Every Friday during this season of Advent, the group I’m meeting with comes to the time called, The Inquiry. Each week, one by one, we attempt to answer the question, “How would you like to grow in your relationship with God this next week?”

What a good question! Maybe good enough to be addressed daily instead of weekly? Maybe good enough for us to address prayerfully every morning? Or, maybe good enough to give it a grand answer and set your life’s course around it. A good question indeed.

This week I realized my usual answers weren’t actually appropriate to the question. I was using different words but generally speaking, all my answers could be lumped under, “I would like to do more of the things that I should and less of the things I shouldn’t.” It occurred to me that answers such as this aren’t really addressing how to grow in a meaningful relationship. Doing more good stuff and less bad stuff probably comes from the place in me that wants to feel worthy of God’s love. Doing more good and less bad would be a better fit if the question was, “What can I do to get God to love me more?” and the answer to that question is, nothing. There isn’t anything we can do to get God to love us more.

In that case, seeking to grow in relationship with God begins with the knowledge that we are known and loved right now. The foundation of our relationship is that we can trust that no matter what happens or what we do, God isn’t going to desert us. We are a delight in God’s eyes. How in the next week, are we going to grow in that relationship?

Just as there are many ways to grow in our human relationships, there are many tried and true practices that can serve as pathways to a better relationship with God. The key is to remember that we are invited to walk those paths without masks. We can bring those things that we wish everybody knew about us, and we can bring those things that we hope no one will ever find out, all openly and without fear.

So again I ask, how would you like to grow in your relationship with God in this next week, today, in this lifetime?

Campfires can be sacred places. I have a lot of memories of sitting around them as a young boy with my guys. Sometimes, after the darkness was full, after we decided that stump just outside our dancing ring of light wasn’t actually a wolf and certainly not a wolf-man, some budding theologian would ask something along the lines of, “Do y’all think God is real?”

That’s a great question for a twelve year old to ask his friends but truth is it’s hard for a young fellow to process, even with all the holy whispers that were all around; friends, a good fire, a bazillion stars, and a singing forest. I would usually simply answer, “Yea, sure.” That wasn’t because of much reflection on my part. It was mostly to reduce my chances of going to Hell. Evidence suggests that accidentally grabbing the wrong end of a stick in a fire has a way of making one want to avoid burning forever.

Now days, in the third stage of life,(with a different idea and experience of hell) I am ready with a better answer to the question. Life is real, creation is real, love is real and for me that is a lot of footprints that help make me comfortable saying that God is absolutely real. But, tweak that question from long ago a bit and it becomes a little more troubling. How about, “Do y’all think your God is real? Or, do you file God in the religious compartment of your life denying his presence in the most real parts of your experience?” Now that’s a strong question for any age.

More and more I am convinced that there are three connected parts to authentic spirituality, all of them committed to embracing reality. They are; seeking God as God is not as you wish God to be, owning that you are who you are, and receiving life as it is not as you wish it was.

It’s my experience that this stance requires a little courage. Like most folks, I like the idea that with a little more effort I can get my life straightened out and I have my wishes about how I want life to be and it makes me more than a little anxious when things aren’t going the way I want them. Trials can be disconcerting. Same with my relationship with the Creator. I often get pretty comfortable with my current beliefs and way more than a little anxious when they are threatened. I like it when life is safe, God is figured out, and things are under control. Of course, that is not reality. It is illusion. We meet the real Christ in truth, not in pretending.

I invite you to consider what Jesus meant when he said, “I am the Truth.” I believe that it means that when we seek truth, reality, not illusion; we can trust that at the end of our search we will find Christ. Truth is, God is beyond being grasped, I am who I am, and my genuine experience of God is found in my real life.

It is said that St. Francis of Assisi often spent entire nights praying “Who are you?” along with “Who am I?” Think about it, all night seeking to receive the real God, wrestling to become his real self, in real life. That’s the real path.

Psalm 96 invites all the earth, not just humanity, to tremble before the Lord. As I ponder trembling, it occurs to me that it is an involuntary response, usually associated with fear, so upon first reading I’m thinking that when we remember the awesomeness of God we feel a holy terror causes us to tremble. Why wouldn’t we tremble, and shake, when we consider the unfathomable mystery and deep wildness of the One who once had something to say and the unending, ever expanding universe came into being.

But terror isn’t he only thing that causes trembling. When we consider the many facets of our relationship with God we also tremble:
-like a child on Christmas morning that realizes the gift that was only hoped for, not really expected, is right there under the tree.
-like the youngster on the edge of the board, just before that first jump off a high dive, excited, afraid, forgetting to breathe, thinking about how good it will feel to know that the dare was answered.
-like the athlete who has trained for hours every day for months and the race is about to start.
-like when the person you admire most has just given you the compliment it would have been embarrassing to admit you longed for.
-like the young lover who knows the first kiss is a moment away.
-like opening the acceptance, or rejection, letter that will change your life’s course.
-like the puppy in the kennel that spots its owner coming for it and it knows we are on our way home.

All that. More than we hoped for, a challenge that calls for all, complete acceptance, our deepest heart’s desire, joy, love… sometimes it causes me to tremble.

My new neighbor was working in his yard when I walked by the other day so I stopped to chat. He told me that a couple of hours earlier he had been struggling to move a large stone to a new place in his flower garden when a fellow he didn’t know came by on his walk and offered to help.

“I’m not sure I would have been able to do it without his help,” my new friend told me.

He went on to describe the helpful stranger and I realized it was George, another neighbor who lives a couple of miles away and is known for his long walks.

“A tall fellow, really nice.”

“Yep. A good guy for sure. He helped us with Operation Santa Claus at the elementary school and does a lot in the POA.”

Here’s the back story that I am sure my two friends don’t know:

The new neighbor goes to a church that has decided to pull out of its denomination because its leaders feel like it needs to make a stand against full inclusion of the LGBTQ community. I don’t know where my friend is on this and I doubt he is aware that I know this is going on in his church.

George is gay and is happily married to Dave.

Again, “I’m not sure I would have been able to do it without him.” Hold that thought while I share some more from my life.

I have a good friend that has shown me that being a Christ follower often requires courage and faithfulness. She’s a lesbian. I have another friend, a wise teacher and Bible scholar, that has helped guide me through change and painful times. He’s gay. Another that is crazy smart and one of the most insightful, loving people I know. He’s transgender. I could go on for a while but hear what I’m saying. These aren’t people I’ve simply met or read about. They are dear friends, family, I am not sure I would be able to do it without them.

That’s what distresses me so much about the present crisis of the United Methodist Church, my church. In just a few weeks we are going to be deciding our stance concerning human sexuality and there are many that are all in on making sure that we say to the LGTBQ community that they need to change who they are in order to be fully accepted.

It hurts me to type that. For one, it hurts because I do not believe that is true. I believe that they are fully accepted, not by me but by God, just as I am. My sound Biblical and Theological defense of this statement can wait for another time. Mostly it hurts because I don’t think we will be able to do it without them.

Hyper-partisanship is starting to wear on me. I’m tired of walking up to people that used to make my heart sing when I saw them and wondering if they are happy to see me or are they thinking, “There’s Jim with the crazy theology and ill-informed political views.”

It seems like there is always something to fuss about. This week the argument buffet offered everything from the silly (hamburgers at the Whitehouse and razor blade commercials) to the serious (government shut down and racism). It doesn’t matter what it is. We’re like Pavlov’s dog. Someone reports something and we all throw on our team jerseys and get busy trying to prove that the other team is completely wrong. Every week it’s deja vu all over again. The one thing every media outlet agrees on is that we are living in an us/them world.

Two things:
1) I find it hard, very hard, not to get caught up in it.
2) It is not even remotely close to God’s hope for us.

I became even more certain about that second one as I recently pondered some very familiar lines.

First of all, it jumped out at me one morning that The Lord’s Prayer sure says our, we, and us a lot. That’s three “ours”, five “us’”, one “we”, not to mention a petition for God’s will to be done on earth, as opposed to God’s will being done in a particular country, state, or group of people, and just to bang home the point, the first “our” is the lead-off batter. Not a single “I” or “me”.

Secondly, I was recently reading something by Cynthia Bourgeault and she pointed out that the great commandment, “love your neighbor as yourself,” doesn’t say “love your neighbor as you love yourself.” Note the difference. If it was “as you love yourself” we would first seek to love ourselves, then we would seek to love our neighbor, a separate person, in the same way we love ourselves. You’ve probably heard things along those lines. But, loving as yourself means you see your neighbor as an extension of you. In other words we/our/us is one. We not only share the same planet and the same time, we are as connected as my ears are to my eyes; one body as the Apostle Paul says.

Oh, and don’t look for a loophole by asking Jesus to define neighbor. Another guy tried that and it kinda blew up on him. Turns out Samaritans, in other words those folks that you are sure are out, are in.

Again, this is not to say it isn’t hard. Our prayer also mentions trespassing; or debts or sins, depending your religious family. It also talks about forgiveness and being delivered. Irritations happen. There will be times, obviously, when we disagree; often about important things. There will be times when we are called to speak the truth, to remind one another of justice, and remind one another to listen to the better angels. There will still be times that I am completely baffled by your opinion and there will certainly be times that you think, “There’s Jim with the crazy theology and the ill-informed political view.” But I’m going try to stop wearing any team jersey other than the one that says Christ and I’m going to try to remember that even if you happen to be sporting a different one that particular day, underneath you are wearing the Christ jersey too.

Giving in to division is giving in to a lie. It is destructive. Our Father, forgive us.

I journeyed through Advent this year wrestling with my current life’s persistent question: If a preacher retires to the forest, does he make a sound? Somehow I emerged into the new year with a new motto for 2019: To do the concert even if no one is coming.
It came to me as I watched the YouTube video, II Andante (Rutter’s Gloria) that Andrea Lingle of Mission Wisdom Foundation suggested as part of an online course, “Advent: into the Light and Dark.”
It was a concert piece that featured a huge orchestra and choir. Every member was dressed immaculately, the musicians in the strings section moved their bows as if they were synchronized dancers, and of course, the music was wondrous.
There were so many people on stage it occurred to me that they could possibly outnumber the audience. Then I wondered, what if they did? What if there were twice as many people on stage? What if there were only a handful of folks in the audience? What if no one came? Did they still make a sound? Of course they did. It was an offering.
And there it was: To do the concert even if no one is coming.
To do the concert; to sing the song, light the candle, write the book, love others, make an extravagant offering, smile at the guy in Walmart, speak truth to power, hug my wife… Do the concert; learn my part, practice, buy the suit, get there on time, give it my best, offer it…like the lily no one ever sees, like the waterfall that cascades when no one is there, like the crow that shouts “look!” and no one hears, and yes, like the tree that gives up reaching for the sun and crashes to the earth, to do the concert – even if no one is coming. Not because some day in heaven the guy from Walmart will walk up and say, “Man, I sure needed that smile that day.” Do the concert because we are invited to join the orchestra, to be a part, to play a tune for the Creator, even if no one else hears.
A couple of life times ago, I was a house painter and the fellow I worked with always painted the tops of the door frames, edges of the baseboard, behind the toilets, everywhere that lacked paint, even if no one would ever see it. His reasoning? “The angels will see it.”
More recently, one of my hiking buddies and I took our lunch break on a large stone that had been sitting right there, watching a billion years unfold. As we ate our p-nut butter sandwiches, we marveled at the tiny flowers on the wilderness floor, the massive hardwood trees all around, the crazy blue sky behind the leaves, and the noisy creek below us. We breathed mountain air and heard several birds calling out.
“Boy, God sure is wasteful with beauty,” my guy said. “I think you mean extravagant,” I replied. He slowly nodded, “Yes, yes I do.”
To do the concert. To join in the extravagant concert.

Andrea Lingle, in the new book Rooted in Grace: Essays on Dialogue Without Division, says, “Christians began, not as people of the cross, but as people of the table… the table reminds us of our fundamental need for others.”

The recently passed Queen of Soul, Aretha Franklin sang it this way: “You need me (need me) And I need you (don’t you know it?) Without each other there ain’t nothing neither can do.”

God’s folks haven’t always got this right.

I remember as a boy eating lunch at the table in my aunt’s kitchen while a few feet away, a screen door separating us, sitting on the brick wall in the carport, the African-American woman who had been cleaning the house that morning ate her sandwich from home. When I asked why she wasn’t at the table with us, the answer my uncle gave was, “She’d rather eat with her kind.” Like I said, God’s folks haven’t always got this table thing right.

In the epistle to the Galatians we find the apostle Paul’s version of a run in with the apostle Peter concerning the table. Paul says that they were all in Antioch, enjoying one another’s company, eating together during dinner until some of the rules guys from Jerusalem came to town. Somehow these brothers had gleaned from the scriptures that good Jews were not to eat with gentiles and according to Paul, Peter got a bit timid and joined the Jerusalem party for supper.

That seems odd to me since it was Peter who went to Cornelius, a Roman soldier’s, house and when the Spirit fell on the gentiles, he went back to Jerusalem and said, “Guys, all I know is that the Spirit told me to not call anyone profane or unclean and it looks to me like the gentiles are as in with God as we are.” (See Acts 10)

Maybe that day in Antioch Peter hadn’t really thought it out. Maybe he was just sitting with some old friends, catching up on stuff from home. Maybe he was telling them that the idea of two tables was silly and he wanted to introduce his old friends to his new friends. All we know is that Paul interrupted with a rather forceful, “Dude, you’re sitting at the wrong table.” This table stuff was important to Paul.

Paul wanted everyone at the same table or everyone in the carport. For Paul, there wasn’t a gentile table and a Jewish table. There was only the Jesus table and everyone is invited and welcome there. In fact, that may be the table litmus test: Is everyone welcome? Is everyone valued? Is everyone needed?

It’s worth pointing out that Paul didn’t go to the rule keepers’ table and say that they needed to include the others. He essentially said that the exclusive table was invalid and the rules boys needed to fix themselves a plate of humility and take a seat with the “outsiders.”

Pondering that could help us see the Lord’s Table in an entirely different light. Folks like me (housed, straight, white, no ink, educated, male, ordained, citizen, relatively clean police record… ) aren’t actually called to welcome the people my aunt and uncle were uncomfortable with at all. The call on my life is to get up from where me and my buds are sitting, get over to Jesus’ table and say, “Would it be OK if I sat here?”
I need you. You need me.

(My wife, Kathryn, has a couple of essays in the book, Rooted in Grace. She told me not to say that so if you see her, don’t tell her.)

“Live long enough and the people you love get old.” (Lori McKenna)

The song with those words was playing in my head as I sat in the nursing home and listened to my ninety-one year old Dad say for perhaps the one hundred and fifty-sixth time, “If I could just get out of the bed by myself, stand up and walk, things would be so much easier. Of course, if I could do that I’d walk right out of here. (pause for chuckle) But, if you can’t be home, this is not a bad place to be. I’ve got a lot to be thankful for.” It’s a safe bet that in a couple of days, when I make my regular Sunday afternoon call we will hit one hundred and fifty-seven.

Of course he’s not the only one getting old. The other day I was looking at Jim the Grey in the mirror and it occurred to me that I am a senior citizen in every measurable way, excluding maturity. Not sure how or when that happened. It seems like I was a young man forever but I only got to be a regular adult for about three weeks.

When you officially reach the fall season in life it is hard to get your mind around how much time has gone by since that fellow in the nursing home was a twenty-five year old smoking a cigarette in the waiting room when he heard, “Congratulations Mr. Hunter, it’s a boy.”

Sometimes I lie in bed at night and think, “For crying out loud, my daughters are older than I feel.” Maybe I should stop thinking of them as seventeen year olds. But as I often say, “I’m not complaining. I’m just noticing.” (Actually, I have no memory of ever saying that but I like it so I’m going to start often saying it.)

All the graying and lack of body cooperation aside, one of the unexpected discoveries of this season is that, if one is so inclined, growth in spirit continues. Sometimes it feels as if it has even accelerated. It’s almost embarrassing.

I mean you’d think that after committing to team Christ in 1971, earning a couple or three degrees, being an ordained minister for thirty- bunch years, and qualifying for Medicare a fellow would feel like more than an apprentice in life. Yet every day creation shares a new secret, sacred words bring new insight, life is found in community, justice feels more urgent, prayer is more intimate, and the Christ in everyone becomes a little clearer.

On days that I want to try imagining the unimaginable I give listening to the younger folks a whirl. I try to imagine what they are seeing from their spot on the continuum of life and I wonder what they will be seeing, feeling, thinking many years from now when they are lying in their beds thinking, “For crying out loud…” I certainly hope that the young ones in my life will be realizing, as I presently am, that “life-long learner” isn’t just a cliché.

Like I said, sometimes it’s a little embarrassing. Seems like I should have gotten some of this stuff earlier. I should have taken a lot of stuff more seriously, a lot of stuff less seriously. I guess I’m a late bloomer.

One of the cool things about being retired is that I get the opportunity to have more interaction with people that don’t consider church a part of their life. Nothing against church folks, and I always intended to befriend more people outside the church when I was a pastor, but when an introvert like me spends 50 or so hours a week planning, worshiping, learning, working and playing with church members, his aren’t people fun tank is getting pretty close to empty.

Now that my church life consists of worshiping and just a tiny bit of planning and working, I get to be with folks in more secular settings (Though I don’t think they call it “secular settings.” I think they call it life.)

Occasionally when people discover that I am a retired pastor, they feel a need to let me know that they used to attend church but now they are done with it and have declared for the atheist team. I’m cool with that. In fact, I want to hear more about it because often we have more in common than my unbelieving friends may suspect.

They tell me that they can’t believe in a god that is judgmental and harsh toward people that don’t follow a narrow set of rules or believe a certain way. I tell them I can’t either. They say they are more inclined to kindness and peace and they believe that how we treat one another is more important than what we believe. I think the Spirit concurs.

They say they are committed to a scientific view of the world and can’t throw out researched and tested truth about the life of the universe. I tell them that I am with them there as well. I believe that when Jesus said that he is the Truth it wasn’t meant to be a statement that limits or opposes those who seek scientific truth. I believe it means that whenever we encounter things that are true like ancient geology, vast astronomy, and history that indicates evolution, we see God’s fingerprint. I believe that creation exposes the Creator and I am awed by that. Richard Rohr says that when we find truth, we find Christ.

They say that they won’t follow a god that allows horrible human suffering. Ok, now they are getting closer to some of things that trouble me as well but I do not believe that God is the one to blame for the suffering that we either inflict on one another or allow to continue, and my guess is that we would be surprised at the ways that the Spirit stands with and sides with those who are in great pain. In fact, the good theologians and sound Bible scholars tell us that God has a preference for the poor and suffering.

So, when folks tell me they have left the church and are done with god I am not disturbed but my question for them is this; now that you’ve left where are you going? If the answer is that you are moving toward kindness, peace, reality, and standing with those who are suffering, I would like for you to consider the possibility that when you experience these things you are experiencing the true God, the one who said he is the way, truth, and life. Try not to hear those words as some want you to, narrow and exclusive. Try to hear them as an invitation to a spacious, truthful, way of life. You may find that you have left a little bitty god in order to make your way home to the God who is.

I always wondered what it would be like to baptize a baby and then to be around twelve or so years later for its confirmation journey.  I guess I now know a little bit of what that is like since a little over twelve years ago, in a little Presbyterian church, Kathryn and I placed our water soaked hands on our granddaughter’s forehead and I choked back tears as I said the words I had spent two days memorizing, “child of the covenant, you have been sealed by the Holy Spirit in baptism, and marked as Christ’s own forever.” Then, last weekend, it fell to me to be a chaperone on her church’s confirmation retreat to Lake Junaluska.

To be honest, I am not entirely sure how she felt about her Granddaddy coming along.  She did say, “awesome,” when I told her I was coming and she smiled every time I asked her to take a picture with me so I guess until I hear differently, I will assume she was completely overjoyed and wouldn’t have had it any other way, even if Meme had offered to come instead of me. OK, that is probably a push but since they needed a male chaperone, I win.  I’m guessing she picked up on how I was feeling about being there. Best. Weekend. Ever.

I tried to give her some space and not hover the whole time but I watched her like, well like a granddaddy watches a girl that he thinks hung the moon.  I watched with a full heart as she learned more about being a Christ follower and was introduced to words that I hope will become a vital part of her life: prayers, presence, gifts, service, and witness. (The folks at Junaluska giving us a cool tee shirt with these words on the back will help)

As I followed along through the six workshops and four worship services it occurred to me that a tremendous amount of information comes at you during the confirmation process and it may take a while to process.  For me it can all be summed up as a simple conversation with God.  God says to us when we are baptized, “You are mine,” and when we are confirmed we say back, “Yes I am.” Then we spend the rest of our lives learning to live as God’s child.

As we live into all this, those words on the tee shirt: prayers, presence, gifts, service, and witness are about as good as any I’ve run across to help keep us on the path.  Learning to pray, being there, paying attention, being generous in all we say and do, seeking to be helpful in all the ways we can, and being bold in Christ’s way of living is an assignment that can take your whole life.

Holy stuff and I got to see my granddaughter take some big steps along that sacred way. I am reminded of Jesus saying something about blessings being “a good measure, pressed down, shaken together and overflowing.”  Overflowing indeed.

I hope my girl doesn’t mind that I made this public. My hope is that when you read this you will catch a glimpse of how much I love her and how proud I am of her. Then perhaps you will think of someone you love and remember that love comes from God. The One who constantly says, “You are mine.”
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