I am a fan of the fantasy genre of novels. I started reading Robert Jordan's "Wheel of Time" series when I was about eighteen, and have been steadily plugging away at it as new volumes have been released for the past ten years. Some of the installments have been less than spectacular; too many characters have emerged, and the plot has dragged at the expense of following their separate story lines. I keep reading, because I've been sucked into the characters. There is no hope for me.
Anyway, I just finished reading the newest volume (things actually happen in this book, in case any of you Jordan readers are wondering). One of the most interesting things to me has been the confluence of two very different societies: the Seanchan, and conglomeration of other countries I'll just call "the other people," for simplicity's sake. (Other readers of Jordan...I apologize for the butchering I am about to do, and will attempt not to give spoilers.)
The Seanchan society is intricately structured, with a strict class system and extremely rigid laws. "The other people" are generally less absolute in their rules and class distinctions. The Seanchan emerge on the scene as attackers, an opposing force attempting to overtake "the other people." Their goal is largely to bring the entire world into their system of government and behavior.
One of the major differences between the two societies is their treatment of people who channel (use magical powers). In the world of "the other people," they are autonomous, if sometimes feared. The Seanchan, however, believe they are dangerous and need to be strictly regulated, i.e. leashed or killed. Much of the tension between these societies comes from their different beliefs about and treatment of people who channel.
Enough background already. In the newest volume, these two conflicting societies meet a greater threat than one another: the Shadow/Dark Lord/Scary Evil Creatures. In response, they start to consider alliances with one another. These alliances are not easy. They don't entirely trust one another. They certainly don't understand one another. They don't show any signs of giving up their convictions about people who channel. But necessity is forcing them to find ways to work together. Eventually, they have to unite and be Light together, or lose everything.
I've been thinking a lot lately about alliances, and about working with people who believe very different things than I do. The great homosexuality debate has divided my denomination into two seemingly irreconcilable cultures. Sometimes our contact with one another feels like invasion, or even a war. We often distrust and misunderstand each other. None of us want to give up our convictions.
But at some point, could it be possible that - much as we may believe the other side to be wrong - we might find ways to work together? The fact is that our battles with one another are tearing apart the Church and its witness to the world, and we need to find a different way. We may need to realize that disagreement does not mean that the "other side" is the Dark Side. We may need to remember that our purpose here of glorifying God and bringing Good News to the world is bigger than our differing beliefs about homosexuality. We may need to unite and figure out how to be Light to this world together - or lose everything.
Or maybe I'm not only reading fantasy novels, but also living in a fantasy world.
Thursday, October 27, 2005
Monday, October 24, 2005
Practice What You Preach
One of the most obnoxious things about being a pastor is the annoying compulsion to practice what one preaches. Imagine - being expected (both internally and externally) to actually do what you tell other people they should do!
Anyway, yesterday I preached about forgiveness. So of course, God - having quite the interesting sense of humor - saw fit to present me with a really infuriating situation immediately afterward.
I don't want to be forgiving. I don't want to care about reconciliation. What I want is to rip someone a new orifice, or at the very least, bid someone a fond "Don't let the door hit you on the way out." I want to get all righteously indignant and engage in some good old fashioned smiting. I want to lay out point by point exactly what was done wrong, in the least gracious way possible, and call it "church discipline."
Yes, I have a bit of a temper.
Sigh. Remember sermon. "Forgiveness is a better way, God's way." What was I thinking? Why do I emphasize the compassionate, loving aspects of God? If I had talked about judgment, at least I'd have an excuse...
Breathe. Remember sermon. "To forgive is not to deny that wrong was done." Okay, this is livable.
"To forgive is not to make excuses. To forgive is not to take the blame upon yourself." Yes, good, good.
"To forgive is to decide to end the pain of the past, to put aside the bitterness and anger associated with it, and to create a new beginning." Ugh. No thank you.
It sounded so nice when I was saying it to someone else. I don't really even want to try to work toward forgivenss right now. But here comes that nasty, sneaky, little poking feeling of God saying, "You know, if you're going to get into a pulpit and tell people this is the best way, perhaps you ought to at least make a good faith effort yourself."
Sigh. Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know. Forgiveness is work, and I guess I should get on that now.
Next week I have got to find a way to preach about smiting...
Anyway, yesterday I preached about forgiveness. So of course, God - having quite the interesting sense of humor - saw fit to present me with a really infuriating situation immediately afterward.
I don't want to be forgiving. I don't want to care about reconciliation. What I want is to rip someone a new orifice, or at the very least, bid someone a fond "Don't let the door hit you on the way out." I want to get all righteously indignant and engage in some good old fashioned smiting. I want to lay out point by point exactly what was done wrong, in the least gracious way possible, and call it "church discipline."
Yes, I have a bit of a temper.
Sigh. Remember sermon. "Forgiveness is a better way, God's way." What was I thinking? Why do I emphasize the compassionate, loving aspects of God? If I had talked about judgment, at least I'd have an excuse...
Breathe. Remember sermon. "To forgive is not to deny that wrong was done." Okay, this is livable.
"To forgive is not to make excuses. To forgive is not to take the blame upon yourself." Yes, good, good.
"To forgive is to decide to end the pain of the past, to put aside the bitterness and anger associated with it, and to create a new beginning." Ugh. No thank you.
It sounded so nice when I was saying it to someone else. I don't really even want to try to work toward forgivenss right now. But here comes that nasty, sneaky, little poking feeling of God saying, "You know, if you're going to get into a pulpit and tell people this is the best way, perhaps you ought to at least make a good faith effort yourself."
Sigh. Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know. Forgiveness is work, and I guess I should get on that now.
Next week I have got to find a way to preach about smiting...
Tuesday, October 18, 2005
Today I Drop My Sword
When I was a new Christian, I was very into apologetics. Since I was interested in philosophy and logic, and had a history of skepticism, it made sense for me to delve into the "proofs" for the Christian faith. It's important to note that I didn't come to faith through any sort of logical proof or evidence, but rather through a fairly dramatic and mysterious experience of God. Nonetheless, I enjoyed studying the arguments for Christian doctrines, and engaging in debates using them - and evidence helped me believe more strongly, at the beginning.
At some point, however, the arguments became less important for me. They weren't the beginning of my faith, and they weren't the sustenance of my faith. That was God, and all the things God was doing in my life - and those things were often utterly unexplainable. I could never use them to win a debate, or argue anyone into faith, or prove the existence of God. So, although I still know all the "evidence," I sort of just let it go. I'm willing to talk about why I believe what I believe, but it seldom has anything to do with logical proofs, because that's not what faith is.
I went through the same sort of process when I first started to re-examine the biblical passages about homosexuality. At the beginning, I got very excited about the original languages and the historical context and a whole-canon hermeneutic, and how all of these things spoke together to tell me that perhaps the traditional stance against homosexuality wasn't as certain and absolute as I thought. It was important for me to go through this phase and examine the evidence, and it was helpful for me to have opportunities to argue my way through it.
Somewhere along the line, all of that started to matter less to me. It's not that I decided it was wrong or unimportant; it just became internalized to the point that worrying about the evidence was no longer helpful. The radically inclusive nature of the Gospel became such a part of my faith that it was and is both as real and as unexplainable as God.
Lately, I've been returning to apologetics in the great homosexuality debate, out of a sense of necessity. But it's leaving me rather dry and depressed. Even more than that, it's making me forget why I'm arguing in the first place. I need to stop for a while, drop the sword, and focus on what's really important. When it comes down to it, I'm not arguing because I'm absolutely certain that my interpretation of Romans 1 is correct. I'm arguing - and ministering - because I believe that the Gospel of Jesus Christ is an invitation to ALL people to come to the Table and be fed by God, and because I believe the Church is called to embody this welcoming love.
At some point, however, the arguments became less important for me. They weren't the beginning of my faith, and they weren't the sustenance of my faith. That was God, and all the things God was doing in my life - and those things were often utterly unexplainable. I could never use them to win a debate, or argue anyone into faith, or prove the existence of God. So, although I still know all the "evidence," I sort of just let it go. I'm willing to talk about why I believe what I believe, but it seldom has anything to do with logical proofs, because that's not what faith is.
I went through the same sort of process when I first started to re-examine the biblical passages about homosexuality. At the beginning, I got very excited about the original languages and the historical context and a whole-canon hermeneutic, and how all of these things spoke together to tell me that perhaps the traditional stance against homosexuality wasn't as certain and absolute as I thought. It was important for me to go through this phase and examine the evidence, and it was helpful for me to have opportunities to argue my way through it.
Somewhere along the line, all of that started to matter less to me. It's not that I decided it was wrong or unimportant; it just became internalized to the point that worrying about the evidence was no longer helpful. The radically inclusive nature of the Gospel became such a part of my faith that it was and is both as real and as unexplainable as God.
Lately, I've been returning to apologetics in the great homosexuality debate, out of a sense of necessity. But it's leaving me rather dry and depressed. Even more than that, it's making me forget why I'm arguing in the first place. I need to stop for a while, drop the sword, and focus on what's really important. When it comes down to it, I'm not arguing because I'm absolutely certain that my interpretation of Romans 1 is correct. I'm arguing - and ministering - because I believe that the Gospel of Jesus Christ is an invitation to ALL people to come to the Table and be fed by God, and because I believe the Church is called to embody this welcoming love.
Sunday, October 16, 2005
Sunday, Sunday...
My church is slightly odd for such a small congregation in that we have two services every Sunday. The first service is casual and contemporary (also a little unusual...one might expect a contemporary service to be the later of the two, but even young people here seem to get up early), the second more formal and traditional. We get the occasional criticism that the congregation is split, but I think it's a good thing that we can offer two different types of worship experiences.
Anyway, one of my favorite things about the early service is that I don't have to preach at it every week. Writing two sermons a week - even if they were somewhat related - would wear me down in a hurry. I also like it because, every other week, we get to hear another voice from the congregation, sharing what he or she thinks is important about faith, Scripture, and God. These are not trained preachers or orators (because we all know that being a trained preacher makes you oh-so-eloquent...right). Sometimes they say things I wish they wouldn't, or don't say what I wish they would (note to self: they probably think the same of me).
They're also endlessly creative. They're not tied to their ideas of what a sermon should be; they're giving a "message," and the change of term is also a change of tone. So they often talk about a topic rather than a text. This morning's message was "What I've Learned from Living and Loving," which wove Scripture through stories of how people had influenced the speaker's life. They use children's books, photographs, and other props freely to illustrate their points. You might have noticed I'm a fairly critical person, and sure enough, Stodgy Traditionalist Stacey sometimes pops out with frowns or grimaces.
But Pastor Stacey feels God smile as people live out a little piece of what the Church really is. Yes, sometimes, despite the fact that it's a bit earlier than I'd like to be awake, and despite all my snarky intellectualism, I hear what's really going on. I see faithful people conquering fear and anxiety and the need to be perfect, and getting up to share a small bit of their experience of God. And more and more as time goes on, as I see the hearts of my congregation shine through in their words, I learn to let God's smile show on my face too.
Anyway, one of my favorite things about the early service is that I don't have to preach at it every week. Writing two sermons a week - even if they were somewhat related - would wear me down in a hurry. I also like it because, every other week, we get to hear another voice from the congregation, sharing what he or she thinks is important about faith, Scripture, and God. These are not trained preachers or orators (because we all know that being a trained preacher makes you oh-so-eloquent...right). Sometimes they say things I wish they wouldn't, or don't say what I wish they would (note to self: they probably think the same of me).
They're also endlessly creative. They're not tied to their ideas of what a sermon should be; they're giving a "message," and the change of term is also a change of tone. So they often talk about a topic rather than a text. This morning's message was "What I've Learned from Living and Loving," which wove Scripture through stories of how people had influenced the speaker's life. They use children's books, photographs, and other props freely to illustrate their points. You might have noticed I'm a fairly critical person, and sure enough, Stodgy Traditionalist Stacey sometimes pops out with frowns or grimaces.
But Pastor Stacey feels God smile as people live out a little piece of what the Church really is. Yes, sometimes, despite the fact that it's a bit earlier than I'd like to be awake, and despite all my snarky intellectualism, I hear what's really going on. I see faithful people conquering fear and anxiety and the need to be perfect, and getting up to share a small bit of their experience of God. And more and more as time goes on, as I see the hearts of my congregation shine through in their words, I learn to let God's smile show on my face too.
Thursday, October 13, 2005
My "Hidden" Talent
Your Hidden Talent |
 You have the natural talent of rocking the boat, thwarting the system. And while this may not seem big, it can be. It's people like you who serve as the catalysts to major cultural changes. You're just a bit behind the scenes, so no one really notices. |
Okay, I'm not sure that "behind the scenes" is a very accurate description of me.
Sunday, October 09, 2005
The Nature of Blogging, Redux
It has come to my attention that more people than I think are reading this blog. I don't know why this is such a surprise to me; I haven't really tried to keep the blog anonymous. Nonetheless, it's a little disconcerting, and it's making me think about some things related to the nature of blogging, especially blogging by a pastor whose congregation might be reading.
This blog started as a way for me to communicate primarily with my friends, who are spread across the country. Part of how one interacts with friends (at least how I interact with friends) includes griping, which is a way of not only venting frustration, but also working through problems. That is a big part of how I have used this little corner of cyberspace. I'm an extrovert. I need to talk about things. I'm pretty isolated up here, and it's often inappropriate to run off my mouth and let out my first reaction to a problem with my congregation. So, I talk about it here. It makes me a calmer person and a better pastor if I have an outlet where I can get feedback from friends and people with more experience.
Many of my posts here are somewhat negative in tone. Part of this is just my nature. Another part is the fact that I blog primarily to give myself a chance to work out problems; I don't feel the need to write about the good things (and there are MANY good things), because they don't need to be solved. The sad consequence of this is that people get a pretty one-sided view of my life, my church, etc. I've blogged with the opinion that most people probably understand that blog posts are more negative than life - partially because I've thought of my audience as primarily consisting of friends and sympathetic clergy types.
So, what happens when people from the congregation start reading these first reaction rants? Well, one good thing that could happen is that they start to understand me better as a real person. They could feel more comfortable talking to me. However, that's not always what happens. Sometimes people feel that they're being characterized unfairly - which is probably true; I don't have the time, space, or mental wherewithall to give the whole story of everything. Sometimes people feel hurt.
I can't take back the things I've said, and I don't think I would choose to, even knowing that people have been hurt by them. I do, however, want to apologize to any of you who have been hurt by things I've said. I would apologize to you in person, but for the most part, I don't know who you are, because I hear all of this second and third-hand. My posts are not an accurate reflection of you, or even of my feelings about you as a whole. They are an accurate reflection of my feelings at the time that I wrote the post, and that's all they are.
The people-pleasing part of me wishes I could say that I'll stop posting anything remotely negative about my life as the pastor of this church. But, I can't. I blog because I need to be honest, and honestly, being a pastor is difficult. Being a new pastor is difficult. Being a single person and moving to a small town far away from anyone I know and having very little in-person support is difficult.
I want to serve this church and community as well as I possibly can. I want to be a minister who strives for excellence in my work. In order to do that, I need to have a means of expressing my problems and frustrations, and this is one of those means. I will make an effort to characterize the church more positively (and accurately), but I also ask that you understand that this blog is not about you; it's about me. It's the way I facilitate my time here being something good, rather than allowing myself to sink into the little irritations.
This blog started as a way for me to communicate primarily with my friends, who are spread across the country. Part of how one interacts with friends (at least how I interact with friends) includes griping, which is a way of not only venting frustration, but also working through problems. That is a big part of how I have used this little corner of cyberspace. I'm an extrovert. I need to talk about things. I'm pretty isolated up here, and it's often inappropriate to run off my mouth and let out my first reaction to a problem with my congregation. So, I talk about it here. It makes me a calmer person and a better pastor if I have an outlet where I can get feedback from friends and people with more experience.
Many of my posts here are somewhat negative in tone. Part of this is just my nature. Another part is the fact that I blog primarily to give myself a chance to work out problems; I don't feel the need to write about the good things (and there are MANY good things), because they don't need to be solved. The sad consequence of this is that people get a pretty one-sided view of my life, my church, etc. I've blogged with the opinion that most people probably understand that blog posts are more negative than life - partially because I've thought of my audience as primarily consisting of friends and sympathetic clergy types.
So, what happens when people from the congregation start reading these first reaction rants? Well, one good thing that could happen is that they start to understand me better as a real person. They could feel more comfortable talking to me. However, that's not always what happens. Sometimes people feel that they're being characterized unfairly - which is probably true; I don't have the time, space, or mental wherewithall to give the whole story of everything. Sometimes people feel hurt.
I can't take back the things I've said, and I don't think I would choose to, even knowing that people have been hurt by them. I do, however, want to apologize to any of you who have been hurt by things I've said. I would apologize to you in person, but for the most part, I don't know who you are, because I hear all of this second and third-hand. My posts are not an accurate reflection of you, or even of my feelings about you as a whole. They are an accurate reflection of my feelings at the time that I wrote the post, and that's all they are.
The people-pleasing part of me wishes I could say that I'll stop posting anything remotely negative about my life as the pastor of this church. But, I can't. I blog because I need to be honest, and honestly, being a pastor is difficult. Being a new pastor is difficult. Being a single person and moving to a small town far away from anyone I know and having very little in-person support is difficult.
I want to serve this church and community as well as I possibly can. I want to be a minister who strives for excellence in my work. In order to do that, I need to have a means of expressing my problems and frustrations, and this is one of those means. I will make an effort to characterize the church more positively (and accurately), but I also ask that you understand that this blog is not about you; it's about me. It's the way I facilitate my time here being something good, rather than allowing myself to sink into the little irritations.
Thursday, October 06, 2005
Interesting Links
Last night I read one of the most eloquent, heart-wrenching, beautiful posts I have ever seen. I like to think of myself as a person who shares (although I suspect this sometimes crosses into a disturbing tendency to over-share...), so here it is: Legion. Every time I start to think I can write, this waiter guy pulls out a post like that, and I realize that I am small potatoes in the land of writing ability.
Yesterday I mentioned that I am having difficulty rousing my brain to get involved in the homosexuality discussion, and that is still somewhat true. However, in the spirit of sharing, here's what I'm reading to get the juices flowing (and thanks to Rick for the link): Untied Methodist: The Question I Am Most Often Asked, Part 1. Parts 2 and 3 can also be found on the main site. This link deals with exegetical issues, particularly in the translation and context of the texts frequently used to condemn homosexuality.
That's all for now, folks. It's my day off, so I'm going back to enjoying "A Clash of Kings" by George R. R. Martin.
Yesterday I mentioned that I am having difficulty rousing my brain to get involved in the homosexuality discussion, and that is still somewhat true. However, in the spirit of sharing, here's what I'm reading to get the juices flowing (and thanks to Rick for the link): Untied Methodist: The Question I Am Most Often Asked, Part 1. Parts 2 and 3 can also be found on the main site. This link deals with exegetical issues, particularly in the translation and context of the texts frequently used to condemn homosexuality.
That's all for now, folks. It's my day off, so I'm going back to enjoying "A Clash of Kings" by George R. R. Martin.
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