Failure is Painful

Tonight, after a busy week of real life and hardly any blogging, comes more from the mind of Steve Hayner on the Missional church. Remember those old videos of the early days of flight. What a pathetic bunch of early flying machines were put together by those early pioneers.

Here are some thoughts about the way in which many of us "church folk" do things. We don't do it very well:

• So what do you do when a church that focuses on its “gatherings” begins to lose steam, and it isn’t attracting so many people anymore? You try to make the gatherings more attractive. You do a better job of marketing. You look out into the culture and find out what IS attracting people, and you adapt to that style.

• What do you do when you seem to be losing the “culture wars”? You revise your theology and make it more “acceptable” to the world. You plan more strategies. You spend more money. You figure out how to leverage whatever political power you can muster. You fill up more thermos jugs of grace to deliver to the world.

• What do you do when the church’s organization becomes cumbersome, or doesn’t seem to be effective anymore? You reorganize. You write a new mission statement. You form a strategic planning committee—and a whole series of other committees.

• What do you do when the hierarchy doesn’t seem to be leading very well anymore, and those willing to lead don’t seem to be as committed or talented? You expand the number of people in the bureaucracy; you complain that seminaries aren’t doing their job; and you write new curriculum for training the leadership.

All of these steps may be improvements. But it’s like trying to improve the rotary dial phone. In the end it’s still a rotary dial phone. The bottom line is this: This way of thinking about how to "do church better” hasn’t worked. The Church in the West is dying. Europe is now “post-Christian” and arguably the continent most closed to the Gospel. The Church in the U.S. has not grown (in percentage) in over 100 years. And many denominations (including our own) are falling precipitously. Of the 25 largest denominations in the U.S., the PC(USA) is now shrinking the fastest—both in absolute numbers and percentage.

Ouch! Sound familiar?

Thank you, Steve Hayner. Now, my questions are this: How do we do church better? How do we face the future recognizing at the same time our brokenness, as well as the gifts we can bring? How do we communicate the greatest mystery and most profound even in all of history?

What is next?

Not Sure...

I am not sure who I identify with more here....

Reverend KC Wahe Installed

Jumbo sized. Super size me.

Mega. Ultra. Massive. These are the sacred words of our culture.

And sadly, they seem to have become the sacred words of American Evangelicalism. Can you say Willow Creek, Saddleback, Claude Osteen, Focus on the Family?

There is something about being American. We seem to think that bigger, is well, better. Size matters. And sometimes, being bigger can be better.

But in the Kingdom economy, much of the time, smaller is very good, and maybe, even better. More simple, more meaningful. More quiet. Stripped of the noise and clamor.

This past Sunday night, I had the privilege of being a part of the installation service of Rev. KC Wahe at Community Presbyterian Church in, Littlerock, California. Littlerock has a population of about 9,000 souls, located in the desert foothills of the Antelope Valley, north of Los Angeles. It might be the place you drive through, instead of stopping in. I suspect there are more cacti in Littlerock than there are people. But that is ok. And it is ok for Pastor KC, as well.

KC is a remarkable man, and he now leads a remarkable church. The sanctuary holds all of about 75 folks, and it was full to the brim for KC's installation service. Small crowd, but good, and full of character, hope, joy, and thanksgiving. I hope these dear people know of the gift that God has given them in a faithful man, whose life is, for me, one of the best examples of the redemptive power of Christ I have ever known.

KC was a kid from the streets of Hollywood, who showed up in the youth group of our church almost 20 years ago. KC came from a highly dysfunctional family, and he has since lost several family members over the years to drug and alcohol dependency. Some faithful folks of our church took KC under their wings, and loved him. They did not give up easily; they kept on loving him through many years and many challenges and changes. KC found a spiritual home, and a beacon of Light in an otherwise dark life. He found Hope.

To make a long and wonderful story short, KC eventually attended Princeton Seminary, and Sunday became the pastor of this little church in the High Desert. Little in size they may be, but from my viewpoint, they are great in heart. And they have a great pastor to lead them.

Blessings to you Community Presbyterian Church, and blessings on you, Pastor KC.

Bigger is not always better.

Tony Silvestri, Starting Over, and Sleep

About 18 months ago, we lost a dear friend who was only 36. Her name was Julie, and I have written about her here, and here.

She was in the college fellowship I helped to lead more that 17 years ago. There are few people that I will remember in my life as truly beautiful, in all the depth that word conveys. Julie was one of those few; she was beautiful from deep within her soul. In joy, in love for others, in a caring heart, and in her mind, which loved the classics and things of lasting worth.

We received a belated Christmas letter just yesterday from Tony, Julie's husband. I was reminded again that Julie married an amazing man. After Julie's death, Tony relocated his family (pictured at left) to Lawrence, Kansas, to be closer to his extended family.

Tony is taking time off, to write, to paint, and just to be. He is deeply involved in the lives of his children, and is enjoying the simple beauty of the Midwest. I envy the simple things in life that Tony enjoys. Small mercies for a man who has been through more in his 40 years than most. Far more.

And Tony is creating new things. Tony has long been a poet, and now, his gift is being shared on a much larger stage than he even thought possible. Tony has had a poem commissioned by composer Eric Whitacre. This work has become a standard part of the choral repertoire garnering performances and praise all over the world. The National Endowment for the Arts American Masterpieces Program includes this piece in its list of required repertoire for program concerts, calling it a significant work of American choral music, and among the best of [Americas] cultural and artistic legacy. It appears on the recording Eric Whitacre: Cloudburst

Sleep - By Anthony Silvestri (copyrighted)

The evening hangs beneath the moon
A silver thread on darkened dune
With closing eyes and resting head
I know that sleep is coming soon

Upon my pillow, safe in bed,
A thousand pictures fill my head,
I cannot sleep, my minds aflight,
And yet my limbs seem made of lead
If there are noises in the night,
A frightening shadow, flickering light...

Then I surrender unto sleep,
Where clouds of dream give second sight
What dreams may come, both dark and deep
Of flying wings and soaring leap
As I surrender unto sleep
As I surrender unto sleep.

Out of great, almost unmeasurable pain, emerges new hope. Poetry, art, new life.

I wish for my friend Tony, as he and his family start life anew....many nights of deep, restful, God graced....sleep.

And as a postscript, these lyrics grace the Virtual Choir 3 video:

My Daughter Made Me Do This!

When you Google the term "nerd", you get this photo.

My daughter thought that my score, below, was funny....

To Barack or Not To Barack, That is the Question

I will admit, I have been interested in all the heat and light that seems to have developed around Barack Obama during the past several months. I want to believe there is a "new way of doing politics" as I have heard him say.

Recently, Peggy Noonan wrote an opinion piece for the Wall Street Journal that summed it all up. My favorite bits:

What does he believe? What does he stand for? This is, after all, the central question. When it is pointed out that he has had almost--almost--two years in the U.S. Senate, and before that was an obscure state legislator in Illinois, his supporters compare him to Lincoln. But Lincoln had become a national voice on the great issue of the day, slavery. He rose with a reason. Sen. Obama's rise is not about a stand or an issue or a question; it is about Sen. Obama. People project their hopes on him, he says. He's exactly right. Just so we all know it's projection.

and....

He doesn't have an issue, he has a thousand issues, which is the same as having none, in the sense that a speech about everything is a speech about nothing. And on those issues he seems not so much to be guided by philosophy as by impulses, sentiments. From "The Audacity of Hope," his latest book: "[O]ur democracy might work a bit better if we recognized that all of us possess values that are worthy of respect." "I value good manners." When not attempting to elevate the bromidic to the profound, he lapses into the language of political consultants--"our message," "wedge issues," "moral language." Ronald Reagan had "a durable narrative." Parts of the book, the best parts, are warm, anecdotal, human. But much of it pretends to a seriousness that is not borne out. When speaking of the political past he presents false balance and faux fairness. (Reagan, again, despite his "John Wayne, Father Knows Best pose, his policy by anecdote and his gratuitous assaults on the poor" had an "appeal" Sen. Obama "understood." Ronnie would be so pleased.)

and....

But again, what does he believe? From reading his book, I would say he believes in his destiny. He believes in his charisma. He has the confidence of the anointed. He has faith in the magic of the man who meets his moment. He also believes in the power of good nature, the need for compromise, and the possibility of comprehensive, multitiered, sensible solutions achieved through good-faith negotiations. But mostly it seems to be about him, his sense of destiny, and his appreciation of his own particular gifts. Which leaves me thinking Oh dear, we have been here before. It's not as if we haven't already had a few of the destiny boys. It's not as if we don't have a few more in the wings.

I need to listen more to what Obama has to say, as well as the rest of the cast of presidential candidates. I just hope there is some substance there, somewhere. And I might want to think twice about voting for The Man from Nowhere. Barack Obama may indeed be a great leader, but maybe that greatness will emerge over time, say the next decade, rather than by a rush of popularity over the next 12 months, like the Most Popular Kid on Campus. In these trying times, we need real leadership, the kind that comes from experience, rather than flash.

Thank You Dr. King

An Album and a Movie

Can we get this clear? I am not typically an impulse buyer. But recently, I strayed from the straight and narrow, and picked up this amazing album while standing in line at Starbucks. What a brilliant impulse buyer I am.

This album spans nearly 30 years, and is the result of the recovery of some old Ray Charles concert tapes from the 70s, combined with the very recent fill-in recordings of the legacy Count Basie Orchestra. In my mind, this is a wonderful mixture of two remarkable styles. Ray always loved the music of Basie, and this pathetically white guy has always loved everything Ray.

Off to the Movies - Freedom Writers

This weekend we saw a movie that should be required viewing for anyone with kids in school, anyone who teaches or has ever taught, and for that matter, anyone who ever went to school.

Hilary Swank is remarkable, and is joined by a striking cast of young actors. This film has two major themes; the first is the stereotyping and class wars of the inner city.

In perhaps the most powerful moments of the film, the students of Erin Gruwell's class visit the Museum of Tolerance in West Los Angeles - one of their first visits outside of the neighborhood where they grew up. There, they meet actual Holocaust survivors who relate the stories of their narrow escape from the death camps. I have visited Dachau, and brief scenes were shown of the death camps, which brought me right back to the sights and sounds of my visit 20 years ago. The filmmakers had the wisdom of using real camp survivors in the film; my wife Nancy recognized her recent museum guide in the movie. Very moving.

The second important subplot of this film is the ongoing battle of creative entrepreneurial teachers versus an entrenched public education bureaucracy. I found myself feeling angry, almost enraged at the educational system that actually fought against the dreams, initiative, and spirit of an obviously talented teacher. As a result of this system, Erin Gruwell is no longer teaching, and I do not blame her. I do not harbor the idealism that the movie seems to embrace.

Ms. Gruwell has outgrown the narrow, structured world of public education, forming the Freedom Writer's Foundation, which now is capable of inspiring teacher and students as far and wide and Ms. Gruwell's dream can take her. The loosers in this movie are not the students, who have been blessed by a remarkable teacher, but rather the members of the educational establishment, who perpetuate a broken system that stunts the creativity of gifted teachers.

Amazing Jesus

The Evolution of the Clubhouse

This post is a continuation of these thoughts, and is based on this outstanding paper.

What we have now, in the current church, often has all the elements of a clubhouse. As noted by Steve Hayner, the church as become something similar to this treehouse, a fun place to hang out.

• God’s people began to behave as if God’s primary activity had moved indoors. The church as a building became the place where certain things happened: where the Gospel was rightly preached, the sacraments rightly administered and sometimes discipline exercised. Instead of moving into the culture, the church compelled people to come in. And the church became a kind of clubhouse. E.g. Instead of baptism being our ordination to the mission of the church, it became our initiation to the club—and “evangelism committees” became membership management groups.

• The clubhouse—the church—thought of itself as the repository of God’s grace. And because we had God’s grace, and others didn’t, the church’s mission was either to give it away—or be at war with the hostile culture. “Missions” came to be thought of as programs which somehow took the grace of God and the message of the Church into the enemy territory. The “us and them” view took over. A great chasm began to grow between the “sacred” and the “secular”.

• Understandably the Church also became more and more institutional and program focused. Organization and strategy took center stage.

• And leadership became professional and hierarchical. No longer was leadership as much about gifts and roles designed to equip people to be a part of God’s work, as much as it was about building the institution, governing the organization, and caring for those who gathered.

All this wasn’t so bad, as long as the church was pretty much in the center of things in the culture. Sure, at different points throughout the next 1600 years, changes needed to be made. Sometimes the church got off track theologically. Sometimes the institution, controlled by sinful people, became corrupt and needed to be reformed. But mostly things worked OK.

Until now.....and we have LOTS of work to do.

All These People, This Cross of Oil

This was not an ordinary ordinary Sunday.

For a number of years, it has been a tradition in our church on the first Sunday of the new year, to offer, as a part of the worship service, a time of anointing with oil.

Please do not be scared. This is not hocus pocus, or Benny Hinn strangeness. No people falling down. Just the chance to have the cross marked on your forehead in oil, and for a fellow sinner to pray with and for you - for guidance, or help, or wisdom, or need, as we face the new year. Together. And then, to head forth, into the city, into the world.

Today, I had the privilege of being one who makes that cross with oil and to stand beside, and to pray. I am so ill equipped for this, my feet are of such clay. This is an sacred honor and a privilege. As the oil is administered, we say, "In the name of the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Spirit, Amen."

And oh, the people who came.

The prestigious seminary graduate, who lost a dream of a lifetime vocation in a specific ministry - and who is now seeing light at the end of a dark tunnel of wondering about the future.

The introverted young office worker, who really wants to become more of an extrovert in this new year. To really love all the people around him, each day, in a new and real way, with God's help.

The ex-convict, who is just now piecing his life together, after years of bad choices and terrible circumstances. He would like to start over, to make a new life, and he wants to figure out how he can serve God in the midst of all this.

The teenager who has been through two brain cancer surgeries, and stood today before me as a reminder of many things; healing, the fragile nature of our time on this planet, of tenacity, of hope, and of God's creation and care for each of us.

The couple who are sensing a complete change in their young married life, from the safety of stable professional jobs, toward the fear of change associated with new careers in film writing - together. They want to understand what this means, and how God is calling them.

And for my daughter, who asked for prayer for understanding for choosing a new school when she reaches high school age.

What a remarkable collection of our little corner of the Kingdom.

In the name of the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Spirit. Amen.

Wrinkled Missionaries, New Ways of Thinking

Lets face it. The old way of doing things is shot. Even the way in which we did things 10 years ago is full of holes. There are a few institutions, such as marriage, the sacraments, and the infield fly rule that still work well. But in large part, the old way of doing things, most particularly in the church, is over and done with.

So, what ARE we gonna do? Well, if we are Presbyterians, we form a Committee to study it, with a name like the Committee to Study It, or the Vision Committee, of the Next Century Working Group. Whatever.

Maybe as a part of our spiffy committee formations, we need to take a look back, and a look around at the rest of the world.

By the way, none of these thoughts are original, they are part of the Missional Church Movement, of which Presbyterian Global Fellowship is a part. God might just be doing something new. I have plagiarized large parts of this from here; the mind of Dr. Steven Hayner (friends of mine are friends of his). I have no shame.

The Early Church

In the first centuries the Holy Spirit pushed Jesus’ followers out of their comfort zones and into the Greek and Roman worlds—and beyond. About the middle of the second century, Justin Martyr declared: "There is not one single race of men whether barbarians, or Greeks, or whatever they may be called, nomads, or vagrants, or herdsmen living in tents, among whom prayers and giving of thanks are not offered through the name of the crucified Jesus." [Dial. cum Tryph., cxvii.] Within 3 centuries, new outposts of witness had been planted in all corners of the world—and in the west, Christianity became the official religion of the Empire.

God continued to work—and has done so to this day—calling, wooing, healing, freeing, forgiving, and engaging more people in the adventure of participating with God’s Great Plan.

But in the 4th century something began to happen to the church. As it became more and more accepted in the culture, and as there were more and more Christians, the Church began to be less of a movement and more of an institution (sound familiar?).

Even the use of the word “Church” began to change. Instead of referring to God’s people, “church” began to refer to a building—or a particular program activity. “We’re going to church.”

I have spent most of my adult life going to church. Well, at 48 years old, I am getting tired of going to church, I think I might like to be the church now.

More soon.

I Need Better Resumes

Poopie Doodie For Christians

Our family has a really funny, cute, and lively little nephew named Tim. Tim is about four years old now, but when he was a really little guy, around two years old, he used to have an expression that has now become common vernacular around our house...

"Poopie Doodie"

Tim used to say this just about all the time. It was used interchangeably as an expression of fun, frustration, and mostly to get his cousins to laugh. Tim is a showman, just like his Dad. We now use this expression in our house to replace other, less acceptable forms of verbal frustration.

Well people, we have Poopie Doodie Problems in the church, but perhaps we don't realize it. Wait, I am SURE we don't realize it. If we did, we would stop this behavior.

Thanks to Michael Spencer, over at Internet Monk, I have found evidence of something that makes me nearly wretch. The selling of Christian......stuff, and lots of it.

James Watkins, of the Charlotte Observer has a column you really need to read, called the "Christian Industrial Complex". As it turns out, the Christian retail industry topped $4.5 billion in gross sales last year. Now, if my math is correct, if you took $30 per month, and used it to support a child in the third world, you could support 250,000 children for the next 50 years! Or alternately, you could support 1,000,000 children for the next 12.5 years - to the point at which they might hopefully be self sufficient. Now that might really make a difference in our weary world.

Either way, something is sick in our culture. Maybe this is why folks find the church irrelevant so often. We are so caught up by the latest trends; The Purpose Driven This, and the Prayer of Jabez That, The Wild At Heart This, and the Your Best Life Now That.

We aren't any different than much of the rest of the modern culture, behaving like lemmings, we Christian folk. We follow the latest popular fad, rather than focusing on important things, the mystery of the Word made flesh, and how our faith can be more transformational, the ways that Christ can transform our faith, and help us to really, really love other people well.

Or maybe not. You decide.

Five Weird Things

I have been asked by my old (well not that old) friend Julie to post five wierd things about myself. What better way to start the new year?

As there are approximately 12 readers of this blog, this should prove to be earthshattering news that will affect the Internet to an extent greater than its original invention, by Al Gore of course. And so without further ado, five weird things about Steve, as reported by members of my family (as I can find nothing weird about myself).

1. 1. My music tastes are those of an 80 year old and/or I enjoy certain Hawaiian music. This has been the case ever since our family vacation to Kauai in the summer of 2005. Get ready, they will be playing Hawaiian music in Heaven.


2. I find pleasure and calm in watching the Kreepy Crawly pool sweep move around the bottom of our pool. I have no idea why, but this is true. I find it soothing. Sue me.


3. My belly button is an "outie"; which places me in a rare class (4% of the population). I have had it fixed twice via surgery (not just for THAT!) to no avail. Still an outie; such is my fate in life. Enough information.


4. I don't like tight clothes. Never have, never will. A guy needs room to relax.


5. I shoot squirrels in my back yard trees with a beebie gun just like Ralphie in A Christmas Story. They eat these little pod things in the tree over my pool, thus making more work for the Kreepy Crawly thing.....wait a minute.

A Ford, Not A Lincoln

This has been a week to remember the average guy. The guy who does his job (even if it happens to be President) each day, is kind to his neighbor, loves his wife and his family, and who quietly, makes this a great country to live in. We need more Gerry Fords.

Ben Stein, who used to write speeches for Gerald Ford, has it exactly right here. I give you a short quote, which sums it all up:

Defeated for election, Ford went peacefully into elder statesman mode, helped his noble wife dignify the fight against alcoholism and addiction, and stood for decades as a figure of grace and humility. Five miles east of the lovely home that Ford lived and died in in the California desert, there is a simple cottage where men and women go to attend meetings to bring peace and sobriety. On one wall there is a list of the people who have been coming frequently, just by first name and last initial. Two of those names are "Gerald and Betty F." Not President. Not Minority Leader. Just "Gerald and Betty F." Just two people trying to spread oil on the troubled waters of human existence. A Ford, not a Lincoln, but what a glorious Michigan-made vehicle of the human spirit.

Some Children See Him

I am continuing to revel in the simple beauty of James Taylor's Christmas Album, late to the party as I am. Tonight, I am listening to "Some Children See Him", written by Wihla Hutson and Alfred Burt in 1951, seven years before I was born.

Some children see Him lily white
the infant Jesus born this night
Some children see Him lily white
with tresses soft and fair

Some children see Him bronzed and brown
the Lord of heav'n to earth come down
Some children see Him bronzed and brown
with dark and heavy hair (with dark and
heavy hair!)

Some children see Him almond-eyed
This Saviour whom we kneel beside
Some children see Him almond-eyed
With skin of yellow hue!

Some children see Him dark as they
Sweet Mary's Son to whom we pray
Some children see Him dark as they
And, ah! they love Him so!

The children in each different place
Will see the Baby Jesus' face
Like theirs but bright with heav'nly grace
And filled with holy light!

O lay aside each earthly thing
and with thy heart as offering
Come worship now the infant King
'tis love that's born tonight!

'tis love that's born tonight!

The composer of song has a bittersweet subplot, as can be found, in detail here (click "history"). Alfred Burt lived only 33 years, before succuming to lung cancer, far too early in life. He left behind a wife and daughter, who have carried on his musical tradition.

James Taylor of Chapel Hill, NC, 10 years my senior. Alfred Burt, born the same year as my Dad, and died 4 years before my birth. Neither men met each other, but together, they have created a song that speaks remarkably well of the universality of a faith more than 2,000 years in the making.

And who says Christmas is not, at its deepest center, a mystery?

Deconstructing Church

Sometimes I think I live in a cave. James Taylor has a new Christmas album, and I had no idea, until the other day when my buddy John told me. Tickets for his solo (only James, no band) concert in LA in February are sold out, and now going for up to $400 per seat. Guess we won't be going, although I would love to.

Anyway, I am online just now listening to "In The Bleak Midwinter" from James' new album, and my eyes are tearing up. Here is why. James is a fellow who has had a somewhat wandering, wondering spiritual journey his whole life. He has written songs touching on semi-new age and Earth worship, of sorts. And now, I hear him singing from this tune, one of my Christmas favorites:

Angels and archangels may have gathered there,
Cherubim and seraphim thronged the air;
But His mother only, in her maiden bliss,
Worshipped the beloved with a kiss.

What can I give Him, empty as I am?
If I were a shepherd, I would bring a lamb;
If I were a Wise Man, I would do my
part; Yet what I can I give Him: give my heart.

And listening to this fellow, who's music I grew up with, I am a sniffling mess. I feel like I know James, we have spent so many hours together in the car, in my bedroom at my parents as a teen, in my dorm room at college, in my first house, at many of his local concerts, and more recently, in the family van with the little girls who are now not so little any more. More than 25 years in all. In this new album, James seems very comfortable with Jesus and the songs about him.

Here is what I think. I think we have to deconstruct the way we do church. My guess is that James is not so much disinterested with Jesus, its the church people that claim to speak for Jesus that he has a hard time with. I think James and Jesus might do very well together, as friends. And perhaps, after spending time with him, James might want to "give his heart", if you will. James is not so unique. Our cities and towns are filled with people just like him. Everywhere. Subtly searching, but unwilling to deal with the structures of the church.

We in the church, for our part, need to create a more welcoming, warm, real, relevant, and loving place. Maybe then, the James' of the world would come visit, and over time, become a part, and maybe even....give their hearts.

May it be so.

My Christmas Prayer

Its Boxing Day 2006. The day after Christmas.

Last night we were part of a large festive party with friends and family old and new from church. The food was wonderful, the conversation warm, the laughter abundant, the warmth of Christmas filled the house with joy. After an early dinner, we walked the neighborhood randomly caroling the neighbors, to their delight, in spite of our less than perfect attempts at Christmas carols.

A grey sky looms this afternoon outside; with showers predicted for tonight. There is a momentary calm, as the raucous teenage girls that will live with us for a few short years longer, have friends over, and are quietly conferring in their rooms.

I sit, laptop in hand in the family room, reflecting on this Christmas 2006, listening to Mozart's Laudate Dominum (see below), perhaps one of the most hauntingly beautiful Adagios ever composed. And ironically, it was written at a point in Mozart's life that was not perfect.

LAUDATE DOMINUM
Psalm 117 (Vulgate)

Laudate Dominum omnes gentes: laudate eum omnes populi.
Quoniam confirmata est super
nos misericordia ejus: et veritas Domini manet in aeternum.
Gloria Patri.

O praise the Lord, all ye
nations: praise Him, all ye people.
For His mercy is confirmed upon us: and the truth of the Lord remaineth for ever.
Glory be to the Father

So much in our world is not indeed far less than perfect this Christmas. Is it not always so? And so, this is my Christmas prayer:

Lord, on this day after Christmas, I am filled with ambiguity.

Mixed emotions. Joy and sorrow, happiness and grief, hope and hurt.

You, who came to live among us long ago on this day we celebrate,

did not come with a thunder clap, an explosion, or cheers of tens of thousands.

You came with a cry, nearly alone, the scream of a helpless, messy, completely fragile baby.

You were not ushered in front of adoring royal hoards

You came among us in a smelly barn full of animals.

Your companions on your arrival were two completely ordinary people,

who themselves must have been scared, and confused, and amazed by your arrival,

with eyes full of tears of wonder, and hearts still unsure what was going on. Like us.

Your first attendants were ordinary shepards,

who likely also smelled like the animals they tended.

And I, this Christmas, often feel like a somewhat smelly shepard.

Not completely sure of all that you are, but wanting to stand close to you,

trying to understand you, to know you.

And our world, your world, is so much less than holy or perfect,

so much like the scene at your birth. Dirty, soiled, yet somehow sacred.

As I look back on the last year, I think often of the dichotomies in my own life,

and those in our world.

I think about our happy Christmas celebration,

and the sadness that fills so much of this earth.
I think about the happy parts of my own life,
and then the sadness that also fill the corners of my heart,

as I often know how far I am from your love.

And I wonder, how can my life

make a difference; to love, to heal, to care. I wonder.

And I think of the places in my own mind and heart

that feel so far from your love and your peace.

I remember the places in this world now that seem so

far from hope and peace and healing.

I bring both the broken pieces of my life, and the broken parts of the world to you,

as did those countless crowds who followed you in your short life.

Seeking healing, hope, forgiveness and peace.

For Darfur, for Palestine, for Iraq, I pray your peace.

For Chechnya, for Myanmar, for Somali and Ethiopia, I pray your hope.

For children who will not eat this night, I pray your provision.

For all places that feel dark and hopeless, may your grace brake through.

And for the dark and uncaring parts of my own heart, I pray for your light.

Bright and blinding light.

May I be haunted by the life and love of the child who became a King.

Amen