Locutions: Words When Everything Else Fails Us

Teresa of Ávila called locutions the single words that “contain a world of meaning such as the understanding alone could never put rapidly into human language.”

Everything is heavy right now. It has been so for some time and, somehow, it’s heavier still. Find a locution to center your soul and keep you awake when despair intends to lull you to sleep. This is vital to the mind, body, and spirit, individuals and communities. In seasons when suffering and sorrow tempt us to see only a barren present, locutions are mindful lifelines that help us take that next breath...and the next...and the next...

words

phrases

safety nets

in prose

or poetry

carbon ink

etched into the dermis

γρηγορεῖτε

stay awake

one liners

the unintelligible

spoken under our breath

screams into silence

cliche prayers

maybe

except when they

spare your life

or anxious mind

then locutions are

sacred

mystical

verbal narcan

that rescue

you

me

us

from an overdose

of this rat race

war-crazed

marginalizing

ridiculousness

called modern

less-than-life

Thomas' Unless Is Ours, Too: Looking for Resurrection with One Eye Open

I love this piece, Grieving Thomas, by Lauren Wright Pittman (Available on Sanctified Art). Thomas, with one eye open, is not closed to possibility. 

Still, I have always wondered where Thomas was when the resurrected Jesus first appeared to the other disciples. I have had my fair share of guesses.

Was Thomas on the prowl looking for what he dared to believe not doubt? Like, maybe we have been so wrong about his cynicism and he was actually more convinced than the others; so he was out turning over every stone to find the One he knew could not and would not be overcome by death. 

Was Thomas isolated with those he loved the most, like his family and twin sibling, wrestling in their grief and loss and doing their best to figure out what the next right thing was for this moment they called their present? 

Was Thomas still at Golgotha? Maybe he was there undercover and pouring out in rage we also call prayer, feeling the same absence of God that was spoken by his Teacher and Friend, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me…us…the world you said you loved?”  

Was Thomas on an extended walk, retracing the steps and places of significance on the pilgrim road, looking for patterns and signs and answers? Was he contemplating, what did I miss? 

Maybe Thomas was at the market, stocking up on the essentials and hoarding whatever you would hoard in the first century if you are preparing for a prolonged period of isolation? Toilet papyrus? Ouch. Cana wine? A bit watered down. 

I could go on, and quarantine brain would likely produce some pretty psychedelic hypotheses. One thing I am convinced of, Thomas may be the disciple we need most in the midst of this Jesus story that is for us in a time of pandemic. Thomas is us. 

Thomas is us because he dares to confront not sit in sorrow. Thomas speaks the prophetic and proactive unless, as in, “Unless I see the mark of the nails in his hands, and put my finger in the mark of the nails and my hand in his side, I will not believe.” Thomas refuses to trust alone the words of the others; Thomas insists on discovering the resurrection as his own truth, too. 

Unless. 

What’s your unless in these difficult days of prolonged mystery and uncertainty? Go find it. Turn over stones and stories in search of the resurrection. Scroll through social media feeds and text your friends to see if there is just one ounce of redemption to syphon from the trauma of COVID-19. Watch those viral videos of good news and rally behind and pray for others on the front lines as reminders that we are actually not alone in this season of distancing. Sit alongside your children and those in isolation with you and dare to, as poet Julia Esquivel wrote, dream while awake about how to find renewed strength and courage in this marathon of hope. Breathe that clean air and listen to the quieter skies less polluted by noise and light and heavy traffic patterns. Demand to see marks of human suffering and injustice so to expose the brokenness of what once was. Then, take it a step farther and poke your own fingers into the truth(s) that now is the time (actually, yesterday and every day before was) to work towards more just and whole and peaceful neighborhoods, cities, nations, and created world.  

Unless we do this, unless we become more like Thomas, we will miss Christ’s words spoken to the one who was not a doubter but a believe, “Peace be with you.

Unless we follow Thomas into the unknown, with our mixtures of fear and anxiety, cynicism and persistent faith, we also will lose out on the chance to proclaim with greater confidence than before, “My Lord and my God!” 

Epiphany: Looking for Stars of Hope in (Un)Common Places and People

One of the most powerful experiences for me of late was my recent visit to the wall in Bethlehem. As I walked alongside it and touched the concrete barrier between Palestinians and Israelis, I also found myself in unexpected awe of the subversive and beautiful graffiti that colored this symbol of intimidation. There were so many profound messages of hope in various languages, each called us to remember our shared humanity. And there was this star, too, that caused me great pause- to remember there is no darkness to which light cannot penetrate. 

On this Epiphany, I am reminded of the many ways God has shown up in the most unexpected people and places. These sacred encounters have led to holy pauses and dared me to travel different roads than previously dreamed or imagined. While these roads have had their share of difficulties, much like the Magi, I have also been doubtlessly “overwhelmed by joy” as I find the presence of Christ amidst the pilgrimage (Matthew 2:10).

I read the other day wise words from mystic Teresa of Ávila: 

[God’s] appeals come through the conversations of good people, or from sermons, or through the reading of good books, and there are many other ways, of which you have heard, in which God calls is. Or they come through sicknesses and trials, or by means of truths which God teaches us at times when we engaged in prayer; however feeble such prayers may be, God values them highly (Interior Castle, p. 24-25). 

In the midst of so many reasons to despair these days, may Epiphany be a call to holy pause as we look up and out to where the joy of Christ may be found. May we have our eyes and ears open to the appearances of God with Us through friendly conversations, thoughtful proclamations, good books, brilliant films, and even humble prayers, some which show up as graffiti on walls of division and oppression. In the end, may we dare to carve out new roads of liberation and love. 

Grace: #AdventWord Day 10

This is a bit what grace has looked like for us over the last 11 years. Our now aged and tired #beagle, whom we rescued when he was two-and-a-half years old, has transformed from an anxious and skiddish pup to a gentle, kind, and gracious companion. When finances are tight, Jax models trust in daily provision. When the stresses of every day push us to the edge, he walks the neighborhood with us as we blow off steam. Jax was an early running partner when a lone mile was my max- and his, too. Jax’ fur absorbs our tears and his snout rests on our lap when we need that assurance we are not alone. In the midst of our deepest longings for children, Jax provided presence when we knew mostly emptiness. On the other side, our kids now count him as one of their (much older) siblings, extending grace to us as he no long gets prime attention. Animals can be, without question, agents of divine grace. St. Francis of Assisi, patron saint of animals and ecology, especially considered dogs part of his faith community. “You call it a sin that I love the dog above all else,” I recently saw Francis attributed with asking. “The dog stayed with me in the storm, the man not even in the wind.” On this eleventh day of Advent, I am giving thanks for the grace of my dog who has been with us in and out of life’s storms. I am also grateful for the opportunity we have had to live into grace as we have provided a safe home and family for him for more than a decade. 
----
This reminded me of an old post, that time I adopted a squirrel :) 

House: #AdventWord Day 6

Our kids love to play house. This Thanksgiving, they especially loved it when they smooshed inside my sister’s outdoor playhouse complete with a loft, which would make a perfect location for a camp out. For them, to play house is to leverage their imagination and mirror what they love about our family and home life. Sure, it may also be their opportunity to do things the way they wish we did as their parents or rehearse schemes to overthrow mom and dad. But in the end, a large reason they like to play house is because theirs is safe. Tragically, the same cannot be said of all children. 

On this Feast of St. Nicholas Day, I am reminded of an ancient story about home. In Myra, pirates had raided the village. As they fled with their stolen goods, they abducted a young boy, Basilios, who was made a cupbearer of the Cretan ruler. A year later, Basilios’ mother retreated to her house and prayed for Saint Nicholas, who was also the deceased bishop of her town, to protect her only child. That same moment, story goes Basilios was questioned by the ruler about his downcast spirit. He replied, “I’m thinking of home and the special feast day of St. Nicholas.” That is when the ghost of St. Nicholas lifted the boy by the hair, out of the possession of his abductor, and returned him home.

Today, I am lifting prayers for children in search of home. I pray for kids who live in violent homes, others who bounce from foster home to foster home, young ones who migrate from oppressive, corrupt, and war-torn nations, modern-day youth ripped away from their homes and trafficked for horrific purposes. I pray, also, for those parents who long for their children to return home. Then I pray each of us would dare to have the faithful imagination to ensure all children one day have a home. 

Read more of my favorite St. Nick reflections here or on the label below: 
https://gregklimovitz.blogspot.com/2014/12/st-nicholas-would-sandal-slap-santa.html?m=1

On Challenging Sacred Symbols in Church and Society: A Word for World Communion Sunday

When he bent down on his knees, he knew he was about to do something that challenged everything they knew. He was about to uncover a hard yet central truth to the movement he had inaugurated.

“You call me Teacher and Lord- and you are right, for that is what I am. So if I, your Lord and Teacher, have washed your feet, you also ought to was one another’s feet. For I have set you an example, that you should do as I have done to you…” (John 13:13-15). 

The Gospel of John is the only of the four to tell this upper room story. The Gospel of John is also the only of the four not to include the Eucharist just before Jesus' arrest. 

This was no accident. It also was not unnoticed by the early church reading this rendition of the Jesus story in the latter portion of the first century. 

The gospel writer, in a bold, prophetic, and likely controversial move, replaced one of the more sacred symbols of the Christian movement with another ritual that would challenge the social norms and intra-community privileging that had begun to creep into the witness of the church. There is reason to believe,  see 1 Corinthians 11:17ff, that less than a generation after Jesus broke bread and shared the cup, calling his disciples to become the broken body and blood of Christ in and for the world, they constructed fences of elitism around the praxis. Was the table in danger of becoming a means to elevate status of persons within this grassroots community versus assurance that all had a place within God’s dreams for the reconciliation of all things?

John knew whenever a sacred symbol became more important than the fuller meaning to which it points, it was no longer a sacred symbol but an oppressive idol. The gospel writer knew that whenever a sacred symbol impeded upon our call to love and serve our most vulnerable neighbors, the sacred symbol must be challenged and deconstructed. This was less an affront to the symbol, in this case the Eucharist, and more a subversive attempt to rescue the holy from being misappropriated as an icon for a movement of exploitation, isolationism, and injustice. John aimed to draw the church into a fuller meaning of what it meant to participate in the mission of the Christ.

So John replaces the Eucharist with a foot washing and call to radical servitude, turning the servant into the very embodiment of Christ, and flipping social hierarchy upside-down. In essence, the beloved disciple added another layer of significance to the sacrament, whenever you eat the bread and drink the cup, remember this and do likewise.

It is important to note that the Eucharist is not necessarily absent from John’s gospel. If we have the eyes to see and the ears to hear, it shows up in another place. 

“Jesus said, ‘Make the people sit down.’ Now there was a great deal of grass in the place; so they sat down, about five thousand in all. Then Jesus took the loaves, and when he had given thanks, he distributed them to those who were seated; so also the fish, as much as they wanted. When they were satisfied, he told his disciples, ‘Gather up the fragments left over, so that nothing may be lost.’” (John 6:10-12).

Here we quite literally have the eucharist: when he had given thanks, or eucharistēsas, among the hungry crowds who would be satisfied by the one who was the very bread of life. The sacred symbol reframed until all are seated to be satisfied with the fuller meaning of God’s story incarnated in the person and work of Jesus then carried on by those who professed their allegiance to him and him alone. 

The church must remember, especially as conversations about flags, anthems, pledges, and national symbols swirl around us, there is nothing so sacred and worthy of human reverence that it is immune to being confronted and reformed. When any symbol or system it represents begins to stymie human flourishing, wholeness, and what the Scriptures call shalom, there is biblical warrant for subversion and a great cloud of witnesses to back the protest. This includes, as John reminds us, the Eucharistic table.*  After all, what makes a thing sacred and holy, in good reformed theological language, is when it points away from itself and towards God’s grace and dreams for justice, righteousness, and the reconciliation of the whole world. This redemptive grace is wrapped up in the person and work of of Jesus. 

In the midst of the pressing national and global realities that not all are free, treated equal, and valued as bearers of the very image of God, dare we heed the witness of Jesus and bend down in servitude until we can hear the cries for justice. May we ensure the movements that began as a confrontation against the killing of black lives by the hands of those sworn to protect are not reduced to generalized calls for unity by those who are privileged. May we not allow Twitter tirades by those in positions of power to distract us from the harsh realities that there are islands of U.S. Citizens and other global neighbors who go without electricity, food, water, or certainty about how to rebuild after Hurricane Maria. 

On this World Communion Sunday, may the Christian Church not allow flags to replace the table as our most sacred symbol of a unified allegiance that pushes us to link arms with the marginalized and broken until equity and justice are afforded to all. May we have the faithfulness to take a knee at the Table as a reminder of our call to always be on the side of those who are most vulnerable in our neighborhoods, cities, nations, islands, and larger world. The table, lest we forget, is what binds us together as the people of God, not any banner of one country. And when we do lapse in memory, may we turn to the pages of John’s Gospel as reminder of who is our Teacher and Lord and then go and do likewise. 

This is the message of the gospel. This is the witness of the church across every generation and geographical place. This is the fuller meaning of the sacred and the holy we find at Christ's table. 

Related Post: An Alternative Pledge of Allegiance

*In this year when we celebrate the 500th Anniversary of the Protestant Reformation, this also includes the church as (oppressive) institution. Thanks Martin Luther! 

Pentecost and Presbyterians: We are literally in the story...

We Presbyterians like things decent and in order. We spend a lot of time in conversation about polity, governance, and even publish a revised Book of Order every two years. 

Which is about the time it takes to have completed reading each volume.

So if presbyterians would have been present at Pentecost some two-thousand years ago, what would we have been doing?

We may have have been those with propositions for the appointment of a new committee to evaluate what took place when tongues of fire rested on those who had not yet completed the proper validated ministry paperwork. 

We may have wanted to make sure there was proper liturgical framing around the worship gone holy chaos.  

We may have wanted to make sure each person who attended the gathering was properly accounted for with a color-coded name tag according to their region and leadership role.  

"Did James submit his excusal?" we would have asked. "Minutes. We need the minutes from Pentecost,” we may have cried. (Dare I suggest the book of Acts as the minutes in brief of all that transpired?)

As I pondered the lectionary story for this Sunday, I discovered the earliest record of presbyterian participation at Pentecost. The faithful were gathered one place, still shaken by the "rush of the violent wind," when Peter drew attention to the fullness of what was spoken through the prophet Joel:

“‘And in the end of days it will be, God says,that I will pour out my Spirit upon all flesh, and your sons and your daughters will prophesy,and your youth will see visions, and your elders will dream dreams.’” (Acts 2:17 translation mine)

There we are- πρεσβύτεροι, presbyteroi, elders.  We were there all along. Presbyterian elders dreaming alongside young people as they imagine where and how the Spirit would flip the world upside down and dawn a new movement of welcome and shalom for all people. 

The answer to what presbyterians would have been doing at Pentecost- we would have been an intergenerational network visioning and dreaming of Spirit-led possibilities.

If we have the eyes to see and the ears to hear, the same still rings true. 

In the midst of tired narratives of decline and perceived irrelevance, if we lift our gaze upward and outward, we will see a varied vision that reminds us the Spirit is still alive and well through our ministry dreamers, young and old, near and far.

Pastors are advocating for the reform of our criminal justice system.

Small churches host local artists, many who have previously been incarcerated, transforming old fellowship halls into studios for developing elaborate murals.

Mission co-workers advocate for education, those caught within trafficking circles, and the alleviation of hunger and poverty. 

Pastors and church leaders host conversations on such urgent matters as pervasive racism, increased gun violence, and our need to extend welcome when our region experiences and influx of immigrants fleeing violence and civil war. 

Ecumenical partnerships are leveraged as congregations without walls are imagined alongside people experiencing chronic street homelessness.

Preschools for low income families, after-school programs in the midst dysfunctional school districts, and coffee houses for young adults with disabilities are just a few other testaments that presbyterians are dreamers and innovators still. 

Yes, reformation and revaluation is much needed. Indeed, we may need to rethink and drastically reimagine our organizational structure, leadership designs, and mechanisms for leveraging, equipping, and sustaining new models for congregational and community ministry.

We may even nee to lay to rest elements of what we used to do and who we used to be in light of our ever-changing social and religious contexts.

What we must not do is cease dreaming. We must not doubt the Spirit has given us the ability to vision fresh opportunities to embody the Good News of Christ within a world still so deeply fractured, fragmented, segregated, and unjust.

We must not forget the story of Pentecost. After all, this disruptive and disorderly story of wild dreams and wide-open possibilities cannot be told without presbyterians.

We are literally written into it. 

Related Post:

http://gregklimovitz.blogspot.com/2015/05/happy-belated-pentecost-and-trinity.html

What If St. Nicholas Really Did Come to Our Town? Keeping Advent Eyes Open in a Tired World

On the heels of St. Nicholas Day (December 6), I believe it's time for the annual post as homage to the most mystifying saint of the Christian Way.

Nicholas of Myra was born towards the middle of the third century in Patara, a town on the coast of modern-dayTurkey. Nicholas’ birth was surrounded by mystery and his earliest childhood laced in legends about piety- like how the infant rose from the baptismal font and pronounced a blessing to the congregation. 

As time passed and folklore grew, Nicholas’ faith and charity inspired the masses until one afternoon, upon a vision given to a local church leader, Nicholas walked into a sanctuary in Myra and was immediately anointed archbishop.

Apparently the Book of Order and Presbyterian polity had not yet arrived to Myra.

Nevertheless, Nicholas served as a prominent leader in this ancient-Turkish city around the time of the council of Nicaea. Legend has it St. Nickwas there, fending off heretics with his sandal. 

But this is not what historians and hagiographers most emphasize when they write about Nicholas. Instead, they underscore the Bishop’s obsession with advocacy, justice, and God’s concern for the poor, oppressed, wrongly accused, and victims of violence- especially children.

And much like our world today, there were more than enough reasons to advocate and intervene.

One such story tells of Nicholas, who had learned of a family on the brink of bankruptcy and about to sell their three daughters into a trafficking ring, secretly tossed two bags of money through the family’s window, which landed in their shoes. The amount was enough to pay a dowry and prevent life-long captivity and exploitation of the young girls.  

But there was still one daughter left.

Anticipating another act of covert generosity, the father camped out on the roof of his home and waited until he caught a glimpse of the Great Giver. That’s when one starry night he saw Nicholas, dressed in his red clerical robe, drop a bag of money down their chimney and into a sock hung out to dry.

Chimney. Stocking. Rooftop. Shoes. You get the idea. 

Wanting to maintain a spirit of anonymity and humility, the pious bishop made the father promise to refrain from revealing who had provided such elaborate funds. Thus the beginning of the mystery behind the man with a beard, red mitre, and prophetic witness.

Yet the story was too good not to be told. It was a glimmer of hope amidst their reasons to despair and fear. The prophetic and radical generosity of those who benefited from and followed behind other secret graces of Nicholas birthed new tales.

My favorite is the story of three men wrongly accused of a crime by the governor, Eusthatius, who in turn sentenced them to death. Just as the sword was about to come down on the innocent, Nicholas intervened, ran towards the platform, climbed the wooden steps, seized the downward thrusting sword in his calloused hand, tossed it aside in disgust, and refused to cease protest in the governor's courts until their accusations were expunged and wrongs righted.

Not your typical illustration of holly and jolly. 

As I made my final sermon preparations this past Sunday, with the images and stories of our nation and world swirling in my mind, the images of Nicholas laying his own life down for the lives of others took over my homiletical imagination. 

After all, his world was not all that different than our own.

So I wondered, what would happen if St. Nicholas really did come to town? 

On Monday he rode around Philly on a motorcycle blasting festive carols (see picture above). 

But I am not sure that's where you'd find him. 

Instead, I imagined the Archbishops's red cloak and mitre being spotted at rallies and protests alongside those who continue to demand that their lives matter. I imagine him echoing their chants from Baltimore to Chicago, Ferguson to New York.

I imagined the saint listening to the voices of those wrongly accused and unjustly sentenced in the midst of broken penal and justice systems fueled by racism and discrimination. 

I imagined letters with his signature at the end demanding the welcome of refugees fleeing nations torn by violence and religious persecution.  I imagined Nicholas housing such refugees in his church and home, regardless of the law of the land.   

I imagined St. Nicholas tossing aside guns and the broken legislation that makes them so readily available.  I imagined him at the office steps of his political representatives and demanding change. 

I imagined St. Nicholas waving his sandal in disgust, a sign of condemnation and offense, when he learned of the rally cries to carry concealed elicited by evangelical university presidents who claim to follow the same Jesus who said, "blessed are the peacemakers." I imagined Nicholas doing the same when candidates for political office suggested religious testing, registries, and exclusion of religious people groups as their only thoughtless responses to terror and immigration. 

I imagined Nicholas walking alongside persons of different faith traditions, shedding off fears of the other, and working to alleviate ignorance and prejudice. He would call them neighbor and friend. 

I imagined St. Nick coming to the poorest of towns and working tirelessly to end pervasive poverty and broken education systems that left children with a bleak future at best. 

Then I rememebered- there are many Christians and faith communities already doing these very things. They just do so in a way that doesn't always get noticed by the press or the public. They frequently work in subversive means for the sake of the common good- humble yet bold and determined witnesses to the gospel.

Sounds a lot like St. Nick. 

So this Advent, I am doing my best not too allow the despairing world and the irresponsible and unethical remarks of "Christian" and political leaders to overshadow the reality that God is with us, for us, and calling us to something far more gracious. I am keeping my Advent eyes open to the many faithful witnesses who have taken seriously their call to prepare the Way to God's coming peace and justice. I am looking on rooftops and street corners, in cities and suburbs, at protests and advocacy groups, and even in sanctuaries each Sunday morning, assured the same Spirit who moved and motivated the life of St. Nick equips and inspires saints 1700 years later. 

"The message of Advent about the coming of the light requires that we become people of Advent; people who persistently await the victorious light. Where there are such people, Christmas can happen. Christ waits for people who will not compromise the light with darkness, neither in themselves nor in anything else, but who are moved by the serious need for the light of Christ and who are aware of whence the help comes. May God give that we may go forth to the festival of Christmas as moved and motivated people. Then we will experience Christmas with the gifts of grace and blessing."

---Karl Barth

Helpful Links

The Saint Who Would Be Santa Claus by Adam C. English (www.saintwhowouldbesanta.com) 

Blogpost with Adam English and link to an excellent podcast about hardcore St. Nick: http://homebrewedchristianity.com/2013/12/02/whips-and-sticks-and-good-music-st-nick-has-it-all/

www.stnicholascenter.org

Technology as Sacramental: A Means of Grace, Prophetic Witness, and Community Formation

I remember my ordination service vividly. 

Probably because it was this past February. 

Also because I was able to preside at the Eucharistic table and serve communion to family, friends, and neighbors who joined in the celebration. 

The opportunity to break bread and share the cup was what I most looked forward to as an ordained Teaching Elder and, more preferred, Minister of Word and Sacrament.

In seminary and throughout my theological studies, the sacraments were taught as a means of grace.  Presbyterians are also apt to affirm the ordinariness of the elements, a visible sign of an invisible grace. Water. Font. Bread. Cup. Wine. Juice. 

Ordinary. Common. Everyday. Tangible. Not much has changed in nearly two-thousand years of Christian tradition and sacramental practice. Theological nuances of the practice have varied; nevertheless, we still use the same basic elements. 

And these elements point beyond themselves.*  They point to the God made known in Jesus Christ and the Spirit who calls and sends us all into the world as embodiments of the very means of grace that drench our heads and nourish our bodies. The sacraments are simple reflectors.

These liturgical elements, in a certain sense, were also ancient and sacred technologies of the church. 

I once stumbled upon this definition of technology:

technology, n. the mediums and/or tools used to apply knowledge of something [or someone] of significance for real and practical purposes.

As the real and practical mediums of bread, wine, and water are used to apply the knowledge of and bear witness to the Crucified and Resurrected Christ, the sacraments serve a technological function. 

The ordinary also becomes holy. 

In the Digital Age, might this be the framework in which the Spirit invites us to view the everyday mediums of social media, digital devices, on-line platforms, and new technologies we hold in the palm of our hands or upon our laps? As twenty-first century disciples of Christ, the witness of the early Church dares us to consider not only the sacraments as technological but also the technological as sacramental.  We are nudged to consult all available mediums and tools within reach to apply our knowledge of the One who gathers us at font and table and sends us from these sacred, technological spaces.  

As Brandon Vogt writes in The Church and New Media: Blogging Converts, Online Activists, and Bishops Who Tweet:

“The church can’t change her response to Gutenberg’s printing press, the radio, or the television; they are forever fixed in history.  But at the onset of this digital revolution, her response to New Media is wide open.  The world is waiting and listening in the virtual sphere.  Will the church remain silent, or will her voice be proclaimed from the roof tops (and the laptops)?  Will she plunge the message of Christ into Facebook feeds, blogposts, podcasts, and text messages, or will she be digitally impotent? If the Church’s promotion of evangelization, formation, community, and the common good is to continue throughout future generations, she must harness these technologies and utilize them well."

The Christian church continues to wrestle with how to engage the digital revolution of the last 25 years.  Especially since the advent of social media and on-line networks, we are more connected than ever before. New and innovative technologies are more accessible than at any point in human history, being used for both good and ill. 

Think of all the hashtags that have birthed social movements through open-source rhetoric. Think of all the Facebook posts that have perpetuated various forms of hate speech and slander. 

As a result, many church leaders and members of our congregations become admittedly overwhelmed, overly indulged, or even dismissive of new technology and media. Our on-line world creates unique challenges for congregations and related pastoral care as we live into the emerging cultural realities. 

Nevertheless, we must not throw out the baby with the bath water.  Instead, we must regularly ponder which forms of new technology our congregations and ministries will use and how we will use them as means of grace for practical purposes of loving and serving our local and global neighbors.  We must be willing to view various forms of technological innovation not solely as evolving distractions, although aware of such possibility, but as redemptive opportunities for community formation, social advocacy, prophetic witness, and proclamation of the Good News. 

In so doing, the ordinary technologies we apply become sacramental platforms versus trendy widgets void of broader meaning. They are able to take the Gospel to the ends of the earth, pointing beyond themselves and towards God’s dreams for a world made new and right again. That’s what our earliest ancestors of the faith did with bread, cup, and water as they went viral with the Good News of Jesus Christ. 

May we be at least as technologically innovative as they were two millennia ago.

Where have you seen technology as sacramental?  #sacredtechnology
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Theology of Technology, Media, and Ministry (Slideshare Presentation: http://www.slideshare.net/gregklimovitz/technology-and-ministry-54307946) 

A great resource: 
The Digital Cathedral: Networked Ministry in a Wireless World by Keith Anderson

*"We cannot celebrate and receive the sacrament ordained by [God] without looking beyond the sacrament as such and finding [God] in the sacrament" (Karl Barth, Church Dogmatics II.1 p. 50).  

St. Nicholas Would Sandal Slap Santa: Ancient Bishop as Advocate for Children, Victims of Human Trafficking, and Wrongly Accused on Death Row

There's a legend about St. Nicholas that many fanatics of Early Christians desperately want to be true.

The story goes that Nicholas and Arius were among many at the Council of Nicaea in the midst of a heated theological debate about the nature of God. That's when Nicholas grabbed a brick, lifted it up, and declared that as the brick was one substance in three parts, i.e. earth, fire, and water, so also was God one substance (homoousios) made up of three parts. Father. Son. Holy Spirit. The brick then burst into flames, vanished from their site, and left only water to drip from Nicholas' hands and onto the floor.

Arius, on the other hand, was a gifted orator* and began to spit rhymes about how Jesus was not fully divine. Christ was actually not of the same substance as God the Father but had a created beginning. I like to think that after his rhythmic rhetoric, Arius dropped his mic, shook the dust from his shoulders, winked at his counterparts, and stepped aside in challenge.

St. Nicholas wanted nothing to do with this blasphemous, albeit popular and catchy, theological beat. So the Bishop of Myra stood up, took off his crusty sandal, and slapped the would-be heretic across the face.

That's right, St. Nick sandal slapped his theological opponent. So much for being jolly.

It's not known whether St. Nicholas was even at the Council of Nicaea and unlikely that his nemesis Arius was even invited, as he was not a bishop and would have had to send representation. Still, the story gives hints and guesses to the pure passion of the man who would be morphed into a Coca-Cola ad campaign of the 1930's and the foundation for consumer-driven Christmas, long lists that keep places like Macy's, Walmart, and Amazon.com in business, and the parental threat that runs a muck this time of year- better be good, Santa's watching.

Needless to say, anytime I pass by a makeshift North Pole in a shopping mall I pause and think, would St. Nicholas sandal slap the bearded icon and all nine of his reindeer? I wonder if Nicholas would do the same to Santa Claus as he supposedly did to Arius, counting Claus as some sort of blasphemous and offensive distortion of who he was and all he aspired to be as a disciple of Jesus and leader in Christ's church.

Sure, there is much to like about Santa. Maybe the old fella encourages the imaginations of children and playful generosity of parents. It's possible that Santa is a fun folklore to hand down to each generation, fostering a spirit of mystery and anticipation common to the season.

It's also possible that Santa has overshadowed the more brilliant stories that were told for generations before soda companies and capitalism got hold of him.

Stories like the time when St. Nicholas rescued three women about to be sold by their father into an ancient human trafficking ring.

The family had run out of money and found themselves uncertain about how to live another day. The only option the father felt he had was to sell off his young girls into prostitution. Bishop Nicholas got word and on two separate occasions anonymously tossed bags of money into an open window. The money, which came from Nicholas' inheritance, was enough to pay the dowry needed to be wed and prevent them from captivity and the horrors of prostitution.

But there was still one more daughter. And the father was determined to find out the identity of this mysterious donor. As the father camped out on the roof of his home he saw Nicholas dropping a bag of money down their chimney and into a sock hung out to dry.

Chimney.

Stocking.

Rooftop.

Anyway, caught red-handed, Nicholas made the man promise to protect his identity and refrain from revealing who had provided such elaborate funds. Thus the beginning of the mystery behind the man with a beard and red mitre.

Yet the story was too good not to be told. The prophetic and radical generosity of those who benefited from and followed behind the secret graces of Nicholas even birthed new legends.

There's the story of those wrongly accused of a crime and sentenced to death by beheading. Just as the sword was about to come down, Nicholas intervened, seized the downward thrusting sword in his calloused hand, halted their execution, and played a pivotal role in accusations being expunged.

There's the tale of two parents whose enslaved child was lifted by his hair out of the courts of an oppressive ruler and returned to his mother and father by the spirit of the deceased Saint Nicholas.

It can be said that Nicholas was one of the earliest advocates of victims of child labor and slavery, human trafficking, and those wrongly accused who sit on death row.

A far cry from what has become to be known as Santa Claus.

As we approach December 6th and the Feast of St. Nicholas, may we pay homage to the faithful witness and man behind the myth. May we tell our children these sacred stories of justice, advocacy, intervention, concern for the poor, and desire to give mysteriously more than receive abundantly.

Maybe then we will begin to tap into the true Spirit of Christmas, which neither involves sandal slapping our theological opponents nor trampling those in front of us in the lines at your local retail store.

Happy Feast of St. Nicholas.

Related
*"Arius' views were all the more popular because he combined an eloquent preaching style with a flair for public relations. In the opening stages of the conflict, he put ideas into jingles, which set to simple tunes like a radio commercial, were being sung by the dock-workers, the street-hawkers, and the school children of the city" (Bruce Shelley, Church History in Plain Language 100-101).

See Pete Enns Post, St. Nicholas: What Can I Say, He Was a Beast

The Man Who Would Be Santa Claus by Adam C. English

www.stnicholascenter.org

Lamenting in Luxury and Laughing at God's Promise

I was in a folding chair sunken into tho the sandy beach of Ocean City when I first read about the murder of a black youth named Mike Brown by a white cop in Ferguson, Missouri.

The beach.

In the comfort and security of family and friends, with our only disturbance being over-zealous young lifeguards and their whistles, I remembered racism is far from dead and the Civil Rights Movement far from over.

I was drinking my coffee on the front porch as I perused articles on my iPhone about increasing persecution and genocide of Christians and other adherents to minority religions in the Middle East, most notably in the mountains of Iraq. I wondered what the earliest Christians would say to them- and us- in the horrific wakes of modern martyrdom?

My porch.

I was at the dining room table and eating dinner with my family as we live-chatted a friend of ours via Facebook messenger. She is a young Orthodox-Jewish woman with two kids and a husband who works in pediatrics outside Gaza, caring for both Palestinian and Israeli war victims. They live nearby Tel Aviv. Our courageous friend shared with us how she lives in daily fear, moving from living room to shelter multiple times each day. It was 2 a.m. Israeli time and she couldn't sleep.

We were eating dinner at our dining room table.

I was on a plane with a group of youth headed back home from Honduras as I reflected on the Child Refugee Crisis. Thousands of unaccompanied children were fleeing Central American countries, like the one I just freely left, in search of safety and security their families could not provide. You can read a glimpse into their experience in Enrique's Journey by Sonia Nazrio.

I have been reading it- at home.

I am not sure if the world we live in is becoming increasingly dark and the despairing groans are louder now than in generations past or if our sensitivity to global issues is greater due to social media and the ease of access afforded by modern technology.

It's probaly a combination.

What I do know, my heart aches with intensifying pain every time I turn on the television, scroll through Twitter feeds, or open that news app I am confident will have more bad news than good news to report.

I cry when I talk to friends in Honduras or Tel Aviv. I get angry out of solidarity when I read posts by my black friends, some who are pastors, who shed horrific light on racism that continues to plague our nation, churches, and local police forces.

I lament. A lot. But my lamenting is in luxury and privilege. I grieve in security and safety. I can pick and choose the issues that tug at my heart strings, even post videos of buckets of ice water being dumped on my head, because my life is not in jeopardy.

But the lives of my friends are. My brothers and sisters in the faith, even though I may not know the names of those who call the Iraqi hills and sanctuaries home, do live in fear.

Their laments come from a very different place. They lament in fear and oppression.

The same is true for those in Ferguson, Tel Aviv, and regions surrounding Tegucigalpa.

Maybe that's why I laugh. I don't laugh in joy. I laugh with the cynicism of Sarah- at God's promise.

""And Sarah was listening at the tent entrance behind him. Now Abraham and Sarah were old, advanced in age; it had ceased to be with Sarah after the manner of women. So Sarah laughed to herself, saying, 'After I have grown old, and my husband is old, shall I have pleasure?'" (Genesis 18:10-12)

I wonder, how long, O Lord, will you forget us- them- forever?

I pray God's covenant, one that nudges us towards golobal reconciliation and new creation, would no longer be a mere theological teaching point or carrot dangled in front of grieiving parents who claim Jesus as Lord.

I pray for the day to hasten when our mourning turns to dancing.

I pray for the weapons of war in the Middle East and Missouri to be turned into agricultural tools of the harvest, promoting growth and vegetation versus injustice and segregation.

I pray God's covenantal promises would become our reality. The whole world's lived experience.

I pray for the kingdom Jesus preached about, lived out, and died for the sake of, would be resurrected within each of us and all around us.

I pray our prayers of how long would be transformed into jubilations of about damn time.

But I wonder if God is saying the same to each of us.

How long, O children, will you hate each other forever? Will you forget the image each of you bears and the love each of you have been invited to share?

Will you choose prejudice over conversation, greed over generosity, power over communities and countries where all are welcome as though they have always belonged?

Is God saying to us, this blogger included, it's about damn time?

Because it is.

So as one who laments in luxury, I covenant to commune with those who do not. I commit to learning real stories, researching possibilities for change and transformation, surrounding myself with diverse voices and convictions, and echoing the cries of victims of all forms of violence, marginalization, racism, poverty, oppression, and any and all manifestations of evil near and far.

I am not sure what this will look like or even where to begin, but I know it's time.

It's about damn time.

"Promise-making God, I get Sarah's laughter. It's the sad snicker that covers a cracked heart. Faith withers when life feels wrung dry and past it's best-used-by date. For all who feel life has passed them by and find that faith comes hard, create through your Holy Spirit the laughter of love, the faith that your promies are true, and the hope that in Jesus the best is yet to be. Amen

---from Seeking God's Face by Philip F. Reinders

Relaated Links:

Not as Helpless as We Think. 3 Ways to Stand with Those in Ferguson by Rachel Held Evans

PCUSA Office of Public Witness & Rev. Dr. J. Herbert Nelson on Ferguson and Gun Violence

Good News and Bad News in Honduras

Is There a Nonviolent Response to Isis? (SoJo.Net)

Jesus Had a Twin: Coupling Faith and Doubt During Holy Week

Jesus had a twin.

His name: Thomas.

Syrian believers knew the name alone connotated this disciple as one who was not the only one to take up residence in his mother's womb.

Greek speakers knew him by another name, "Didymus," for the same reason.

Thomas or Didymus, both mean twin.

We are not certain of the identity of Thomas' gestational roommate, but the early Gnostics had a theory. Thomas was Jesus' twin whose birth-story went untold. That's right, while innkeepers may not have been able to squeeze the Holy Family into their shelter, Mary's womb apparently had room for one more.

I guess being betrothed to a virgin carrying the Messiah was not enough of a shocker for Joseph.

It's also a minor element of the incarnation the angel left out of his Advent declaration.

Details.

I am not sure if Jesus and Thomas really were womb-mates (sorry for the parent of twins joke). Actually, as much as it would make for a great story and build on the Jacob and Esau motif within the Jewish narrative, I doubt this was Thomas' identity.

Pun intended.

Regardless of the legend, Jesus did have a twin within his cast of followers who was doubly perplexed and coupled both extradordinary faith and raw skepticism.

We are more than familiar with Thomas' hesistancy to believe in Jesus' resurrection, demanding to see evidence before trusting the Messianic mission for even one more day.

"Unless I see the mark of the nails in his hands, and put my finger in the mark of the nails, and my hand in his side, I will not believe." (John 20: 25)

We are not as familiar with Thomas' zeal and willingness to actually die with his beloved Teacher, who was about to return to hostile territory in efforts to resurrect his friend, Lazarus. You can say that before "Doubting" Thomas, there was Didymus, the purest proclamant of unfading and radical obedience.

"Let us also go; that we may die with him." (John 11:16)

This sort of bold declaration is not recorded anywhere else by any other disciple. Yet no other disciple is labeled as a doubter.

So, which is it?

Skepticism or trust?

Fear or obedience?

Doubt or faith?

Maybe they are meant to be paired together.

Maybe our spiritual gestation couples both within the womb of discipleship.

Maybe Thomas is us. Maybe we are Thomas' twin. Doubly willing and yet doubly perplexed.

As Holy Week begins, may we both confront and embrace our dual identity as believers and doubters. May we trust God's ability to work through our darkest doubts. May we give thanks for how the Spirit propels us towards faithful obedience.

May we hold on hope and believe just enough that God will once and for all reveal to us not only the resurrected Christ, but also a world made new and right.

Thomas did. That's why he went to India.

But you have to look that up for yourself.

"We often think that if we have doubt, we don’t have faith. In reality, they are inextricably tied to each other in the human experience, each one helping make the other more real. The presence of doubt doesn’t mean we’ve lost our faith. It creates the space to actually find it...Doubt and faith need each other; any faith that can't hold up to doubt isn't faith at all."

Kathy Escobar, Down We Go, pp. 138-139

------

**Here is an intriguing excerpt from Bart Ehrman's, Lost Christianities. I say intriguing, but I am not sold :)

Related Post: Doubt as Faith: Talking About Both in Congregation and Youth Ministry

Youth Ministry, Wild Geese, and God's Spirit as Uncaged Bird

Celtic Christians have a unique image for the Holy Spirit: the wild goose.

Yep, the honking, flapping, nipping-at-your heels bird who refuses to be tamed has framed the theological imaginations of believers for generations in regions surrounding Ireland and Scotland.

The imagery is spot on and brilliant.

Like a wild goose, God nips at us and provokes us to travel to obscure places as a collection of practitioners of the kingdom unconfined by convention. God’s Spirit, like these obnoxious long-necked creatures, can even be somewhat aggravating and difficult to ignore when pushing us to defy logic and comfort. The nudging of the Divine Presence is not always graceful or welcome either, disrupting our conscience and disturbing our assumptions about what is good, right, just, and biblical.

The Holy Spirit, like our feathered friends, lives in freedom and refuses to be contained and controlled by even the most astute theologian:

"Theology must describe the dynamic interrelationships which make this procession comparable to a bird in flight, in contrast to a caged bird" (Karl Barth, Evangelical Theology)

Still more, beauty is in the flight of these strange birds. They refuse to travel alone and instead fill the skies in gaggles shaped like the letter "V." This provides yet another seemless symbol for individuals and gaggles of God's people who trust the whims of the Spirit as they follow Jesus as the head of rather rambunctious flock.

There have been books, legends, intentional communities, and music festivals developed via the inspiration of the wild goose.*

I have also adopted and extended the metaphor for the youth worker.

That's right, the wild goose is likely a teenager.

Youth frequently gather in clumps, are often dismissed as pesky and somewhat rambunctious, and adults are accustomed to head for cover whenever they see a gaggle of teenagers headed their way.

I am also pretty sure these noisy birds and middle school boys on retreat share a similar fragrance.

Wild Goose by Axe Body Spray.

Youth are also beautiful to witness in flight. Their questions nip at the heels of religious absolutes. Their desires to move to new and uncharted territories challenge settled assumptions about where the church exists in the world. The adolescent desire to take risks and listen to the sounds of their neighbors, including those frequently dismissed as distasteful, causes youth leaders to wonder where we have missed opportunities to love God as we love and give voice to others.

I have been in youth ministry for over a dacade and have had my share of crap thrown my way, another uncouth characteristic of geese. There have been moments when I have cursed under my breath God's strange and beloved creatures and questioned why God made the teenage years last for so long.

I have even pondered fleeing from the presence of youth ministry all together.

Then I watch teenagers soar. I see them spread their wings and follow the Spirit's movement in their lives. I am instantly drawn back into my vocation as though I was just beginning.

Youth ministry is hard, being an adolescent is even harder.

The Holy Spirit is difficult to comprehend, containing God's Spirit is an impossible task.

Still, whenever I follow Jesus alongside some of the youngest members of God's flock, I sense somehow the Holy Spirit is there, in the middle, drawing us closer and closer to what it means to be a part of God's dreams for the world.

Maybe that's because, like God's Spirit, youth are wild geese.

May we never try to tame them, only fly alongside them.

 

Notes:

*Consider the Iona Community and the book about their existence, Chasing the Wild Goose. Also, a festival I hope to attend one day, The Wild Goose Festival.

**A great interview from a friend of Westminster, who tells a story about The Wild Goose with shere brilliance: http://westminsterpc.org/filerequest/8630

***Photo above is from the cover of Chasing the Wild Goose.