Tell me to come to you

Peter’s reaction to Jesus’ appeal for courage and peace in Matthew 14 seems in contrast with many of the prayers heard in today’s churches. Peter and others were trapped in an un-navigable boat pushed far from shore by a surprise storm. The impact of the wind and waves was accentuated by the pre-dawn darkness.

Peter’s fear of drowning was not alleviated by the surprise appearance of Jesus. The early church’s account of the event notes that Jesus’ walking-on-the-water approach signaled Peter and the other disciples that a ghost was nearing. They cried out in fear.

Jesus announced himself and assured the men they should not be frightened. “Be brave,” he told them. “It is I.”

Peter was so moved by it all that he shouted above the noises of nature a most unnatural request. “Lord, is it you? If so, tell me to come to you on the water.”

“Tell me to come to you.”

That is an uncommon prayer, seldom heard then or now. Most prayers of the church center on a longing that Christ will come to us. “Come and bless us,” we plead. “Come and heal us; come and meet our needs.”

Petitioning Christ to come to us takes little faith. In fact, such a prayer might be triggered more by fear than trust. It even can be a self-centered prayer resulting from a hope that God will bless our mere human initiatives.

We continue to miss the significance of Peter’s prayer even though we have an advantage he did not have. We know where Christ is found.

He is in the gathered people of God, and he is in the sacraments.

He is in the “least” of folks—the abused and the forgotten. He is in prison and under cities’ highway overpasses. He appears in “ghostly” fashion in food lines, nursing homes and hospitals.

He waits for his people in dark and dangerous places, but we persist with our prayers of invoking his presence. Should we not pray that we will come to him?

Christmas is offensive

Numerous people recently have raised the issues of courtesy and inclusiveness concerning particularly the celebration of Christmas in the culture at-large. First, let me say that this essay has nothing to do with whether the clerk at Wal-Mart should be allowed to wish us all a Merry Christmas rather than a Happy Holiday. Nor are these comments in reference to public displays of religious symbols or the use of bell-ringers by department stores.

These musings are about being offensive. Many have noted that Christians should not offend people of other faiths. I agree! Jesus' followers should be civil and kind. Christ never stooped to being obnoxious or demeaning. Neither should we.

But, isn't the Gospel offensive? Isn't it offensive that the Creator of all became fully human, born of a virgin teenage girl? Isn't it offensive that the Son of God was delivered in a dung-filled stable and that the child himself had his own soiled diapers? Isn't it offensive that God's Son taught that his body would be ingested by the church through the eating of the bread and the drinking of the cup? Isn't it offensive that he was crucified between common criminals by those who insisted that religion should be a marketplace phenomenon? Isn't it offensive that the crucified man of Galilee was raised from the dead and lives forevermore? Isn’t it offensive to live a faith that claims that Christ somehow represented us all in his death and resurrection? Isn’t it offensive to embrace a hope that all of history will someday be declared “his-story” and that peace will come to us all?

Do we really want Christmas to be a mainstream holiday? Do we want a Christmas endorsed by corporations that pay their execs millions while their $14,000-a-year workers can afford to buy gifts only by using their employee discounts? Do we want Christmas promoted so that most will find it palatable? Do we want Christmas promoted at all?

Yes, we should be aware that we live in diverse communities, and we would be wise to show a respect that is founded on a confidence that God reveals himself in ways beyond the traditions of the Christian Church. But, rather than demand equal time or majority-rules, why don’t we simply gather at the intersections of cultural values and sing “Emmanuel?” And, let's sing it a cappella.

Normal people

A student in a Washington DC boarding school recently visited by Prince Charles and his wife, Camilla, commented how impressed he was with the royal couple. “I didn’t know what to expect,” said the junior high boy, “but it was like talking to normal people.”

The young student’s comments telecast on the national news reminded me of the remarks of numerous adult students in the religion class I teach at the University. Many of them have told of leaving the church, no longer seeing its value or relevance. I have heard their musings so many times that I know the song by heart—all the verses and the refrain. “I want a church where the people are authentic,” they say. “Authentic.”

I was never sure what they meant until I heard the student’s reflection on his encounter with the Prince of Wales and the Duchess of Cornwall. I now believe that what many congregational dropouts are seeking when they continue their church-search is normal people.

I am not overlooking that some who find the church are hoping to discover salvation and deliverance. They deliberately enter the terrain of the people of God hoping to find someone who lives on a higher level who can lend a hand and give a boost to help them climb out of their despair.

For each one who is looking for a way out, however, there are a hundred who are looking for a way in. They long for connectedness, to belong to a community where there is no pretense or hierarchies. They are looking for….well, normal people.

I am not sure how normal the church seems these days. Despite our efforts to be relational, we often project a surreal image of community. We have our own vocabulary that has been honed by centuries of religion-ese. We sit in rows while singing praises absent of human context. We smother many attempts of others to express pain and failure. We saddle leaders with unrealistic expectations of supra-humanness. We refuse to discuss the nature of things that are causing long time members to finally leave the church.

I know many who are looking for a church where the ethos is regular folks who find grace in normalcy and who share a motto of “we are in this together.”

It seems only a few years ago people chose a church because it was above and beyond the usual. I now hear them say they look for a community where they can talk to normal people.

Songs that make you look

I did something in a chapel service this morning I had not done in years.

It happened while we were singing a hymn, "I Am a Child of God." The song was upbeat and easy to sing even though I was not familiar with it. It is an old song (1907) by Barney Warren, an Anderson Church of God hymn writer. We were singing the third verse followed by a refrain:

3. "Let the saints rejoice with my raptured spirit. I am a child of God; I will testify that the world may hear it. I am a child of God."
Refrain: "I am a child of God; I am a child of God. I have washed my robes in the cleansing fountain. I am a child of God."

I suddenly realized that I was singing a song that could not be sung alone. Maybe it was the words, "Let the saints rejoice," or maybe it was the tune or the atmosphere, but I felt I had to sing to someone AND have someone sing to me. I needed to connect with other folks who were traveling my journey.

So, while singing, I turned my head and looked at others, most of whom I did not know. I glanced across the aisle and over my shoulder. Strangely, others seemed to be scanning the congregants hoping to link with something beyond the immediate and the obvious. Several of us, while still singing, made eye contact and smiled; a few of us nodded like long-time friends who shared an inside joke.

I turned to face the pulpit, and I noticed leaders on the platform had turned from their altar-facing seats and were singing to the congregation. Everyone's head and hymnal seemed to be lifted.

Then it was over, but not too soon. In fact, its value was partly in its appearing unexpectedly and its vanishing suddenly.

But, what was it? What happened? I don't know. I do believe it had something to do with being part of the church--you know, that body of Christ thing. It reminded me of days when I was more part of a congregation than I am now. As we finished the hymn, I thought, "It has been a long time since I sang a song that made me look."

I suspect many of us often do not feel the need to look. Maybe it is the songs we sing, or possibly we do not understand our being part of a redeemed and being-redeemed community. I wonder if we are overlooking our call to encourage and to be encouraged by one another. Maybe we aren't grasping how important a look can be.

I am going to be more aware of a God-whisper urging me to look and smile (and sometimes nod) while we all sing songs of the Kingdom. I need to sing to others and have others sing to me. I suspect they need it, too.

Family stories

Many of my family live far away, so it is notable when we are able to gather. I have noticed something the last few years that entices me into a fresh understanding of the church. Whenever my family gathers, we tell the same foolish stories we told before--you know, stories of funny things that happened in the family, sometimes many years ago.

That may not be unusual in itself, but what surprises me is that we all genuinely laugh as though we are hearing a story for the first time. It is not forced or pretended laughter. We laugh loud and long even though we know the story well, each of us having heard or even told it numerous times. Sometimes we ask of a family member, "Tell that story when you....."

A few times we have told these stories to others, but they don't laugh much. To non-family members, they simply are accounts of something that happened to someone else. The Ross clan, however, tell them over and over because they are experiences in which we were drawn together. They help define us as a family.

I often visit different churches, both in and out of my denomination. There doesn't seem to be a lot of difference among them, however. They all seem somewhat generic. I also have noticed that not many are telling the family stories anymore. I am instructed to live with purpose and effectiveness. I am told to be compassionate and committed. I am admonished to live a holy and worshipful life.

But, I don't hear the stories that make us family. I go every Sunday hoping someone will tell the ancient narrative that the crucified Christ has been raised from the dead. And, what about the story of the coming Great Day when all will be made right, when there will be no more this or no more that?

Are we afraid that if we repeat our family stories they will lose their meaning or become boring? Have we decided they should only be told certain seasons of the year? I don't know. I do know that I miss hearing them. I know the stories well, but their "foolishness" still hold a mystery for me. They are the stories that make us family. If I heard them, I would offer a genuine "AMEN!"