Relativity

It's an absolutely beautiful day.  I should feel blessed.  But I do not.  And the fact that I'm not feeling blessed is kind of grating in and of itself, because the air is cool and the sky is blue and it's fall.  I wish I could be like my dog, who is sprawled out on some wood chips in the sun with his junk in the air doing some version of dog yoga and looking more relaxed than anything that wears a chain around it's neck has any right to be.
I'm thinking about my car, and how I want a new one.  I'm thinking about the camper I wish wasn't sitting in my driveway, I'm thinking about the gutters that need cleaned and how I don't have a ladder that will reach them.  I'm thinking about the moment yesterday when my brakes went out and almost sent me careening through a red light and into turning traffic, and how, thankfully they locked up just in time to prevent a bad thing and just end up with a stupid moment, and how now the car is telling me to service brakes and I'm like: "Duh."
I'm hoping to be able to fix the brakes and get a few more miles out of the beast before I inevitably trade it in, but I'm hoping (with futility I suspect) that the repair bill will be less than a down payment on a new car.
And sometimes I think it would be nice to just start walking and never stop.
It's moments like this that make the ancient ascetics seem like sensible people.  Because, for all the comforts that can be bought and paid for in the modern world, there is a price to be paid.  And the price seems sometimes like it's not really worth it, when I consider that, on a day like today, thousands of years ago, a nomad probably sat on a rock watching his sheep or goats or whatever and felt the same sort of existential crap that I feel right now.  I don't imagine that he was somehow happier, he was just worried about different stuff.
I'm quite certain that this is a spiritual affliction: to be able to notice and appreciate all the things you should definitely be grateful for, and not be able to feel gratitude, because at one particular moment the things you're worried about outweigh the things you love.
To add to the malaise, I had a doctor appointment yesterday morning and found out that all my "numbers," the things that science uses as health metrics, are going the wrong direction.  Another lovely predicament of the modern world!  We don't judge health by how we feel or what we're able to do, but by blood tests and measurements.  When I climb to the top of a hill and look out at the world, I feel healthy, when I climb on to a scale and look at one of my numbers I feel like a lump of bacon grease.
My doctor gives me these pep talks and instructions and ideas, but the poor guy doesn't understand that I know what I'm supposed to do, it's really just a matter of convincing my stomach to cooperate.  He's wasting his time, and mine with these little lectures, because it's not a matter of knowing what to do, it's a matter of willpower and discipline to do it.
I know I should be glad about a lot of things: that I live in a time and place where it's possible and indeed quite easy, to overeat, that I live in a time and place where I can have a nice doctor look at a bunch of blood test results and recommend some medicines to help me strengthen my grip on mortality.  And deep down inside, a little voice says: "what kind of fool wants to live for 90 years without bacon and cherry pie?"  And I know that little voice is going to win eventually, because it makes sense in a way that my nice, encouraging and sensible doctor never will.
Knowledge of all the things that are probably going to kill me does not make me happy, any more than that "service brake system" light on my car's dashboard does.
I think this is why we have such problems imagining that eternity is going to involve some sort of embodiment, because bodies, like machines, break down, and when things break down it makes us unhappy, and no one wants to imagine an eternity of unhappiness.
This is one of the reasons why I think it's so important to cultivate faith and learn to live in God's universe, because if eternal life is a real thing, then I'm going to need some coping mechanisms.  If the atheists are right and it all just ends then there really isn't that much of a reason to struggle, because, when it's done it's done, and I can deal with that okay as well.  It's only if it goes on that I need to think about what is making it go on.  It's only if there is more to be done when we shuffle off the mortal coil that makes struggling for gratitude seem like a worthwhile effort.
Enjoy!

Some Light

So I saw this thing early this morning, and it just about made my day.  Not because it's incredibly hilarious, frankly videos of cats trying to sit in odd containers is probably good for more chuckles.  Not because it's Star Wars related, although that generally grabs my attention.  It made my day because it is an example of human beings essentially laughing in the face of an absurd and absurdly broken system.
This comes to us from Ukraine, and it reminds me that my experience of people from Ukraine, Russia and that part of the world has been rather contrary to the stereotype.  Growing up during the Cold War, my primary impression of Soviets was not favorable, reading Russian Literature on top of that generalized fear left me with a feeling that "Russians" were pretty hardcore people, who could really take a licking and keep on ticking.  With the rather unfortunate exception of Yakov Smirnov, I had a hard time imagining that people on that side of the world laughing.
Yet, as I have gotten to know actual people from that part of the world, an experience our hate and fear largely prevented during my formative years, I find that laughter is a big thing, and it comes easily, even when things seem dire.
And so that article about the people from Ukraine who are running for office as Darth Vader and Stepan Chubakka, made me very happy.  Despite the real trauma that is happening in Ukraine, despite the uncertain future and political currents that will certainly end up sinking some ships, a few people have the courage to laugh into the face of dysfunction.
Humans can be wonderful.
The odds of us being wonderful seems inversely proportional to how seriously we take ourselves.
Last night on Survivor, one of the last network TV shows I actually pay any attention to, and the only "reality" show I have ever really watched faithfully, there was a perfect example.  One tribe had been running rough-shod over the other, and had yet to lose an immunity challenge.  For unknown reasons one of the more abrasive characters on the dominant tribe, Drew, decided to throw the challenge.  Drew then proceeded to flex his muscles, alienate people, and not surprisingly become the first member of his tribe voted out.
Drew swore that he was the mastermind, that he was in control, that he was such a "bad ass" that no one would dare go against him.  He was wrong.
The editing of the show told that story full well (I have come to understand that most of the narratives on Survivor are profoundly effected by the editing process, but that's another story).  Drew was arrogant and obviously thought more of himself and his position than he had any right to do.  My kids both applauded when he was voted out.  I pay attention to their reactions because their emotional responses are less jaded and thus probably more reliable than mine.  He deserved to leave, and I guess the reason why I like that show is for moments like that.
Because that very rarely happens in the real world.  The Vladmir Putins of the world get re-elected and ISIS actually gains support on the ground.  The worst are able to skulk their way to power, while people who might actually take the greater good into consideration stand very little chance.  Violence is the road to power.  Cheating is often the only way to win.
No wonder we like reality TV, at least there are rules, and the narratives aren't so damned depressing.
In a situation as bleak as Ukraine, sometimes the only thing to do is to dress up like a Wookie or a Sith Lord and play that harp-y thing.  I wonder if the same thing could bend our politics for the better?
Lando Calrisian for President in '16!

Constantinian Consternation

Rulers make bad lovers,

Better put your kingdom up for sale.

-Fleetwood Mac, Gold Dust Woman

For the first three hundred years of the Common Era, the group of Jesus followers that would eventually become the church were really little more than a curious hybrid of Judaism and Greek philosophy.  The news that Jesus of Nazareth had purportedly been raised from the dead, and ascended into heaven was by no means an earth shattering revelation to most people.  Few outside of the Jewish faith understood the messianic expectation that indwelt Jesus' life and ministry, and as far as Greek thought went, the Logos was old news.  But somehow the faith withstood various persecutions, and even more dangerous times of success, it discerned truth as it walked down a sometimes wandering doctrinal path, which was largely defined by the correction of various gnostic errors.
Quite surprisingly to many, this thing that was being called Christianity was doing rather well.  It was not, however, the "official" religion of anyone or anywhere, and it still had to deal with the odd persecution here or there and the ever-present reality that it didn't have much of a foothold in what many of their Apostles called "the World," in a somewhat adversarial tone.  It was okay though, because followers of Christ were called to be pilgrims and witnesses and a light in the darkness, and they were encouraged by all of Jesus' status-challenging teachings and the dramatic perspective shift of these books they called Gospels, or Good News.
In this period, I'm fairly sure that no one called themselves a follower of Jesus, "just because."  I'm not being idealistic here either, I'm fully aware that this early iteration of Christianity had many issues, most of which are still rather pesky even after almost 2000 years.
But in 312 C.E. the best and worst thing that could have ever happened to the followers of Jesus Christ occurred: Constantine, the man who was about to become Roman Emperor, essentially became a Christian at precisely the moment when he was able to claim authority over the Western Roman Empire, the battle of Milvian Bridge.  Constantine had a vision, and later attributed his victory to God, and faith in Jesus.  Thus one of the more peculiar story arcs of human history came into being: a ruler of the very empire that had crucified Jesus was now a follower of Jesus, sort of.
It is also, probably, the moment where triumphal Christianity became a thing.  I don't imagine that when the Apostle Paul wrote, "Thanks be to God who gives us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ," that he was thinking of a Roman Emperor winning a battle.  In fact in 1 Cor 15, he's talking mostly about resurrection, which means dying happens as a part of the whole equation, but that's probably an argument for another time.
It's hard to overstate what a massive impact Constantine's conversion and subsequent establishment of Christianity as the "official" faith of the Empire, had on the Church and the world.  It led directly to the creation of the Nicene Creed, which was good, but it also led to the necessity for the Church to become something it was and is perhaps ill equipped to be: a Ruler.
This is a religion founded around a crucified man.  This is a religion that, in it's most authentic expressions, cares deeply for the marginalized and the downtrodden.  This is a religion that has the notion of taking up a cross and dying to yourself at it's very core.  So, while I am always happy to hear about Constantine's conversion, because I'm always glad when people get to know Jesus, I'm coming to think that perhaps it would have been better for us all if he had just tried to live out his own salvation rather than imposing his faith on an entire Empire.
There are, no doubt, times when all of us feel a little frustrated by the insistence of our Constitution that the government remain neutral in matters of religion, but I am convinced that it is really the only way.  I would prefer to live in a religiously neutral country than in a Christian one, or a Muslim one, or a Jewish one, or in any other form of theocracy or religiocracy. I would also argue that since Atheism is technically a religious position, it also shows its flaws in this arena.  The best case scenario is essentially an agnostic, neutral government.
Religions, including Christianity, make bad rulers.  While religious principles and religious people may be important elements in creating a state where justice is valued and equality is a goal, the attempt to run anything like a truly diverse, secular society while privileging one religion over others is doomed to injustice and ultimately will be consumed by brutality.
Do I think that religion should keep it's nose out of politics?  By no means, but the political arena should be a neutral space where the field is not tilted in favor of one group at the expense of another (this goes for economic and racial groups as well).  We have work to do in this regard, and we should do it with some level of urgency, because we cannot really face the dangers imposed by the fearsome Islamist States, without understanding how we as "Christian Nations" have fallen short of the goals of justice and equality ourselves.
As for the dream of an ideal society based on Christian principles, our current doctrine of separation of church and state is probably the best attempt so far at making that a reality.  Is it perfect? No, but it's the best chance we've got.  I want my government to be neutral when it comes to matters of faith, I don't want them telling me what to do or what to say, I don't want them interfering in my walk with God.  My faith will shape my political life, and my place in the community, I want it to be allowed to do so, but I also hope that others will be free to do the same, whether I agree with them or not.

You Are What You Worship

Where have you gone Joe Dimaggio?

Our nation turns its lonely eyes to you.

-Simon and Garfunkel, Mrs. Robinson

I read this first thing this morning.  You may have noticed that I'm on sort of a Rohr kick lately, and I am, because the ideas I find in his writings unfold and intertwine like vines with almost everything else that's going on.  Yesterday, I wrote about how we never seem to learn from the past, and about how we probably shouldn't imagine that things are getting better or worse, but are more aptly described as hovering at a rather disappointing point of futility.  Today, I'm going to give an opinion on why that is, and the answer is simple: idolatry.

Yesterday, we observed a national holiday, well some people did anyway, in honor of Christopher Columbus who "discovered" America.  Columbus Day, for me in the past few years, has been a rather enjoyable reminder of how good postmodern folk are getting at deconstructing mythology.  The Columbus mythology that most of us grew up with was that he defied the odds, and through sheer courage and resolve disproved the conventional belief that the world was flat and in the process stumbled upon a new world.  In fact, by 1492, most people had come to agree with Galileo and the ancient Greeks, that indeed the world was a sphere, the only thing that Columbus really "proved" is the sphere was, in fact, larger than previously imagined by anyone except the Scandinavians who had been there and done that, and been driven off by the rather fierce inhabitants of the "New" world.

Columbus, however, landed far south of where Leif Erikson had originally drug his butt ashore.  Down south, the natives were friendlier, and more gullible, and didn't really see why everyone shouldn't just get along and have some Pina Coladas.  Columbus then brought his nobility and dauntless courage to bear on forming a mutually beneficial society that bridged the gap between...

Oh, no he didn't, he started raping and murdering and enslaving people in a blind quest for gold, which, as it turns out, the natives didn't actually have all that much.  The latter history of Columbus in the New World reads a lot more like a story I don't want to tell my children under any circumstances.  He was brutal to the people he encountered in a way that would probably make Josef Stalin step back and say, "Whoa bro, you ought to chill out." or however you say "chill out" in Russian.

And we have a holiday for him, and we learn that he is a hero.  Remind me again, exactly how the world is getting worse?

This is where idolatry ultimately leads: you end up worshiping monsters.  You end up celebrating a man who sold 9 and 10 year old girls to his crew as sex slaves, and cut off the hands of people who didn't mine enough gold to make a quota, and then made them wear the hands tied around their necks.  Tell me again about how letting gays get married is going to bring down God's wrath.

Go back and read that thing about becoming what you worship again.  Who do we worship?  Who do we venerate and honor?  Historical figures?  Columbus?  Jefferson (another guy with a questionable human rights record)?  What about athletes?  How is that Adrian Petersen or Ray Rice jersey feeling right about now?  Movie stars?  Politicians?

You know, it occurs to me that there was a pretty good reason why God was so unreasonable about Israel worshiping idols.  When you worship an idol, whether it's a person, or even an idea, it shapes who you are.  If you worship power, you become war-like.  If you worship money, you are driven by greed.  If you worship success, you become hard and driven.

No matter what you worship, if it's not God, you are essentially worshiping a demon, and thus the world is populated afresh with demons and the idolaters that sacrifice on their altars.

So what's the way around this?

Jesus, but you probably guessed I was going to say that.  Jesus shows us a God that is loving to an extent that challenges the rational abilities of every human being.  He breaks apart the assumptions of will to power (when people wanted to make him king or Messiah, he avoided them).  He certainly shuns the trappings of wealth and greed (just look at how he talks about the rich).  He even breaks out of the most deeply held human instinct of self-preservation at one point.  In the process he rejects the cycle of violence and revenge that dominates our history, and becomes something more.

If you're going to worship something, worship him.

Hearts and Minds

There seem to be three different perspectives on the general progress of the world:

1. The world is getting better.  This view is generally held by those who are optimistic and progressive, who look at the human race as a flawed but generally well-meaning lot, and have a hopeful outlook that some how, some way, perhaps with a bit of divine intervention, all will be well with the Creation.
2. The world is getting worse.  This view is generally held by those who are pessimistic and would much rather see things go back to being the way they were in "the Good Old Days."  They may be a bit delusional about how good the old days were, but whether you're talking pharisees in Jesus' time or Fox News in ours, these conservative caretakers of the status quo will probably always be with us in some way.
3. The world is pretty much the same as it ever was.  Human sin is a relatively known quantity from a historical perspective.  I don't imagine that Genghis Khan was really much better, or much worse than ISIS.  I suspect that the ultimate failure of the Crusades had a lot in common with the current failures of our Middle Eastern foreign policies.  The names may have been changed but the pernicious sin and misapprehension remains.  We never learn from history and thus we are doomed to repeat it.

Something rather crucial is going on in Syria and Iraq (you may slap your forehead and say, "Duh" if you wish).  There is an evolutionary step taking place, which does not bespeak good things for the immediate future of an already troubled part of the world.  ISIS, which is currently being roundly criticized and justly attacked by most of the world, is transmuting from a terrorist organization to a genuine movement of the people.
There has been a line crossed in the sand (take the pun if you want it).  A group has stormed the castle, so to speak, and taken control of a large geographical area, but more importantly they have given a voice to a group of people who have felt marginalized in their particular place.  The Sunni Muslims, who are being absorbed into ISIS, and who are giving this ersatz collection of extremists their real power, may not broadly agree with the fundamentalist extremism of the group, but they do agree that they have been neglected, marginalized and oppressed by the secular government in Baghdad, and they certainly have no love for the Kurds, Christians and Shia who are being persecuted by the IS.
I heard a phrase that rather chilled me in an interview on the radio this morning: "hearts and minds."  ISIS is winning the "hearts and minds" of the populace in areas they have conquered through their sheer brutality.  This idea chills me because it is precisely the phrase used during the Vietnam conflict, before it became the Vietnam War.  Many people do not realize exactly how long we were in Vietnam, they only remember the years of open conflict, with the draft and occupying forces and thousands of rather reluctant US teenagers getting blown to bits in the jungles of southeast Asia.
But well before that, there were the Green Berets.  Men who were trained and prepared for the actual tactics of winning hearts and minds and honestly preventing the spread of communism into South Vietnam.  In the beginning, we had such a wonderful idea: show up in villages that were being strong-armed by Viet Cong and NVA regulars and "liberate" them.  Vaccinate children, fix up things that had been broken and generally protect the people from the "bad guys."
For a long time this actually worked out pretty well, our special forces had the hard earned trust of most of the South Vietnamese who weren't so thrilled about the communist threat.  They were trained and immersed in the culture, they spoke the language and knew who to trust and who not to trust.  They could hold off the "red menace" one village at a time.
The problem was that this approach was never going to win the decisive end to conflict that a lot of politicians craved.  They wanted another solid "win" like Korea, where they kept the Commies north of a certain line on a map.  Our inability to see the nuanced differences between Asian people and places led to some rather dire mistakes, much worse than referring to Sushi as Chinese food.
As it turns out, you know what doesn't win you a lot of points with poor peasants who sort of like you but don't really trust you?  Bombs, people who live in little villages in the jungle, who don't like the Viet Cong extorting them for money, actually really hate having napalm dropped on their kids a lot more.
Fast forward 50 years.  You know what's not going to really defeat ISIS or any other organization like them?  Bombs, except maybe of the sort we really don't want to use, you know the kind that will turn the desert sand into radioactive glass littered with charred skeletons for a thousand years.
This is one of those: stuff doesn't really change sorts of moments aka SSDD.  We still don't fully grasp the deep-seated differences between an Iraqi and an Iranian, any more than we understood the difference between the Chinese and the NVA, or the North Koreans, we just think they're all the enemy.  We don't get that some of the people who are fighting for ISIS may not actually buy into the ideology, but are just sick and tired of other people telling them what to do.
We need to be the people that offer a better alternative, not just the people who have the bombs.

Getting There

Today I started working my way towards the Camino de Santiago.  I took my backpack out of the closet, where it's been since Jack and I got back from our trip on the AT.  I loaded it up with about three quarters of what I'll eventually carry to Spain.  And I walked my normal loop around the lake.  It's a shade over two miles, a good morning walk, but this morning I noticed something: I was thinking way too much about just finishing the walk.  I thought maybe it was just the extra load, even though it wasn't anything like the load I was carrying on the AT.  Maybe it was just that I had a few other things I wanted to get done today, but as I walked I considered how I have come to experience my walk as though I'm checking things off of a list.
On the outward stretch there are a few steep little rises and falls as the trail follows the contour of the shore line.  I know exactly where the last "real" climb on the loop comes.  I also use a fitbit now, which also makes walking and moving in general a goal oriented activity.  I began to think about how, in about seven months, I will have nothing to do but walk.  I will have to walk every day, rain or shine, whether I feel like it or not.  I will need to cover about five or six times the distance of my morning walk per day, and my pack will not be optional.  It's a daunting mental situation, to know that your goal is always so far away, I'm wondering how it's going to be that first week, before I really settle into the journey.
In the background, I'm thinking about how this pilgrimage is going to shape the rest of my life and ministry.  These preparations remind me of somewhat of seminary.  I'm trying to teach my body to accept and bear the burden, I'm breaking in my boots, I'm thinking about how the Camino is going to be a challenge (I've actually even done something like a Field education on my walk from Sarria last year).  But the idea of walking for a month, with almost no other reason for being, is still a bit of an abstract idea.  Sort of like the idea of actually serving a church week in and week out was to me in seminary.
Conventional wisdom says that it's a good idea to set small achievable goals en route to your larger goals, so you don't get discouraged and give up.  Thus many of us, tend to break our lives up into a series of goals: the simplest of which is the common sigh of relief breathed by so many on Friday, but which also includes waiting to have children or buy a house, which includes a good deal of obsessive and sometimes destructive behavior in pursuit of a a promotion or just more money.
Goals are not a bad thing, but the utilitarian ethics that sometimes arise from single-minded focus on goals, can blind us to some obvious dangers at the very least.  In more dire scenarios the idea that the end justifies the means leads people who claim to follow Christ to tacitly accept war mongering and economic tyranny, because of "the way the world works."
We set little goals for ourselves with the hope that if we string these little milestones together, we will eventually get to where we're going.  The problem is that you can spend so much time looking for the next milestone that you don't appreciate the journey.  Living into the incarnation is about appreciating the journey.
Sure there are times to set your face towards something and just resolve to push towards it, but don't let that be your whole life.  In the case of my morning walk, while I do it for health goals and even as I'm working towards a big goal, I am trying to stay present to the beauty of the lake as the seasons change, to the variety that still exists in a familiar route, to the various thoughts and prayers that come along the way.  I know that my mind and soul need preparation for the Camino as much as my body, but where the physical preparation involves setting goals and hardening muscles, the soul work involves letting go of a mind that grows impatient with the ground beneath my feet, and being perpetually vulnerable enough to live in the now.

Lo, This Is Our God.

It will be said on that day, "Lo, this is our God; 

we have waited for him; so that he might save us."

-Isaiah 25: 9a

This comes from one of the lectionary texts for this week.  It's one I didn't choose to incorporate, but it's one that gnaws at me in a non-sermonizing sort of way.  We mulled it over in study group yesterday, and we had all sorts of pastor-like thoughts about historical context and word associations.  We talked about what images grabbed us, but when we got to the: "well what does this say?" question we just kind of looked at each other and said, "I guess it means we're supposed to wait."  And then we talked some more about what it might look like to wait for God and decided that it wouldn't make a very good sermon and moved on.

We don't like waiting as a course of action very much at all.  We humans are chronically impatient creatures.  We don't want to wait for solutions to our problems, we don't want to wait for the rewards we covet, we don't want to wait for anything.  I spend a good portion of any given day trying to read broadly about crucial matters in the church and in the world.  I try to read varied opinions and different perspectives, and I find it interesting that almost no one ever counsels patience.  Whether it's politics or a debate about what songs to sing in church, no one ever wants to wait for God to act, it just seems like a bad idea.

Most of us pastor types are no better than anyone else, we want people to get with the changing, I mean, as long as they're going generally our direction.  In most cases, waiting seems like wasting time.  After all, a definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again, and expecting different results.

Waiting may be an exception, at least if we're going to take the Bible seriously, because people wait for God a whole awful lot.  Of course there are the odd exceptions, like if you are in the course of an oncoming train and you decide to just wait until you know exactly which direction is the best escape, maybe you ought to just act.  And there is certainly no shortage of on-coming trains, but waiting patiently for the Lord may be the only sane thing we can do at this particular moment in the life of the church.  Our attempts to modernize lead to alienation, our attempts to cater to niches and try to meet all sorts of specialized needs leads to an incoherent, stumbling existence, where we just don't know what we're doing, which then leads to a crisis of actually not knowing who we are.

"But," come the voices, "We can't just do nothing!"

Indeed, it doesn't seem prudent, we need to adapt, we need to change, we've got to solve this problem and plan our way out of this pit.  We need a strategy.  We need measurable goals.  We need benchmarks and mission statements.  We need to do more advertising, better advertising, more outreach, better outreach, we need a gimmick, a slogan, some T-shirts.

We need more activity and services, we need more mission projects, we just need to DO something, because what we are ain't working, at least not the way we think it should.

I read an article this morning about how, after decades of churches trying to keep up with cultural styles of worship music, people (at least a few people, mostly pastor types and religious bloggers) are returning to the traditional liturgies and kind of liking them.  I so want him to be right.  I would love nothing more than to put worship wars in the rearview mirror and just go back to the good old, tried and true Presbyterian forms, which may not be high liturgy to some, but are consistent and predictable in the same ways.  (If you're curious the liturgical order of mainline protestant denominations, in order from high to low goes something like (Episcopalian/Anglican, Lutheran, Methodist, Presbyterian, Baptist, Pentecostal).

The problem I have with the perspective, is that it still focuses the debate about worship, on what a given person "likes."  And while I spoke in favor of "liking" your theology, I would caution against letting your personal preference run your worshiping life.  If you do, you will channel surf worshiping communities and thus never really come to rest and wait in any one.

There is a typical huge mega church on the other side of town from our little Presbyterian Church, and at session meetings and such, we always hear about New Life this and New Life  that, and how we should be more like New Life because they have thousands of participants every weekend.

"But," I say, "we're not them, we're us, and being us has some good points, and those good points for us are different than the good points for them."  I presume, in this day and age, that the reason why people come to us, is because they want to do what we do.  Would I enjoy more people joining in what we do?  Certainly.  Do I think we ought never to consider new ideas or work to adapt to the community we're in?  By no means, as Paul likes to say.  But I think we also need to get more comfortable with waiting.

Waiting is doing something.  However, waiting, when you're in relationship with a God who has an eternal scope of vision, can be uncomfortable to say the least.

Too much dissatisfaction with what we are now prevents us from living in the "Eternal Now," and essentially makes it more difficult for us to participate in the Body of Christ.  If we, out of fear of what we might lose, or anxiety about the future, wander away from our participation in the incarnation, we are then utterly lost, and we will never find a vision to hold us on course.

As a Pastor, I try to balance the sense of God's action in what we are now, with a prophetic vision of what we might be, which is what Isaiah does as well, I think, and what the Psalms do for us again and again.

As it was in the beginning, is now, and ever shall be, world without end, Amen.