When the Minister's Away ...

Earlier this week, I participated in a retreat of pastor colleagues in our Classis.  6 of us met together at Richmond Hill Retreat Center.

The first thing that needs to be said is that this retreat center is amazing.  A pre-Civil War mansion, turned Roman Catholic Convent, turned ecumenical prayer center and retreat facility.  The folks who live here are prayerful and hospitable.  The opportunities for prayer -- 3 services a day, bi-weekly Eucharist, centering prayer groups, Taize worship several times a month, an art room, a labyrinth -- are varied.  The life of prayer evidenced in this congregation is deeply tied to their sense of place and mission in the city of Richmond.  They follow a weekly rhythm of prayer for the city -- they pray by name for public officials, non-profit agencies, school teachers and first responders. From this I learned that being on retreat is, in fact, a way of engaging our world deeply.  This place is only 2 hours away from DC and, if you couldn't already tell, I highly recommend it.

The second important piece of this retreat was the opportunity to share with colleagues on retreat.  I must confess to hardly knowing these guys before the retreat and, as a young clergy-woman, was uncertain how the dynamics would work.  It was nice to know that, while our demographic details might be widely varied in this group (okay ... truthfully, that MY demographics would be quite different from the rest of the group) we hold a shared calling.  And that similarity -- not to mention our kinship in Christ -- was certainly enough to adhere us together for the work of sharing our lives and prayer.  Note: if you are a pastor in the Christian Reformed Church, there is grant money available for you to try something similar in your setting.  Check THIS out.

Third and finally, while there are many oddities attendant to the calling to vocational ministry, surely this is, well, one of them: I am to pray like it's my job ... because it is.  I have trouble justifying this sometimes.  It can be easier to settle into doing things -- actual, concrete tasks that produce a sermon or a pastoral visit or a proposal to Council.  Prayer -- beyond a daily time spent in the word and a list of intercessions for congregation members -- can feel like a luxury. And, indeed, if I were to catalog the things I did on retreat, you might well agree with that assessment.

What do you do on retreat?
Take naps
Read poetry
Corporate worship (in which I do NOT take the lead)
Prayer with friends.
Prayer in silence.
Devour good prose
Walk the labyrinth
Reflect on the Psalms
Draw
Write
Go slowly.  

But friends, ask me why.

WHY do you do these things?
To remember God
To remember self
To clear out the cobwebs on my soul.
To make space.
To rest and to wake up.
To die and to come alive.

In all of this, I was reminded of a wonderful quotation from Catholic priest & theologian, Henri Nouwen:

"If I could have a gentle 'interiority' -- 

a heart of flesh and not of stone,

a room with spots on which one might walk barefooted --

then God and my fellow human beings could meet each other there."

Perhaps therein lies the best possible answer to the question "why".  Boiled down, the job of a pastor is to be the space where God and human beings can meet each other.  In our sermons, in our intercessions, in our visits, in our hospitality, in our being we provide this space.  But, to be or to provide that space takes work.  If my life is to be a place where I invite you to "walk barefooted," as it were, I must first be gentled (no small feat in my case), reminded that I am of more use to God and to you when I am human and vulnerable instead of invincible and alien. That is why.

Gravity of The Law

Last night I saw the much touted new movie Gravity, starring Sandra Bullock and George Clooney.  Deserving of every accolade.  From a technical standpoint, awe-inspiring.  The writing and the acting were both exceptional.  Truly worth more than a few Oscar nods. As testament to how well done it was, I hated it.

Without giving away too much, the scenes where Sandra Bullock and George Clooney are floating in space, un-moored, un-tethered?  I found them un-nerving and un-settling. I actually felt panicked and helpless as I watched them careening, spinning and looping.

All of the basics I know for living, breathing, moving from point A to point B, none of it holds true in space.  Everything that keeps me moored and tethered, with nerves in place and a settled feeling in my gut and in my spirit begins with the law of gravity. One little law.  Things fall down. Objects have weight. I can re-orient myself out of a tailspin.  The law of gravity.

As I prepare Sunday's sermon, I'm holding the Law of Gravity up against the Gravity of God's Law. When the Psalmists praised the virtue of "Thy Word", they must surely have meant the 5 books of Moses, the books of the Law.

Without God's Law am I, in a similar sense, un-moored, un-tethered, un-nerved and un-settled in the world?
- "Prone to wander, Lord I feel it."

With God's Law am I at last able to stand -- bruised and on shaky legs -- but safely moored to my foundation, tethered to what gives me meaning, bolsters my nerves and settles my spirit in the end?
-  "But those who look intently into the perfect law that gives freedom and continue in it -- not forgetting what they have heard but doing it -- they will be blessed in what they do."

New Song

Hey all,

We are introducing a new song this Sunday.  It works perfectly with our focus on The Word, using Psalm 19. It has been one of my favorites for a while so I'm excited to introduce it.  OH! AND it has motions.  So ... awesome, right?

Please listen & learn.

A Preacher's Conviction

(alternately titled: why there were no cheesy potatoes at the potluck)

On Saturday night I made a giant pan of cheesy potatoes. I've been experimenting with a bbq-flavor variety. They were in the fridge, ready to be baked and served piping hot at our after-service potluck on Sunday.

I finished the sermon on Psalm 28, focusing on the importance of intercessory prayer ... and a little bit about those pesky imprecatory portions of the Psalms.  Meh. It was what it was.  I went to bed.

I woke up in the morning, reviewed the sermon.  I got excited for the strong case God was making: "The work of the people of God begins in our prayer together."  Yeah!  Awesome!  Game on!

I went to the kitchen, pulled out my tray of potatoes, looked at the recipe again and did the reverse math:  On table time 12:30pm  -  45 minutes (bake time) = 11:45am

Well, perfect!  The sermon should be done by then.  And we'll just be doing the morning prayer.  Certainly, "with every head bowed and every eye closed," it won't be a problem for me to sneak downstairs, preheat the oven and get those potatoes started.

And then God was all like, "Are you even listening to me?"
And I was all like, "Oh, right."

So the cheesy potatoes didn't get made. The trade off was that "every head bowed and every eye closed" included my own. And I'm glad we prayed together. That moment in worship was more important than cheesy potatoes after all.  And that's saying a lot.  Because I love cheesy potatoes.

(In a related note: I will be preparing cold salads or crock-pot dishes for potlucks from now on.)

Intercessory Prayer: What it is NOT

In Kevin Adam's book on the Psalms, 150, he shares about a certain theme in Seinfeld ... well, here.  Take a look.

Aside from being a hilarious diversion on a Wednesday morning, this clip demonstrates the way many people unwittingly use the Psalms.  As a mantra, a way of pretending everything is fine when, in fact, the Psalms themselves are rife with lyrics to the contrary.

So, while we do come to worship in order to remember our sense of being oriented toward God, we also have to grapple honestly -- FAR more honestly than "serenity now" -- with the difficulties of our world and our lives.

Although I will be the first to confess I don't always do this well, I do believe that the morning prayer in worship, the prayers of intercession or the prayers of the people -- whatever you call it -- may be the most important battle field of the 75 minutes we spend together.  But we can't really take up arms against sin & evil until we have first put down the pretense that "everything's just fine."

Sometimes I write for other outlets than this blog.  For my thoughts on the recent partial government shut-down, see:

http://the12.squarespace.com/jessica-bratt/2013/10/7/you-told-us-it-mattered.html

It is probably important to note, as I did on facebook, that this article is directed at a specific demographic of Reformed?Kuyperian academics & those of us blessed enough to have been trained in their churches and institutions of higher learning.  It's likely that if you are not familiar with that school of thought, the frustration I evidence here will make very little sense to you.

Recap: Confession

On Sunday, we learned from Pope Francis' example that to start at the very beginning is to acknowledge oneself as a sinner.  We ruefully acknowledged that society isn't set up in such a way as to encourage this kind of self-disclosure.  In fact, most of society and culture is built on protecting and preserving the pretensions that we are practically perfect.

That is why Pope Francis' admission of sinfulness (and he hadn't even done anything wrong yet that would require a carefully worded (spun) apology) was a shock to many outside the church and should serve as a refresher for those of us inside the church.

This morning I was reminded of three more examples of what it means, what it could look like, to live as assured and confessing people.

1) There is a great story about the famous novelist and lay Catholic theologian, G.K. Chesterton who, in response to an inquiry from The Times of London posing the question, “What’s wrong with the world today?” Chesterton responded with two words:

Dear Sirs,

I am.

Yours, G.K. Chesterton.

2) Donald Miller tells a story in his memoir, Blue Like Jazz, about the time the Christian ministry at notoriously liberal Reed College set up a "Confession Booth" right in the middle of campus.  And right in the middle of the craziest, party-laced week of the year.  One drunken undergraduate stumbled in ready for a fight.  "You want me to tell you what's so wrong with me?"  The response?  "No, we're glad you are here.  We'd like to tell you what's wrong with us." The student volunteer went on to list a series of historical tragedies either propagated or ignored by the Christian Church.  The student volunteer went on to apologize for any experience this student might have had with the church or any individual Christians that were hurtful and condemnatory instead of gracious and truthful.  The poor fellow was befuddled.  Could have been the booze.  Could have been that he heard the Gospel of Grace for once.  Both are strangely similar phenomena.  But he left the confession booth and told all his friends, "Man, you've got to go in there."

3) This past week, a dear friend of mine celebrated 10 continuous years of sobriety.  I couldn't be prouder!  Thinking about his experience and my own visit -- as a seminary student -- to an open narcotics anonymous meeting, I realize that if you want to know what it looks like to lead with humility, to start from the foundation of shared brokenness, I WISH the church were 1/2 as good at this as your local meeting.  Each person who speaks begins, "Hi, my name is _______, and I'm an alcoholic."  Then the speaker is warmly greeted and encouraged to continue speaking if he/she wishes.  How great would it be if that's how it was in church.  Each week, "Hi, my name is Meg.  I am a sinner."  So on and so forth around the room.  And together -- as those who are equally sinful and equally redeemed -- we enter the throneroom of God to receive grace again and to offer the praise and thanksgiving that such forgiveness requires.

One sermon can't do it all.  Those are the illustrations I left out. But they might work as you consider the outworking of sin, forgiveness, grace and gratitude in your life this week.