This was the first image that greeted us on the way into the Portland Convention Center. Don’t get me wrong, I’m thankful for The Home Depot for sponsoring the Wi-Fi but you can see around the corner the beginnings of a banner procliaming what we can do, United.

The first Day of General Conference was slow–familiarize self with the Convention Center and Portland in general, read up on the mass transit system (so as not to look entirely like a tourist), and grab credentials. Beyond that, it was good to catch-up and see friends from across our global connection. Standing in the registration hall, it feels like a big homecoming. Hugs are shared, introductions are made, people whom your only prior connection has been social media are made in person, and you even geek out a little seeing some of the United Methodits who have great cache in the press and in social media.

As you walked around and listened to folks, one of the more reoccurring statements made is that people are anxious. I do not sense the joyous anticipation that I saw in Tampa (reserve delegate) or Ft. Worth (marshal). That observation spans the various theological, age, regional, and political spectra. It could be all the posturing that the various caucus groups have done–social media, statements, informal pre-meetings, and the like. This morning, I pray that as we begin with our Opening  Worship, the Spirit might move so that we might be renewed and catch a vision of what God wants to do through the United Methodist Church.

Important Stats:

• Steps Walked: 24,003
• Coffee shops on the way to Convention Center: 5
• Man Buns seen (per Dalton Rushing): 7

So here I am, sitting in the airport, waiting for time to board the plane to Portland. It’s been a hectic few weeks finding myself to this seat. From the announcement that the pastoral transition for New Church’s vital merger would happen this year (instead of next), processing all that–both personally and with parishioners, having the continue to lead a church in a transition, leading through some pretty significant property issues, my child finishing 1st grade, my wife’s 40th birthday, Mother’s Day, attending an on-boarding session for my new appointment, driving to Birmingham for my cousin’s Senior Voice Recital (a 3 year graduate of Birmingham-Southern College!), and having to be driver/ family rep when my uncle had a medical emergency, I’m not sure which event was the one that put me over. That said, for the frenzy of a modern-day airport to be a welcome respite, that’s saying something!

With all this activity, I haven’t really processed that it’s all about to begin–the early mornings, the long  days, the passionate lobbying, the excellent worship, the politicking and posturing, nights of little sleep and looking out for the gracious movement of the Spirit. Oh, I’ve read up on all the reports our delegation wrote. I’m even rather well-versed in the petitions and reports for the committee I’m sitting in on (Financial Administration). I hope I can help out the two North Georgia members of that committee.

Although the well-known and time-tested caucuses are already present in Portland and waiting on us, I’m not really despondent that we’ll get “stuck”. I wrote on this blog 4 years ago and I’ll reiterate now, the frustration coming out of GC 2012 in Tampa of our own making. We have a process in place and the process generated the outcome congruent with its’ construct. The denomination couldn’t agree about much, so not much happened. The folks who were frustrated by the actions of our Judicial Council should remember our denominational constitution and how it functions.

I am hopeful as I ready to board the plane. No, there’s no grand Towers-Watson report and no Interim Operations Team pre-figuring how delegates will vote. I pray that the lesson learned from that failed yet well-crafted, well-messaged process is not to take everything underground and surprise the delegates. Yes, there’s Plan UMC-R. It might not be perfect–in fact it might have some significant flaws–but we as a denomination have to find ways to become more nimble. So we need to listen to that report. There’s many petitions around what it means to be a church with global scope and yet most of the denominational energy is focused on the United States–where the vast lion’s share of denominational funding originates.

There’s piles of petitions about human sexuality. And it seems that everyone’s minds made up. No one is listening. I find this very frustrating. I’m almost to the point of wanting to see what would happen if we suspended the rules, pulled the petitions on the main floor the first day, and voted on each with out debate.  That would not honor the hard work people have put into this next fortnight. And, more than that, it would not give space for the Spirit to move.

There’s also this “Rule 44” thing. It’s an alternative discernment process that takes petitions out of our usual processing following our take on Robert’s Rules of Order, and asks the body to deliberate them in a very different fashion. I’m torn on this one. On the one hand, I’m a process guy. And if we have an agreed-to process we ought to follow it. That said, like many, I recognize we got stuck at our 2012 General Conference. We stopped listening. Imagination ceased. People scrambled for their win. Maybe Rule 44 isn’t the right step forward but we better heed well the advice to try something different so that we can move forward as Christ’s Church. I know I don’t walk away tired and frustrated on May 21. I don’t think anyone else wants that, either.

So pray, friends. I am. Pray that the 2016 General Conference might listen to the Spirit, might be faithful to the task of ministry that ultimately is before all United Methodists, and that we might walk away renewed, strengthened, and inspired.

Luke 9:28-37 

Have any of you read the book or seen the movie, A Walk in the Woods?” I read the book years ago, but I go reacquainted with the story when I watched the movie while on one of the planes I took to Manila. The movie was filmed here in Georgia. The movie and book, in typical Bill Bryson fashion, humorously recounts truths that we know and know well—in this case, we all share in the truth that whenever we go on a journey, especially an intentional one, we come out on the far side different in some ways. 

I think this can be true for an attempted through hike of the Appalachian Trail that teaches both humility and a respect for Creation. It can be true for anyone who has ever been on a Pilgrimage to Israel/ Palestine and stood in the places where Jesus stood, worshipped in the places associated with the very reason for the church existing. It can be true for anyone who have ever been part of a mission trip, or backpacked through Europe with a healthy sense of adventure and an openness to newness. It can be true for anyone that has gone on a silent retreat out at Monastery of the Holy Spirit, seeking God’s guidance. 

It can even be true for a group of people—a congregation seeking the best way to be faithful to the call and mission of Jesus.  

Changed. New. Different. 

We’ve been using these words a lot over the past two years. We’ve had meetings. We’ve prayed. We’ve shade-treed. We’ve consternated. We’ve made well-informed, prayer-infused decisions. Much work has been done. And indeed, two weeks into this new church, where we’re in an in-between time or a “not quite yet” time, maybe we feel like we’ve been to the mountain and now we’re climbing down, back into normal.  

Or…. maybe it doesn’t feel that different, yet. Or, maybe we, too, are like those apostles—weary, tired, and all they wanted was rest. We want rest. They had traveled far. We’ve traveled far. They did much good, offering hope, offering grace, inviting all to live fully into God’s Kingdom. We engage in acts of piety and charity (to use the words of Wesley) on a regular basis. 

There might be a great temptation to say, “Just let me rest for a little bit. I’ll catch up.” Or it might be alluring to say, much like the disciples on the mountain top with Christ, “this is good. Let us build tabernacles and stay where we are right now.” Remember that was not as much as statement of physical location than it was one of spiritual location. 

Let’s consider a different lens on this story. Let me suggest that maybe we use a different part of the Disciples’ journey with Jesus. Much like Bryson and Katz thought they were way far down the trail when, in fact, there was much more to explore than they already had, there’s so much more God has in store for us. 

We’re awaiting experiencing Jesus’ transfiguration ourselves. We’ve done good in Jesus’ name. We’ve spent this season being pulled aside with Jesus to pray and discern. And we expect to experience what Peter, James, and John did—Jesus with light pouring out of him. Scary? Sure. Inspiring? Definitely! To be bathed in the light, in the Holy…. to be in a place where the distance between the physical and spiritual—between heaven and earth—is razor-thin…. these are amazing, profound, deeply meaningful moments. We come away from those moments changed, maybe even glowing with a little residual light, ourselves. 

We’re in the process of being changed. Transformed. Bryson had the sense to take his journey with “Katz”…. That it makes more sense to travel together than alone. And Jesus did not take Peter, James and John up the mountain individually. They went together. And it was good. For conversation, for contrast, for accountability, and for the sheer fact of a reality check.  

But, just like the Disciples who (as much as they wanted to), could not stay in that comfortable place, we cannot stay here, either. We cannot stay on the mountain. We cannot stay in this in-between time where we anticipate change but we don’t yet fully live into it. Yes, while we are in this moment, abide fully. Feel God’s presence, rest in the warmth of the light, and know that, ultimately, this Jesus is the one who is shining the light show us the way forward. But also know that as we journey forward, we are changed… changed by the light of Christ… changed for better and for good… and changed in a way that equips us for what’s next.  

 As we come down the mountain and roll our sleeves back up, following Jesus, feeding the hungry, healing the sick, offering hope in real and tangible ways to those who have lost sight or don’t even know that they need it. We do this with new energy. We do this having experienced something profound, that we can’t quite name but that won’t let go of us. We go forward, with our exhaustion replaced by a renewed vigor to proclaim Good News and to be laser-focused on following after Jesus and living into the mission of Jesus. 

Journeys of all sorts—it doesn’t matter how much we plan– always seem to have unexpected events. A delayed flight. Getting lost. Traffic. Or maybe, you’ve been changed in a way you didn’t expect. Traveling alone and experiencing hospitality, having an experience that helped you see the world in a different way. That’s one of things that happened to me in Manila. I’m pretty skeptical—who knows, maybe cynical, even—about churches and mission trips. The book Toxic Charity simply stated in an articulate fashion many of the thoughts I held on the endeavor. But with David’s stories about the work in the Philippines, I was willing to give it a chance. And I was changed. The assumptions that I held have been challenged and proved wrong, at least in this context. Maybe I’ve been too harsh. Maybe I used the “I don’t want to create a co-dependent relationship” or “mission trips are simply church-sponsored tourism” as an excuse. David is right, the work the United Methodist Church in the Philippines does stands in the legacy of the work Wesley did with the working classes in an industrializing Britain. The ministry and people I experienced is good work. Lives are changed. The Gospel is proclaimed. 

If we open ourselves to the Spirit’s guidance along the journey, who knows how our thoughts, opinions, and perspectives on ministry, community, and people might be transformed. 

After parallel Church Conferences presided over by our District Superintendent, we’ve got a new church on our hands.

It’s an end. It is a beginning.

It’s holding out an open hand in the name of hope, an opportunity for new life.

It’s trust.

For all the lay folk, staff and my fellow clergy who have worked so diligently, I’m grateful. For all who have prayed that God’s will be done in this process, thank you. 

Now, rest. The work begins anew tomorrow. 

Always beginning again. I guess it confirms I am a Benedictine at heart.

Maybe it’s just that my body is stuck somewhere between Filipino time and Eastern time.

Maybe it’s the snow… or the lack thereof.

But I’m feeling a lot today.

This feels very similar to the day before my daughter was born. I’m full of anticipation. I’m full of emotions. Thoughts of all the possibilities run before me. I know, one way or another, my vocational life will dramatically change tomorrow. And it is completely out of my hands. This church that I serve, these people that I love and esteem, face a big decision.

Tomorrow is a monumental day in the life of two United Methodist congregations. They are choosing whether they will embrace hope, newness, and possibility. They are choosing whether they will have a collective part in the life of the church in intown Atlanta. They are choosing to place people before bricks and mortar. But they are also choosing to say goodbye to much that is familiar, comfortable patterns, and the predictability that comes with inhabiting a community alongside the same people. Those competing emotions are difficult to hold together or reconcile.

What they take with them is the Spirit’s abiding presence, a gracious demeanor, a desire to live into God’s beloved community, and a desire to make an impact in the lives of people in intown Atlanta. They hold close the dreams of those who came before them, hoping to live them out in ways no one but God has yet to dream. Regardless of what choice they make tomorrow, I am proud of them for even considering such a bold risk. I am honored to be their pastor.

There have been many moments along the past two years that can only be described as either serendipitous or providential. There have also been the all too human moments–disappointments, boiled-over anxiety, frustration. But here we are. By this time tomorrow, they’ll know what direction they are going to live out their common life and I’ll know how I’ll need to lead.

I covet your prayers. For myself, my family, Christ’s Church, for these two congregations, and for our city.

One of the upsides (or downsides, depending on perspective) of being a movie lover is that many occasions in life are paired with an accompanying sound track—either live or in my head. I have my favorites playlist for Christmas. I have a playlist for when I’m heading out on vacation (our whole family has a playlist for when we’re heading to Disney). I even have a soundtrack that goes through my head for All Saint’s Day. For All the Saints comes to mind, as does Blest Are They—especially the refrain. But the one that comes back to me frequently is Empty Chairs at Empty Tables from Les Miserables. Its after the crescendo of activity at the barricade. Here’s the hero, in the same room where they felt like nothing could stop them, but instead of a room full celebrating victory, the room is empty and he is missing his friends. This year, this song is poignant to me.

While we haven’t had any deaths of parishioners to remember to each other and remember to God, many of us have lost loved one. Family members have passed. Friends have died. And we remain, still running our course, still full of hope. I know this morning I’m feeling the absence of my friend, The Reverend Chris Carlton, who died this past January. There’s not a clergy meeting that I have been to this year where I did not feel his absence. On more than one occasion, I’ve wanted to seek his council. And I can’t. This is no a singular experience. Many who have lost a loved one, either this year or in prior years, know well the empty chairs in their life and can name a loved one whose seat does not get filled—either today, sitting in a pew in this or another place or the empty chairs that will be around the table at Thanksgiving or Christmas this year.

There’s not a Monday that goes by when I do not miss Gene Gibson coming in to my office to give me grief about how I made the coffee too strong.

As we look around this big, sprawling sanctuary we know well the names associated with empty pews. I know the pew cushions on the first couple of rows were placed in memory of Kathleen Neal’s mother. Joyce Catrett told me about the row of ladies who for years sat beside each in the row in front of her, she recounted not only the story of their lives but the great attention to detail hose ladies placed upon their hairstyles.

I’m sure we could pause right here and spend the rest of the service telling stories and we would lose track of the time as we recount stories of devotion, of faithful ministries, & even of hilarious levity.

One of the other songs thats on my soundtrack for All Saints day is the song whose lyrics include “Oh may all who come behind us find us faithful”. Yes, the were penned by Steve Green, but I think there’s something here to pay attention to. We have a faith—many times deep and abiding, sometimes thin & wavering—but faith nonetheless because of those who shared the faith with us. Family members, Sunday School teachers, pastors, the usher who would always slip a peppermint to the kid as he was walking back up the aisle after the offering. The scout troop leader who devoted their time to the kid who direly needed positive role models.

Each can recount those who have shaped their faith today.

But I want us to imaginatively cast our vision to the future. Here, today, in 2015, each of us find ourselves in between times. And we wait—some actively, and some passively—until a new thing comes into being. We can affirm this on a grand scale in that we find ourselves waiting in the “in between” times of Jesus’ ascension and return. We know Jesus’ promises are true and there will a completion of things where all manner of things will be well. But until then—there’s still cancer; there’s still suicide; there’s still dementia; there’s birth defects. I was just telling someone Wednesday afternoon that at some point when I see St. Peter, I’m going to be asking why when it comes to things like cancer, depression, and dementia. Beyond these epic illnesses, there’s the simple reality that getting old is not for wimps—either for those who are maturing into the latter stages of life or for the friends and family members who accompany them. How we accompany one another, how we live, and how we find some way to lean into the mystery of God’s promise for life matters. These actions in these in between times speak t our faith and trust in God beyond our capacities

We can also talk about being in an in between time in a much more finite fashion. We, as a congregation, are in another, parallel, in between time. We know that the old ways of being is passing away. We also know that at some point in the future, a new life will emerge. And we profess this as a hopeful, ready to embrace statement of faith—not resignation. Daniel and Katie shared with me that one of the reasons we baptized Wyatt in this space, in this congregation is not so much the aesthetics, size, or anything else that has to do with this place but because they know the people who made their promise to guide Wyatt, to lead Wyatt and shape Wyatt’s faith are going to keep that promise in the next phase of life of this community of faith, regardless of street address, regardless of the name on the door. It makes me think of Jeremiah and his acre of land he bought–not as a foolish act but as a sign of hope.

We today, have this kind of hope to envision a bold, loving, progressive Christian faith lived out in love and service to our community only because this is how we have been brought up. We do this because countless sermons, Sunday School teachers, Vacation Bible Schools, pot luck suppers, mission trips, and Bible Studies have formed this community of Jesus followers.

My hope and my prayer is that in 50 years, those who will be gathering in the name of Jesus—our Spiritual grandchildren—will say about us, “can you believe it?” “Do you realize the bold step of faith—this crazy thing that they did way back 2015?” And in my best of dreams—the respondent says, “yes. Yes I can. You know why? Because wait until you hear this bold, faithful, creative way we’re about to be in ministry. You’re going to think I’m crazy because I know this will fail unless God somehow intervenes alongside us. Are you ready? Here’s what it is…..”

My profound thanks to The Rev. Dr. Don Saliers, Ms. Jennifer Roberts, The Rev. Dr. Rex Kaney, The Rev. Dr. Anne Burkholder, and The Rev. Dana Everhart for agreeing to help in such an endeavor. It was a splendid series and grateful to call us colleagues and friends. This, October 4th’s sermon, concludes the series.

John 21:9-14

We’ve spent the past five weeks asking the questions, “what’s communion all about”. Sure, its bread and its grape juice. Also, it the classic definition of a sacrament–an action of Christ that the Bible says he participated in. Over the generations, we’ve also affirmed that our experiences of Communion match the formula first penned by Augustine–an outward and visible sign of an inward and spiritual grace. In other words, in this tangible, simple act of eating a piece of bread dipped in a cup of grape juice, we have the potential to tap into something far deeper that these simple things would usually convey.

But to what end do we do this? Why?…. and not just “because Jesus said.”

I think it has to do with knowing and being known.

From the goofy name tags, “Hello. My name is…” to the now-ancient introduction of the mac and its goofy “Hello World”, it’s good to be known–and not in the sense of being a celebrity. I read somewhere that it is hard-wired into our brains to hear above the roar of voices in a crowd the sound of our name called. Likewise, parents respond physiologically differently to the sound of our own children’s cry, even in the midst of a room of crying children. There’s something hard-wired into us. When someone knows us… when someone needs us, we hear that above all us. There’s no greater form of hospitality than being known–that about how we feel “you remember MY name?” This is telling. I believe there’s no deeper desire to be known–to be recognized, called out by name, remembered, and loved.

When we come to the communion table, one of the central tenants of this meal is affirming that we are known by God. When we draw near, we embrace that we are not alone in this world, none of us. Jesus calls us by name and invites us to the table. We are called with all our gifts and dispositions, all our passions and frustrations, all our strengths and dark sides. We’re loved deeply. We’re known completely. Taken one way, we might think that is scary or unsettling. But this not something avoid. This is the ultimate “welcome home, y’all”. No matter who we are, what we’ve done or what we’ve left undone we are still called by name, welcomed, and loved.

Just as we are called by name–fully known–we also come to the table to know Christ. We come We recognize that the one who invites, the one who provides hospitality, the one who provides care, even the one who feeds is Jesus, the risen Christ. We meet Jesus, not face-to-face but in intimate and sometimes powerful ways.

The reason we have spent September focusing on the 4 actions that we do around the table has to do with memory and intimacy.

• take—receiving God’s goods gifts that have been freely given not from obligation but abundance, trusting these gifts to those whom God knows.;
• bless—thanking God for all that we receive (in abundant times, in lean times, in times of transition, in times of new life), knowing that all that we have comes from God’s goodness;
• break—hearing the invitation and the accompanying hard word that for us to join in Jesus’ ministry, for us to be of any worth to God’s kingdom, we need to be broken. Just as we can’t share a loaf of bread until it is torn into pieces, neither can we be of any use util we take seriously the call to give ourselves away in order to nourish a hurting world;
• share—an acknowledgement that what we have isn’t really ours at all—and definitely not ours to keep to ourselves. What we receive, we share. From the miracle of the feeding of the 5,000 to the Scripture lesson we read today, we share so that we might know deeper who Jesus is and others might know Jesus as well.

Do you remember Anne postulating that maybe the reason that the risen Jesus disappeared on the road to Emmaus was because he didn’t so much disappear as he was internalized—living in the hearts of those who would see, who would know Jesus. I think there’s something to this. When we gather at the table, we do meet the living Jesus. Sometimes its in the vein of a powerful religious experience and other times its something minute, sometimes Jesus is made known to us in the mundane.

We meet Jesus, here at the table, and in doing so, we enter the school of way Jesus ministers So we also meeting Jesus in other places.
When offer the cold cup of water to the sick, the homeless, the refugee, those in crisis, like those fleeing flooding in South Carolina.
When we invite hungry people to the meal–both the holy meal and to the meal that physically nourishes.
When we point people to light, and not just light the scatters the darkness but light the brings us hope—the kind of hope that reminds us “we’re not alone” and that “we’re not abandoned.”
When we meet Jesus when we visit those in jail–even those on death row. Look at the shortened life of our sister Kelly. Take about learning the ways of Jesus!
When we pray alongside those who are victims of injustice, and
When we light a candle remembering someone who died too early, like all those students in Oregon and all whom have been victims of gun violence.
We even meet Jesus in offering welcome into the family of God to a child. We meet Jesus by reminding each other… and beginning to remind Wyatt… that we are loved before we even know how to love. Today, this lovely child–whose parents and grandparents have journeyed with God, whom I love as if they are my own, and, more importantly, whom God loves because they are God’s own–this is what we proclaim to the world. This is what we re-tell to each other.

So… what happens when we come to this community, to this table? We are loved. Deeply and profoundly loved. And all we can do in response is to love.
Amen.