My parents disagree very strongly with my last Theological Thought for Thursday. So, while I had intended this topic to come later, my parents conversation helped facilitate this.
My generation is ambivalent toward membership. In my previous post, I wasn't clear on my feelings toward this concept. I don't view this attitude as a negative. I actually view it as a positive cultural shift. In the middle of the previous century church membership became extremely important. Churches served as social clubs.
Serve, they serve as social clubs. People often go to church to be seen. Valuable business connections are an important aspect of worship. ...?
As church membership becomes less and less important, finding true community becomes increasingly more important.
Community isn't found in a once-weekly worship service, it rarely happens in 25-member Sunday School classes. While community can, and often does, occur within the confines of a church membership roll, membership doesn't facilitate true community.
The early church is a model of community. They broke bread together daily. They gave of what they had so that everyone would have enough. Now, I don't subscribe to the idyllic fascination that some Christians feel toward the early church. I think that when we make saints out of the whole lot of 'em, they lose their humanity. We forget that they had problems and failures just like us. But, one of the things that they did really well - much better than the modern church - is community.
Recap: Community is extremely important. Real community is very important to the postmodern generation. If church isn't a place where that sort of community can be fostered (and I don't mean more mixer games) we will find it somewhere else.
Thursday, June 25, 2009
Thursday, June 18, 2009
Theological Thoughts for Thursday - An emergent understanding of church
What is church?
My experiential understanding of church is a gathering of 50-5000 people, most well over the age of 80, who all feel of sense of belonging to one particular building. Everyone is a follower of Christ, most behave at least a little differently inside the building than they do outside, and children/youth/young adults are uncomfortable ... which is good for them.
The Greek word for church, Ekklesia (from which we get words like ecclesiastical) means "the called out ones."
News was delivered by word of mouth, and it was socially acceptable to stand up in the middle of a city and to begin shouting. When a particularly interesting bit of news was being shared, a large crowd would form: an Ekklesia.
So, I wonder if we have our definition of church right. Church membership is wildly unimportant to my generation. We don't mind joining a church if it is important to someone we love, but we really don't care. I was an active participant at Toccoa First UMC, but I never even considered membership there. I think that I will remain a member at Kane First UMC all of my life. I know where I'm going to church, and I know where I belong - I don't need a piece of paper or my name on a list to prove that I belong somewhere.
In the United Methodist church, we have held that anyone can attend our churches, but only Christians, people with a personal relationship with Jesus Christ, can become members. This is basically an irrelevant distinction for my generation: we just don't care about membership anymore. So many churches have unrealistic membership statistics that don't line up with worship attendance. My home church has 900 members and an average attendance of 200-300. My church in Georgia also has 900 members but has an average attendance of 300-400. In the Southern Baptist convention (I've been told) you are never removed from church rolls. I have a friend who is on the rolls of 5 different Baptist churches.
So, for the sake of statistics, forget about membership. Membership in the United Methodist church will continue to decline even if we get our act together and really begin to reach out to Postmoderns. This isn't a bad thing, it reflects a generational shift in attitude about membership. The number to watch is church attendance. How many people are in worship? How many in small groups? This is a more accurate reflection of our church involvement.
Having written all of that: my generation has a secret urge for structure. We need our churches to ask big things of us. We need to be challenged creatively to tithe and give above and beyond. We need to be asked to sacrifice for the good of the Kingdom. We need to be challenged and made uncomfortable.
I'm in South Korea right now. Everyone in the South Korean church tithes. Everyone. It isn't an option. Most give large special gifts as well. If the pastor asks you to do something. You do it. No questions asked. People get up at 5 in the morning to go to dawn prayer. I don't know if this would work in America. I know one reason it works is that the congregation knows that the Pastor wakes up at 3AM for personal prayer.
Re-cap: Church is everyone gathered to hear the good news. Forget membership. Challenge us.
My experiential understanding of church is a gathering of 50-5000 people, most well over the age of 80, who all feel of sense of belonging to one particular building. Everyone is a follower of Christ, most behave at least a little differently inside the building than they do outside, and children/youth/young adults are uncomfortable ... which is good for them.
The Greek word for church, Ekklesia (from which we get words like ecclesiastical) means "the called out ones."
News was delivered by word of mouth, and it was socially acceptable to stand up in the middle of a city and to begin shouting. When a particularly interesting bit of news was being shared, a large crowd would form: an Ekklesia.
So, I wonder if we have our definition of church right. Church membership is wildly unimportant to my generation. We don't mind joining a church if it is important to someone we love, but we really don't care. I was an active participant at Toccoa First UMC, but I never even considered membership there. I think that I will remain a member at Kane First UMC all of my life. I know where I'm going to church, and I know where I belong - I don't need a piece of paper or my name on a list to prove that I belong somewhere.
In the United Methodist church, we have held that anyone can attend our churches, but only Christians, people with a personal relationship with Jesus Christ, can become members. This is basically an irrelevant distinction for my generation: we just don't care about membership anymore. So many churches have unrealistic membership statistics that don't line up with worship attendance. My home church has 900 members and an average attendance of 200-300. My church in Georgia also has 900 members but has an average attendance of 300-400. In the Southern Baptist convention (I've been told) you are never removed from church rolls. I have a friend who is on the rolls of 5 different Baptist churches.
So, for the sake of statistics, forget about membership. Membership in the United Methodist church will continue to decline even if we get our act together and really begin to reach out to Postmoderns. This isn't a bad thing, it reflects a generational shift in attitude about membership. The number to watch is church attendance. How many people are in worship? How many in small groups? This is a more accurate reflection of our church involvement.
Having written all of that: my generation has a secret urge for structure. We need our churches to ask big things of us. We need to be challenged creatively to tithe and give above and beyond. We need to be asked to sacrifice for the good of the Kingdom. We need to be challenged and made uncomfortable.
I'm in South Korea right now. Everyone in the South Korean church tithes. Everyone. It isn't an option. Most give large special gifts as well. If the pastor asks you to do something. You do it. No questions asked. People get up at 5 in the morning to go to dawn prayer. I don't know if this would work in America. I know one reason it works is that the congregation knows that the Pastor wakes up at 3AM for personal prayer.
Re-cap: Church is everyone gathered to hear the good news. Forget membership. Challenge us.
Thursday, June 11, 2009
Theological Thoughts for Thursday - An emergent understanding of salvation
What does it mean to be saved? Is salvation a "get out of hell free" pass? Where is the "sinner's prayer" found in the Bible? Do we get saved all at once? Or is it a process? Why is the emphasis on "personal" salvation?
I was saved when I was 10 and a half. I was at Wesley Woods, my beloved church camp, when the altar call was given. I went forward and had an emotional experience. I prayed the sinners' prayer. I cried. I felt terrible about all of the bad things I had done. I was a changed person. I went back to school after that summer with a new vision.
Now, please re-read the above paragraph, and look for repetition. ... That's right. I. Me. The modern church created a paradigm that salvation was personal. I must get right with God. The New Testament speaks of whole households coming to faith in Christ. Missionaries report tribes who move as one body to accept the grace and forgiveness of Christ.
The theology we have built contends that the point of salvation is escape from suffering and torment in Hell. This is a biblical notion. But, far from the cornerstone of the salvivic message of Christ, placement in the afterlife is no more than a positive side effect of something much better.
Landa Cope, a mildly postmodern theologian, described the current focus of salvation and God's focus on the Kingdom by using the analogy of a house. What if I promised you a mansion high on a hill, but when we went there together; only a doorframe stood on the hill. When we boil the entirety of the gospel message down to salvation from Hell we rob people of the possibilities of the Kingdom of God.
"You tell me, 'I'm saved!' and I say, 'Great! I'm glad you're saved. Now what are you going to do with it?" - Landa Cope
Salvation isn't the end - it's the beginning.
It's the genesis moment.
God creates something good in you. He separates the darkness and the light.
The creation narrative found in the book of Genesis is our introduction to God. THIS is the God we worship. A God who creates everything to be good.
The creation narrative evokes images of an artist. It doesn't evoke the image of a scientist. God knew that everything created would be beautiful. The creation wasn't an experiment. It wasn't something to be improved upon later. On the seventh day, God rested. A scientist rests because he is tired. An artist rests because she is happy with the result.
The LORD your God is with you,
the Mighty Warrior who saves.
He will take great delight in you;
in his love he will no longer rebuke you,
but will rejoice over you with singing." - Zephaniah 3:17
Salvation is a starting point. Being born from above is the first step.
In Africa, the greatest missionary mobilization in history managed to produce lots of Christians. It didn't, however, produce many strong churches. One author noted that our African churches are little more than holding pens where people wait to enter heaven.
Salvation is a moment, a lifetime journey, and an unending verb. Our salvation experience must move beyond a personal emotional experience and must serve as a catalyst to changing the world. The churches collective salvation must bring about real results for those outside of the church.
Re-cap:
God wants us to be saved. We must re-define salvation as more than escape from hell. Our salvation must produce fruit beyond ourself.
I was saved when I was 10 and a half. I was at Wesley Woods, my beloved church camp, when the altar call was given. I went forward and had an emotional experience. I prayed the sinners' prayer. I cried. I felt terrible about all of the bad things I had done. I was a changed person. I went back to school after that summer with a new vision.
Now, please re-read the above paragraph, and look for repetition. ... That's right. I. Me. The modern church created a paradigm that salvation was personal. I must get right with God. The New Testament speaks of whole households coming to faith in Christ. Missionaries report tribes who move as one body to accept the grace and forgiveness of Christ.
The theology we have built contends that the point of salvation is escape from suffering and torment in Hell. This is a biblical notion. But, far from the cornerstone of the salvivic message of Christ, placement in the afterlife is no more than a positive side effect of something much better.
Landa Cope, a mildly postmodern theologian, described the current focus of salvation and God's focus on the Kingdom by using the analogy of a house. What if I promised you a mansion high on a hill, but when we went there together; only a doorframe stood on the hill. When we boil the entirety of the gospel message down to salvation from Hell we rob people of the possibilities of the Kingdom of God.
"You tell me, 'I'm saved!' and I say, 'Great! I'm glad you're saved. Now what are you going to do with it?" - Landa Cope
Salvation isn't the end - it's the beginning.
It's the genesis moment.
God creates something good in you. He separates the darkness and the light.
The creation narrative found in the book of Genesis is our introduction to God. THIS is the God we worship. A God who creates everything to be good.
The creation narrative evokes images of an artist. It doesn't evoke the image of a scientist. God knew that everything created would be beautiful. The creation wasn't an experiment. It wasn't something to be improved upon later. On the seventh day, God rested. A scientist rests because he is tired. An artist rests because she is happy with the result.
The LORD your God is with you,
the Mighty Warrior who saves.
He will take great delight in you;
in his love he will no longer rebuke you,
but will rejoice over you with singing." - Zephaniah 3:17
Salvation is a starting point. Being born from above is the first step.
In Africa, the greatest missionary mobilization in history managed to produce lots of Christians. It didn't, however, produce many strong churches. One author noted that our African churches are little more than holding pens where people wait to enter heaven.
Salvation is a moment, a lifetime journey, and an unending verb. Our salvation experience must move beyond a personal emotional experience and must serve as a catalyst to changing the world. The churches collective salvation must bring about real results for those outside of the church.
Re-cap:
God wants us to be saved. We must re-define salvation as more than escape from hell. Our salvation must produce fruit beyond ourself.
Monday, June 08, 2009
I might be here for a while
This temporary stop on my journey might take longer than I previously thought. As most of you know, I am in the application process with the General Board of Global Ministries to be a full time missionary. They are currently on a hiring freeze.
They announced today that they will lay off 41 staff and will not fill 20 vacant staff positions. This is very sad news, especially for those individuals in service to God who will lose their ministries.
So, I might be here for a while. I'm exploring some "continuing education" opportunities and praying for guidance and direction.
They announced today that they will lay off 41 staff and will not fill 20 vacant staff positions. This is very sad news, especially for those individuals in service to God who will lose their ministries.
So, I might be here for a while. I'm exploring some "continuing education" opportunities and praying for guidance and direction.
Thursday, June 04, 2009
Theological Thoughts for Thursday - An Emergent Concept of Missions
The young man sits in on the lecture presented at a large church. "The Sins of Missionaries." He hears the repentant, yet horrific stories of a missionary who worked tirelessly to promote his home culture and how religion was performed in his home country. The retired missionary spoke softly while recounting his mistakes. When a young convert was succesfully won, he was immediately removed from his native culture and taken to the missionary compound. After relinquishing all worldy desires and former friends, he was deemed worthy of baptism. Even though the new convert wanted to share his faith with his former friends, the missionary felt it was too risky to have him around his old contact. Any attempt at further evangelism of the people must begin again with the missionary making new contacts.
The young listener begins to search his soul and his own conversion history. There are some positives: the people group he belongs to is reached with the gospel, the Bible is found in his native tongue, and a few indigenous churches are beginning to find their footing. He also instinctively felt the negatives: the indigenous church is weak and only present in urban centers, the theology of the national church is just beginning to surface and often at odds with traditional theology, and as he listens to the missionary it reminds him a little too much of his own conversion.
He was converted as a child. His parents belonged to a church that fit for them. His heart language was never spoken in his parent's church. The world his parents knew was so vastly different than his own. Their veiws belonged to the culture of a previous generation. Although the customs and traditions his parents used felt right, there was something missing. His parents always kept him away from outside influence, but he knew all too well that new converts were sequestered within the missionary compound.
His mind slowly began to wrap around the cold, difficult truth that his people group was among the least reached and that those ministering to it were still breaking every rule of modern missionary methodology. They were committing every sin.
This young man is none other than me. I'm not from a tribe in Bourneo, I grew up in a lower-middle class United Methodist family in America. I'm a missionary candidate with the United Methodist General Board of Global Ministries. And I also happen to be Postmodern. The established church must develop a new paradigm concerning my generation or be willing to shutter the doors on thousands of churches across America.
As Postmodernity swept across western Europe, it left Christianity in its wake. The establish church stood firm and rigidly condemned the new worldview. No concession was necessary. Today, massive cathedrals attract tourists across Postmodern Europe. Few flock to hear the saving message of Jesus Christ.
In the next few weeks I will try and build a missiology that resonates with Postmoderns. I hold out a tremendous amount of hope for my generation. I see a church with a new and different theology that radically loves Christ. I envision the greatest missionary movement going forth as my generation, who grew up bridging a cultural divide, form an indigenous church and help others to do the same.
I might show my passion and write about this subject for the whole summer. I might get really frustrated and give up after a week or two. For instance: Postmoderns, by definition, don't like definitions. No word in the postmodern vocabulary carries the same meaning for more than a few months. Because the theology of this movement is patently unsystematic, these posts are more like nailing Jell-o to a tree than constructing a house. The postmodern movement doesn't have a theology of missions, yet. I will try and define terms as I go, but I make no promises that these writings will fall within the common knowledge of older generations. Enjoy.
The young listener begins to search his soul and his own conversion history. There are some positives: the people group he belongs to is reached with the gospel, the Bible is found in his native tongue, and a few indigenous churches are beginning to find their footing. He also instinctively felt the negatives: the indigenous church is weak and only present in urban centers, the theology of the national church is just beginning to surface and often at odds with traditional theology, and as he listens to the missionary it reminds him a little too much of his own conversion.
He was converted as a child. His parents belonged to a church that fit for them. His heart language was never spoken in his parent's church. The world his parents knew was so vastly different than his own. Their veiws belonged to the culture of a previous generation. Although the customs and traditions his parents used felt right, there was something missing. His parents always kept him away from outside influence, but he knew all too well that new converts were sequestered within the missionary compound.
His mind slowly began to wrap around the cold, difficult truth that his people group was among the least reached and that those ministering to it were still breaking every rule of modern missionary methodology. They were committing every sin.
This young man is none other than me. I'm not from a tribe in Bourneo, I grew up in a lower-middle class United Methodist family in America. I'm a missionary candidate with the United Methodist General Board of Global Ministries. And I also happen to be Postmodern. The established church must develop a new paradigm concerning my generation or be willing to shutter the doors on thousands of churches across America.
As Postmodernity swept across western Europe, it left Christianity in its wake. The establish church stood firm and rigidly condemned the new worldview. No concession was necessary. Today, massive cathedrals attract tourists across Postmodern Europe. Few flock to hear the saving message of Jesus Christ.
In the next few weeks I will try and build a missiology that resonates with Postmoderns. I hold out a tremendous amount of hope for my generation. I see a church with a new and different theology that radically loves Christ. I envision the greatest missionary movement going forth as my generation, who grew up bridging a cultural divide, form an indigenous church and help others to do the same.
I might show my passion and write about this subject for the whole summer. I might get really frustrated and give up after a week or two. For instance: Postmoderns, by definition, don't like definitions. No word in the postmodern vocabulary carries the same meaning for more than a few months. Because the theology of this movement is patently unsystematic, these posts are more like nailing Jell-o to a tree than constructing a house. The postmodern movement doesn't have a theology of missions, yet. I will try and define terms as I go, but I make no promises that these writings will fall within the common knowledge of older generations. Enjoy.
Thursday, May 28, 2009
Theological Thoughts for Thursday
Alma lives vicariously through me sometimes. Her mother was a piano teacher, just like mine. Alma loves hearing stories about my mother, because my mother acts and thinks just like hers did. Her mother died 64 years ago, when Alma was 12. Alma often wants to know my mother’s opinion on trivial matters in my life. It’s important for her, because it’s a small window into how her mother might have reacted, how her life might have been different if her mother had lived. She wonders if her mother would have also encouraged her to go for her dreams.
I’m in South Korea now (I write these weeks in advance, so I assume I have made it safely!). I had a number of options after graduation, but going to South Korea was the only one that really felt like it was heading in the directions of my dreams. One other option sounded great. The pay would have been better, the location more familiar, and my friends closer. But I knew that I would have been too happy in that position. I would have settled. I wouldn’t have followed my dreams. The enemy of “great” is “good enough.”
Now, I couldn’t explain this principle to many people when I was making my decisions. But, I called mom and explained why I was making the choice I was making. I expected her to be exacerbated by my lack of common sense, but she calmly replied, “Yes, you need to follow your dreams. You don’t want to settle for any less than your dreams.”
This is one of those concepts that has been well formed in my heart. Dad gave up the opportunity to go to college because of a girl. Mom refused a helicopter flight to the top of Mount Rushmore because she was afraid her long hair would get caught in the propellers. Mom never joined the peace corps and never went for her masters. Dad didn’t declare Florida residency, the one missing piece in his application, to get his dream job at Disneyworld. I was always taught to go for my dreams, to never settle and never be afraid.
So, here I am, living out my dreams. Working toward my goals. Alma lets me know that I’m also working toward her goals. That I’m living out her dreams, too.
I’m in South Korea now (I write these weeks in advance, so I assume I have made it safely!). I had a number of options after graduation, but going to South Korea was the only one that really felt like it was heading in the directions of my dreams. One other option sounded great. The pay would have been better, the location more familiar, and my friends closer. But I knew that I would have been too happy in that position. I would have settled. I wouldn’t have followed my dreams. The enemy of “great” is “good enough.”
Now, I couldn’t explain this principle to many people when I was making my decisions. But, I called mom and explained why I was making the choice I was making. I expected her to be exacerbated by my lack of common sense, but she calmly replied, “Yes, you need to follow your dreams. You don’t want to settle for any less than your dreams.”
This is one of those concepts that has been well formed in my heart. Dad gave up the opportunity to go to college because of a girl. Mom refused a helicopter flight to the top of Mount Rushmore because she was afraid her long hair would get caught in the propellers. Mom never joined the peace corps and never went for her masters. Dad didn’t declare Florida residency, the one missing piece in his application, to get his dream job at Disneyworld. I was always taught to go for my dreams, to never settle and never be afraid.
So, here I am, living out my dreams. Working toward my goals. Alma lets me know that I’m also working toward her goals. That I’m living out her dreams, too.
Tuesday, May 26, 2009
Oh hey friends. I'm safely in South Korea. At my apartment I have wi-fi. I think that I will be able to keep updating and keep doing Theological Thoughts for Thursday. I will post some day to day updates on my life at michaelairgood.blogspot.com. Sorry to force everyone to keep up with two different blogs. I'll try and keep the material fresh on both sites.
Thanks, Michael.
Thanks, Michael.
Thursday, May 21, 2009
Theological Thoughts for Thursday
Oh, hey, did I mention that I'm leaving for South Korea on Monday?!?! That's kind of important. Last week I wrote that I was excited to continue the journey and see what God has in store for me.
This week I live that out. This week I begin a new chapter in my life.
There's something profoundly theological and suddenly calming about following to the ends of the earth. It's a joy and a thrill to experience that.
I hope you all got to be a part of my "return trip" of one week in Kane!
Love, Michael.
This week I live that out. This week I begin a new chapter in my life.
There's something profoundly theological and suddenly calming about following to the ends of the earth. It's a joy and a thrill to experience that.
I hope you all got to be a part of my "return trip" of one week in Kane!
Love, Michael.
Thursday, May 14, 2009
Theological Thoughts for Thursday
I'm graduating on Saturday. I am the first male member of the Airgood family to ever graduate from college. It's kind of a big deal.
I look back on my four years of education, especially the spiritual aspects of it; and I am so thankful that I had my local church family to support me.
I'm glad to graduate, it's been a great four years. I'm happy that I've had this experience. While I'm glad that I'm through with my undergrad, I'm even happier that I managed to slow down and savor the experience.
College is probably the best four years of your life.
I'm glad for all that God has taught me in these four years.
I'm happy with who I am and who I have become. I look forward to what God has for the rest of my life.
I look back on my four years of education, especially the spiritual aspects of it; and I am so thankful that I had my local church family to support me.
I'm glad to graduate, it's been a great four years. I'm happy that I've had this experience. While I'm glad that I'm through with my undergrad, I'm even happier that I managed to slow down and savor the experience.
College is probably the best four years of your life.
I'm glad for all that God has taught me in these four years.
I'm happy with who I am and who I have become. I look forward to what God has for the rest of my life.
Monday, May 11, 2009
Well this is weird.
I finished my last final today. I'm done with all of my work for my undergraduate degree.
How weird.
Days of wandering aimlessly through my old town. Days of anticipation ... Korea? Really? Goodbyes, a firm handshake hello.
How weird.
Days of wandering aimlessly through my old town. Days of anticipation ... Korea? Really? Goodbyes, a firm handshake hello.
Thursday, May 07, 2009
Theological Thoughts for Thursday
It was difficult to teach the kid’s about conviction. Usually when I teach the kids a lesson, I find myself face to face with that value or virtue. I once taught the kids using the passage, “you visit me when I was in prison” only to find myself trying to sign in to visit a friend in jail a few days later.
So, I wasn’t too pleased to teach about conviction. Now, don’t get me wrong. I’m a person of conviction. It’s just that my conviction’s don’t always line up with those of other Christians around me.
We talked about what we as Christians are called to do in everyday situations. What do we do if we see a bully picking on someone? Now, as principled people of conviction – we are called to act justly – our call is to stand up for the oppressed.
This is particularly difficult to teach children, because … come on … who does this? We live in a culture that teaches “protect your own” and a country that follows this rule. We pay taxes to a government that perpetuates “pre-emptive strikes.” We are the bully.
Sister PeterMarie, in my perennial favorite HBO show, OZ, stands on the other side of bars that keep a death row inmate inside. She is fighting and praying that his sentence will be commuted. She explains her sense of powerlessness. The inmate, a feeble minded older gentleman who speaks in monosyllabic expressions, says, “You, me, God, pray.” And they join together in prayer. I feel so helpless against the social justice I see all around me.
It’s so easy for me to speak publicly about the evils I encountered with the caste system in India. I can’t speak out against the white power structure found in my own culture. It’s not so easy for me to search out and fight for social justice when I am part of the power structure. I’m the bully?
So, I tell the kids that I teach, that they need to stand up to the bully. But, what I really mean is that I need to stand up to the bully; that I need to stand up for my convictions.
In my Christian Education class, they teach that Christianity, and all of its inherent values and morals, are caught … not taught. So, no matter how many times I repeat the necessity of standing up for what’s right – if I don’t do it, it’s worthless.
So, I wasn’t too pleased to teach about conviction. Now, don’t get me wrong. I’m a person of conviction. It’s just that my conviction’s don’t always line up with those of other Christians around me.
We talked about what we as Christians are called to do in everyday situations. What do we do if we see a bully picking on someone? Now, as principled people of conviction – we are called to act justly – our call is to stand up for the oppressed.
This is particularly difficult to teach children, because … come on … who does this? We live in a culture that teaches “protect your own” and a country that follows this rule. We pay taxes to a government that perpetuates “pre-emptive strikes.” We are the bully.
Sister PeterMarie, in my perennial favorite HBO show, OZ, stands on the other side of bars that keep a death row inmate inside. She is fighting and praying that his sentence will be commuted. She explains her sense of powerlessness. The inmate, a feeble minded older gentleman who speaks in monosyllabic expressions, says, “You, me, God, pray.” And they join together in prayer. I feel so helpless against the social justice I see all around me.
It’s so easy for me to speak publicly about the evils I encountered with the caste system in India. I can’t speak out against the white power structure found in my own culture. It’s not so easy for me to search out and fight for social justice when I am part of the power structure. I’m the bully?
So, I tell the kids that I teach, that they need to stand up to the bully. But, what I really mean is that I need to stand up to the bully; that I need to stand up for my convictions.
In my Christian Education class, they teach that Christianity, and all of its inherent values and morals, are caught … not taught. So, no matter how many times I repeat the necessity of standing up for what’s right – if I don’t do it, it’s worthless.
Friday, May 01, 2009
When at a yardsale, one always buys one item more than necessary. At least one item more than is necessary. I dropped by a church yard sale to buy a picture frame for my grandparent’s Christmas gift. (It’s okay. They’re not reading this. I promise.)
I was shifting through the myriad of frames and pictures when I came across the most unusual item. When I saw the picture, my heart sank in response to the visceral sadness. I loved it at the same time.
The picture is a framed 7X5 of a beloved pet cat. The cat is entirely out of focus. Everything else is crisp and sharp. The artifacts of a strict post-WWII household are clearly visible in the back hallway. The cat looks neither amused, nor interested in the photographic apparatus.
“Who frames pictures of blurry cats?” you ask. “Someone who doesn’t have the opportunity to take a better picture.” I postulate. Today I sit in my kitchen with my cat playfully toying at my toes. But I know this too shall pass. No one will love my Vassya as much as I do. I can’t quite get him to understand that I’m leaving soon. That I’m leaving him behind.
I don’t think my kids, from work and church, understand that I’m leaving them. I’ve lived by my values: Do all the good you can. John Wesley said it before me. I pray that Jim keeps on reading like I taught him and stays out of Juvey. I hope that Logan never loses his ability to confront with truth for the sake of the Gospel – kids have it but we adults tend to lose it.
And my house. My beautiful house at 80 Schaefer Ct.. I begin to tell people my address in Pennsylvania when they ask. My red kitchen and chocolate bedroom. Colors I didn’t choose, but the colors I would have chosen. The open door policy, coming home to a house-full of guests.
My train. I will miss my train. For three years it has reminded me at all hours of the day and night that there are places other than here. When persecution of the fringe escalated and kids were kicked out of TFC for whatever reasons, my home became the underground railroad for them.
I have so many pictures of out-of-focus cats. Fading memories of people I loved whose names elude me. Reading Mrs. Dalloway on grandma Alma’s dock as it bobbed in the river. Waking up and not being alone. Papers and whole classes that wouldn’t even make the footnotes of my life story. These things that I loved, that I never really appreciated as I should. I can’t appreciate them any more, so I hang them on my wall.
I don’t mind that they’re blurry. I’m just happy they happened.
I was shifting through the myriad of frames and pictures when I came across the most unusual item. When I saw the picture, my heart sank in response to the visceral sadness. I loved it at the same time.
The picture is a framed 7X5 of a beloved pet cat. The cat is entirely out of focus. Everything else is crisp and sharp. The artifacts of a strict post-WWII household are clearly visible in the back hallway. The cat looks neither amused, nor interested in the photographic apparatus.
“Who frames pictures of blurry cats?” you ask. “Someone who doesn’t have the opportunity to take a better picture.” I postulate. Today I sit in my kitchen with my cat playfully toying at my toes. But I know this too shall pass. No one will love my Vassya as much as I do. I can’t quite get him to understand that I’m leaving soon. That I’m leaving him behind.
I don’t think my kids, from work and church, understand that I’m leaving them. I’ve lived by my values: Do all the good you can. John Wesley said it before me. I pray that Jim keeps on reading like I taught him and stays out of Juvey. I hope that Logan never loses his ability to confront with truth for the sake of the Gospel – kids have it but we adults tend to lose it.
And my house. My beautiful house at 80 Schaefer Ct.. I begin to tell people my address in Pennsylvania when they ask. My red kitchen and chocolate bedroom. Colors I didn’t choose, but the colors I would have chosen. The open door policy, coming home to a house-full of guests.
My train. I will miss my train. For three years it has reminded me at all hours of the day and night that there are places other than here. When persecution of the fringe escalated and kids were kicked out of TFC for whatever reasons, my home became the underground railroad for them.
I have so many pictures of out-of-focus cats. Fading memories of people I loved whose names elude me. Reading Mrs. Dalloway on grandma Alma’s dock as it bobbed in the river. Waking up and not being alone. Papers and whole classes that wouldn’t even make the footnotes of my life story. These things that I loved, that I never really appreciated as I should. I can’t appreciate them any more, so I hang them on my wall.
I don’t mind that they’re blurry. I’m just happy they happened.
Thursday, April 30, 2009
Theological Thoughts for Thursday
“We don’t cry over broken dishes, we cry over broken people.”
Two days before my sister’s wedding we were picking up some candies from the home of an older adult in our congregation. Rebecca, two or three days after having her gall bladder removed, managed to get out of the vehicle with the SUV still in drive. Rebecca, Kay Magnuson, and I all watched as the large vehicle slowly rolled toward Kay’s garage door.
The garage door was demolished, and our large SUV just missed Kay’s car parked inside her garage. Rebecca immediately broke down in tears; as this was most assuredly the straw that broke the camels back.
Kay hobbled over to her and gently said, “As I always told my children, we don’t cry over broken dishes, we cry over broken people.”
I leave shortly for a year in South Korea. I’m dealing with the emotional issues of leaving behind all of my STUFF. I have a house full of stuff. Some of it good and valuable, some of it useless junk, but it’s still MY STUFF.
I’ve amassed a house full of beautiful furniture, most of which I am selling at bargain basement prices. Although I have sold what feels like hundreds of books, I still have hundreds more. I don’t want to get rid of some of the stuff until I actually leave; why give up my TV now when I still need it for a few weeks.
I have paintings and frames that I love and want to keep, but I obviously can’t take them with me.
I don’t know exactly what I’m doing with my cat. I think Vassya is going to live with his grandparents, but there’s a lot of logistical stuff to deal with.
Some days I feel that I’m sitting in a rubbage pile of broken dishes … and I just need to keep reminding myself that
“We don’t cry over broken dishes, we cry over broken people.
Two days before my sister’s wedding we were picking up some candies from the home of an older adult in our congregation. Rebecca, two or three days after having her gall bladder removed, managed to get out of the vehicle with the SUV still in drive. Rebecca, Kay Magnuson, and I all watched as the large vehicle slowly rolled toward Kay’s garage door.
The garage door was demolished, and our large SUV just missed Kay’s car parked inside her garage. Rebecca immediately broke down in tears; as this was most assuredly the straw that broke the camels back.
Kay hobbled over to her and gently said, “As I always told my children, we don’t cry over broken dishes, we cry over broken people.”
I leave shortly for a year in South Korea. I’m dealing with the emotional issues of leaving behind all of my STUFF. I have a house full of stuff. Some of it good and valuable, some of it useless junk, but it’s still MY STUFF.
I’ve amassed a house full of beautiful furniture, most of which I am selling at bargain basement prices. Although I have sold what feels like hundreds of books, I still have hundreds more. I don’t want to get rid of some of the stuff until I actually leave; why give up my TV now when I still need it for a few weeks.
I have paintings and frames that I love and want to keep, but I obviously can’t take them with me.
I don’t know exactly what I’m doing with my cat. I think Vassya is going to live with his grandparents, but there’s a lot of logistical stuff to deal with.
Some days I feel that I’m sitting in a rubbage pile of broken dishes … and I just need to keep reminding myself that
“We don’t cry over broken dishes, we cry over broken people.
Thursday, April 23, 2009
Theological Thoughts for Thursday
I held an infant today. He’s six weeks old, but was born premature enough that he still resembles a baby burps-a-lot and weighs as much as a standard issue paper weight. I can’t help but giggle while remembering the experience. His little mouth opening with all his might to let out the biggest little yawn imaginable - his toothless gums flapping on either side of the great canyon. Now, don’t get me wrong. I’m not my sister – I’m not thrown into a frenzy of coveting a baby of my own every time I hear an innocent coo. I’m not like that.
I was, however, thrown into a frenzy of awe at the presence of God being so close.
I’m in season 5 of OZ now. I’m continually amazed at the depth of spiritual conversation that a raw, gritty show allows. The prison psychiatrist is a nun, and she plans to leave the convent because she has lost her faith in God. I’ve been waiting patiently to see how this would play out – would they make a mockery of God or would they show true, honest faith?
The beautiful scene plays out in several parts. In the first she is talking with a prisoner who is special needs. She is evaluating whether his medication is sufficient or if he needs more. He says that he prays every night and the conversation turns spiritual. He talks about his faith – such simple faith as only a truly simple person can possess. He says, “God chooses us, we don’t choose God.” A few scenes later Sister Peter Marie is counseling another inmate. He asks some really difficult questions. She ends the conversation with the simple answer, “God chooses us, we don’t choose God.” She has made her decision – she will stay in the convent.
Such a moving scene, to see an educated “professional” Christian being taught by the simplest of men. As I get closer to graduation, I realize how much I need simple people of simple faith around me.
I was, however, thrown into a frenzy of awe at the presence of God being so close.
I’m in season 5 of OZ now. I’m continually amazed at the depth of spiritual conversation that a raw, gritty show allows. The prison psychiatrist is a nun, and she plans to leave the convent because she has lost her faith in God. I’ve been waiting patiently to see how this would play out – would they make a mockery of God or would they show true, honest faith?
The beautiful scene plays out in several parts. In the first she is talking with a prisoner who is special needs. She is evaluating whether his medication is sufficient or if he needs more. He says that he prays every night and the conversation turns spiritual. He talks about his faith – such simple faith as only a truly simple person can possess. He says, “God chooses us, we don’t choose God.” A few scenes later Sister Peter Marie is counseling another inmate. He asks some really difficult questions. She ends the conversation with the simple answer, “God chooses us, we don’t choose God.” She has made her decision – she will stay in the convent.
Such a moving scene, to see an educated “professional” Christian being taught by the simplest of men. As I get closer to graduation, I realize how much I need simple people of simple faith around me.
Monday, April 20, 2009
I preached on Sunday
Here is my sermon from the 11AM service. It's long, so this is only for the extremely dedicated blog followers. The scripture is Luke 24:36-49.
Our scripture today finds us in the Upper Room. The 11 remaining disciples are gathered together as two of the men tell a fantastic story of walking for several miles with a stranger. This man was a real “know it all.” He talked the whole road about theology and the scriptures and how they related to this man Jesus of Nazareth. Upon arriving in Emmaus these three men sat down to eat dinner. As the stranger broke the bread something clicked in the minds of the other two men and they realized that they were with the risen Christ.
They explained that when they understood … Jesus vanished.
I can see the other disciples, 11 men packed in a secluded room, hiding in fear of the authorities. “If they can kill Jesus without reason, they could kill us for being his followers.” They might have said, or at least thought.
We don’t know if they fully believed that the resurrection had happened. Did they buy the story these two men told? We can imagine their proud thoughts as they doubt the story being told, “If I was with Jesus for a whole day I would recognize him.”
Elvis statistics.
I don’t know if you all know this or not, but some people believe that Elvis Presley is still alive. Some devout followers of this particular king have concocted strange and fanatical tales of a staged death, a midnight flight to Aruba to flee from the mob, and even a comeback tour as a masked singer under a pseudonym. Thousands of people have recorded Elvis sightings. Never mind that hundreds if not thousands of people make a living impersonating Elvis. To the few faithful, every sighting is further confirmation that Elvis is still in the building.
Seeing is believing?
As they finished their strange story, Jesus appeared in the upper room. The disciples were terrified. A ghost. The ghost of Jesus was with them.
Jesus held out his scarred hands and invited them to see and feel for themselves. This was not a ghost, a vision, an apparition. This was Jesus of Nazareth. In the flesh, so to speak. The man they had eaten with on Thursday, the man who died on the cross on Friday, and the man who had been buried in a tomb for 3 days was standing before them.
“While in their joy they were still disbelieving and wondering …”
A few months ago, I asked Dr. Ken if I could preach once before I graduate. We picked a date and he gave me some scriptures to use.
As I read each scripture passage I felt more and more encouraged. I would be preaching a sermon on a topic I knew at least a little about: Doubt.
“While in their joy they were still disbelieving and wondering…”
I’ve never been one of those Christians who has “everything together.”
I’m a devout Christian, a strong, lifelong United Methodist, and a missionary candidate with the General Board of Global Ministries. BUT I’m also scattered on opinions, I question all authority, I argue with God during my prayer times, and I’ve had my fair share of doubts.
“There is more faith, believe me, in honest doubt than half the creeds.” – Tenessee Williams?
I always try to be extremely honest about my doubt. Some days I think about all the suffering in the world and my small brain can’t compute how an all loving God allows even half of it to go on. Some days I doubt the calling God has put on my life. Occasionally I doubt that I’m “missionary material.”
I understand when Luke writes that “While in their joy they were still disbelieving and wondering …” but, this verse continues , “…he said to them, ‘Do you have anything here to eat?”
While they doubt Him – they doubt the reality of his resurrection – he asks for some food. He eats some fish. Jesus proves the most amazing miracle by performing the most mundane task. Jesus showed those men that He rose from the dead by eating a few bites of fish.
Jesus could have used any number of miracles to prove the resurrection. We love miracles. We always have. Jesus gathered large crowds by performing miracles. Today, certain dubious televangelists, use miracles to gather large due paying crowds. And let’s be honest. If someone wheeled down to this altar and Dr. Ken or Pastor Tom healed them miraculously a few more of us might be inclined to leave our comfortable pews and walk the sawdust trail. We love miracles. Flashy lights, a big show. THIS is the proof we desire.
But Jesus doesn’t give us our wish on this occasion. He sits down and eats some fish.
The normalcy, the mundane, the routine. Jesus reveals himself to the two men on the road to Emmaus by breaking bread. He offers his scarred hands, feet, and side as the tangible proof that he isn’t a ghost. He eats a snack to prove his resurrection.
While God is the God of miracles, and signs, and wonders – and I’m convinced we see these things as often as those who lived through the writing of the Bible – God is also the God of the routine. Living and working through the day to day lives of those who follow God’s son, Jesus Christ.
I was talking to a girl in our youth group. She is a gymnast. At 12, she realizes that she will be old enough to qualify for the next Olympic games in London in 2012.
Andrea explained her training to me – She goes to gymnastics practice after school. I asked, “Do you go every day?” She quickly, nonchalantly answered, “No, just Monday, Tuesday, Thursday, and Friday. Oh, and some Saturdays.”
Andrea trains daily because she has a goal. That goal might become an Olympic medal if she continues to train and improve at the same rate.
I will never win an Olympic medal. You will never see this face on a Wheaties box. You might see Andreas.
I asked Andrea how often she falls. Her response … “a lot.”
I’ve never fallen off a balance beam! Andrea has. Now we might conclude from these two facts that I’m a better gymnast. But, we’d be wrong. If you’ve never fallen off a balance beam you’ve never been ON a balance beam.
And this brings us back to doubt and faith. There’s nothing wrong with doubt – if you’re struggling to live out the faith. There’s nothing wrong with falling off the balance beam – if you’re training to be a gymnast. If you’ve never had doubts, the God you’re envisioning isn’t big enough. If you’ve lived a doubt free life you may have lived a faith-free life.
Because I never want to limit God, I will say that there is a remote possibility that God might call me to gymnastics and that I might miraculously win the gold medal. I doubt it though. What is more realistic is that Andrea might keep training, might keep falling off the balance beam, might keep getting back up and getting back on that beam and that she will achieve her goal of becoming a gymnast.
It’s possible that one Sunday morning God will miraculously heal a person through Dr. Ken and revival will break out because of the miracle.
However, it’s much more likely that God will lead a revival through the efforts of a few dozen lay people living out their faith in fairly mundane, normal ways. If we live for Christ, He will use our routine interactions to reveal the greatest truth the world has ever known.
When we sit down to eat a meal with others, when we share our wounds with a friend – Christ will use these normal events to change hearts toward the truth.
After Jesus eats some fish to prove that he is truly flesh and bones, Jesus gives his disciples the Great Commission. This is our communal call as Christians to proclaim the good news “in His name to all nations, beginning from Jerusalem.”
This summer, I preached about missions at a camp for Russian United Methodist youth. I told my story of how I became a follower of Christ – and how I found community in the church. I shared stories of my time with you. I told of my loving and gracious Sunday School class who took me in even though I didn’t look or sound like them – of how they furnished my apartment when they found out I didn’t have a bed. I told them that this church rallied behind me in my call to missions and raised more than $3,000 to send me to Russia.
I asked others to share their stories of a loving church. As we gave our accounts, we took up balls of string and circled the congregation of youth. I explained that our church family is like the arms of God wrapping around us. I also explained that sometimes the safety and comfort of those tightly wound arms of love prevent us from going outside of our church family. Like the string surrounding them kept them inside, so too our loving, nurturing congregations can keep us inside these four walls.
I produced 5 pair of scissors. One for each time the great commission is recorded in the gospels and acts. As they read the verses out loud, they cut the strings.
The record of the great commission in Luke is important because it states, “beginning from Jerusalem.” This important city was where they were. Jesus looked at this group of disciples, cowering in the upper room, and told them to leave those four walls behind.
The Great Commission is my favorite sermon to preach. I’m good at it, maybe a little too good. It’s too easy for me to get up in the bully pulpit and declare shame and damnation to all those who won’t go to the ends of the world … like I … Michael Airgood will. I live and breath the great commission – it is literally my bread and butter. So, it’s easy for me to get up in front of people to talk about their sin of not going to Africa. And about my super-human faith that will allow me to get on a plane in 4 short weeks bound for South Korea.
But I don’t believe that everyone is called to Africa, or Asia, or to ever step on a plane. Nor do I believe that I have super-human faith. I’m called to be a missionary and that’s my joy and my struggle. However, I do believe that the Great Commission is for everyone. That we as a community are called to leave these four walls behind.
Mother Teresa might possibly be the greatest example we have a person who truly lived out the Great Commission. There isn’t a list of modern spiritual figures without her name somewhere on it. She left home at a young age to become a missionary nun to the poorest of the poor. She sacrificed. She poured her blood, sweat, and tears into every moment of her ministry.
A few years ago her personal diaries were released to the public. Many were shocked to find that this great woman of faith was full of ordinary doubts. That her mind and her faith had the same doubts that we all share. That she was normal. Human.
(Jackson’s Story)
The Easter when I was 15 was particularly significant. On the Friday before Easter, what we in the Christian faith call “Good Friday,” a call went up from the next town over that a little boy had gone missing.
Jackson was four years old and had been playing at his grandmother’s house before he disappeared. They called for volunteers to come help search for the lost boy and I quickly volunteered. I was friends with the pastor of the United Methodist church in that town, and he made certain that every United Methodist church in the area was mobilized. Hundreds and hundreds of people descended on the small town to help in the search. We searched for hours and hours. We prayed together for a safe return. When night fell the search was called off until the morning. It hit freezing during the night.
In the early morning, when the search was picked back up, all of the volunteers were formed into a grid, so that every square inch for miles would be searched. At some point in the afternoon, the volunteers were informed that we were no longer searching for a lost little boy, but that we were searching for the body of a four year old boy. Some of the less dedicated packed up and went home. A scuba team was brought in to drag a local lake to look for the body. We searched until dark when they called the search off for the second night.
That night, we gathered in the tiny Methodist church for prayer. There weren’t many of us left. Although so many had been enthusiastic at the get go, under the pressure and pain of bad news only a few remained for the search and even fewer felt like praying.
The only pastor in the small town, my friend Marty prayed something to the effect of, “God sometimes we don’t understand, but we still trust you.” It was one of those prayers that is theologically correct, yet entirely empty to pray.
As we were packing up to go home, I talked with Pastor Marty, and he told me with more than a hint of sadness and frustration “now I have to go write my Easter sermon.”
How do you write about the resurrection under those circumstances? How do you preach the good news of Jesus Christ with that weighing on your mind? Marty could have stepped up to the podium that next morning and declared, “It’s all a lie. The resurrection never happened.” And he probably would have heard a few Amen’s.
So when I read this narrative, I remember the time when I experienced the feeling those 12 felt. There were probably fewer than 20 of us left that night, in prayer and confusion, and doubt. Gathered as a group and yet so alone; so very alone.
And then a stranger entered. He was a professional EMT from a city a few hours away who had been brought in to help. The strongest memory in my mind is that he was crying. He opened his mouth and with a booming voice said, “They found Jackson, alive and unhurt.”
That night we rang the church bells for hours. The whole town celebrated. Marty never got around to writing his Easter morning sermon, it had already been preached.
The resurrection a reality
that day
for those people.
No four walls could contain the joy of the resurrection experienced that Easter morning.
Now I’ve covered a lot of ground in this sermon. From Elvis to Mother Teresa to a tiny church with contagious joy over a miracle. There’s a lot to cover when you’re talking about doubt and faith.
The extreme followers of Elvis have a lot of faith – but that doesn’t change the truth, their lives, or the world.
Mother Teresa was full of doubt and faith. At her darkest moments, when her mind was full of nothing but doubt – the Resurrection was still true. And here’s the best part. Because we live in the tension of doubt and faith and because we serve a truly Risen King our lives are changed.
And our changed lives will change the world.
Go forth this day, allowing our joy to break through these four walls, so that we may be the wounded hands, feet, and side of Christ. Allow the doubting, questioning world to touch and feel the reality of our faith. Share a meal with someone who doesn’t know what to think – allow your life, your daily (routine, mundane, normal) life to prove the resurrection of Christ. Allow your changed life to change the world.
Our scripture today finds us in the Upper Room. The 11 remaining disciples are gathered together as two of the men tell a fantastic story of walking for several miles with a stranger. This man was a real “know it all.” He talked the whole road about theology and the scriptures and how they related to this man Jesus of Nazareth. Upon arriving in Emmaus these three men sat down to eat dinner. As the stranger broke the bread something clicked in the minds of the other two men and they realized that they were with the risen Christ.
They explained that when they understood … Jesus vanished.
I can see the other disciples, 11 men packed in a secluded room, hiding in fear of the authorities. “If they can kill Jesus without reason, they could kill us for being his followers.” They might have said, or at least thought.
We don’t know if they fully believed that the resurrection had happened. Did they buy the story these two men told? We can imagine their proud thoughts as they doubt the story being told, “If I was with Jesus for a whole day I would recognize him.”
Elvis statistics.
I don’t know if you all know this or not, but some people believe that Elvis Presley is still alive. Some devout followers of this particular king have concocted strange and fanatical tales of a staged death, a midnight flight to Aruba to flee from the mob, and even a comeback tour as a masked singer under a pseudonym. Thousands of people have recorded Elvis sightings. Never mind that hundreds if not thousands of people make a living impersonating Elvis. To the few faithful, every sighting is further confirmation that Elvis is still in the building.
Seeing is believing?
As they finished their strange story, Jesus appeared in the upper room. The disciples were terrified. A ghost. The ghost of Jesus was with them.
Jesus held out his scarred hands and invited them to see and feel for themselves. This was not a ghost, a vision, an apparition. This was Jesus of Nazareth. In the flesh, so to speak. The man they had eaten with on Thursday, the man who died on the cross on Friday, and the man who had been buried in a tomb for 3 days was standing before them.
“While in their joy they were still disbelieving and wondering …”
A few months ago, I asked Dr. Ken if I could preach once before I graduate. We picked a date and he gave me some scriptures to use.
As I read each scripture passage I felt more and more encouraged. I would be preaching a sermon on a topic I knew at least a little about: Doubt.
“While in their joy they were still disbelieving and wondering…”
I’ve never been one of those Christians who has “everything together.”
I’m a devout Christian, a strong, lifelong United Methodist, and a missionary candidate with the General Board of Global Ministries. BUT I’m also scattered on opinions, I question all authority, I argue with God during my prayer times, and I’ve had my fair share of doubts.
“There is more faith, believe me, in honest doubt than half the creeds.” – Tenessee Williams?
I always try to be extremely honest about my doubt. Some days I think about all the suffering in the world and my small brain can’t compute how an all loving God allows even half of it to go on. Some days I doubt the calling God has put on my life. Occasionally I doubt that I’m “missionary material.”
I understand when Luke writes that “While in their joy they were still disbelieving and wondering …” but, this verse continues , “…he said to them, ‘Do you have anything here to eat?”
While they doubt Him – they doubt the reality of his resurrection – he asks for some food. He eats some fish. Jesus proves the most amazing miracle by performing the most mundane task. Jesus showed those men that He rose from the dead by eating a few bites of fish.
Jesus could have used any number of miracles to prove the resurrection. We love miracles. We always have. Jesus gathered large crowds by performing miracles. Today, certain dubious televangelists, use miracles to gather large due paying crowds. And let’s be honest. If someone wheeled down to this altar and Dr. Ken or Pastor Tom healed them miraculously a few more of us might be inclined to leave our comfortable pews and walk the sawdust trail. We love miracles. Flashy lights, a big show. THIS is the proof we desire.
But Jesus doesn’t give us our wish on this occasion. He sits down and eats some fish.
The normalcy, the mundane, the routine. Jesus reveals himself to the two men on the road to Emmaus by breaking bread. He offers his scarred hands, feet, and side as the tangible proof that he isn’t a ghost. He eats a snack to prove his resurrection.
While God is the God of miracles, and signs, and wonders – and I’m convinced we see these things as often as those who lived through the writing of the Bible – God is also the God of the routine. Living and working through the day to day lives of those who follow God’s son, Jesus Christ.
I was talking to a girl in our youth group. She is a gymnast. At 12, she realizes that she will be old enough to qualify for the next Olympic games in London in 2012.
Andrea explained her training to me – She goes to gymnastics practice after school. I asked, “Do you go every day?” She quickly, nonchalantly answered, “No, just Monday, Tuesday, Thursday, and Friday. Oh, and some Saturdays.”
Andrea trains daily because she has a goal. That goal might become an Olympic medal if she continues to train and improve at the same rate.
I will never win an Olympic medal. You will never see this face on a Wheaties box. You might see Andreas.
I asked Andrea how often she falls. Her response … “a lot.”
I’ve never fallen off a balance beam! Andrea has. Now we might conclude from these two facts that I’m a better gymnast. But, we’d be wrong. If you’ve never fallen off a balance beam you’ve never been ON a balance beam.
And this brings us back to doubt and faith. There’s nothing wrong with doubt – if you’re struggling to live out the faith. There’s nothing wrong with falling off the balance beam – if you’re training to be a gymnast. If you’ve never had doubts, the God you’re envisioning isn’t big enough. If you’ve lived a doubt free life you may have lived a faith-free life.
Because I never want to limit God, I will say that there is a remote possibility that God might call me to gymnastics and that I might miraculously win the gold medal. I doubt it though. What is more realistic is that Andrea might keep training, might keep falling off the balance beam, might keep getting back up and getting back on that beam and that she will achieve her goal of becoming a gymnast.
It’s possible that one Sunday morning God will miraculously heal a person through Dr. Ken and revival will break out because of the miracle.
However, it’s much more likely that God will lead a revival through the efforts of a few dozen lay people living out their faith in fairly mundane, normal ways. If we live for Christ, He will use our routine interactions to reveal the greatest truth the world has ever known.
When we sit down to eat a meal with others, when we share our wounds with a friend – Christ will use these normal events to change hearts toward the truth.
After Jesus eats some fish to prove that he is truly flesh and bones, Jesus gives his disciples the Great Commission. This is our communal call as Christians to proclaim the good news “in His name to all nations, beginning from Jerusalem.”
This summer, I preached about missions at a camp for Russian United Methodist youth. I told my story of how I became a follower of Christ – and how I found community in the church. I shared stories of my time with you. I told of my loving and gracious Sunday School class who took me in even though I didn’t look or sound like them – of how they furnished my apartment when they found out I didn’t have a bed. I told them that this church rallied behind me in my call to missions and raised more than $3,000 to send me to Russia.
I asked others to share their stories of a loving church. As we gave our accounts, we took up balls of string and circled the congregation of youth. I explained that our church family is like the arms of God wrapping around us. I also explained that sometimes the safety and comfort of those tightly wound arms of love prevent us from going outside of our church family. Like the string surrounding them kept them inside, so too our loving, nurturing congregations can keep us inside these four walls.
I produced 5 pair of scissors. One for each time the great commission is recorded in the gospels and acts. As they read the verses out loud, they cut the strings.
The record of the great commission in Luke is important because it states, “beginning from Jerusalem.” This important city was where they were. Jesus looked at this group of disciples, cowering in the upper room, and told them to leave those four walls behind.
The Great Commission is my favorite sermon to preach. I’m good at it, maybe a little too good. It’s too easy for me to get up in the bully pulpit and declare shame and damnation to all those who won’t go to the ends of the world … like I … Michael Airgood will. I live and breath the great commission – it is literally my bread and butter. So, it’s easy for me to get up in front of people to talk about their sin of not going to Africa. And about my super-human faith that will allow me to get on a plane in 4 short weeks bound for South Korea.
But I don’t believe that everyone is called to Africa, or Asia, or to ever step on a plane. Nor do I believe that I have super-human faith. I’m called to be a missionary and that’s my joy and my struggle. However, I do believe that the Great Commission is for everyone. That we as a community are called to leave these four walls behind.
Mother Teresa might possibly be the greatest example we have a person who truly lived out the Great Commission. There isn’t a list of modern spiritual figures without her name somewhere on it. She left home at a young age to become a missionary nun to the poorest of the poor. She sacrificed. She poured her blood, sweat, and tears into every moment of her ministry.
A few years ago her personal diaries were released to the public. Many were shocked to find that this great woman of faith was full of ordinary doubts. That her mind and her faith had the same doubts that we all share. That she was normal. Human.
(Jackson’s Story)
The Easter when I was 15 was particularly significant. On the Friday before Easter, what we in the Christian faith call “Good Friday,” a call went up from the next town over that a little boy had gone missing.
Jackson was four years old and had been playing at his grandmother’s house before he disappeared. They called for volunteers to come help search for the lost boy and I quickly volunteered. I was friends with the pastor of the United Methodist church in that town, and he made certain that every United Methodist church in the area was mobilized. Hundreds and hundreds of people descended on the small town to help in the search. We searched for hours and hours. We prayed together for a safe return. When night fell the search was called off until the morning. It hit freezing during the night.
In the early morning, when the search was picked back up, all of the volunteers were formed into a grid, so that every square inch for miles would be searched. At some point in the afternoon, the volunteers were informed that we were no longer searching for a lost little boy, but that we were searching for the body of a four year old boy. Some of the less dedicated packed up and went home. A scuba team was brought in to drag a local lake to look for the body. We searched until dark when they called the search off for the second night.
That night, we gathered in the tiny Methodist church for prayer. There weren’t many of us left. Although so many had been enthusiastic at the get go, under the pressure and pain of bad news only a few remained for the search and even fewer felt like praying.
The only pastor in the small town, my friend Marty prayed something to the effect of, “God sometimes we don’t understand, but we still trust you.” It was one of those prayers that is theologically correct, yet entirely empty to pray.
As we were packing up to go home, I talked with Pastor Marty, and he told me with more than a hint of sadness and frustration “now I have to go write my Easter sermon.”
How do you write about the resurrection under those circumstances? How do you preach the good news of Jesus Christ with that weighing on your mind? Marty could have stepped up to the podium that next morning and declared, “It’s all a lie. The resurrection never happened.” And he probably would have heard a few Amen’s.
So when I read this narrative, I remember the time when I experienced the feeling those 12 felt. There were probably fewer than 20 of us left that night, in prayer and confusion, and doubt. Gathered as a group and yet so alone; so very alone.
And then a stranger entered. He was a professional EMT from a city a few hours away who had been brought in to help. The strongest memory in my mind is that he was crying. He opened his mouth and with a booming voice said, “They found Jackson, alive and unhurt.”
That night we rang the church bells for hours. The whole town celebrated. Marty never got around to writing his Easter morning sermon, it had already been preached.
The resurrection a reality
that day
for those people.
No four walls could contain the joy of the resurrection experienced that Easter morning.
Now I’ve covered a lot of ground in this sermon. From Elvis to Mother Teresa to a tiny church with contagious joy over a miracle. There’s a lot to cover when you’re talking about doubt and faith.
The extreme followers of Elvis have a lot of faith – but that doesn’t change the truth, their lives, or the world.
Mother Teresa was full of doubt and faith. At her darkest moments, when her mind was full of nothing but doubt – the Resurrection was still true. And here’s the best part. Because we live in the tension of doubt and faith and because we serve a truly Risen King our lives are changed.
And our changed lives will change the world.
Go forth this day, allowing our joy to break through these four walls, so that we may be the wounded hands, feet, and side of Christ. Allow the doubting, questioning world to touch and feel the reality of our faith. Share a meal with someone who doesn’t know what to think – allow your life, your daily (routine, mundane, normal) life to prove the resurrection of Christ. Allow your changed life to change the world.
Thursday, April 16, 2009
I'm Famous
I made the Gainesville Newspaper!
Yesterday a few friends from class went to Gainesville for the Tax Day Tea Party. Jonathan brought the American flag that a Disabled Vietnam Vet had given him. He's the one wearing the tattered American flag.
We managed to make the newspaper.
Theological Thoughts for Thursday
I imagine you've never heard of OZ, and if you have heard about it you probably never watched it. Oz is a weird show - it was HBOs first drama and they were a little too happy to push the envelope with the content they were allowed to show. There are many stabbings and not a few rape scenes - and the show is nothing if not crude. But the show is set in a prison, and is nothing if not real - and this incredible sense of reality lends itself well to deep theological discussions. With more frequency and greater depth than any other commercially viable show.
The prison employs a priest, Father Ray Mukada, and a nun, Sister Peter Marie Reimondo. Sister Pete is a psychiatrist - she counsels drug addicts and arranges conjugal visits for the married inmates. Both characters are liberal. They fight against the death penalty, and for social justice issues. They also struggle through the issues of their own personal faith. Neither one lives in a bubble or keeps a tab of pat answers to shell out to the inmates when they ask questions.
Too often Christians live in a sterile environment. When the realities of living out the Christian life start messing up our clean environments we become uncomfortable. This is the reason that most "Christian" movies seem silly - they present a clean, sterile canvas and then proceed to paint a quiet, serene Christ. And ultimately both the canvas and the Christ end up distant and unrealistic.
In Facing the Giants the football team wins states because they all accept Christ. This is a great way to end an uplifting, feel-good movie; but it lacks all credibility as an illustration of the Christian life and every Christian viewer knew that.
A young Latino inmate asks the priest, "Where was God when my son died?" and the priest replied, "The same place He was when His son died." The conversations these two Christian workers have with the inmates hold true to the reality of life. Some days their work is vindicated and others days, not so much.
These two give great witness to the reality of God in the everyday nitty-gritty realities of life.
Monday, April 13, 2009
I'm doing research for my sermon ... as part of that I looked up statistics about people who believe that Elvis isn't really dead.
Very funny statistics. But really, some people are REALLY convinced that he's still alive. Even that he staged a comeback under a different name. It's all so funny to me.
It's all so out of the ordinary for me.
4 more weeks of winter. I leave for South Korea in 5 weeks. We made the decision to use a tourist Visa for the first few months of my stay, just to releave some pressure from the process and give me a few days of stability.
Very funny statistics. But really, some people are REALLY convinced that he's still alive. Even that he staged a comeback under a different name. It's all so funny to me.
It's all so out of the ordinary for me.
4 more weeks of winter. I leave for South Korea in 5 weeks. We made the decision to use a tourist Visa for the first few months of my stay, just to releave some pressure from the process and give me a few days of stability.
Thursday, April 09, 2009
Theological Thoughts for Thursday
Our children's program focused on the story of the Good Samaritan a few weeks ago. We taught them that we need to be nice to people who are different than us. But, that's not really the point of the story. The point of the story is very different than what we taught.
The Samaritan's were the sworn enemies of Jesus' Jewish listening audience. The most highly esteemed members of the Jewish caste, the priest and the judge, refused help to one of their own. Then a member of the reviled Samaritan group passes by and unselfishly helps out.
Jesus teaches us to suprise our enemies by our radical kindness. Jesus teaches us that when we hate people we give them the upper hand. Landa Cope, who lectured at Toccoa Falls College my Sophomore year, asked, who is our Samaritan? I can't find the exact quote, but she said something to the effect of, "He's a muslim, a terrorist, a homosexual, he has AIDS, and a bomb wrapped around his chest and he's coming right at you. He's your Samaritan."
So we teach our kids to be nice to the kid who smells funny, and to help the little black boy with his homework - and those things are all nice and they're all good. But, they're not the point of the story.
The story points to the fact that we will be hated and reviled for following Christ and the we must respond boldly; but that we must respond in love.
They'll hate you - but love them anyway.
The Samaritan's were the sworn enemies of Jesus' Jewish listening audience. The most highly esteemed members of the Jewish caste, the priest and the judge, refused help to one of their own. Then a member of the reviled Samaritan group passes by and unselfishly helps out.
Jesus teaches us to suprise our enemies by our radical kindness. Jesus teaches us that when we hate people we give them the upper hand. Landa Cope, who lectured at Toccoa Falls College my Sophomore year, asked, who is our Samaritan? I can't find the exact quote, but she said something to the effect of, "He's a muslim, a terrorist, a homosexual, he has AIDS, and a bomb wrapped around his chest and he's coming right at you. He's your Samaritan."
So we teach our kids to be nice to the kid who smells funny, and to help the little black boy with his homework - and those things are all nice and they're all good. But, they're not the point of the story.
The story points to the fact that we will be hated and reviled for following Christ and the we must respond boldly; but that we must respond in love.
They'll hate you - but love them anyway.
Saturday, April 04, 2009
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