Prayer makes us uncomfortable, and that's why we need it.

Luke 11:2-4

Do not bring us to the time of trial

            Deliver us not into temptation… do not bring us into the time of trial… I don’t know about you but to me those sound like very different things. Before this week I’m not sure I ever thought about the difference between those two versions of the Lord’s Prayer and I never really even considered the reasons why they exist. I mean, sometimes we assume that new things in the church—like, for example, versions of the Lord’s Prayer—are for cultural reasons when, in fact, it has everything to do with debates around what the Bible says. I’m guessing most of you probably prefer the temptation version because it is the version we pray here every Sunday, but rest assured that you could also say “save us from the time of trial” without feeling as though you are selling Jesus short, because both translations are grasping at the meaning of one Greek word.

But before we get to that I want to quickly talk about the “time of trial.” For me, when I hear that phrase the religious sphere of my brain kicks in and I think, “Oh, Jesus must be talking about judgment and eternal salvation—those kinds of things.” But, here, that’s not the case, because the Greek word Jesus speaks is πειρασμός (peirasmós), which means “to put to proof by experiment” (in other words, to “try” as in “trial”) and it also means “temptation.” Again, those seem like two different things—trials and temptations. So, in order to understand this word you might have to imagine a temptation as a test between two things—one right and one wrong—and the trial is the decision of which one to choose.

            But here’s where this gets interesting, because the trial and temptation language highlights something about what it is that Jesus is having us pray; namely, Jesus is telling us to pray to take choices away from us. The prayer is not “lead us through temptation” or “keep us from giving in to temptation” but instead “do not lead us into temptation” at all, which is subtly, but importantly, different. Jesus implies that we need prayer not to summon enough self-control to overcome something but instead we need prayer to keep us away from that situation completely. We need to pray that Jesus removes temptation, because we are not as strong as we think we are. The things that truly tempt us function like depression or anxiety or PTSD to a person with mental health problems. These are things that seem on the surface like they can be controlled if only a person can internally muster enough courage and willpower to overcome them, but the truth is that none of those, or anything that truly tempts us, can be defeated by strength or willpower. We aren’t strong enough; we just pretend we are. We triumph over things that didn’t actually tempt us very much. It’s like the man who is alone on a desert island for years and proudly proclaims, upon being saved, that he didn’t cheat or steal or commit adultery once in those years. For some, that’s what it takes.

So, we are told to pray for total removal from those situations—for a safe space from ourselves.

Not what I want, but what you want

Mark 14:22-42

“Abba, Father, for you all things are possible; remove this cup from me; yet, not what I want, but what you want.”

I’ve always found that single verse to be one of the most astounding insights into who Jesus was as Son of God, Savior, and, yet, still human being.

Jesus goes off to pray while the disciples stay in the garden and nod off contrary to his wishes, and the one remnant of Jesus’ prayer that we have is this line. “Abba, Father, for you all things are possible; remove this cup from me; yet, not what I want, but what you want.”

For the better part of his ministry Jesus has been forthright and focused on the idea that the Son of Man must die and then he will be raised again. In Mark’s Gospel this has been the entire point of the story. It’s been why he’s told people to be quiet about the healings and even when he raised Lazarus from the dead. It’s why he’s consistently battered the disciples for their ignorance of what was to come. He has had one direction and it has been toward the cross, like a freight train with one set of tracks. And yet, here on the precipice of the crucifixion, what does he pray but “remove this cup from me?” Take it away, God, if at all possible.

I believe this is a seminal moment in the history of what it means to be human.

Jesus is showing us what humanity can be through his vulnerability. The Son of God is vulnerable. But, contrary to how we imagine vulnerability, it is precisely that vulnerability that is his strength.

Stop. Listen for God.

           Earlier this month we took our Junior High Confirmation students to the Minnesota Institute of Contemplatiion and Healing (MICAH) retreat center near Crookston for an overnight to center ourselves for a year of faith development, learning, and service. One of the primary foci of contemplative prayer, as described by MICAH’s director, Trey Everett, is to move us out of our heads and into our hearts. That sounds kind of vague and new-age-y so allow me to explain. In our heads we are concerned with products and efficiency, with “doing it right”, and with doing “enough” versus doing “not enough.” Our hearts, on the other hand, focus us not on the product but the process, not on efficiency but love, not on doing it the “right way” but exploring how we might do something differently, and, lastly, our hearts allow us freedom from the anxiety of worrying about doing enough and, most importantly, about being enough.

            God tends to speak to us on the heart-level, because it is there that we free ourselves from all the things that cause us anxiety and fear; it is there that we are free to be led beyond our expectations and imaginations.

            We live in an anxious world. In fact, the more efficient we get the more anxious we become. There’s this worry in the back of our minds that we can always be working more efficiently; that we can always be doing more; and the frightening reality is that it’s true. We can always be doing more. The New York Times just published an eye-opening exposé of the working environment at Amazon where workers are encouraged to spy on one another, report one another’s inefficiencies, and managers are expected to cull their workers ranks on a regular basis in the name of being as efficient and productive as possible. This might be an exceptional example, but it’s also kind of the norm for how the marketplace works in the year 2015. Farmers feel it. So do business owners and restauranteurs and teachers (maybe especially teachers). Even pastors feel it. How often are our churches judged by money in the bank and people in the seats on Sunday morning?

Where are you planted?

Scripture: Psalm 1

Where are you planted?

            That’s the question this first Psalm is asking, setting the stage for all the Psalms to follow. Where are you planted?

            Jesus uses a similar analogy once upon a time, talking about scattering seed—some in the good soil, others in the rocks and amidst the thorny brambles. It’s a parable that leaves you with that same questions: Where are you planted?

            This has to be one of the best questions to ask that special someone whom your daughter or son brings home for supper. You sit down at the table and before you get into what sports the kid plays, or what his parents do for a living, or what kind of shoes she wears, or any of that silly stuff, just start with this: “Where are you planted?”

And if they run away then you’ve done your job.

            But it’s also the perfect question because it’s not just asking where it is that you live but also where are you most comfortable, where do you feel most alive, and, then, are you in good soil or not? Is the place where you live safe?

Living in the grey: Are you wrestling or just lazy?

When I find myself deeply pondering an issue, whether in prayer or in silent thought at my desk, I tend to poke holes in both poles of opinion until I find the place where I can faithfully stand. This comes out perhaps most evidently in sermon-form. I tend to find myself pointing out one opinion and then an opposing one before often coming to the conclusion that neither of these work particularly well. This works with most contentious subjects because, well, there's a reason they are contentious. But I'm writing today to make clear that I hope I am cautious with this approach, because lately I have found many people who celebrate simply living in the "grey." They seem to enjoy existing between the black and the white for the sake of not being black or white; not necessarily because they have spent any reasonable amount of time or energy in prayer, meditation, or thought to come to the hypothesis that there is the most faithful place for them to be.

Five-Thirty-Eight recently ran a piece claiming that "Americans Aren't Becoming More Politically Independent, They Just Like Saying They Are" and I think the same is true of many things, especially concerning questions of faith. There are many people in the mainline church who really like the "grey." They really like pointing out the arrogance of standing at the poles, but then they don't offer a serious alternative. Living in the questions sounds great, but most people who successfully live in the questions already have a strong base of history and tradition on which to stand (here I'm thinking about my Jewish friends who participate in the serious practice of midrash). This is a very challenging place to be and to do so absentmindedly is folly. To merely state that a person is free to believe whatever they want is fine, but I'm always going to pay closer attention to the person who has struggled deeply with the questions than the one who has decided on a whim. Those who try to stay in the no man's land between polar sides of an issue are forced out when it comes down to the nitty-gritty, because to truly live in tension is to constantly question--not just the black and the white but also yourself.

Are you in this just to not take a side? Do you really believe anything?

I tend to find that living in that tension only works, especially as a religious person, when those grey areas are resolved with a promise that I believe in strongly. Again, this is why midrash works--it's done by those who are already deeply woven into the faith. I wouldn't recommend people blindly question every side unless you already understand a little of what it is that makes you who you are. This may sound backward, but it is merely to say that you aren't going to find your faith through questioning but questioning may deepen a faith that you already have. (And it leads to a wonderful question of where faith originates, which is well beyond the scope of this post, though I'd point you to Ephesians 2:8 as a starting point)

This is no exhortation to move from the middle ground to a position on one of the poles, and it's no suggestion that we need more out-spoken conservatives or liberals, or true believers of any sort. Rather, it's simply to point out that to say you enjoy living "in the grey" does not mean you are off the hook for careful and thoughtful reflection; in fact, I would say that much more is expected of you. It's one thing to be agnostic; it's another to be an agnostic Christian. The first I find potentially interesting; the second I find lazy.

Bullying into prayer, swords into plowshares

Scripture: Isaiah 36:1-3, 13-20; 37:1-7, 2:1-4

            This is a story about bullying. Sure, it uses kings and nations as the characters, guys with long names that distract us. Who names their kid Sennacherib? All of that merely serves as a distraction from a story about a person with a loud voice, shouting “Be afraid! Be very afraid!” This is a story about bullying, about fear, and about all the terrible, awful, untrue things that people say to try to grab your attention. So this is a perfect story for our age.

            The Rabshakeh always gets a lot of attention. He’s the guy—or gal—who yells the loudest, who is the most threatening, and who seems the most sure of himself. I’m reminded of a time on The Simpsons when all the characters are bemoaning that nobody listens to them and Homer Simpson chimes in, saying, “I'm a white male, age 18 to 49. Everyone listens to me, no matter how dumb my suggestions are.” That’s what it feels like when there’s somebody yelling from a place of power. We feel like we need to engage with the person shouting on the TV or the radio because he or she is loud and given air time; even though that engagement only gives them more power.

            There are a lot of bullies out there. Some of them live in our schools—that much is still true. More and more of them live online these days. Plenty of them, like the Rabshakeh, are willing to stand up on a chair and scream to instill fear in the masses. Isn’t that what we expect from our legislators when they are passionate about an issue? Stand up and shout to show us how passionate you are. The loudest voice is the one that gets heard, after all.

"Unconventional" Prayer

I wish I did prayer better most of the time, especially these days. With an infant at home and long days at the church it is more and more difficult to find time to be still, let alone to intentionally spend time in prayer. Like most people, I have a lot of things in life, and the fact that I'm a pastor doesn't necessarily mean that prayer is high up on that priority list. But I also know I need it. I'm not the same person when I'm not reflecting, taking the time necessary for God to work in and through me.

But one thing I've discovered in the last few months is a realm of "unconventional" prayer. I put that in quotation marks because I'm not sure it's actually all that unconventional. I think more often we assume prayer is either spoken petitions in a community or silent petitions on our own, but just because that's our predominant view of it does not mean that those are the best ways to pray. Often, I think they are not.

My unconventional praying has happened most often lately when I'm riding my bike or on a long run. That might seem convenient--I thought so at first--and so I was always trying to excuse myself for a workout and thinking, "Oh crap, I need to get back to work and then I need to find time to reflect." What I've discovered, though, is that exercise often offers a great cover for reflection. This doesn't happen all the time; I wouldn't say that when I'm racing it's a great time for prayer. It happens more often on the days where I ride long but not hard, or run far but not fast. But it also doesn't happen all the time.

The thing that seems most important is the intention. There are days I spend my whole ride looking at my bike computer and how fast I'm going, or worrying about what I have to do when I get home. Those aren't prayerful rides. But other days I set out with the intention of reflecting. That doesn't mean I'm not going to get a workout (I'm terrible at moseying), but I find on those days that I finish my workout more refreshed than tired. More importantly, when I come back to my office I do so with renewed perspective.

North Shore Confirmation Retreat Recap

This is going to be quick because, well, I have a lot to get together. What am I working on? Oh, just this...

 Packing for a race... putting together a plan of attack... basically just making sure I don't forget things this time... for about the first time ever.
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Anyway, this isn't about me. It's about what we did this past weekend. Fifteen Confirmation students and eight adults piled into vehicles and headed to the north shore of Lake Superior. We had supper at Grandma's Sports Garden in Duluth and then made our way to Tettegouche State Park as it turned dark where we set up camp in a primitive campsite. Just tents and whatnot. In the dark. With Jr High kids. All in all I was pretty impressed that it all came together.

We had a brief worship and talked a little about why we were there. This was a preview to Confirmation; it was also a little snippet of what a mission trip is (even if it's just one night). Then we had s'mores and hit the hay--by which I mean hit the hard rocks we were sleeping on. We were going to be getting up nice and early.

The morning meant an early start: wake up at 6, breakfast and ready to roll by 7. We split into two groups. One was going to stay in Tettegouche and hike Mt. Trudee; the other was heading to Gooseberry Falls State Park. The Gooseberry group was led by Kate and they had a shorter, one mile hike along with various devotional practices. They especially focused on reflection in art, thinking about what God has given them and how that might be reflected in their lives. This was part of a plan to improve our focus on prayer in Confirmation this year. We wanted to give a little taste of what was to come.

The other group joined with myself and Sam and we headed up a mountain... or at least as much of a mountain as Minnesota has to offer. Tettegouche is home to several of the best views in Minnesota that I know of, and one of these is certainly Mt. Trudee, which is a 3.7 mile hike from our campsite. I'm proud to say that our group did that hike (for a round trip of 7.4 miles) and there was absolutely no complaining. They just rocked it. Along the way we practiced some examples of "pilgrim's prayer." Prayers for a journey. We walked in silence for three and five minute intervals. They also listened to scripture and were intentional about noticing the world around them. Then, of course, we got to enjoy the view from the top.

Following our morning activities, we spent some time in Duluth and then hit the road back home. It was quick and we were spent, but all in all a good trip. I look forward to a fun year of Confirmation ahead!

Why this pastor does not like to be asked to pray in public

This is going to sound crass, so I'll just go ahead and apologize ahead of time, but here's the honest truth: I'd rather you didn't ask me to pray at public functions.

I had better explain that before the angry mail pours in. It's not because I don't think prayer is effective (in fact, I think the opposite), and it's also not because I don't like public prayer or think it is not the "right" kind of prayer (as if there is such a thing). 

Instead, I don't like being asked to pray in public because public prayer has become the realm of the pastor to the exclusion of most other people in the church, which is a problem because public prayer also happens to be one of the easiest ways to be introduced into a life of prayer. When we act as if the pastor is the only one qualified to pray publicly we suggest that there is a threshold where lay prayer ends and ordained prayer begins, and that the pastor prays because he/she know all the right words and the rest of us can only be prayerful up to a point. Worse still, we suggest that there is a right way to pray aloud and a wrong way.

All of this is just wrong.

Boredom, prayer, and why reading Revelation stresses us out

Revelation 5:1-14

            Do you know that feeling when you’ve had something absolutely amazing happen—when your whole world has been rocked and nothing will ever again be the same? Have you ever had an experience so incredible and otherworldly that you have to share it? I hope you have. And I bet most of us at least have some idea what that is like. Every once in awhile the stars align and we have that perfect, often unexpected, moment. But if you have had such a moment you probably also know the feeling of trying to share it with somebody else.

            It’s hard for us to relate to subjective experiences. After our youth’s mission trip to Colorado last year we tried to share with you what it was like to experience some of the relationships we built and the emotions that we felt. Again this year when we return from our mission trip to Idaho we are planning to take a Sunday to share the same things. Of course, mission trips are far from the only time we experience these seminal moments in our lives. It happens when babies are born; it happens in moments of intense spirituality or the euphoria of your sports team winning a championship. Each of those moments is beautiful and equally challenging to share with others who are not a part of them from the beginning.

Rejoice, Pray, Give Thanks -- Lent, week one

1 Thessalonians 5:16-18

¹⁶Rejoice always, pray without ceasing, give thanks in all circumstances; for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus for you.

Rejoice always, pray always, give thanks always—that’s what Jesus wants for you. Simple enough. Then again, this is one of those little Bible verses that, if we’re honest with ourselves, brings out our inner nine-year-olds. It’s just not fair!

            I mean, it’s great to rejoice and to give thanks when we get what we want, but rejoicing when things are just “meh” or giving thanks when the referees, who are always out to get us by the way, ruin another closely contested game for our favorite sports team. That’s just not right; it’s just not fair. Giving thanks requires justice. It’s hard to imagine rejoicing after a bad storm or a fire or a bad accident, giving thanks after a premature death or in the midst of poverty or a recession. It’s hard to imagine praying without ceasing when God seems completely absent.

It's a big world after all: Jesus' riff on the graduation theme

Text: John 17:6-19

A Sunday celebration of High School graduates

            Lost in all the cryptic language of Jesus' prayer on the disciples' behalf is that this week's Gospel may very well be Jesus' riff on of a graduation theme. It is a somewhat twisted graduation by our standards, but then again Jesus never seems to live up to our standards. Instead of telling the disciples (graduates) that they are going to go out and change the world Jesus focuses on why the world they are heading into a messed-up place. It is a place where they will be tempted; a place that they do not belong; a place that does not know God.

            I’d assume this is why Jesus was not voted to give a senior speech by his class at Nazareth High School.

            Of course, lest I confuse you, Jesus is not exactly giving a graduation speech, but—as with high-school graduation—he is praying on behalf of disciples who are about to go off into the world without him, and he’s is telling them, in his best Dr. Seuss impersonation, “Oh, the places you will go.”

            The world is a funny place if you think about it. I don’t mean the physical earth, though that is often a funny place as well, but what I mean by the world is what we perceive of the place we inhabit. What is your world? As children our worlds are pretty small. We have family, maybe a small geographical area with which we are familiar. Our worlds pretty much consist of that. Then they get bigger and bigger. Pretty soon our worlds encompass a city, then a county, then we travel and experience other places and other people. We discover people who think differently than us; people who look different from us; people who have beliefs that are very different from our own. When we learn the world grows.

            Sometimes a big world can be scary. For parents of children heading off into some of those unknown places it will sometimes be scary. For youth who are graduating off into the world beyond their parents’ homes sometimes it will be scary--even if they never admit it to mom and dad. For grandparents who do not know the particulars of where there grandchildren are moving it can be a very frightening place. The world is big and the world scary.

            But the world isn’t just that. Jesus, after all, goes through all this work of talking about the challenges of the world only after giving us the most famous verse of scripture that tells us something vividly important. You know it… “For God so loved… the world… that he gave us only begotten Son that whosoever believes in Him shall not perish but have eternal life.” God so loved the world. See, the world is crazy; it’s big and unknown. It’s a place that so often does not know God, and yet God knows it. God knows the whole thing and more than that he loves it.

It’s easy for us to stay in comfortable places that keep our world small. The easy way through this life is to never experience anything that challenges your worldview, but as Christians we also have a calling to witness; a calling that pushes against the boundaries of our small worlds. The Great Commission is at the heart of our Christian witness. Jesus says, “Go… and make disciples of all nations.” Go out into the world, because that’s the only way the world that does not know God is ever going to hear the good news. Without you, the world will remain an awfully scary place. The world needs to hear from you.

At the Northwestern Minnesota Synod Assembly last week the CEO of Lutheran World Relief, John Nunes, talked about one way that we--Lutherans who rarely take on anything more adventurous than camping the next county over--go out into the world. He talked about a time when he was visiting the West African country of Burkina Faso and he entered what was essentially a mud hut to find a Lutheran-made quilt lying on the dirt floor. The quilt was that family’s carpet. Nunes went on to talk about others who used quilts when they had to move possessions. They might not have a bag but they could wrap up their things in a quilt and throw it over their shoulders. Quilts were being used in Burkina Faso for hundreds of other uses. Those people in West Africa were connected to Lutherans in North America through quilting, and they were using quilts made over here in ways that probably never occurred to those who stitched them together.

Today, the world is connected in ways that were unimaginable a century ago, let alone on the day of Jesus’ graduation speech. This world is both a small world and a big one. We can connect with people across the globe in an instant and at the same time understand the vastness that separates us. The world is a place of “us” and “them,” and it’s also one world connected by universal things. Those people of Burkina Faso were connected to Lutherans in North America, even if they didn’t know it; even if the quilters didn’t know it. The blessings we share cross boundaries that we will never physically cross. That’s the thing about the world: it’s a big, scary place, but we’re all in it together.

In worship today we had one of those rare instances when we got to experience the spectrum of life in the church—I guess all we’d need is a funeral to cap it off but I hope nobody gets on that! At both Grace and Red River we had a baptism; then we celebrated our graduating seniors. And perhaps most importantly, in the middle of those two events, we gathered around the table for communion, remembering that no matter where we are, no matter where we are going, we are members of Christ’s body, living representations of the good news.

Our worlds are always in flux. Our worlds never stay the same. It’s natural to fear those outside of our experience, but in Christ our worlds overlap. There is no “us” and “them”; there is simply the body of Christ of which the people of Burkina Faso or any seemingly foreign place are members in equal standing. That is why we gather around the table; to commune with our newly baptized and our graduating seniors, to commune with our brothers and sisters in Burkina Faso or wherever our quilts may go, wherever our mission support and our money may go, wherever our footsteps take us, to commune with our elderly, our youth, and everybody in-between. We gather together to celebrate communion because this is not about the places you will go; it is about the unity in Christ you share wherever you find yourself. There is no “us” and “them.” It may be how we see it, but God sees the picture with much wider eyes. As Madeleine L’Engle once wrote, “We have point of view, but God has view.”

May your view be God’s view, may your world be big, may you go out into the world, and may you always come back to the table.