Pastor’s Notes in the Key of D
Live Like It Matters - March 2021
I don’t often pursue church conversations that invite critique or complaint, but in certain instances I’ve enjoyed asking people (be they church goers or not) what it is that bothers them about the church. Recently, I had one of those conversations with a friend and the focus (ok, it was a complaint) had to do with preaching. Specifically, it was that too often sermons are given as if nothing meaningful is at stake. He said something like, “You preachers like to wax poetic about arcane scripture and perhaps connect it to some modern moral recommendation, but really, it’s an academic exercise.” It was a humbling comment, and I found myself nodding my head. Too often, preachers preach as if it doesn’t really matter.
This friend went on to say that when he did go to church, he found it to be a waste of time. He said it felt like he was just showing up and checking it off the proverbial list. He didn’t feel inspired. He didn’t feel challenged or empowered to make a difference. He just felt… bored.
However hard it was to hear words like these, I couldn’t help but nod my head in further agreement. And it makes me wonder, “What are we doing when we take part in church?” In the age of virtual church and social distance, I’ve found myself asking that question many times.
Sue Armentrout is an Episcopalian priest who started a website a few years ago to get some insight on that question. In particular, she asked people to share their thoughts about the season of Lent. She was amazed at the quality of their responses.
One person, commenting on the church’s mission to call us toward something holier than ourselves, wrote: “The more that is demanded of people, the more they want to give. The church’s tough rules and expectations regarding things like confession and repentance make one tougher within one self (and) more understanding of sacrifice. Lent has been trickling away. The less the church asks of us, the less we give.”
And look, we might take issue with some things in the first part of that comment, but the concluding remark is worth repeating: “The less the church asks of us, the less we give.” Apply that statement to any aspect of our lives – spiritual, social, financial, emotional – and we will have to admit that it’s true: the less we are asked, the less we give.
In Paul’s letter to the Corinthians, he asks us to do something that I tend to shy away from. He says it loud and clear: “Be reconciled to God.” In other words, admit that you need God. In return, God will call on us to practice honesty and openness, love and forgiveness, justice and welcome to all. Those are high objectives, but in a world full of low-level demands and simplistic solutions, it is time for the church to realize that what we do matters. The call from God may sound simple, but it will change the world. May each one of us embrace this idea, and live like it’s true - this Lent, and always.
In faith and hope,
Dan
I don’t often pursue church conversations that invite critique or complaint, but in certain instances I’ve enjoyed asking people (be they church goers or not) what it is that bothers them about the church. Recently, I had one of those conversations with a friend and the focus (ok, it was a complaint) had to do with preaching. Specifically, it was that too often sermons are given as if nothing meaningful is at stake. He said something like, “You preachers like to wax poetic about arcane scripture and perhaps connect it to some modern moral recommendation, but really, it’s an academic exercise.” It was a humbling comment, and I found myself nodding my head. Too often, preachers preach as if it doesn’t really matter.
This friend went on to say that when he did go to church, he found it to be a waste of time. He said it felt like he was just showing up and checking it off the proverbial list. He didn’t feel inspired. He didn’t feel challenged or empowered to make a difference. He just felt… bored.
However hard it was to hear words like these, I couldn’t help but nod my head in further agreement. And it makes me wonder, “What are we doing when we take part in church?” In the age of virtual church and social distance, I’ve found myself asking that question many times.
Sue Armentrout is an Episcopalian priest who started a website a few years ago to get some insight on that question. In particular, she asked people to share their thoughts about the season of Lent. She was amazed at the quality of their responses.
One person, commenting on the church’s mission to call us toward something holier than ourselves, wrote: “The more that is demanded of people, the more they want to give. The church’s tough rules and expectations regarding things like confession and repentance make one tougher within one self (and) more understanding of sacrifice. Lent has been trickling away. The less the church asks of us, the less we give.”
And look, we might take issue with some things in the first part of that comment, but the concluding remark is worth repeating: “The less the church asks of us, the less we give.” Apply that statement to any aspect of our lives – spiritual, social, financial, emotional – and we will have to admit that it’s true: the less we are asked, the less we give.
In Paul’s letter to the Corinthians, he asks us to do something that I tend to shy away from. He says it loud and clear: “Be reconciled to God.” In other words, admit that you need God. In return, God will call on us to practice honesty and openness, love and forgiveness, justice and welcome to all. Those are high objectives, but in a world full of low-level demands and simplistic solutions, it is time for the church to realize that what we do matters. The call from God may sound simple, but it will change the world. May each one of us embrace this idea, and live like it’s true - this Lent, and always.
In faith and hope,
Dan
Snow Days and Birthdays - February, 2021
On the night I started writing this article (Jan 24), the weather forecast in our area called for snow. Being in Auburn, this is a rare occurrence, so I was excited to see if we would actually get any. As it turns out, we didn’t (though there are apparently more chances in the days ahead), but several of my friends who live up toward Colfax noted significant accumulation (admittedly, we’re talking 3” or so, but it still counts).
As I looked at my Facebook feed, I saw several people post that the snowfall had changed their plans for the day. And I started thinking about those wonderful days from my childhood when we’d have “snow days.” Where I grew up in NH, we would watch the news on snowy mornings, waiting with excitement to see if school was cancelled. And when it was – Hallelujah!
What I love about snow days is the way they come as a surprise. Amidst all our plans and schedules, sometimes there arise unpredictable events that lead us to change our approach to time. It may be for just a day; it may be for longer. Certainly, the pandemic has created a shift like that. And while most of us have found a new rhythm amidst all the change, there are still many moments that invite us to embrace anew all sorts of unpredictability and change.
This past weekend it was my son’s birthday. And even though we planned no gathering of friends, no usual party, we decided to celebrate his day by going sledding near the Eagle Lakes exit on I-80. The thing was, when we got there, it wasn’t apparent to me where the sledding spots were. We walked for a while and everywhere was flat, and as my boys started complaining about too much walking and not enough sledding, I found myself feeling some frustration about not being able to create the birthday moment I had hoped to. I said to my wife, Andrea, “We came all this way and all we’re doing is trudging around. It’s frustrating.” And right then, two things happened. First, she replied, “Ok, so you’re frustrated. Now let it go, because you’re going to miss what’s right in front of you.” And second, she pointed at a fun little hill that our boys found that kept them sledding and laughing for as long as we were out there.
Jesus said, “Consider the lilies...” It was his way of saying, sit up, look around, see the beauty in each day, each moment. Spiritual teachers and counsellors call this mindfulness. I’ll admit that sometimes I struggle with mindfulness, caught up as I am with schedules and plans and desired outcomes. In many ways, I can be my own worst enemy - especially when I approach moments with a sense that they need to work out a certain way, or when I try to micromanage and control instead of allowing things to unfold and savoring them for what they are, rather than what they aren’t. The good news is we all get plenty of opportunities to learn this lesson.
In this case, all it took was some snow, a birthday sledding trip, and a gentle reminder from my spouse. In anticipation of your next unpredictable moment of grace, consider the beauty that surrounds you even now. Make a practice of mindfulness, especially if things don’t seem to be going according to plan. As we practice letting go, we will discover new eyes to see and savor, and suddenly joy will appear… like a snow day.
In faith and hope,
Dan
On the night I started writing this article (Jan 24), the weather forecast in our area called for snow. Being in Auburn, this is a rare occurrence, so I was excited to see if we would actually get any. As it turns out, we didn’t (though there are apparently more chances in the days ahead), but several of my friends who live up toward Colfax noted significant accumulation (admittedly, we’re talking 3” or so, but it still counts).
As I looked at my Facebook feed, I saw several people post that the snowfall had changed their plans for the day. And I started thinking about those wonderful days from my childhood when we’d have “snow days.” Where I grew up in NH, we would watch the news on snowy mornings, waiting with excitement to see if school was cancelled. And when it was – Hallelujah!
What I love about snow days is the way they come as a surprise. Amidst all our plans and schedules, sometimes there arise unpredictable events that lead us to change our approach to time. It may be for just a day; it may be for longer. Certainly, the pandemic has created a shift like that. And while most of us have found a new rhythm amidst all the change, there are still many moments that invite us to embrace anew all sorts of unpredictability and change.
This past weekend it was my son’s birthday. And even though we planned no gathering of friends, no usual party, we decided to celebrate his day by going sledding near the Eagle Lakes exit on I-80. The thing was, when we got there, it wasn’t apparent to me where the sledding spots were. We walked for a while and everywhere was flat, and as my boys started complaining about too much walking and not enough sledding, I found myself feeling some frustration about not being able to create the birthday moment I had hoped to. I said to my wife, Andrea, “We came all this way and all we’re doing is trudging around. It’s frustrating.” And right then, two things happened. First, she replied, “Ok, so you’re frustrated. Now let it go, because you’re going to miss what’s right in front of you.” And second, she pointed at a fun little hill that our boys found that kept them sledding and laughing for as long as we were out there.
Jesus said, “Consider the lilies...” It was his way of saying, sit up, look around, see the beauty in each day, each moment. Spiritual teachers and counsellors call this mindfulness. I’ll admit that sometimes I struggle with mindfulness, caught up as I am with schedules and plans and desired outcomes. In many ways, I can be my own worst enemy - especially when I approach moments with a sense that they need to work out a certain way, or when I try to micromanage and control instead of allowing things to unfold and savoring them for what they are, rather than what they aren’t. The good news is we all get plenty of opportunities to learn this lesson.
In this case, all it took was some snow, a birthday sledding trip, and a gentle reminder from my spouse. In anticipation of your next unpredictable moment of grace, consider the beauty that surrounds you even now. Make a practice of mindfulness, especially if things don’t seem to be going according to plan. As we practice letting go, we will discover new eyes to see and savor, and suddenly joy will appear… like a snow day.
In faith and hope,
Dan
Spiraling Towards a New Year - January 2021
As I watched each of you take your individual walks through the labyrinth of greens laid out at the Advent Spiral, I was struck by many appreciations. The first was simply how beautiful and good it felt to be in shared sacred community again, albeit outside in the cold and with masks on. These past ten months have tested the emotional, physical, and spiritual mettle of all of us, and one refrain I’ve heard most (and that I know to be true within myself) is that community and a sense of family are vital to feeling aliveness every day. Without community, we may go through the motions, but we’re often not really living. What a blessing it was to taste that connection once again.
The second appreciation was the profound power of ritual in our lives. How could it be that simple symbols like greens, candles, music, silence, and a slow walk might be so numinous? The better question might be, how could they not be? Some of the most profound rituals invite us to savor the sacred simplicity in our midst, and to perceive the profundity in the familiar. That’s why we love seeing the Christmas Pageant every year, or hearing the traditional lessons and carols. Sure, it’s the same story, the same songs, every year, but to participate in them leans us both back into our own life history and ancestry, and forward into our hopes for the future; somehow, these rituals evoke a newness in us every time. Somehow, they continue to break us open. As one of the Spiral attendees said, “This service every year is where I finally feel the seeds of Christmas bloom inside of me.” Amen!
A third appreciation was the recognition that while much of our walk is in solitude, we are never really alone. For as we walk the path, we find that our way is lit by those who have gone before. It is lit by the faith that allows us to take even one more step. It is lit by our willingness to share our light and illuminate the path for others. It is lit by the God who loves us first, and always. In the walk, and in the light, we are a part of something much larger than ourselves.
As we approach the year 2021, most of us long to turn the page. 2020 has been hard in many unprecedented ways. A fresh start sounds pretty good, to be sure. But as we head there, may we do so with a keen eye on what 2020 has taught us. By virtue of their absence, we have come to appreciate how vital sacred community, and ritual, and togetherness really are. We see that now… with 20/20 acuity. In our eagerness to return to normalcy, however, may we not simply go back to business as usual and risk losing the lesson. The greatest gifts we have were not lost this past year; they were revealed. And they will continue to be revealed as we practice deep community, sacred ritual, and a walk of togetherness.
Thank you for all the ways that your faith and love have lit the path for our church community this year. I look forward to seeing together what new light and truth God will reveal in 2021.
In faith and hope,
Dan
As I watched each of you take your individual walks through the labyrinth of greens laid out at the Advent Spiral, I was struck by many appreciations. The first was simply how beautiful and good it felt to be in shared sacred community again, albeit outside in the cold and with masks on. These past ten months have tested the emotional, physical, and spiritual mettle of all of us, and one refrain I’ve heard most (and that I know to be true within myself) is that community and a sense of family are vital to feeling aliveness every day. Without community, we may go through the motions, but we’re often not really living. What a blessing it was to taste that connection once again.
The second appreciation was the profound power of ritual in our lives. How could it be that simple symbols like greens, candles, music, silence, and a slow walk might be so numinous? The better question might be, how could they not be? Some of the most profound rituals invite us to savor the sacred simplicity in our midst, and to perceive the profundity in the familiar. That’s why we love seeing the Christmas Pageant every year, or hearing the traditional lessons and carols. Sure, it’s the same story, the same songs, every year, but to participate in them leans us both back into our own life history and ancestry, and forward into our hopes for the future; somehow, these rituals evoke a newness in us every time. Somehow, they continue to break us open. As one of the Spiral attendees said, “This service every year is where I finally feel the seeds of Christmas bloom inside of me.” Amen!
A third appreciation was the recognition that while much of our walk is in solitude, we are never really alone. For as we walk the path, we find that our way is lit by those who have gone before. It is lit by the faith that allows us to take even one more step. It is lit by our willingness to share our light and illuminate the path for others. It is lit by the God who loves us first, and always. In the walk, and in the light, we are a part of something much larger than ourselves.
As we approach the year 2021, most of us long to turn the page. 2020 has been hard in many unprecedented ways. A fresh start sounds pretty good, to be sure. But as we head there, may we do so with a keen eye on what 2020 has taught us. By virtue of their absence, we have come to appreciate how vital sacred community, and ritual, and togetherness really are. We see that now… with 20/20 acuity. In our eagerness to return to normalcy, however, may we not simply go back to business as usual and risk losing the lesson. The greatest gifts we have were not lost this past year; they were revealed. And they will continue to be revealed as we practice deep community, sacred ritual, and a walk of togetherness.
Thank you for all the ways that your faith and love have lit the path for our church community this year. I look forward to seeing together what new light and truth God will reveal in 2021.
In faith and hope,
Dan
Christmas on the Down Low - December, 2020
One of the biblical texts we often hear in December is the song Mary offers when she finds out she is pregnant with Jesus. She sings:
“[God] has brought down the powerful from their thrones, and lifted up the lowly; he has filled the hungry with good things and sent the rich away empty.”
There’s not a lot of nuance in these lyrics. The one she carries in her womb, this “Holy infant, tender and mild,” will one day grow up to proclaim that when you care for the least of these - the hungry, the sick, the outcast, the imprisoned, the hopeless – it’s as if you’re caring for God.
I love Christmas, with all the carols, the lights, the cookies, and the stories that surround it. And this year, I find myself needing these rituals more than usual. But more than these, I love the intensity and world-turning power of passages like Mary’s song, which point toward this One who will lift the lowly and fill the hungry. It is not at all a “meek and mild” message; in fact, I have often worried how that line “the powerful will be brought down and the rich sent away empty” might apply to me. But if fear is my take-away from this song, then I am missing the point.
In a famous exchange with a young Anakin Skywalker (who will later become Darth Vader) Yoda says, “Fear is the path to the dark side. Fear leads to anger. Anger leads to hate. Hate leads to suffering. I sense much fear in you.”
Fear destroys our ability to be in true community with one another. It also destroys our ability to see the deeper message of Christmas. Jesus comes to us not to fill up the space under our trees with wrapped boxes, but to open our hearts to the humble gifts of love and grace, the gifts that really matter. The truth is, the greatest work of God rarely takes place in the halls of power. Moses was born to a Hebrew slave. Jesus was born in a barn, surrounded by peasants. Moses grew to lead a great nation. Jesus grew to break the chains of injustice and redefine how humans might relate to one another, and to God.
In these politically, socially, and pandemically challenging times, we all could use a sign that dispels our fear. Somebody once said, “If you have not seen God, perhaps you haven’t looked low enough.” As our congregation looks for God this season, even as we may be physically apart, may we grow in our ability to be comfortable in the ambiguity of all that surrounds us. That’s far from easy, I know. But God’s promise in Jesus is that no matter what happens we will not be left alone.
Into the darkest of days, into the bitterness and divisiveness of our public sphere, into the fear that seems all around us, a promise is spoken: a child will come, whose name is Emmanuel, God-with-us.
I know it might not seem like much, but what God wants us to see is this: the solution to the world’s deepest longings and dreams is already here. This season, take the time to look around you – to really see the people who are before you – and I promise that you will see the hope of the world reflected in the faces and places where love is dared.
In faith and hope,
Dan
One of the biblical texts we often hear in December is the song Mary offers when she finds out she is pregnant with Jesus. She sings:
“[God] has brought down the powerful from their thrones, and lifted up the lowly; he has filled the hungry with good things and sent the rich away empty.”
There’s not a lot of nuance in these lyrics. The one she carries in her womb, this “Holy infant, tender and mild,” will one day grow up to proclaim that when you care for the least of these - the hungry, the sick, the outcast, the imprisoned, the hopeless – it’s as if you’re caring for God.
I love Christmas, with all the carols, the lights, the cookies, and the stories that surround it. And this year, I find myself needing these rituals more than usual. But more than these, I love the intensity and world-turning power of passages like Mary’s song, which point toward this One who will lift the lowly and fill the hungry. It is not at all a “meek and mild” message; in fact, I have often worried how that line “the powerful will be brought down and the rich sent away empty” might apply to me. But if fear is my take-away from this song, then I am missing the point.
In a famous exchange with a young Anakin Skywalker (who will later become Darth Vader) Yoda says, “Fear is the path to the dark side. Fear leads to anger. Anger leads to hate. Hate leads to suffering. I sense much fear in you.”
Fear destroys our ability to be in true community with one another. It also destroys our ability to see the deeper message of Christmas. Jesus comes to us not to fill up the space under our trees with wrapped boxes, but to open our hearts to the humble gifts of love and grace, the gifts that really matter. The truth is, the greatest work of God rarely takes place in the halls of power. Moses was born to a Hebrew slave. Jesus was born in a barn, surrounded by peasants. Moses grew to lead a great nation. Jesus grew to break the chains of injustice and redefine how humans might relate to one another, and to God.
In these politically, socially, and pandemically challenging times, we all could use a sign that dispels our fear. Somebody once said, “If you have not seen God, perhaps you haven’t looked low enough.” As our congregation looks for God this season, even as we may be physically apart, may we grow in our ability to be comfortable in the ambiguity of all that surrounds us. That’s far from easy, I know. But God’s promise in Jesus is that no matter what happens we will not be left alone.
Into the darkest of days, into the bitterness and divisiveness of our public sphere, into the fear that seems all around us, a promise is spoken: a child will come, whose name is Emmanuel, God-with-us.
I know it might not seem like much, but what God wants us to see is this: the solution to the world’s deepest longings and dreams is already here. This season, take the time to look around you – to really see the people who are before you – and I promise that you will see the hope of the world reflected in the faces and places where love is dared.
In faith and hope,
Dan
What’s Most Important – November, 2020
As I stood before you at the start of our first live worship service in more than seven months, I was caught by the emotion of the moment. I found myself reflecting on what is most important about this work that we get to do together. And if there’s one thing I want every one of you to know – deep down in your bones - it’s that you are loved beyond measure. I believe that full acceptance of this truth would be enough for any one of us to find peace. John’s gospel tells us that Jesus came not to condemn the world, but to save it. How is that possible? Through the beauty and power of God’s universal love for all.
Please let this sink in: God has loved you since before you were even born. You have within you the mark of creation, the spark of light from the beginning of time. You are made of the same stuff as the universe. Your body was formed from stardust. The universe within your soul is a sign that you are loved.
This truth isn’t easy to embrace. Sometimes, we only discover it when we go through something harsh, something difficult, something ugly. Sometimes – not all the time, but sometimes – it takes a personal crisis for us to discover the truth of God’s love. Richard Rohr reminds us, “Some form of suffering or death – psychological, spiritual, relational, or physical – is the only way we will loosen our ties to our small and separate false self.” In the letting go of the small false self we are set free to be embraced by the overwhelming love of God. Rohr will tell you this is not easy to do.
Rohr is a Franciscan priest who believes, as I do, that God’s universal love has already been given to every human regardless of their religion or lack thereof. Because of this wide-open theology, he often gets nasty emails and letters. He’s been called everything from a heretic to a false teacher to names not suitable for a church newsletter (or any newsletter). Even though he knows these angry communications are most likely written by people who are afraid, lonely, sad and unloved, he still has many a sleepless night because of what is written and said about him. The small false self is hard to get rid of even when you’re one of the world’s pre-eminent teachers of universal love!
Why does this matter? Because it seems like many in our world have forgotten. Many people have been functioning from their “small false selves.” And it can be easy to give in to fear and smallness when so many of those voices surround us. That’s one of the central reasons why the church community is so vital. To remind us, always, of our calling and of God’s love and higher purpose for us.
These are the things that went through me as we gathered for worship in our church parking lot. We are loved and we are called to love. And no matter how broken, wounded, and imperfect we are (and how broken, wounded, and imperfect the world may be) God’s love is no less real - for all of us, and for all time. May we reflect that love… through election seasons, flu/pandemic seasons, and all seasons.
In faith and love,
Dan
Church in A Changing World – October, 2020
In a recent sermon, I found myself saying the oft used expression, “The only thing that is constant, is that everything changes.”
How true that is. And I’m not even talking about change related to the pandemic we’ve been living through for the past six months. Just think about changes related to church over the past thirty years or so. Thirty years ago, the church was at or near the center of culture. Most school or rec leagues never scheduled events on a Sunday morning, because they knew those times were reserved for church.
But today, that’s not the case. Sunday mornings are just another alternative to try to schedule something in our ever-busy calendars. Gone are the days when accommodations were made for those who wanted to attend Sunday church.
Well before the pandemic, church had been moved to the sideline. And now, in this ongoing time of social distance, church has been pushed further out. And if the church will thrive in this era, we must no longer rely on the ways of thinking and acting that made sense years ago – heck, even the ways that made sense one year ago. We must learn to adapt.
But even in these challenging times, I think there is some good news. We may no longer be the hub of the town, but the fact is people still need their church. They need the community. They need the grounding that a church provides in living lives of joy and passion and lives that make a difference. The church remains a place where people come together (virtually or physically) to find strength for the journey and grace for the soul.
As we move into our stewardship season this year, we face a challenge of communication; of making sure that our members and neighbors know the wonderful ministries and opportunities we offer. One thing that’s for sure is that churches that thrive in tough situations like now are the ones that are focusing outwardly, not inwardly. They are the ones that look beyond their walls to the surrounding culture to discover how best to invigorate.
Friends, we have a powerful opportunity before us to look toward God’s future with eyes wide open. At First Congregational Church of Auburn, we are ready – now more than ever – to meet our ever-changing world with hope and grace. It only works, though, when we do it together.
In faith and love,
Dan
The Power of Love – September, 2020
Thirty-five years ago, the movie Back to the Future came out in theaters (I know, take a deep breath). And while it is a fantastic movie that still holds up well, perhaps most enduring for me is the soundtrack, especially the song “Power of Love” by Huey Lewis and the News. I can still remember belting out the lyrics, “Don’t need money, don’t take fame. Don’t need no credit card to ride this train…” when I saw them in concert, and thinking to myself, “Huey’s really nailed it. There is no power greater than love.”
And then I came across Psalm 33 this week, with its line: “Truly the eye of the Lord is on those who fear him, on those who hope in God’s steadfast love.” It’s a simple statement near the end of the psalm that reminds us that God’s perspective is greater and more complete than ours ever could be. Our view of the world is inherently limited, whereas God’s vision contains the whole picture.
When we learn to “fear” God – to live our lives in awe and trust in God’s ways – and when we make love the center of who we are, we will discover “shalom,” a deep communion and connection with all life and all beings. And while this may sound like a nice churchy thing to say, the truth is if we read the entire psalm, we will see how hard the practice of trusting in God’s love really is.
In verse 16, the psalmist says, “A king is not saved by his great army; a warrior is not delivered by his giant strength.” And what does that mean? It means that Huey Lewis was right! There is no power greater than love! Our ultimate help and our ultimate strength will never come through earthly definitions of power, be they political, economic, or military. Our ultimate power is in God’s love. Aaaand, that’s where a lot of us are left biting our nails. Because it’s worrisome to hear this message. We’re not sure if we can really trust it.
But this is where God’s perspective helps. Since the beginning of time, kings and Pharaohs and politicians and empires have tried to control things through power and might. But they all come and go. The one constant is the uniting power of God’s unyielding, undying love.
The power of love, the trust in God’s way, will help us find our peace and our grounding in tumultuous times. And we don’t just practice it for ourselves, but we practice it in community. We do it for each other. These days it feels more important than ever – to be available for each other in whatever ways we can be, to hold each other in times of pain, to sing for each other when our voices falter (or when they get too scratchy from smoky air). No one walks alone in this world, even in this time of physical distance. All of us are stronger when we live our days as if each heart we meet is the pulsing heart of God.
Can you feel it? That’s the power of love.
In faith and love,
Dan
Not Over or Under, But Through - August, 2020
The words to the classic story/song, “Going on a Bear Hunt,” remind us of one of the greatest, and often hardest, truths of this life. When it comes to any problem that appears before us, most often “we can’t go over it, we can’t go under it… Oh no, we’ve got to go through it!”
But how many times do we wish it could be another way? When we’re facing the difficult diagnosis, or when we sense that the relationship is at an end, or when the job just isn’t satisfying anymore, or when we hope and pray that the dangers of this world will subside… there are so many instances where we’d rather do anything but have to go through what’s before us. We’d rather just hang out in the pinnacle times, the mountain top experiences. When it comes to the life of faith, we often treat it like an airlifting experience – as if God’s helicopter is going to swoop in and rescue us from the pain, loneliness, and sorrow of this life.
Like the “Bear Hunt” song, Psalm 23 invites us to be fully present through these moments, so we might move toward the richness of a new life. The ancient poet promises us that no matter where we find ourselves – even in the shadowy valley – God is there.
We long for the mountain top experiences. We want to feel on top of the world. Of course, anyone who has lived at all knows that every mountain has its valleys. Some of them are deep and filled with scars. Some are treacherous and steep. And the way to the top of any mountain is often fraught with danger and countless turns. The same is true in life. The only way to higher ground comes by climbing.
Psalm 23 is a beloved, comforting psalm. But notice that the shepherd never seeks to avoid the low places; indeed, the sheep are consistently led through valleys. And when the shepherd enters the “valley of the shadow of death,” it doesn’t say “I’ll hide there,” or “I’ll stay stuck there,” or “I’ll look for any way over or around it.” No, it simply says, “I walk through.” Throughout the journey of this life, we are promised the presence of God, even in the shadows.
So, as you go through whatever life has to offer, the shadowy places, the deep valleys, the treacherous climbs… even if you fall of the path and mess things up royally, in all circumstances remember this: God will see you through.
In faith and love,
Dan
Loving Our Entire Family - July, 2020
One of the most beautiful texts in the Bible tells us, “Love one another deeply from the heart.” In other words, love as if your life depends on it; love as if there’s nothing else that matters; love in a way that clearly communicates your compassion for family, friends, and neighbors (which, as the Bible reminds us, isn’t just the people on your street - it’s any other human being).
This teaching isn’t hard to understand, just a daily challenge to put into practice. Part of the difficulty of putting love into action is the feeling that it isn’t enough in the face of a world torn apart by so many divisions - racism, poverty, fear, and hatred. Then again, maybe those very things can have the ability to move us even closer to the practice of love, as they make us realize that love is our last and best hope.
That’s how I’ve been feeling lately as I’ve listened to a diversity of voices – primarily the voices of people of color – calling out once again for White America to listen, to reflect and learn, and, ultimately, to be a part of substantive change that moves us toward greater equality for all people. As White Christians, it can be challenging to attend to this work. As was stated in the first meeting of our new “White Privilege” class/conversation, “It’s messy and vulnerable to talk about things like ‘race’ and ‘privilege’ and ‘justice,’ and many of us white people have been brought up not to talk about them and our relationship to them at all.” Similarly, it can be tough to talk as Christians about how to deal with such topics. Many of us were raised in churches that avoided real engagement in messy issues related to “social justice” in favor of a safer focus on charity and emphasis on an individual relationship with the divine.
So here comes this word from Peter reminding us that we are to, on top of loving deeply, “rid ourselves of all malice, all guile, insincerity, envy, and all slander.” It is our mutual love that inspires us to recognize that ours is not a “God and me” relationship. We are part of a larger body. To be a part of the church is to be in an extended and ever-extending family. This family is not defined by skin color, age, gender identity, or sexual orientation. It’s not about who’s in and who’s out, who will be loved and who will be ignored. This family is determined by God’s overwhelming grace. Period. This family, at its best, asks us to put love at the center, and to act on behalf of that love for our family. Our entire family.
Jesus didn’t hold altar calls. His ultimate concern was not the confession of an individual relationship with God. Instead, he invited us to give our lives to the way of God’s love, so that we and the world might be transformed. May we all give ourselves to being this kind of church, however messy, vulnerable, or uncomfortable it might be. In the end, I believe we will find Jesus walking with and encouraging us every step of the way.
In faith and love,
Dan
What Makes Us A Church - June, 2020
Part of the national conversation in recent days has had a lot to do with church, and whether or not churches are “essential” and should be allowed to “re-open” in these days of the pandemic. Many opinions have been shared on both a national and local level, and the only thing that is clear these days is that little is clear. Some faith communities, like ours and many within the UCC, are opting for a wait and see approach – choosing not to rush back in to physical gatherings. Other communities have chosen differently. In California, some churches have sued the government for the right to gather. We are all trying to figure out how to best “be church” as we go.
And it has got me thinking about what exactly it means to “be” church. There has been a Facebook meme going around – some of you have shared it, many have probably seen it – that talks about how the church has not been “closed” so it’s doesn’t need to be “re-opened.” It is simply continuing to practice its essential work of protecting the well-being and health of people and communities. A building, a physical meeting place, is not necessary to having these things happen.
The earliest church teachers were well aware of this. The apostle Paul was clear in his instructions. “Do you want to be the church? Then practice love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, and faithfulness.” It’s not about a building, or a specific way of gathering for worship. It’s a way of living, of being out there in the world. To follow what Paul instructs means we will pay attention to the needs of others, especially those who are vulnerable. It requires that we take the focus off our own needs and see where we can make a difference in our world. The strength of each one of us, of our communities, and of our nation, is always found in the ability to care for others. THIS is what it means to be church.
We all miss the connection, the hugs, the shared sense of sacred togetherness that physical proximity provides. None of this is easy to do. But for the time being, I believe the best way for us to care for one another, to be the church with and for one another, and to practice what Paul is talking about is to continue gathering virtually, maintaining practices of physical distance while seeking creative means to live out our deepest calling.
In faith and love,
Dan
The Reopen/Regather Question - May, 2020
Across various news outlets these days, we’re seeing more and more stories about the topic of reopening our society and our economy. For so many of us this is a welcome conversation. We want to get back to the parts of our lives that we’ve been missing with all this social distancing. We want to see and touch our loved ones again. We want to be in the physical presence of our church family. But the process of making this happen is one that requires thoughtful and purposeful consideration.
I came across a beautiful “poem-as-planning” piece written on this topic by a friend and colleague in ministry, the Rev. Elena Larssen (she pastors a UCC church in Long Beach, CA). She has given permission to share the following (with a few minor edits for context), and I offer them as an illustration of how we at FCC Auburn are engaging the same conversation. It’s called “Reopen/Regather.”
We reopen when the city, state, and county say we may. Listening to you, Gov. Newsom.
We reopen when our denominational leadership advises it. Listening to you, Dr. Villanueva of the United Church of Christ.
We reopen when our professional advisors recommend it. Listening to you, insurance company.
We reopen when our peer organizations are opening again. Listening to you, Auburn area churches.
We reopen when the staff is secure that they can hold safe events. Listening to you, church staff.
We reopen when we have access to enough supplies to sanitize after events. Listening to you, Custodian and Board of Buildings and Grounds.
We reopen when our appointed leaders have convened and made a judgement call. Listening to you, Church Council and Medical Advisory Team (for more on this, see the Moderator’s announcement).
The question is not when. The question is how.
We regather modestly. When we are allowed to start regathering, it will likely be very small groups only.
We regather gradually, keeping online worship alive as a new part of our church life. Picture the minister, music director, accompanist, and/or singers leading a service when the congregation is still at home.
We regather with a segmented schedule. Like other countries, younger people may be allowed in public first. Picture the kids' programs being able to gather, while we keep adult programs online.
We regather and keep some things online. Some groups are finding that evening meetings are quicker and more inclusive online.
We regather without some of our favorites on the calendar. Sadly, some events will be postponed much longer than others.
We regather with a spirit of humility. Every program and group will have reduced capacity and goals, so we will put the wellness of the whole before the success of any one group or goal.
We regather with a spirit of service. Some people are suffering greatly while some are in relative comfort during the shut-down, meaning that regathering will reveal heightened disparities. We will respect each other’s needs with love and non-judgement in thought, word, and deed.
We regather with faith. It is faith that allows us to seek wisdom in suffering, find new skills during times of duress, and remember that we love each other for better and for worse.
This is the meaning of church. Our hearts and minds are open to the ways and the days when we will regather.
Shifting our perspective from “when can we reopen” to “how shall we regather” activates our creativity and brings us to greater wisdom. Shifting our perspective is a way to shape a vision that will give us hope and help us endure. While endurance may not feel joyful, it is a path to wisdom.
I’m so thankful for Rev. Larssen’s words. And while there is no way to know specifics about when we may reopen our doors as a church, these are the kinds of things your church leadership is already considering as we seek to remain, and expand what it means to be, a gathered community.
In faith and love,
Dan
Easter under Quarantine - April, 2020
I don’t know about you, but in recent days it has been hard to think about much other than things related to the coronavirus. And as we all scramble to restructure our lives, it seems as if everything else has been pushed aside. It only just hit me that Easter is in three weeks! The other day my boy came up to me and asked, “Dad, will Easter be cancelled this year?”
Before I answered him various thoughts rushed through my head. Things like, “If I was Jesus, maybe I’d think twice about it this year… probably safer to just stay inside that tomb and leave the heavy stone in place. Even though it would be cold and dark, at least the germs couldn’t get in.”
In times of fear it’s natural to have thoughts like that creep in, and be tempted to give in to inclinations to hide and stay safe. But here’s what is also true: it’s precisely in these times - when cold and darkness abounds, when our lives and our hopes are on lockdown, when it seems that the news is only bad and getting worse – it’s in moments like this that Easter happens. Maybe in the midst of this pandemic, perhaps even for the first time in our lives, we are primed to fully experience Easter, especially where we may feel unprepared or ill-equipped to do so.
After all, that has always been the nature of the story. God breaking in, life emerging, love bursting forth in places and ways we don’t, or can’t, anticipate. The disciples weren’t ready. Oh, they thought they were, but then when things got tough, they fell away. Hid. Betrayed. Denied. Even though they had been told six ways to Sunday, even though they had walked with Jesus and heard his teachings, they weren’t prepared for Easter to happen.
Pilate and the Roman authorities weren’t prepared either. Oh sure, they had their laws and enforcements. They thought they could dictate all the outcomes through brute force and dehumanizing violence on a cross. They thought the tombstone was immovable. They never saw Easter coming.
Even the women at the tomb didn’t see it. They arrived anticipating doing nothing more than anointing a corpse. They had no idea anything else was possible, overcome as they were by despair. They weren’t prepared to meet the risen Christ, the love that conquers all the places of death.
We don’t see Easter coming either. Like the disciples, we feel beaten down and lost. Like Pilate and the Romans, we act as if the forces of death in this world have the final say. Like the women at the tomb, we get consumed by grief and we live as if nothing ever changes. And that’s before Easter was under quarantine!
But the promise of Easter is that there is no tomb, no fear, no violence, no despair, no plague, no quarantine that can separate us from God’s unyielding love. Easter is a green blade that rises no matter what is used to bury or encase it. Resurrection takes the ugliest parts of our world and of us and transforms them into something new. It takes whatever is dead in us and brings it back to life, even when – especially when – we least expect it. And none of this is subject to change. It just is. It just happens. No matter what…
I snapped out of my reverie. My son stood before me, awaiting a response. “Dad, will Easter be cancelled this year?” I looked at him and said simply, “No way, buddy, because God loves us. And there’s nothing that can cancel that.”
In faith and love,
Dan
Out of the Boat - March, 2020
Last year my family was delayed flying home from a vacation in Southern Florida. There were tornadoes and sever weather incidents across the entire Southeast, and when we did manage to get out, we hit some severe turbulence over Arkansas. When a pilot abruptly says, “Flight attendants be seated,” it’s never a reassuring feeling. And as we hit the rough air, I remember trying to look calm as I read the same sentence five times in the travel magazine. Then I just put it down and closed my eyes, hoping to wait it out. My boys, of course, thought it was fun. All the jostling and dips were like a ride to them. I wish I could say the same. I may have looked calm on the outside, but inside I was a mess of fear and nervousness. In the end I just sat there and prayed, “God, keep us up, keep us up, keep us up.”
According to the great preacher John Ortberg, most of us live somewhere between fear and faith. Our lives and the decisions we make are often determined by one of those two factors.
Matthew’s gospel tells the story of the disciples in a boat on the Sea of Galilee when a storm arises suddenly. Alone and afraid, they wonder what will become of them. But then they see something coming toward them, and they are terrified. Peter first recognizes that it’s Jesus, and he calls out, “Command me to come to you!” When Jesus says, “Come,” it’s his way of asking, “Are you ready to go with me, even in the storm? Is your faith strong enough to get up and go with me?”
I love this story – but try not to get caught up in it literally. What Jesus is asking Peter and the disciples to do is the same thing he’s asking us to consider. “Are you stuck in your boat? Do you always look for the easy way out, the safe way, the ‘don’t make me get off the couch and do something with my life’ way?”
Nearly all of us have times when what we really need is to binge-watch a favorite television show all day and not get off the couch. I’ve done it – and I can’t wait for the next season of “Ozark” to start so I can lose myself in it.
But there is within the human soul a call to adventure, to do something with your life. Peter sees Jesus on the water and right then everything is clear. He knows he wants to follow. He understands that there is no storm too great. He’ll go wherever, do whatever it takes to walk with Jesus.
Then, as you remember, he starts to sink. I can imagine the other disciples thinking, “Well, what did you think would happen? It’s water. And it’s not frozen, so of course you’ll sink! You should have stayed in the boat with us.”
And all of that is true, but Peter can always say, “Yes it was crazy, but for a few steps I had it! I was walking on water!” They can criticize him all they want, but he will always have that. He took a chance. He stepped onto the court. He was inspired, even if for an instant, to trust in God.
Where in your life do you need courage right now? What do you need to do to get out of the boat and take those first tentative steps?
If you’d prefer your fear to go away before you face whatever it is out there, know this: that will never happen. If you’re doing anything that matters, fear will always be a part of it.
The fear involved with taking risks never quite goes away. Fear of failure is perhaps the greatest reason we don’t get out of our boats but as John Ortberg says, “It was Peter’s willingness to risk failure that helped him to grow.”
All of us live somewhere between fear and faith. Our fullest lives are found when we face the fear and step out in faith.
In faith and love,
Dan
Past In Our Eyes - February, 2020
In a beloved Peanuts comic strip, Lucy – Charlie Brown’s friend and, at times, adversary – is about to catch a fly ball that is hit toward her position in right field. The ball hits the center of her glove, but pops out and falls to the ground. Charlie Brown runs out and asks, “Lucy, what happened?”
“The past got in my eyes.” We smile because it’s funny but we also know that what Lucy is talking about isn’t just about her and her out fielding skills, it’s about us. The past has the power to blind us, freeze us, and leave us emotionally and spiritually crippled.
Many of us were raised to think that when we fail, fall short, or otherwise sin, God will be looking to punish us. But, in fact, the opposite is true. As one pastor put it, “When we mess up, God doesn’t desert us but enters into our troubles and saves us.” It’s a good reminder for us to leave our past behind and move forward with God in the light of grace. Our mistakes and messes are the opportunities that God uses to move into our lives, help us to see clearly and turn around, and start anew.
Sometimes, though, we choose to stay stuck in the past, convinced that we’ll never get away from it. Jesus met someone like this during his ministry, a woman at a well who was stuck in her past. For many reasons, one of which was the culture in which she lived, she was unable to move away from that past on her own.
In commentaries and sermons, this woman at the well is often presented as someone of questionable moral character. People read that she had five husbands and they conclude that there’s something immoral about her living. But, as is so often the case, such interpretations are mistaken.
There is no evidence of immorality. In fact, as a woman in a patriarchal society, she was most likely a victim. And more than that, Jesus doesn’t seem the least bit concerned about her character. He’s not blinded by the past. He doesn’t conclude anything about her morality. Jesus simply sees her and receives her as she is, and invites her to drink from the well of God’s living water.
Jesus never worries about what the culture of his day tells him is appropriate or acceptable. He just goes around loving those he meets and doesn’t worry about the past.
The woman at the well gets a fresh start on life when Jesus simply treats her like a human being rather than a piece of property. Do we have the vision and the courage to see ourselves and others that way too? Are we willing to love God, our neighbors, our enemies, and give ourselves away for the sake of love?
If yes, then maybe we’ve finally learned how to leave our past where it belongs – in the past.
In faith and love,
Dan
The Hardest Thing - January, 2020
If you had to name the most difficult task you face in your everyday world, what would it be? Meeting the demands of a difficult job? Learning how to get along with a diverse set of co-workers? Maintaining healthy balance in relationships with family and friends? Standing and speaking up for what’s most important?
Every month or two I preach on the topic of forgiveness. And invariably, a few people in the post-worship greeting line will say to me: “I really needed to hear that today. But forgiving someone is the hardest thing I’ve ever done.”
I think honest comments like this are right on target. And the truth is, forgiveness gets even more difficult when the one we need to pardon is someone we care for deeply. George Ross remarks on what forgiveness does, “When forgiveness occurs, a community is assembled. They assemble to celebrate. The neighbors are called in. Surely one of the most terrible consequences of sin is the loneliness of guilt. Forgiveness gives people back their friends and neighbors.”
Continually practicing forgiveness gives us the opportunity to remember the disarming gift of God’s mercy for all of us., and it gives us a chance to reconnect with the human community. When we immerse ourselves in a forgiving community, we discover our lives changed, our dreams re-energized, and our hopes empowered.
Lewis Smedes gets right to the point when he writes, “With a little time, and a little more insight, we begin to see both ourselves and our enemies in humbler profiles. We are not really as innocent as we felt when we were first hurt. And we don’t usually have a gigantic monster to forgive; we have a weak, needy, and somewhat stupid human being. When you see your enemy and yourself in the weakness and silliness of the humanity you share, you will make the miracle of forgiving a little easier.”
Maybe that’s why Jesus instructs us to love our enemies. When we find the courage to do that, we might also find the ability to forgive the worst within ourselves. As we enter 2020, may we all embody the hard and worthwhile work of forgiveness.
In faith and love,
Pastor Dan
As I stood before you at the start of our first live worship service in more than seven months, I was caught by the emotion of the moment. I found myself reflecting on what is most important about this work that we get to do together. And if there’s one thing I want every one of you to know – deep down in your bones - it’s that you are loved beyond measure. I believe that full acceptance of this truth would be enough for any one of us to find peace. John’s gospel tells us that Jesus came not to condemn the world, but to save it. How is that possible? Through the beauty and power of God’s universal love for all.
Please let this sink in: God has loved you since before you were even born. You have within you the mark of creation, the spark of light from the beginning of time. You are made of the same stuff as the universe. Your body was formed from stardust. The universe within your soul is a sign that you are loved.
This truth isn’t easy to embrace. Sometimes, we only discover it when we go through something harsh, something difficult, something ugly. Sometimes – not all the time, but sometimes – it takes a personal crisis for us to discover the truth of God’s love. Richard Rohr reminds us, “Some form of suffering or death – psychological, spiritual, relational, or physical – is the only way we will loosen our ties to our small and separate false self.” In the letting go of the small false self we are set free to be embraced by the overwhelming love of God. Rohr will tell you this is not easy to do.
Rohr is a Franciscan priest who believes, as I do, that God’s universal love has already been given to every human regardless of their religion or lack thereof. Because of this wide-open theology, he often gets nasty emails and letters. He’s been called everything from a heretic to a false teacher to names not suitable for a church newsletter (or any newsletter). Even though he knows these angry communications are most likely written by people who are afraid, lonely, sad and unloved, he still has many a sleepless night because of what is written and said about him. The small false self is hard to get rid of even when you’re one of the world’s pre-eminent teachers of universal love!
Why does this matter? Because it seems like many in our world have forgotten. Many people have been functioning from their “small false selves.” And it can be easy to give in to fear and smallness when so many of those voices surround us. That’s one of the central reasons why the church community is so vital. To remind us, always, of our calling and of God’s love and higher purpose for us.
These are the things that went through me as we gathered for worship in our church parking lot. We are loved and we are called to love. And no matter how broken, wounded, and imperfect we are (and how broken, wounded, and imperfect the world may be) God’s love is no less real - for all of us, and for all time. May we reflect that love… through election seasons, flu/pandemic seasons, and all seasons.
In faith and love,
Dan
Church in A Changing World – October, 2020
In a recent sermon, I found myself saying the oft used expression, “The only thing that is constant, is that everything changes.”
How true that is. And I’m not even talking about change related to the pandemic we’ve been living through for the past six months. Just think about changes related to church over the past thirty years or so. Thirty years ago, the church was at or near the center of culture. Most school or rec leagues never scheduled events on a Sunday morning, because they knew those times were reserved for church.
But today, that’s not the case. Sunday mornings are just another alternative to try to schedule something in our ever-busy calendars. Gone are the days when accommodations were made for those who wanted to attend Sunday church.
Well before the pandemic, church had been moved to the sideline. And now, in this ongoing time of social distance, church has been pushed further out. And if the church will thrive in this era, we must no longer rely on the ways of thinking and acting that made sense years ago – heck, even the ways that made sense one year ago. We must learn to adapt.
But even in these challenging times, I think there is some good news. We may no longer be the hub of the town, but the fact is people still need their church. They need the community. They need the grounding that a church provides in living lives of joy and passion and lives that make a difference. The church remains a place where people come together (virtually or physically) to find strength for the journey and grace for the soul.
As we move into our stewardship season this year, we face a challenge of communication; of making sure that our members and neighbors know the wonderful ministries and opportunities we offer. One thing that’s for sure is that churches that thrive in tough situations like now are the ones that are focusing outwardly, not inwardly. They are the ones that look beyond their walls to the surrounding culture to discover how best to invigorate.
Friends, we have a powerful opportunity before us to look toward God’s future with eyes wide open. At First Congregational Church of Auburn, we are ready – now more than ever – to meet our ever-changing world with hope and grace. It only works, though, when we do it together.
In faith and love,
Dan
The Power of Love – September, 2020
Thirty-five years ago, the movie Back to the Future came out in theaters (I know, take a deep breath). And while it is a fantastic movie that still holds up well, perhaps most enduring for me is the soundtrack, especially the song “Power of Love” by Huey Lewis and the News. I can still remember belting out the lyrics, “Don’t need money, don’t take fame. Don’t need no credit card to ride this train…” when I saw them in concert, and thinking to myself, “Huey’s really nailed it. There is no power greater than love.”
And then I came across Psalm 33 this week, with its line: “Truly the eye of the Lord is on those who fear him, on those who hope in God’s steadfast love.” It’s a simple statement near the end of the psalm that reminds us that God’s perspective is greater and more complete than ours ever could be. Our view of the world is inherently limited, whereas God’s vision contains the whole picture.
When we learn to “fear” God – to live our lives in awe and trust in God’s ways – and when we make love the center of who we are, we will discover “shalom,” a deep communion and connection with all life and all beings. And while this may sound like a nice churchy thing to say, the truth is if we read the entire psalm, we will see how hard the practice of trusting in God’s love really is.
In verse 16, the psalmist says, “A king is not saved by his great army; a warrior is not delivered by his giant strength.” And what does that mean? It means that Huey Lewis was right! There is no power greater than love! Our ultimate help and our ultimate strength will never come through earthly definitions of power, be they political, economic, or military. Our ultimate power is in God’s love. Aaaand, that’s where a lot of us are left biting our nails. Because it’s worrisome to hear this message. We’re not sure if we can really trust it.
But this is where God’s perspective helps. Since the beginning of time, kings and Pharaohs and politicians and empires have tried to control things through power and might. But they all come and go. The one constant is the uniting power of God’s unyielding, undying love.
The power of love, the trust in God’s way, will help us find our peace and our grounding in tumultuous times. And we don’t just practice it for ourselves, but we practice it in community. We do it for each other. These days it feels more important than ever – to be available for each other in whatever ways we can be, to hold each other in times of pain, to sing for each other when our voices falter (or when they get too scratchy from smoky air). No one walks alone in this world, even in this time of physical distance. All of us are stronger when we live our days as if each heart we meet is the pulsing heart of God.
Can you feel it? That’s the power of love.
In faith and love,
Dan
Not Over or Under, But Through - August, 2020
The words to the classic story/song, “Going on a Bear Hunt,” remind us of one of the greatest, and often hardest, truths of this life. When it comes to any problem that appears before us, most often “we can’t go over it, we can’t go under it… Oh no, we’ve got to go through it!”
But how many times do we wish it could be another way? When we’re facing the difficult diagnosis, or when we sense that the relationship is at an end, or when the job just isn’t satisfying anymore, or when we hope and pray that the dangers of this world will subside… there are so many instances where we’d rather do anything but have to go through what’s before us. We’d rather just hang out in the pinnacle times, the mountain top experiences. When it comes to the life of faith, we often treat it like an airlifting experience – as if God’s helicopter is going to swoop in and rescue us from the pain, loneliness, and sorrow of this life.
Like the “Bear Hunt” song, Psalm 23 invites us to be fully present through these moments, so we might move toward the richness of a new life. The ancient poet promises us that no matter where we find ourselves – even in the shadowy valley – God is there.
We long for the mountain top experiences. We want to feel on top of the world. Of course, anyone who has lived at all knows that every mountain has its valleys. Some of them are deep and filled with scars. Some are treacherous and steep. And the way to the top of any mountain is often fraught with danger and countless turns. The same is true in life. The only way to higher ground comes by climbing.
Psalm 23 is a beloved, comforting psalm. But notice that the shepherd never seeks to avoid the low places; indeed, the sheep are consistently led through valleys. And when the shepherd enters the “valley of the shadow of death,” it doesn’t say “I’ll hide there,” or “I’ll stay stuck there,” or “I’ll look for any way over or around it.” No, it simply says, “I walk through.” Throughout the journey of this life, we are promised the presence of God, even in the shadows.
So, as you go through whatever life has to offer, the shadowy places, the deep valleys, the treacherous climbs… even if you fall of the path and mess things up royally, in all circumstances remember this: God will see you through.
In faith and love,
Dan
Loving Our Entire Family - July, 2020
One of the most beautiful texts in the Bible tells us, “Love one another deeply from the heart.” In other words, love as if your life depends on it; love as if there’s nothing else that matters; love in a way that clearly communicates your compassion for family, friends, and neighbors (which, as the Bible reminds us, isn’t just the people on your street - it’s any other human being).
This teaching isn’t hard to understand, just a daily challenge to put into practice. Part of the difficulty of putting love into action is the feeling that it isn’t enough in the face of a world torn apart by so many divisions - racism, poverty, fear, and hatred. Then again, maybe those very things can have the ability to move us even closer to the practice of love, as they make us realize that love is our last and best hope.
That’s how I’ve been feeling lately as I’ve listened to a diversity of voices – primarily the voices of people of color – calling out once again for White America to listen, to reflect and learn, and, ultimately, to be a part of substantive change that moves us toward greater equality for all people. As White Christians, it can be challenging to attend to this work. As was stated in the first meeting of our new “White Privilege” class/conversation, “It’s messy and vulnerable to talk about things like ‘race’ and ‘privilege’ and ‘justice,’ and many of us white people have been brought up not to talk about them and our relationship to them at all.” Similarly, it can be tough to talk as Christians about how to deal with such topics. Many of us were raised in churches that avoided real engagement in messy issues related to “social justice” in favor of a safer focus on charity and emphasis on an individual relationship with the divine.
So here comes this word from Peter reminding us that we are to, on top of loving deeply, “rid ourselves of all malice, all guile, insincerity, envy, and all slander.” It is our mutual love that inspires us to recognize that ours is not a “God and me” relationship. We are part of a larger body. To be a part of the church is to be in an extended and ever-extending family. This family is not defined by skin color, age, gender identity, or sexual orientation. It’s not about who’s in and who’s out, who will be loved and who will be ignored. This family is determined by God’s overwhelming grace. Period. This family, at its best, asks us to put love at the center, and to act on behalf of that love for our family. Our entire family.
Jesus didn’t hold altar calls. His ultimate concern was not the confession of an individual relationship with God. Instead, he invited us to give our lives to the way of God’s love, so that we and the world might be transformed. May we all give ourselves to being this kind of church, however messy, vulnerable, or uncomfortable it might be. In the end, I believe we will find Jesus walking with and encouraging us every step of the way.
In faith and love,
Dan
What Makes Us A Church - June, 2020
Part of the national conversation in recent days has had a lot to do with church, and whether or not churches are “essential” and should be allowed to “re-open” in these days of the pandemic. Many opinions have been shared on both a national and local level, and the only thing that is clear these days is that little is clear. Some faith communities, like ours and many within the UCC, are opting for a wait and see approach – choosing not to rush back in to physical gatherings. Other communities have chosen differently. In California, some churches have sued the government for the right to gather. We are all trying to figure out how to best “be church” as we go.
And it has got me thinking about what exactly it means to “be” church. There has been a Facebook meme going around – some of you have shared it, many have probably seen it – that talks about how the church has not been “closed” so it’s doesn’t need to be “re-opened.” It is simply continuing to practice its essential work of protecting the well-being and health of people and communities. A building, a physical meeting place, is not necessary to having these things happen.
The earliest church teachers were well aware of this. The apostle Paul was clear in his instructions. “Do you want to be the church? Then practice love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, and faithfulness.” It’s not about a building, or a specific way of gathering for worship. It’s a way of living, of being out there in the world. To follow what Paul instructs means we will pay attention to the needs of others, especially those who are vulnerable. It requires that we take the focus off our own needs and see where we can make a difference in our world. The strength of each one of us, of our communities, and of our nation, is always found in the ability to care for others. THIS is what it means to be church.
We all miss the connection, the hugs, the shared sense of sacred togetherness that physical proximity provides. None of this is easy to do. But for the time being, I believe the best way for us to care for one another, to be the church with and for one another, and to practice what Paul is talking about is to continue gathering virtually, maintaining practices of physical distance while seeking creative means to live out our deepest calling.
In faith and love,
Dan
The Reopen/Regather Question - May, 2020
Across various news outlets these days, we’re seeing more and more stories about the topic of reopening our society and our economy. For so many of us this is a welcome conversation. We want to get back to the parts of our lives that we’ve been missing with all this social distancing. We want to see and touch our loved ones again. We want to be in the physical presence of our church family. But the process of making this happen is one that requires thoughtful and purposeful consideration.
I came across a beautiful “poem-as-planning” piece written on this topic by a friend and colleague in ministry, the Rev. Elena Larssen (she pastors a UCC church in Long Beach, CA). She has given permission to share the following (with a few minor edits for context), and I offer them as an illustration of how we at FCC Auburn are engaging the same conversation. It’s called “Reopen/Regather.”
We reopen when the city, state, and county say we may. Listening to you, Gov. Newsom.
We reopen when our denominational leadership advises it. Listening to you, Dr. Villanueva of the United Church of Christ.
We reopen when our professional advisors recommend it. Listening to you, insurance company.
We reopen when our peer organizations are opening again. Listening to you, Auburn area churches.
We reopen when the staff is secure that they can hold safe events. Listening to you, church staff.
We reopen when we have access to enough supplies to sanitize after events. Listening to you, Custodian and Board of Buildings and Grounds.
We reopen when our appointed leaders have convened and made a judgement call. Listening to you, Church Council and Medical Advisory Team (for more on this, see the Moderator’s announcement).
The question is not when. The question is how.
We regather modestly. When we are allowed to start regathering, it will likely be very small groups only.
We regather gradually, keeping online worship alive as a new part of our church life. Picture the minister, music director, accompanist, and/or singers leading a service when the congregation is still at home.
We regather with a segmented schedule. Like other countries, younger people may be allowed in public first. Picture the kids' programs being able to gather, while we keep adult programs online.
We regather and keep some things online. Some groups are finding that evening meetings are quicker and more inclusive online.
We regather without some of our favorites on the calendar. Sadly, some events will be postponed much longer than others.
We regather with a spirit of humility. Every program and group will have reduced capacity and goals, so we will put the wellness of the whole before the success of any one group or goal.
We regather with a spirit of service. Some people are suffering greatly while some are in relative comfort during the shut-down, meaning that regathering will reveal heightened disparities. We will respect each other’s needs with love and non-judgement in thought, word, and deed.
We regather with faith. It is faith that allows us to seek wisdom in suffering, find new skills during times of duress, and remember that we love each other for better and for worse.
This is the meaning of church. Our hearts and minds are open to the ways and the days when we will regather.
Shifting our perspective from “when can we reopen” to “how shall we regather” activates our creativity and brings us to greater wisdom. Shifting our perspective is a way to shape a vision that will give us hope and help us endure. While endurance may not feel joyful, it is a path to wisdom.
I’m so thankful for Rev. Larssen’s words. And while there is no way to know specifics about when we may reopen our doors as a church, these are the kinds of things your church leadership is already considering as we seek to remain, and expand what it means to be, a gathered community.
In faith and love,
Dan
Easter under Quarantine - April, 2020
I don’t know about you, but in recent days it has been hard to think about much other than things related to the coronavirus. And as we all scramble to restructure our lives, it seems as if everything else has been pushed aside. It only just hit me that Easter is in three weeks! The other day my boy came up to me and asked, “Dad, will Easter be cancelled this year?”
Before I answered him various thoughts rushed through my head. Things like, “If I was Jesus, maybe I’d think twice about it this year… probably safer to just stay inside that tomb and leave the heavy stone in place. Even though it would be cold and dark, at least the germs couldn’t get in.”
In times of fear it’s natural to have thoughts like that creep in, and be tempted to give in to inclinations to hide and stay safe. But here’s what is also true: it’s precisely in these times - when cold and darkness abounds, when our lives and our hopes are on lockdown, when it seems that the news is only bad and getting worse – it’s in moments like this that Easter happens. Maybe in the midst of this pandemic, perhaps even for the first time in our lives, we are primed to fully experience Easter, especially where we may feel unprepared or ill-equipped to do so.
After all, that has always been the nature of the story. God breaking in, life emerging, love bursting forth in places and ways we don’t, or can’t, anticipate. The disciples weren’t ready. Oh, they thought they were, but then when things got tough, they fell away. Hid. Betrayed. Denied. Even though they had been told six ways to Sunday, even though they had walked with Jesus and heard his teachings, they weren’t prepared for Easter to happen.
Pilate and the Roman authorities weren’t prepared either. Oh sure, they had their laws and enforcements. They thought they could dictate all the outcomes through brute force and dehumanizing violence on a cross. They thought the tombstone was immovable. They never saw Easter coming.
Even the women at the tomb didn’t see it. They arrived anticipating doing nothing more than anointing a corpse. They had no idea anything else was possible, overcome as they were by despair. They weren’t prepared to meet the risen Christ, the love that conquers all the places of death.
We don’t see Easter coming either. Like the disciples, we feel beaten down and lost. Like Pilate and the Romans, we act as if the forces of death in this world have the final say. Like the women at the tomb, we get consumed by grief and we live as if nothing ever changes. And that’s before Easter was under quarantine!
But the promise of Easter is that there is no tomb, no fear, no violence, no despair, no plague, no quarantine that can separate us from God’s unyielding love. Easter is a green blade that rises no matter what is used to bury or encase it. Resurrection takes the ugliest parts of our world and of us and transforms them into something new. It takes whatever is dead in us and brings it back to life, even when – especially when – we least expect it. And none of this is subject to change. It just is. It just happens. No matter what…
I snapped out of my reverie. My son stood before me, awaiting a response. “Dad, will Easter be cancelled this year?” I looked at him and said simply, “No way, buddy, because God loves us. And there’s nothing that can cancel that.”
In faith and love,
Dan
Out of the Boat - March, 2020
Last year my family was delayed flying home from a vacation in Southern Florida. There were tornadoes and sever weather incidents across the entire Southeast, and when we did manage to get out, we hit some severe turbulence over Arkansas. When a pilot abruptly says, “Flight attendants be seated,” it’s never a reassuring feeling. And as we hit the rough air, I remember trying to look calm as I read the same sentence five times in the travel magazine. Then I just put it down and closed my eyes, hoping to wait it out. My boys, of course, thought it was fun. All the jostling and dips were like a ride to them. I wish I could say the same. I may have looked calm on the outside, but inside I was a mess of fear and nervousness. In the end I just sat there and prayed, “God, keep us up, keep us up, keep us up.”
According to the great preacher John Ortberg, most of us live somewhere between fear and faith. Our lives and the decisions we make are often determined by one of those two factors.
Matthew’s gospel tells the story of the disciples in a boat on the Sea of Galilee when a storm arises suddenly. Alone and afraid, they wonder what will become of them. But then they see something coming toward them, and they are terrified. Peter first recognizes that it’s Jesus, and he calls out, “Command me to come to you!” When Jesus says, “Come,” it’s his way of asking, “Are you ready to go with me, even in the storm? Is your faith strong enough to get up and go with me?”
I love this story – but try not to get caught up in it literally. What Jesus is asking Peter and the disciples to do is the same thing he’s asking us to consider. “Are you stuck in your boat? Do you always look for the easy way out, the safe way, the ‘don’t make me get off the couch and do something with my life’ way?”
Nearly all of us have times when what we really need is to binge-watch a favorite television show all day and not get off the couch. I’ve done it – and I can’t wait for the next season of “Ozark” to start so I can lose myself in it.
But there is within the human soul a call to adventure, to do something with your life. Peter sees Jesus on the water and right then everything is clear. He knows he wants to follow. He understands that there is no storm too great. He’ll go wherever, do whatever it takes to walk with Jesus.
Then, as you remember, he starts to sink. I can imagine the other disciples thinking, “Well, what did you think would happen? It’s water. And it’s not frozen, so of course you’ll sink! You should have stayed in the boat with us.”
And all of that is true, but Peter can always say, “Yes it was crazy, but for a few steps I had it! I was walking on water!” They can criticize him all they want, but he will always have that. He took a chance. He stepped onto the court. He was inspired, even if for an instant, to trust in God.
Where in your life do you need courage right now? What do you need to do to get out of the boat and take those first tentative steps?
If you’d prefer your fear to go away before you face whatever it is out there, know this: that will never happen. If you’re doing anything that matters, fear will always be a part of it.
The fear involved with taking risks never quite goes away. Fear of failure is perhaps the greatest reason we don’t get out of our boats but as John Ortberg says, “It was Peter’s willingness to risk failure that helped him to grow.”
All of us live somewhere between fear and faith. Our fullest lives are found when we face the fear and step out in faith.
In faith and love,
Dan
Past In Our Eyes - February, 2020
In a beloved Peanuts comic strip, Lucy – Charlie Brown’s friend and, at times, adversary – is about to catch a fly ball that is hit toward her position in right field. The ball hits the center of her glove, but pops out and falls to the ground. Charlie Brown runs out and asks, “Lucy, what happened?”
“The past got in my eyes.” We smile because it’s funny but we also know that what Lucy is talking about isn’t just about her and her out fielding skills, it’s about us. The past has the power to blind us, freeze us, and leave us emotionally and spiritually crippled.
Many of us were raised to think that when we fail, fall short, or otherwise sin, God will be looking to punish us. But, in fact, the opposite is true. As one pastor put it, “When we mess up, God doesn’t desert us but enters into our troubles and saves us.” It’s a good reminder for us to leave our past behind and move forward with God in the light of grace. Our mistakes and messes are the opportunities that God uses to move into our lives, help us to see clearly and turn around, and start anew.
Sometimes, though, we choose to stay stuck in the past, convinced that we’ll never get away from it. Jesus met someone like this during his ministry, a woman at a well who was stuck in her past. For many reasons, one of which was the culture in which she lived, she was unable to move away from that past on her own.
In commentaries and sermons, this woman at the well is often presented as someone of questionable moral character. People read that she had five husbands and they conclude that there’s something immoral about her living. But, as is so often the case, such interpretations are mistaken.
There is no evidence of immorality. In fact, as a woman in a patriarchal society, she was most likely a victim. And more than that, Jesus doesn’t seem the least bit concerned about her character. He’s not blinded by the past. He doesn’t conclude anything about her morality. Jesus simply sees her and receives her as she is, and invites her to drink from the well of God’s living water.
Jesus never worries about what the culture of his day tells him is appropriate or acceptable. He just goes around loving those he meets and doesn’t worry about the past.
The woman at the well gets a fresh start on life when Jesus simply treats her like a human being rather than a piece of property. Do we have the vision and the courage to see ourselves and others that way too? Are we willing to love God, our neighbors, our enemies, and give ourselves away for the sake of love?
If yes, then maybe we’ve finally learned how to leave our past where it belongs – in the past.
In faith and love,
Dan
The Hardest Thing - January, 2020
If you had to name the most difficult task you face in your everyday world, what would it be? Meeting the demands of a difficult job? Learning how to get along with a diverse set of co-workers? Maintaining healthy balance in relationships with family and friends? Standing and speaking up for what’s most important?
Every month or two I preach on the topic of forgiveness. And invariably, a few people in the post-worship greeting line will say to me: “I really needed to hear that today. But forgiving someone is the hardest thing I’ve ever done.”
I think honest comments like this are right on target. And the truth is, forgiveness gets even more difficult when the one we need to pardon is someone we care for deeply. George Ross remarks on what forgiveness does, “When forgiveness occurs, a community is assembled. They assemble to celebrate. The neighbors are called in. Surely one of the most terrible consequences of sin is the loneliness of guilt. Forgiveness gives people back their friends and neighbors.”
Continually practicing forgiveness gives us the opportunity to remember the disarming gift of God’s mercy for all of us., and it gives us a chance to reconnect with the human community. When we immerse ourselves in a forgiving community, we discover our lives changed, our dreams re-energized, and our hopes empowered.
Lewis Smedes gets right to the point when he writes, “With a little time, and a little more insight, we begin to see both ourselves and our enemies in humbler profiles. We are not really as innocent as we felt when we were first hurt. And we don’t usually have a gigantic monster to forgive; we have a weak, needy, and somewhat stupid human being. When you see your enemy and yourself in the weakness and silliness of the humanity you share, you will make the miracle of forgiving a little easier.”
Maybe that’s why Jesus instructs us to love our enemies. When we find the courage to do that, we might also find the ability to forgive the worst within ourselves. As we enter 2020, may we all embody the hard and worthwhile work of forgiveness.
In faith and love,
Pastor Dan