Nostalgia

This week I have desperately been trying to "get in the Advent/Christmas spirit."  It seems like we got a few extra days out of November this year, and our local weather has been a roller coaster of late, and so I have experienced some difficulty finding the mood of gaity that is to accompany this season.  In an effort to get the mood right (which I do believe matters for preparing sermons, writings newsletter articles, etc.) I have been listening to Christmas music in the office, and we have begun decorating and trimming Christmas trees at our house.

I fight a constant tension in this season.  There is the child in me who loves the lights and the presents and wrapping, the Christmas cookies and special movies.  I love the stories of Santa Claus and the festive television advertisements.  At the same time, I realize that these commercial elements of the season really have nothing to do with the incarnation of God in Jesus Christ.  Part of me wants to play the role of the prophet, decrying the unecessary buying, the gluttonous eating, and the self-absorption the holiday can breed.  It seems so contrary to the message of the one born in the stable who proclaimed that we should die to self, sell our possessions, and work to make sure all are fed.

My struggle, however, comes when I reflect on the meaning I have come to associate with those more consumeristic elements of the season.  The Christmas dinner where we overeat is a time where we remember our past celebrations.  It is a holy space.  Yes, buying and wrapping the gifts is not necessary, but there is a long-standing joy in seeing the paper torn and the excited faces of the folks opening their presents.  Yes, it is ridiculous to try and find storage for the artificial tree and ornaments, and it is time-consuming and takes money to replace the outside lights that do not work, but a deep feeling of home resonates in my soul when those decorations are up.

As a pastor I often worry about the church becoming a shrine to nostalgia and sentimentality.  When that occurs you can typcially put an "end date" on the ministry of a community because the means through which we proclaim the Gospel message are particular to specific historical moments.  If we re-create our previous traditions time and again without reflection or without consideration of contemporary circumstances, the church becomes merely a museum of a past way of life.

At the same time, though, there is something good about nostalgia and sentimentality, even in the Church.  Our celebrations and traditions shape who we are and connect us to the saints of the past.  Just as we feel that sense of "home" in our decorated houses, we can feel a sense of "home" when we walk into the sanctuary on Christmas Eve and see the greenery and poinsettias in their usual place.  We walk in and know, "I belong here."

So, maybe nostalgia in moderation is not a bad thing.   In a time when so much in life seems temporary and transitory, nostalgic practices help us connect again to our roots.  These are the trustworthy practices that shape so many of our otherwise chaotic moments.  Now these traditions can become idols if we let them, but we need not, I think, shirk them all together in some effort to create a more "pure" Christmas (and let's not forget that the original Puritans actually outlawed the celebration of Christmas).

I suppose the happy medium might come when our celebrations remain something other than a way of "consuming" Christmas and serve more as a kind of holy connection to the past and the future of life.  When that occurs, maybe we are experiencing a kind of sanctified moment, when the Advent of Jesus into the world meets the second Advent of preparation for his return.  In this, perhaps, is holiness.

Thankful for You

If you're a Facebook user, most likely you have noticed some of your friends taking time each day in November to name something for which they are thankful.  I have enjoyed reading these reflections, and it has led me to do some thankful reflection as well.  Thanksgiving is on November 22 this year, and so I would like to offer twenty-two things about First Presbyterian Church for which I am grateful (these are not in order of importance, just a random numbering).

1.  For a history of outreach and mission that understands the role of the church to be beyond our walls and in the world.

2.  For genuine relationships of support, laughter, and care.  People are encouraged to be themselves at FPC, and I am so grateful for that.

3.  For a committed staff who see their roles as part of the mission of God.  Their dedication, reliability, passion for their work, and cooperative spirit help us worship and service and learn with greater effectiveness.

4.  For the great storytellers who help us remember the stories of our church family.

5.  For a music program that engages all ages and uses a variety of gifts to lift our hearts to the heavens in worship.  Our music truly helps to illumine God's word to us each week.

6.  For members who quietly clean the sanctuary, organize the pencils, gather the sign-in sheets, and ensure our worship space is welcoming week to week.

7.  For Family Night Suppers where I get to indulge in many foods we never eat at our own house because of Rebecca's food preferences.  I particularly enjoy the deviled eggs, baked beans, potato salad, and corn bread!

8.  For a congregation willing to learn new songs, preach to each other during sermons, and easily forgive mishaps in worship!

9.  For the stomping of preschool feet above my head in the church office on Sundays as our children actively engage in God's word

10. For stories of second chances, fresh starts, and lasting forgiveness I have the privilege to listen to

11. For readers and learners who challenge me to keep up with my own study

12. For a session who remains diligent in their work and who seek God's will above all else.  These dedicated disciples are wonderful leaders who continually teach me so much.

13. For congregational mentors who gently keep me in line, who remember that a pastor has as much to learn as to teach

14. For new faces in worship and study and service as our community of faith continues to grow

15. For the "resurrection" stained glass window in the sanctuary above the narthex, that reminds me at the beginning of each worship service of the Good News we gather to celebrate and proclaim

16. For those who make sure our homebound members feel part of our community of faith by taking them recordings of the worship services and visiting them, making them care packages and holiday greetings

17. For the quietly generous who seek to give to God without a desire for recognition and praise.  You humble me and strengthen my faith in the ongoing work of the Holy Spirit.

18. For those who make sure our website is up-to-date and interactive for visitors and members to get and stay connected

19. For the extended families that form among our members.  At this time of year I celebrate the stories I'm hearing of church members who aren't near family getting together with each other to celebrate Thanksgiving.  That's genuine community.

20. For the stories you share about times when you have seen God in your life.  These stories lift my soul and give me great hope.  The ability for some to see God in the midst of trial and suffering is amazingly powerful.

21. For baptisms when we see so clearly the extravagent love and grace of God for us.

22. For funerals (I know that may sound strange) when we sing for joy in the face of death and gather as a community to declare our ultimate hope in Jesus Christ.

Those are some of things I thank God for about First Presbyterian Church.  It can be so easy to miss those little things that give our life meaning and remind us of God's presence.  I hope you find some time to reflect on the blessings of God in your life in this week.  Happy Thanksgiving!

What We Say with Our Eyes Closed

There have been many thoughtful reflections on what exactly happens when we pray.  Theologians have described prayer as both intiated by God (the work of the Spirit moving us to pray), as a holy reverence with God, as a wrestling with God, as a bold crying out, as a listening.  When we try to pray with intention we are often left wondering if God really needs our prayers if God is truly soveriegn.  Do our prayers affect God or are our prayers an intentional opportunity for God to change us?

These are good reflections for which I do not have an answer.  I often wonder what it is that is happening when I pray with members of our church in their homes or in the hospital or at the nursing home.  What exactly are we doing in those moments of lonliness or fear, joy or anxiety?

Words are insufficient, I suppose, for what really happens in prayer (the apostle Paul speaks of prayer as sighs too deep for words), but I can affirm something does happen.  At the very least, I feel that when we pray for one another aloud, we are often willing to place before God those things that we hesitate to name when speaking face to face.  We bow our heads, close our eyes, and open our mouths in an unusual honesty.  It is almost as God serves as an intermediary between those gathered, allowing us to speak the truth of our heart.

Sometimes this honesty comes out in terms of gratitude, as happened at our session meeting on Tuesday night.  To close our meeting we gathered around our outgoing class of elders, laid hands on them and offered to God our thanksgiving for the gifts these women and men have brought to our church over the last year.  Many of the elders shared their gratefulness of the unique gifts of the outgoing class of elders, traits for Christian leadership they had experienced through the ministry of these people, and I wonder if in a face-to-face encounter we would have had the courage offer those thankful words.

Before God, though, we are willing to express our sincere gratitude.

In prayer, do we find a deeper courage to speak the truth that we might gloss over in regular conversation, striving to name a pain or a longing or a hope I have heard in the midst of an encounter or conversation?  When others ask us to pray for them, is there some longing of their heart they desire to articulate but they need another to help name?  Maybe there is.  Maybe it is simply a desire to know they are not alone in the struggle.  Maybe they hope that by sharing and praying they can find a meaning in the midst of chaos.

And with our eyes closed and our hands held, maybe we can name before God the truth of our hearts, which brings us into deeper communion with each other as well.

For All the Saints

I believe, for many of us, we fear death not because of our inability to know what happens beyond the grave but simply because we fear that we will be forgotten, that our lives will have been of no consequence.  If we as individuals do not feel this way, often our immediate families do.  This anxiety often leads us to establish some kind of memorials in the names of ourselves or those we have loved and lost.  We give something in their memory that will bear their name; we establish a fund for a good cause that will guaruntee that they name will not be lost forever; we try and purchase a beautiful headstone with the name deeply engraved to ensure it will mark the place of our loved one through many years.

But when we are our most honest, we come to a realization that unless we are Julius Caesar or King Tut, very few of us will be remembered beyond a couple of generations after our deaths.  Even if we have memorials established in our name, the stories of our lives, the content of our character, will be lost as those who knew us become the past themselves.

I think about this when I walk through our church sanctuary.  Inside the frame of each window in the sanctuary are small gold plaques, naming those for whom each window was given.  Some were honorariums for the living, others were memorials to the dead.  They mark the place of these saints in our community through the ages.

Yet, for many of the names, I know nothing of their story.  A few I have heard about from our current church members, but none of them did I know personally.  I wonder if, in a couple of generations, anyone will remember these saints memorialized in these small gold carvings.

On All Saints Day, which we will celebrate on Sunday, we remember the saints who have died during the last year.  We speak their names aloud to God and ring a bell of remembrance.  Many of these saints remain fresh in our memories and will be spoken of for years to come.  Over time, however, as we grow old, and after our names have been read between the tolling of the bells, these names too will be forgotten.

There is a comfort, though, to be taken in all of this.  While our efforts to memorialize ourselves may always fall short, and while we will most likely not be remembered one hundred years after our deaths, we can remember that our names are remembered before God.  The psalmist sings to God, "You know my inmost parts... Your eyes beheld my unformed substance.  In your book were written all the days that were formed for me, when none of them as yet existed" (Psalm 139:13-16).  Jesus declares that God knows us so intimately and cares for us so fully that even the hairs of our head are numbered (Matthew 10:31).

We remember the saints annually by name, and those who have died in years past remain in our hearts.  But in God's heart are all the saints, those whose names are foreign to us, those whose headstones have weathered away through baking heat and driving rains.  We cannot possibly memorialize and honor all those who have died, but on All Saints Day we celebrate that we are not called to do that.  We are called to honor the God of our life and our death, before whom our names and our lives remain ever-present.  Let us celebrate this God who knows each of us intimately and remembers our names, long after our earthly journey has concluded.