True humility vs Minnesota nice

Scripture: Philippians 2:1-13

             Sometimes I long for the good old Puritan days when I could read scripture like this, do my fire and brimstone sermon about your selfish ambition and conceit, and then return to my seat and sing “Amazing Grace.” That would be so easy. Lift up Paul saying “Let the same mind be in you that was in Christ Jesus” and let that sit in your stomach and see how well you do with it. The only problem with the straightforward, law-heavy approach to this scripture is that Paul ends this rambling exhortation to good behavior by saying “it is God who is at work in you, enabling you both to will and to work for his good pleasure,” which is kind of frustrating, because it means that, in spite of all the advice Paul is giving you, the only good you will ever do is not because you’ll be able to observe the law, but because God sees fit to actually do good with you. So, you’re all sinners that will never measure up without the grace of God—yay! (I love my job)

But this is what humility is. In a world of self-sufficiency it's so backwards that we don’t quite know what to do with it. True humility—the kind that takes no credit and honestly expects nothing in return—is beyond us most of the time, even if it’s the kind of thing we hope for our children. It goes beyond the don’ts: Don’t brag. Don’t talk only about yourself. Don’t rub it in when you win. Don’t blame others when you lose. The problem for Scandinavian Lutherans is that we tend to think that since we follow the don’ts we have this one covered. We don’t brag or rub it in; we don’t often talk ourselves up or others down. Sure, we might occasional forget all this at sporting events, but for the most part we’ve got Minnesota nice covered… and Minnesota nice must pretty much be close to humble, right?

            Actually, I’m thinking no.

Busy: The four-letter word for the church of the 21st century

Scripture: Philippians 1:1-18

            It was only a little over a week ago that we were finishing up our week-long Hunger Ride bicycle pilgrimage across northwestern Minnesota, but in that short time since I have had a good deal of time to reflect. Actually, the great thing about riding a bike for a good chunk of the day is that there is a lot of time to reflect even in the middle of it, and, time and again, the thing I took away from this ride was how much I needed to open my eyes to the world around me—to look beyond the surface of my narrow life and see the people who I mostly try to avoid. Open your eyes, I thought again and again.

            The same principle of opening our eyes applies to many different facets of life—how we read the Bible, for one. I had absolutely no idea what I was going to do with Philippians 1 today, because, you know, it’s Paul rambling on in introductory fashion and I didn’t expect to find anything earth-shattering in the introduction to a book. This scripture didn’t jive with what I felt called to talk about, and, honestly, my eyes glazed over every time I read it. I was failing at keeping my eyes open even as that was the message I wanted to share with you.

            Finally, as the week wore on I turned to a commentary on this Phillipians passage and I realized how naïve I was being. Paul was in prison when he wrote Philippians—it’s right there in verses 12-14, let me read it again because I missed it at first: “I want you to know, beloved, that what has happened to me has actually helped to spread the gospel, so that it has become known throughout the whole imperial guard and to everyone else that my imprisonment is for Christ; and most of the brothers and sisters, having been made confident in the Lord by my imprisonment, dare to speak the word with greater boldness and without fear.” In the back of my mind I knew that Paul wrote some of his letters from prison cells all over Asia Minor, but again this was just background noise; it didn’t hit home until I read a bit about what those prisons looked like. Ancient prisons were essentially holes in the ground meant for short-term stays, which meant the guards did not bring food or water, and so, the prisoners were completely at the mercy of the local people to bring them something to eat and drink to keep them alive. Suddenly, my mind jumped to Jesus in Matthew 25, saying, “I was hungry and you gave me food, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you welcomed me, I was naked and you gave me clothing, I was sick and you took care of me, I was in prison and you visited me” (Mt 25:35-36). 
            And then I realized that I was set to preach on this passage from Philippians less than a week after an eye-opening experience about the pervasiveness of hunger and even still I did not see that this was written by a man thankful for meager rations in a time of need; a man completely dependent on the charity of neighbors, who were, by the way, helping out an unapologetic criminal. This goes beyond hunger; it condemns all of us who live in bubbles, unaware of the world around us. It condemned me when I self-righteously assumed I understood what Paul was saying without imagining where he sat writing these words.

The Hunger Ride; a recap in words, photo, and video

Have you ever had one of those experiences that, no matter how effectively you share it with others, they will never really get it? Yeah, me too. And, if you've had such an experience, you probably also know the futility of bringing people into the stories of what you experienced. No matter how hard you try you can never quite share what it was like, and the more desperate you are to bring people in the less they are able to follow. So, I'm not going to do that. Instead, I'm going to talk only a little about what we did and much more about what it all means.

 

It started on a Thursday in Turtle River. The five of us who would be riding for a week got together (some for the first time) and talked a little about what it was that we were getting ourselves into. 7 days of riding. 241 miles. Evening stops in Bemidji, Walker, Park Rapids, Wadena, Perham, Detroit Lakes, and Hawley. We didn't know it yet but there would also be rain and cold and head winds and even sleet. We had signed up for something that none of us were completely ready for, but the funny thing was that was OK.

The muskie in Nevis

The idea that framed our week was pilgrimage. This was not tourism. We weren't just riding into communities to take a look at the sights, and we weren't riding these roads only because they were particularly pretty. Instead, we were intentionally focusing on the journey itself, going at a slower rate than any car would dare, and taking in the benefits of noticing what surrounds us.

 

Have you been saved? On conversion experiences and the long road of faith

Scripture: Acts 9:1-19

            I was walking with a group of kids on our way back to the St. Louis Park Rec Center after playing some soccer on a hot July day a few summers back. Kids from the chess camp where I worked got the occasional opportunity to play games outside (even if chess kids playing sports doesn’t evoke images of high athletic skill). It was on that short walk back toward air conditioning when a man walking his dog said a loud “Hello!” and beckoned me over to talk with him. Sure, whatever, I thought, as long as the kids don’t run out into traffic in the next seven seconds.

            The man was wearing a biker jacket on an 80-something degree day while out walking his golden retriever. When I came over he very simply said, “Hey! Have you been saved?”

            Now, I don’t think this happens in this part of the world very much, but it’s happened a few times to me in the Cities—beyond the obligatory Jehovah’s Witnesses at the door. And you would think that being a Lutheran pastor would be a good comeback to this kind of question, but, actually, I've discovered that's just about the worst thing I can say, because suddenly I’m not just a lost soul in need of saving, I’m a lost soul in need of saving who is leading other lost souls away.

            On this occasion with my biker-jacket-golden retriever-walking friend, I came back with a well-practiced seminary-approved retort. Have I been saved? “Yep. Two thousand years ago,” I said (we seminary folks are so clever). But I had a feeling where he was going with this, and I wanted to head him off at the pass.

            “No, that’s not enough,” he said, “You need to ask Jesus into your heart . You need to be able to share the moment in your life when you accepted Jesus.”

            I just wanted to get back to the air conditioning.

Donald Sterling, racism, and the vacuous realm of little formed ideas

Donald Sterling doesn't seem like a very nice guy. Let's get that out of the way. Also, it's hard to sympathize with a person who makes prejudiced comments--and even more so when that person is filthy rich. He's basically your classic villain we are taught to hate, and honestly I have very little desire to fight against that perception. But what I want to do is give a little perspective on the lessons that can be learned from this situation. [If you don't know what I mean by "this situation" read here before going any further]

So, Donald Sterling said some rather stupid things about race in a private conversation that happened to be taped. There's no excuse for that. But I have to tell you: I've heard worse. I've heard it on the internet, but I've also heard it from people I know. I've heard racist jokes and comments that are terribly insensitive and naive. I've heard many stupid things said in my life. Admittedly, none of them from a person as rich as Sterling but I've heard them, and I'm sure I'll hear them again.

This doesn't mean it's OK. Actually, it means it's much worse.

The Thomas in all of us: Searching for faith in a proof-driven world

Scripture: John 20:19-31

           There may be no character in scripture who elicits such polar reactions as Thomas. Maligned as the doubter by many and defended as the truest disciple by others, he is a walking paradox. While most of the disciples are fairly anonymous—seriously, tell me a story about Bartholomew—Thomas is known for his stunning acts of faith but, more often, for this critical moment in John’s Gospel where his belief is dependent on proof.

            The conflicting opinions on Thomas are summed up nicely in an exchange from the 2006 movie, The Da Vinci Code. If you’ve never seen The Da Vinci Code, well, first of all, just don’t; it’s a conspiracy theory laden story that takes about ten steps too far into fiction while pretending to be actually plausible. But putting that aside, the typical exchange between characters in The Da Vinci Code goes something like this: Character A brings up a biblical character, a piece of art or artifact, or an historical event, then Character B spouts some stereotype about that character/artifact/event, allowing Character A to chastise Character B and assert that their simple understanding is really an elaborate hoax perpetuated by groups C, D, and E for purpose F in order to accomplish G, given criteria H, I, J, K, L, M, N, O, and P. At which time, Character B blindly accepts Character A’s analysis as flawless and the story moves forward.

            The fact that The Da Vinci Code topped the New York Times bestseller list for several weeks says some sad things about humanity, but that’s maybe another issue (and, if you’re looking for a little hope for humanity, the one book that outsold it in 2003 was Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix).

            More on point, in one of these exchanges in The Da Vinci Code the two characters are talking about Thomas. Naturally, Character B wastes no time jumping to the stereotype, saying, “Oh, you mean the doubter,” and, predictably, Character A becomes agitated that Character B does not know Thomas’ whole story, at which point I have a brief moment of hope that perhaps we will learn something useful from The Da Vinci Code. But—alas—it is not to be, because instead of talking about the interesting Thomas who shows signs of faith earlier in John’s Gospel, suggesting that there is more going on in this story than simple doubt, Character A instead goes off on a typical wild tangent about the church’s cover up of the Gospel of Thomas, which in his estimation was Thomas’ true legacy. I don’t remember what happens next, because I think every time I have watched this scene I have turned the channel in disgust.

Bike tour, church, and the collision of passion

            And we’re off! Well, almost. On May 8^th I’ll be heading to Turtle River, Minnesota and the start of a week-long bicycle ride across the NW Minnesota Synod of the ELCA to bring attention and raise money for hunger-related causes. It’s been quite the undertaking already. There was route planning and lodging and meals. Then there were the events along the way. We’ll be having concerts, a film screening in a local theater, a hunger simulation, programs on Indian Reservations and local schools, roundtables with local governmental and church leaders, a mini bike tour of Bemidji, visits to food shelves, and worship services all along the way.

            In short, this has been a lot of work even before turning over the first pedal. But it’s also been the best kind of work because it’s been people who are passionate, finding the intersection of things they believe in. In all, we’ve had around 100 people in on planning local events, and many more on the various moving parts of putting the whole picture together.

            For me, it is an important reminder that when we find things that we are passionate about the work doesn’t feel like work. I’ve seen that in the Cornerstone Food Pantry closer to home. The amount of hours that have gone into making that a success and the continuous resources that go into it are difficult to fathom, but it’s where peoples’ passions lie. Nobody complains because there is nothing they’d rather be doing.

            I wish we could be this passionate about everything else we do. It’s tough. I mean, nobody gets as excited for a church council meeting as we do for a bike tour meeting or a food pantry shift and I don’t expect that to be the case. But I wonder if what we do as church shouldn’t be feeding the same kinds of passions. This is no knock on people (least of all those who are already serving!); it’s a knock on the church’s ability to address the serious needs and desires of human beings.