you.


I've read this verse before - many times.  It's a great verse - full of promise and encouragement.  It would make for a very positive, life-building sermon text.

All that said, though, I found myself this week wondering what Joshua's reaction to it might have been.  After all, Joshua had been with Moses for some time as Moses' assistant and helper.  He was there for many of the challenging times and he certainly would have known about the titanic struggle that pitted God (through Moses) against Pharaoh with the Israelites' freedom at stake.

He would have known about the mountain top and experienced the golden calf.  Moses might even have told him about God's suggestion that everything be destroyed again and started over with Moses and the subsequent prayer "discussion" between God and Moses.

In short, the picture that would have come to Joshua's mind when God promised to be with him "as God was with Moses" might not have been the peaceful, easy portrait of encouragement and companionship that we often expect.

In fact, Joshua might have thought something like, "God was with Moses and Moses went through all of that.  Now God is promising to be with me as he was with Moses.  Does that mean that I have to go through all of that?  Oh boy."

I could completely understand it if Joshua's reaction to the first part of God's promise was tempered and not wild enthusiasm.  After all, who really wants to go through the kinds of situations Moses faced?

This is why I find the second part of this promise to be so enthralling - God says, "As I was with Moses, so I will be with you" and then says, "I will never leave you or forsake you."  Now that had to have been soothing and encouraging to Joshua.  Because no matter what situations he might face - and if you read through the book of Joshua, you'll discover that he faced his fair share of challenges - God had promised to never leave or forsake him.  Ever.

So even if God called Joshua through the same hardships as Moses, it would be okay.  I have this mental image of Joshua's facial expression going from concern when hearing the first part ("As I was with Moses...) to peace when hearing the second part (I will never...).

This matters to me - and to all Christians - because I think we have been conditioned to hear promises like the one that God makes to Joshua in this verse as promises of peace and calm.  So when life's challenges arise and we are going through our own titanic struggles or facing our own temptations, our reaction often becomes, "God, where are you?  You promised that you would be with me like you were with Moses.  Why have you abandoned me?"

But when we remember just what Moses' life looked like even as God was with him, it should serve to remind us that God didn't keep Moses from hardship and his promise to Joshua (and us) is not to keep us from hardship or challenge.  God promises two things - to be with us and to never leave us.

I don't know about you, but just knowing this has helped me better deal with even the minor challenges and difficulties in my life this week.

Think about it.

Rejoice Always? (What I learned about life from a Green Bay Packers fan...)

Hanging in the sanctuary of our church is a decorative quilt that was made by one of the ladies in the congregation.  It is a beautiful quilt that has verses from Scripture stitched all over it in large, easy to read print.

As I was spending some quiet time in the sanctuary earlier this week, I noticed one particular set of verses on the quilt – 1 Thessalonians 5:16-18, which say:

“Rejoice always, pray continually, give thanks in all circumstances; for this is God’s will for you in Jesus Christ.”

I confess that, when I noticed those verses on Tuesday morning, it was not with a sense of joy.  In fact, I was greatly frustrated by them.  You see, there’s another member of our church that was recently diagnosed with cancer.  Other church members are going through intense financial struggles.  Every Sunday another church member informs us all of the  number of soldiers who have been killed in service of their country.  

And so it goes – on and on, more and more struggles.

As I sat there Tuesday morning, staring at that verse, the question slid unbidden into my mind:

“How on earth can I rejoice in the face of all this bad news?”

Don’t get me wrong, I recognize the wisdom of Paul’s words here.  They sound good, and I would love to practice them on a day to day basis.  But I just don’t know how to do it – and that frustrated me on Tuesday morning, and it continued to frustrate me throughout the day.

Fast forward to right around lunch time.  I stopped by a local business, where several of our church members work.  While there, I ended up having a conversation with a guy in the church who happens to be a Green Bay Packers fan.  Moreover, this guy and his wife were in Lambeau last Sunday for the Packers’ playoff loss.

As you might expect, our conversation turned to that Packers’ loss.  I asked him if he had gotten over it yet.  His response, though he couldn’t have known it at the time, would go a long way toward transforming my worldview.

He said something like this: “It was disappointing, but I would rather have watched the Packers lose while sitting in Lambeau than sitting at home on my couch.”

The power of those words didn’t hit me until later in the day.  Talk about perspective!  Talk about taking a bad circumstance and finding a way to rejoice and give thanks!

You see, I’m a Saints fan.  I was crushed by the Saints loss.  And though it shames me to admit this, if I had been in San Francisco to watch the game, I don’t think my reaction would have been so healthy.  Yet this Packers fan member of my church found reason to rejoice even as his favorite team suffered a defeat to end their season.

Now I’m not foolish or naive enough to equate a football game with cancer or financial struggles or the sacrifice of soldiers – but I can’t help but wonder if there is not a lesson for all of us in the words of that church member.

When Paul writes, “Rejoice always, pray continually, give thanks in all circumstances…”, he is not saying that we have to deny that the circumstances are bad or pretend that everything is okay.  However, like my friend the Packers fan, we can find ways to acknowledge our pain and struggle and disappointment and still rejoice and pray and give thanks.

Incidentally, that’s what the last part of verse 18 is all about.  God’s will in Christ for each and every one of us is not that we would be crushed and overwhelmed by the circumstances of our lives, but that by rejoicing, praying and giving thanks, we would overcome them.

That’s what I learned about life from a Green Bay Packers fan.

A Growing Sense of Helplessness

Over the course of the last week or so, I have been following the news of the various "Occupy" protests.  Not real closely, but I have been following.  I have done some reading about what these protesters are upset about and have seen some pretty jarring statistics.  All of this following has led to a mini-crisis in my mind.

To a great extent, I agree with the protesters.  The growing gap between the haves and have nots in our country is untenable.  That the United States is ranked 93rd in the world in income equality (behind China and Iran, among others); that CEO's make, on average, 350 times the salary of a regular employee; that 1% of the population owns 42% of the financial wealth of our nation while 80% share a meager 7% of that wealth; that the bottom 80% of the population control only 15% of our net worth, while the top 5% control 60% - all of these are signs that something is dreadfully wrong.

What makes it even worse in my mind is that so many of those top 5% would likely claim to be "Christian" in their religious views and practice.

But there is nothing Christian about greed, nothing Christian about profiteering, nothing Christian about refusing to pay employees a living wage.  All of these things are, to put it bluntly, immoral.  The Bible clearly speaks about paying men and women a wage that allows them to live.  It also clearly speaks against those who would withhold from others the things necessary for life.  There is even a portion of the Bible that says that the people of God cannot hold someone's cloak as a pledge for debt!  Exodus 22:26-28:

If you take your neighbor's cloak as a pledge, return it by sunset, because that cloak is the only covering your neighbor has.  When they cry out to me, I will hear, for I am compassionate.


Everything takes second place to care of the neighbor.  This is a consistent thread through Scripture.

So why do we feel that we can call ourselves Christians and knowingly take advantage of our neighbor?  How can I continue to support a system that allows some people to go hungry while others are making BILLIONS of dollars?

The simple answer is that I can't.  Which is why I support the protesters.  Call this post my "Occupy Blogger" stand.

The thing is, even as I write those words - that I support the protesters - I realize how impotent and trite they sound.  The poor don't need my words, they need food.  They don't need symbolic stands, they need jobs.  They don't need a blog post that they won't read, they need a living wage.

And in the face of all those needs, I feel helpless.  What good will it do for me to say that the system is broken?  I participate in that system every single day.  Realistically, what can I accomplish?

I don't know...and it is frustrating.  I keep praying that God would show me a way that I can get involved, that I can use my gifts to make a difference and have an impact.  Until he does, I am left to do the only thing I can: offer words of warning and encouragement.

To those who are at the mercy of the system, who are jobless, homeless, hungry and (seemingly) powerless:

But now thus says the Lord,
He who created you, O Jacob,
He who formed you, O Israel,
Fear not, for I have redeemed you;
I have called you by name;
You are mine.
When you pass through the waters,
I will be with you;
and through the rivers,
the waters shall not overwhelm you.
When you walk through the fire,
you shall not be burned,
the flame shall not consume you.
(Isaiah 43:1-2)


And for those who are a part of the system, who willingly tread on the backs of the poor to make their millions, who ignore the need, who pretend it is no big deal:

When the poor and needy seek water
and there is none;
when their tongue is parched with thirst,
I the LORD will answer them,
I the God of Israel will not forsake them.
(Isaiah 41:17)


jB

My Son & Communion

One of the things that has become apparent in my transition into the United Methodist Church is that there are some areas of theology and church practice on which I will have to develop a new perspective.  The service of Communion is one of those things.

The denomination in which I grew up placed a great deal of emphasis on being an appropriate age to receive communion - one needed to be fully aware of the symbolism of the event and what it all meant.  Of course, I had adopted the same point of view.  It made sense to me.

In the UMC, though, things are done a bit differently.  Children of all ages are encouraged to receive communion...even down to Hannah (almost 6) and Ike (almost 4).  At first, I wasn't sure I wanted my own kids to participate.  I even went so far as to ask Melissa to stop them from receiving...but my wife replied by saying that she wasn't sure she could stop them without causing a scene.

Fast forward to a couple of weeks ago when we served communion.  My son and daughter were sitting in the back of the sanctuary with one of the older couples in the church.  As the stewards were handing out the bread and juice, I just happened to glance back in time to see my son take the bread.  This seems like an appropriate place to mention that on this particular Sunday we were all receiving the elements together - each was to hold on to the bread and juice until all had been served.

Ike was having none of that.  He grabbed a piece of that bread and popped it straight into his mouth.  In a flash, I went through two different reactions - frustration that he would do that and a realization from God that there was absolutely nothing wrong with what he did.  Moreover, I have come to realize that I need to be more like my son.  While I was somewhat impatiently waiting for the stewards to finish, Ike just couldn't wait to participate.  Even though he doesn't know the symbolism and all the theology of Communion, he instinctively knew the most important part - "This is for me, and I want it...now."

What a difference in attitude!  While we "grown-ups" often spend our time before communion looking around the sanctuary at our fellow worshipers or, if we are really holy, somberly meditating for a few minutes...the children just take what is given to them and cram it in their mouths as fast as they can.  They don't need to think about it, they don't need to know all the details...they just want it.

My prayer is that God would help me to learn to take communion like my son - with less concern for theology and more of an attitude that I just want whatever it is that God is willing to give to me.

I Blame my Sister (or how Henri Nouwen saved my soul)

I realized recently that I write and talk a lot about Henri Nouwen and his books.  I have read somewhere between 20 and 30 of his books, and there is no doubt that he has been one of the key influences on my development as a person and as a pastor.

But I've never told the story of how I came to discover this great man, this saint of the church.  Here it is:

It's all my sister's fault.  Well, sort of.  The story begins a bit before that.

When I was in my first ministry class at Olivet Nazarene University, our professor - Dr. Ron Dalton - recommended that we all read a book called The Wounded Healer by a guy I'd never heard of, Henri Nouwen.  Being a good student (and wanting a good grade), I got my hands on the book and read it.  At the time, I thought it was a good read but didn't see it as anything special.

Fast forward a bit...to the part about my sister.

By the time I was midway through college, my sister and I had started to develop the kind of relationship where we could talk - really talk - about almost anything.  We weren't where we are now, but we were on the way.  Occasionally, she would tell me about some book she was reading and sometimes she would even ask what I thought, since she knows that I am a compulsive reader.  I remember feeling so happy that someone thought my opinion on books was worth hearing.

I also recall one memorable conversation about Deepak Chopra and the things he had to say about faith.  It was that conversation that, as a protective brother and future pastor, got me a bit concerned about my sis.  After all, Chopra is not exactly an orthodox Christian by any stretch of the imagination.  So I resolved - without telling my sister - to pay a bit more attention and devote more time to the books she mentioned to me.

Fast forward a bit again.  Some time later, my sister started talking about this book Return of the Prodigal Son, by that guy Henri Nouwen.  Wanting to be sure that I could converse with my sister about the book from a theological perspective, I bought it and read it.  And I was a goner.  

Soon I started reading everything I could get my hands on by Nouwen.  I was obsessed with the message of this unassuming priest.  I even remember feeling a bit deflated when I realized that Nouwen had died in 1996 and that I would never have the chance to write to him or see him, and even more deflated when I realized that this great man of God had spent years of his life in South Bend, IN - a scant 2 hour drive from my home.

One year for Christmas (or maybe it was my birthday), my wife let me order every book by Nouwen that Amazon had in stock.  It was around 30 books.  I have since donated many of those, but the best ones - Return of the Prodigal Son, A Cry for Mercy, The Inner Voice of Love and his Spiritual Journeys still sit on my shelf just a few feet from where I sit writing.

Why did I become so obsessed with Nouwen.  The simplest way to put it is that, from that first reading of Return of the Prodigal Son, I found in Nouwen a voice that was missing in my life.  Missing and much needed.

I spent (and still spend, unfortunately) way too much of my time beating myself up for my failures and telling myself that God and others would not, could not truly love me until I fixed my flaws, until all the faults and failures had been overcome and I achieved the unachievable - becoming perfect.  I was locked in an unwinnable battle, but it was a battle that I thought I had to fight, a battle that everyone had to fight.

Nouwen was the first voice in my life that made clear to me that my wounds, faults and failures are just as much gifts from God as my victories and gifts.  He was the first voice that I was able to hear that convinced me that God's love for me is not dependent on anything and that God is not waiting and watching for me to fail so that God can punish me.  In particular, the following quote from The Inner Voice of Love sums up the message of Nouwen to me:

"Avoid all forms of self-rejection.  Acknowledge your limitations, but claim your unique gifts and thereby live as an equal among equals."

Many times in my life, when I have been on the precipice of total despair in my calling and ministry, those words have been able to, by the grace of God, pull me back to my center, to the God who loves me and will continue to love me even if I fail at every church I ever pastor.

That's how Henri Nouwen saved my soul - even after he died.

And like I said, it's all my sister's fault.

Thanks, E.