I turn forty in about three weeks. I'm not one for milestones. It shouldn't affect me at all.
But it has gotten me thinking about seasons of life. When I was a young adult starting out, I was very idealistic. I was idealistic about myself, about God, about marriage and family, about the church, about what could be done to make the world better.
Life will not conform to my ideals. I can't conform to my ideals. Everything fails. I have always failed to be who I wanted to be. God failed me--God did not fail himself, of course. And God did not fail me, truly, because what I expected of God was not what God truly promised. But God certainly failed to be what I thought God would be for me.
The disappointment of unrealistic expectations failing to be met is the source of cynicism. It's the root of all the belly-aching about the church, about the denomination, sideways cracks about spouses and children, putting on a happy face when something inside is cracked like an unseen broken foundation. I think, for many of us, our thirties is a cynical decade. My generation is certainly a cynical generation. We kinda knew all along we were being lied to.
What comes next?
Love. Love is about something real, not an ideal. I've learned to love the local church for what it is, not what I want it to be. I don't ever expect it to be the ideal. I love it just like it is and do my best to help it be the best it can be for what it is. My parents and siblings, same way. Marriage and family, too, though that's harder. I've got a long, long, way to go to have love for myself as I am. God's in the same category.
It takes lots of years of going to God every day and being healed from our disappointment to learn to love.
Tuesday, October 7, 2014
Monday, September 15, 2014
A Prayer Concerning Forgiveness (based on Matt. 18:15-35: "how many times should I forgive?")
Holy God:
We have come to your house to meet with you, to learn from you, to be your people together. We have taken your name, we have accepted your call.
You have given us life, you have given us ourselves, and so we belong to you. You have made us in your image and likeness, shed your blood for our redemption, and so your have given yourself to us. Each of us is a carrier of your glory, though we often fail to see your refleciton in ourselves and each other.
For, we confess before you, we are broken. We are broken by what we have done to ourselves. We are broken by what has been done to us.
Some of the actions that have broken us are exteme and horrific. But most of them are petty and largely insignificant. We have made them significant because we have held on to them. We have allowed the harm done to us to define us. We have held to offenses as if they were our best friends. We have sometimes traded friendship for the love of a grudge.
Holy God, allow us to be recipients today of your amazing grace. Allow us to receive the reality of your forgiveness. Wash us from every stain, cleanse us from every memory of our brokenness begin expressed in behavior that makes us ashamed. Your steadfast love endures forever. May we finally see your mercy outlive our unwillingness to accept your forgiveness.
As freely as we have received, may we freely give forgiveness and grace. Those who have harmed us do not deserve to be forgiven. No matter. We do not deserve forgiveness either, but you freely forgive us. Those who we have no desire to forgive do not understand the depth of the harm they have caused us. No matter. We do not understand the consequences of the harm we’ve caused, either. And yet, you forgive us.
So Lord, let today be a day of healing. Help us, through the grace we have received, to finally let it go. To finally be free. To finally live in joy. To finally live together as you intended. To finally live in the peace that the death of your Son and the giving of the Spirit in the church promised.
Amen.
Thursday, August 21, 2014
Pastoral Prayer 21 August 2014
Holy God:
We come to you with hearts seeking your help and seeking your way. In the midst of a world full of concerns, we cry out to you. As we watch troubles spring up in Iraq, Syria, Israel/Palestine, and even in Ferguson MO, we wonder how we may find peace. We have varying opinions about the issues that have caused violence and conflict in many places. What we can agree about is our own inadequacy to bring peace and stability to our world.
Forgive us, Lord, for we easily take sides. We easily assign blame. We easily decide that the people we support are fighting for good and would establish good if they would prevail in the struggle. We easily condemn the others, we easily close our hearts to their concerns and their trials. We easily categorize people as the right people and the wrong people.
We forget that all people are in the same category in your eyes: Precious and beloved, made in your image and likeness, worthy of the sacrifice of your son. And yet, all are fallen, sinful, deluded, and destructive to themselves and others. We are all the problem and we are all the solution. We are all the good guys and we are all the bad guys. We are all the object of your compassion and of your judgement. We are all desperately in need of your love and grace, especially those who don’t fully realize it.
Have mercy on US. Have mercy on all of us and each of us. Have mercy on our world. Have mercy on me. Hear our cries. Set us free. Set us free from ourselves. Heal us and deliver us.
Amen
Saturday, August 16, 2014
Father, Forgive Us For We Know Not What We Do
God our only Hope:
You sent your Son to redeem us. We killed Him. As He died, He offered us grace: "Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do."
The religious authorities who asked for his death didn't know what they were doing. They thought they were doing right. They thought they were defending you, defending your honor, protecting your holy faith, protecting your holy place, protecting your people from a dangerous heretic. In their own minds and hearts, they were making a difficult but necessary choice. They were murdering their Messiah. They didn't know.
The Romans who executed him didn't know what they were doing. They thought they were serving their nation, the greatest nation on earth. War is ugly, and insurgents on the other side of the globe needed to be contained to avoid compromising national security. They thought they were serving faithfully, risking their lives as they left families and comfort a world apart in sacrificial service to an important cause. But they were murdering the Son of God. They didn't know.
Today, our world is spiraling out of control. We are taking it apart with our own hands in our effort to do what we think is right. Forgive us. We don't know what we are doing.
Iraqi Islamicists think they are serving you. They think they are working for a day when your word will bring peace and stability to their culture. They think they are driving false doctrine and heresy from the land. They think they are creating a nation that needs no longer be rent apart by civil strife because they are making a land in which everyone agrees. They know it will be ugly for a time, but it will be worth it eventually, they tell themselves. So they murder Christians. And Muslims who think differently than themselves. They drive entire people groups into hiding in the mountains. They draw blood and tears. They destroy those who were made in your image and likeness. They think they are serving you. Forgive them, for they don't know what they do.
Palestinians have been pushed to the brink, huddled in encampments, starved and harassed. They push for dignity. They fight with desperation of one shoved into a corner. Many are Christians, afraid that the faith of our Lord is being systematically driven out of the land of His birth, even as we, their brothers and sisters in Christ around the world, ignore their plight. So they send rockets into general population centers. They see their effort as self-protection. But they invite uneven reprisal. They have no good answers, so they choose poorly. They play into the cycle of escalating recrimination. The tears of grieving Jewish mothers do not bring the end of the tears of grieving Palestinian mothers. They think they are doing all that they can do. Forgive them, for they know not what they do.
Israelis have lived in the shadow of violence as long as they can remember. Their nation was borne from the world's horror over the genocide of the holocaust. They have been threatened by their neighbors with extinction. They have combatted terrorism in their neighborhoods. And so, they think they are defending themselves, and You, and their destiny, and the dream they believe was born from Your heart. You have chosen them. Yet you have not chosen them merely to survive. You have chosen them to do justice, to treat the stranger as their brother. They think they are doing your will, serving You, serving Your cause. But they have forgotten that the Gentile, the Muslim Palestinian, the Christian Palestinian, was made in Your image, that Abraham's children were blessed so that they might bless every nation, even the hostile nation, even the enemy. Jesus knew. He said so. They didn't understand. They still don't. Forgive them. They don't know what they do.
Fearful young men in Missouri think they are doing what needs to be done. They think they are showing courage, putting themselves in harm's way, showing strength to bring right in a world full of wrong.
Some of these fearful young men are police officers. They see crime and the potential of crime in decayed neighborhoods. They think that if they act tough, if they show no weakness, if they intimidate potential criminals, they will keep troublemakers in line. They think that if they stop and frisk, if they follow suspicious looking kids around, if they check into sketchy situations, then the good kids will understand and the bad ones will be warned or even deterred. They think they are protecting and serving. They can't understand how it feels to be a suspect because of the accident of the situation of one's birth. They can't see that each person they harass is made in the image and likeness of God, that treating them like criminals when they've done no wrong humiliates them, crushes their spirit, ignites a simmering rage, diminishes their sense that they are infinitely more precious in the sight of God than in the fearful eyes of our culture. Those fearful angry young officers think they are serving the public. They forget that young black men are the public. Forgive them, Father, for they know not what they do.
Some of these fearful young men are the ones clashing with police into the early hours of the morning, the few violent protestors among almost entirely peaceful demonstrators. They think that mayhem and the expression of anger will draw attention to their cause. They think that they will scare the world into bringing them justice. They think that if the world sees the hate that they have learned through a lifetime of mistreatment, that the world will give them what they want and treat them differently. They are wrong. They do not know that the community they damage is their own, that their actions play into the very stereotypes that cause the world to see them not as precious human beings but as threats that need to be locked away. Forgive them, Father, for they know not what they do.
Vladimir Putin knows not what he does. Bashir Al-Assad knows not what he does. Wall Street tycoons, corrupt politicians, angry fundamentalist preachers, white supremacists, pornographers, felons, abusive prison staff, over-aggressive prosecutors and ambulance chasers, lazy religious bureaucrats and relentless religious entrepreneurs. All convinced they are the good guys. All breeding chaos and crushing the human spirit. All crucifying you again. Father forgive them for they know not what they do.
I see the wrong in others. I can identify how they crucify you again. They can't. So, maybe just maybe, it's me crucifying you again. Maybe it's me who needs forgiveness, because maybe it's me who knows not what I do. Maybe it's me whose efforts to stem the tide of suffering and chaos are only making matters worse. Maybe it's my zeal that puts you on a cross.
Father, forgive me, for I know not what I do. Father, forgive us, for we know not what we do.
Amen.
You sent your Son to redeem us. We killed Him. As He died, He offered us grace: "Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do."
The religious authorities who asked for his death didn't know what they were doing. They thought they were doing right. They thought they were defending you, defending your honor, protecting your holy faith, protecting your holy place, protecting your people from a dangerous heretic. In their own minds and hearts, they were making a difficult but necessary choice. They were murdering their Messiah. They didn't know.
The Romans who executed him didn't know what they were doing. They thought they were serving their nation, the greatest nation on earth. War is ugly, and insurgents on the other side of the globe needed to be contained to avoid compromising national security. They thought they were serving faithfully, risking their lives as they left families and comfort a world apart in sacrificial service to an important cause. But they were murdering the Son of God. They didn't know.
Today, our world is spiraling out of control. We are taking it apart with our own hands in our effort to do what we think is right. Forgive us. We don't know what we are doing.
Iraqi Islamicists think they are serving you. They think they are working for a day when your word will bring peace and stability to their culture. They think they are driving false doctrine and heresy from the land. They think they are creating a nation that needs no longer be rent apart by civil strife because they are making a land in which everyone agrees. They know it will be ugly for a time, but it will be worth it eventually, they tell themselves. So they murder Christians. And Muslims who think differently than themselves. They drive entire people groups into hiding in the mountains. They draw blood and tears. They destroy those who were made in your image and likeness. They think they are serving you. Forgive them, for they don't know what they do.
Palestinians have been pushed to the brink, huddled in encampments, starved and harassed. They push for dignity. They fight with desperation of one shoved into a corner. Many are Christians, afraid that the faith of our Lord is being systematically driven out of the land of His birth, even as we, their brothers and sisters in Christ around the world, ignore their plight. So they send rockets into general population centers. They see their effort as self-protection. But they invite uneven reprisal. They have no good answers, so they choose poorly. They play into the cycle of escalating recrimination. The tears of grieving Jewish mothers do not bring the end of the tears of grieving Palestinian mothers. They think they are doing all that they can do. Forgive them, for they know not what they do.
Israelis have lived in the shadow of violence as long as they can remember. Their nation was borne from the world's horror over the genocide of the holocaust. They have been threatened by their neighbors with extinction. They have combatted terrorism in their neighborhoods. And so, they think they are defending themselves, and You, and their destiny, and the dream they believe was born from Your heart. You have chosen them. Yet you have not chosen them merely to survive. You have chosen them to do justice, to treat the stranger as their brother. They think they are doing your will, serving You, serving Your cause. But they have forgotten that the Gentile, the Muslim Palestinian, the Christian Palestinian, was made in Your image, that Abraham's children were blessed so that they might bless every nation, even the hostile nation, even the enemy. Jesus knew. He said so. They didn't understand. They still don't. Forgive them. They don't know what they do.
Fearful young men in Missouri think they are doing what needs to be done. They think they are showing courage, putting themselves in harm's way, showing strength to bring right in a world full of wrong.
Some of these fearful young men are police officers. They see crime and the potential of crime in decayed neighborhoods. They think that if they act tough, if they show no weakness, if they intimidate potential criminals, they will keep troublemakers in line. They think that if they stop and frisk, if they follow suspicious looking kids around, if they check into sketchy situations, then the good kids will understand and the bad ones will be warned or even deterred. They think they are protecting and serving. They can't understand how it feels to be a suspect because of the accident of the situation of one's birth. They can't see that each person they harass is made in the image and likeness of God, that treating them like criminals when they've done no wrong humiliates them, crushes their spirit, ignites a simmering rage, diminishes their sense that they are infinitely more precious in the sight of God than in the fearful eyes of our culture. Those fearful angry young officers think they are serving the public. They forget that young black men are the public. Forgive them, Father, for they know not what they do.
Some of these fearful young men are the ones clashing with police into the early hours of the morning, the few violent protestors among almost entirely peaceful demonstrators. They think that mayhem and the expression of anger will draw attention to their cause. They think that they will scare the world into bringing them justice. They think that if the world sees the hate that they have learned through a lifetime of mistreatment, that the world will give them what they want and treat them differently. They are wrong. They do not know that the community they damage is their own, that their actions play into the very stereotypes that cause the world to see them not as precious human beings but as threats that need to be locked away. Forgive them, Father, for they know not what they do.
Vladimir Putin knows not what he does. Bashir Al-Assad knows not what he does. Wall Street tycoons, corrupt politicians, angry fundamentalist preachers, white supremacists, pornographers, felons, abusive prison staff, over-aggressive prosecutors and ambulance chasers, lazy religious bureaucrats and relentless religious entrepreneurs. All convinced they are the good guys. All breeding chaos and crushing the human spirit. All crucifying you again. Father forgive them for they know not what they do.
I see the wrong in others. I can identify how they crucify you again. They can't. So, maybe just maybe, it's me crucifying you again. Maybe it's me who needs forgiveness, because maybe it's me who knows not what I do. Maybe it's me whose efforts to stem the tide of suffering and chaos are only making matters worse. Maybe it's my zeal that puts you on a cross.
Father, forgive me, for I know not what I do. Father, forgive us, for we know not what we do.
Amen.
Monday, July 28, 2014
Pastoral Prayer based on the Parable of the Mustard Seed (Matt. 13:31-33, July 27, 2014)
Holy God:
We thank you for your grandeur, your majesty. We thank you for your great love, which is wider than the oceans, deeper than the seas, more vast than all of the universe. You are God, Lord of all, knower of all that can be known, sovereign over all things, creator, sustainer, redeemer.
We love to think of you as being a big God, for we like big things, and we love to think of a big God being our God. We like to feel big, to be a part of a big country with lots of money and power. We like to build big things, to drive big cars on big roads, to live in big houses, to feel as if our influence and our name are big. We are impressed by big people, big stadiums, big lights, big events. We have been taught to dream big dreams and to pursue big goals. We shy away from things that seem small, or poor, or insignificant, or unambitious. We have seen a lot and we are hard to impress.
You are bigger than all we can imagine, and you certainly could choose to do things in big ways and to use the kinds of big things we so admire. And yet, you chose small and insignificant things to show your heart. You could have sent your son to be born into Rome with its great big empire and far reaching influence, and yet you chose for him to be born into tiny little Nazareth. You could have chosen Egypt with its great big pyramids, and yet you chose Abraham and his little family. You could have chosen the wisdom of the Greeks, yet you chose the folly of an incorrigible clan of wilderness wanderers.
You told us to have the faith of a mustard seed--small faith. But we want to believe big. We want big faith. We want to see miracles and dramatic changes. We want to see the nations won to Christ, but we overlook the people in our house. We want to have hearts purified to be completely given to you, but we don’t want to whisper a halting desperate prayer. We want to build a great church, but we easily overlook our brother and sister before us. We want big faith. You have only offered us small faith.
We mustard seed is easy to drop, easy to lose, easy to miss. We miss it again and again.
Give us small faith. Give us humble hearts. Give us small vision, that what becomes may be great only because you have made it great because only you are truly grand.
Amen.
Sunday, June 8, 2014
Prayer for Pentecost On the Last Sunday in our Sanctuary
Holy God:
Our hearts are full today--a day that is bittersweet. We have gathered once again in this sacred space, a place of worship in which you have met us again and again. We have found your grace here. We have been family together here. We have mourned those who have died in the Lord, those now in your presence with whom we will be united, but we see no more. We have made promises to you at these altars and you have made promises to us. We have broken the bread and poured the wine, we have been nourished by your sacraments. We have laughed and danced and cried and sung. We have grown up here and grown old here. This place has been a spiritual home to us--You are our only home, and yet we have found you here, and so it feels so very much like home to us.
We celebrate that we will soon have a new place where new disciples will be made and new prayers prayed, where children will learn to love Jesus and where the Gospel will be proclaimed. A place where the scriptures will be read and understood and lived. A place for which we have given and sacrificed and labored and dreamed and fought.
But today, we remember. And we thank you. We thank you for our visionary forefathers and mothers who built this place so that we could be the people of God together here. We thank you for all who prayed and sweated and struggled to bring this place in to being for us, those who fixed and renovated and scrubbed and vacuumed this house that we might know your love when we arrived. We thank you for those who have walked the floor in prayer and worn out the kneeling cushions when no one was here, begging you that we might sense your touch and have our hearts transformed when we arrived for worship.
We thank you for all you will yet do in this place--For children and youth and adults who will first learn to love your name here. For water that will be poured for baptism, for bread broken to feed hungry souls. We ask you, Holy God, that you will do more in this room to draw your kingdom near in the next fifty years than you have done in the past fifty years.
Pour out your spirit today. Pour out your spirit in this place. Pour out your grace. Let us know your presence. May your church be born afresh. May we be empowered to go from this place with boldness, not in our own power, but powered by your spirit, to make disciples of all people.
Amen.
Monday, May 26, 2014
Prayer for Memorial Day
Holy God:
On this Memorial Day weekend, we confess that we have often turned the celebration of the day into a time of rest and recreation. While this is well and good, help is to avoid forgetting the meaning is the day.
As our nation begins to emerge from a time of protracted war, we take time to remember those who have paid the ultimate price for the sake of this nation, those who have given their lives on our behalf.
Our community has been touched by the loss of those who have died in battle. We ask that your healing balm would restore the broken hearts of their families. We ask also that you would touch with your mercy those who have been wounded in body and soul by the horror of war. Directly or indirectly, we are all victims of the greatest of human evils, so we ask for your mercy that we might all be made whole.
We remember also that you have made your people into an army fighting evil, injustice and oppression in whatever forms they present themselves. Many have given their lives and are currently dying on behalf of their testimony for the Prince of Peace.
So on this Memorial Day, help us to recommit to your fight, a battle in which our weapons are those our Lord employed, and the only weapons he offers us, the weapons of self-sacrificial love service and unshakeable allegiance to our humble king.
We recommit ourselves to your vision of a peaceable kingdom in which nation will not rise against nation and neither will they learn war anymore. We ask your grace for the conviction to fight for love, to battle against hatred and misunderstanding, to offer our lives for reconciliation and the conquest of the Gospel alone.
Above all, on this Memorial Day, we remember the one who died for us all, who fought for our redemption, who died that we might have abundant life, that the kingdoms of this world might become the kingdoms of our God and king.
Help us to remember. Help us to be true to the example he set. Help us to live and die for the purpose for which he gave his life.
Amen
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