Well, there you have it.  Not that it's a surprise - we saw this coming.  But according to this recent survey, the largest religious segment in our country are those who claim no religion at all.  The data bears it out - Catholics make up 21% of the population, Protestants make up 33%, and the "nones" - those who affiliate with no religious structure or ideology - top things off at 34%.

Whether religion itself (or, to be specific, the way Americans embody it) has led us here, or whether this was bound to happen anyway, is beside the point.  This is where we are, and the question is, what should people of faith do about it?

Let me first suggest some things we should not do, because to some degree we've done them already, and they've proven themselves pretty darn ineffective, even counter-productive:

We should not beat these folks over the head with a religion they say they neither need nor want. 

We should not condescendingly quote to them scripture from a Bible they don't read.

We should not yell and scream, at them or at our own, about the fast-approaching end of the world and overall decline of society.

Those of us in the church should not think the church is dying.

We should not​ live in fear.

So now here's what we should do:

We should, first and foremost, listen.  Just listen.  We do a lot of talking, probably too much.  That's part of the problem.  Somewhere along the line we've come to think that giving the gift of our listening means we are saying we agree with what we are hearing.  But the two are mutually exclusive.  Now is time to listen.

We should assume a posture of humility.  As people who believe in an all-knowing, all-powerful God, we should never confuse ourselves with that and act as if we, too have all the answers or bear some greater importance.  The condescending schtick has done us no favors.  We need to drop it.

We should intentionally seek out dialogue with those who think or believe differently than we do, if for no other reason than to put into practice the previous two "shoulds".  Not to convince, cajole, or condemn; nor to see Nones as our untapped mission field.  Just to have a conversation.

For those in the church, we should take a hard look at the way Jesus lived his life and strive anew to follow his lead.  Jesus made a point of reaching out to people different from him, rather than perpetually remaining in his little enclave.  Jesus listened.  Jesus lived in humility and treated others with respect.  Jesus embodied radical hospitality.  Most of all, Jesus loved.  We need to do better with all of those things - a lot better.

And we should view the changing dynamics of our culture as an opportunity for the church, not the death of it.  It would be terribly presumptuous to think we could ever kill off something that God started anyway.  But more than that, we have a tremendous opportunity - one God has granted us, I believe - to get our house back in order.  To refocus on things Jesus would have us focus on - as the prophet Micah so eloquently put it, to do justice and love kindness and walk humbly with God.  Think of how different the church would look if we made a point of embodying just those three things.

Whether those in the now-largest religious segment in our society ever choose  to give the church a chance is not really the point.  The point - the hope -  is that they and others might at least look at those of us in the church and realize that we are, in fact, reflecting the Jesus we claim to believe and follow.  That in and of itself would be the mot important data point of them all.

us
all
together.
that is how
it once was. we
were gloriously different,
created that way, but that didn’t
bother us in the least because our
differences made us stronger. we talked
with each other, face to face. we listened to
each other, we learned from each other, we
were together and it was all very good. it was
exactly how it was supposed to be.

and then one day,
someone said, hey, you don’t look like me,
I’m the good one, you’re the bad one. and someone
else said, hey, you don’t think like I do. your story is not
my story, your god is not my god. I’m right, you’re wrong.
and when that started to happen, we began letting our
differences become barriers instead of bridges. so we learned
to be afraid of what we didn’t understand. and then someone posted
something on social media we didn’t like, and it made us angry. so
we shot back in the comments, because it’s always easier to do that
than have a reasonable conversation face-to-face. and we became more
afraid. and then one day we elected our fears, and it got harder and harder
to see all we had in common since they seemed intent on making the divides
greater.  and the divides have grown to the point where we react instead of reason,
where we see the worst in each other instead of the best, where we define ourselves
by who we are not instead of who we are. and in our better moments we try, we really
try to listen to each other because we know this is not who we were created to be, but honestly
it is so incredibly hard to actually hear what anyone says anymore because we are so very
far                                                                                                                                                     apart.

y'all...
so many storms brewing out there.
over oceans and onto land,
between these groups, with that nation,
so many storms.

when the winds whip into a frenzy - be kind to each another.
when rhetoric and talking points rise to a deafening howl - listen into the calm.
when the rains pound and waters rise - saturate the land with grace instead.
stand firm against the swell of injustice,
be strong in the call to love.

so many storms out there - 
be an unrelenting force of peace and goodwill
that seeks to calm the storms
in your world.

If you do Twitter, or if you keep your ear to the ground on churchy things, you may have heard about the hashtag #EmptyThePews.  As I understand, it initially began as way to create community for people who've been thinking about leaving evangelical churches that preach/teach hate or align themselves too cozily with power and privilege.  It has since evolved into a support group of sorts for anyone deeply hurt by toxic churches and in need of a place to share stories, vent and heal.

My first response was to throw myself into the conversation - to say I was very sorry,  that the kinds of things they had experienced were antithetical to Jesus' teachings, and that there were in fact good churches and pastors out there so that folks could #FindANewPew.  I even tweeted handles of pastor colleagues I know to be open/welcoming/affirming, encouraging the #EmptyThePews crowd to reach out if they felt so inclined.

I got a few snarky responses, as is the risk whenever you launch yourself into the Twitter-sphere.  In hindsight I realize that my enthusiasm may have been interpreted as, once again, churchy-types offering church as the answer to everything - which certainly wasn't my intention.  I begin wondering if I had made a mistake; that perhaps firing off a string of tweets may not have been the best way to go.

It was around that time that I received one response in particular - a string of them, actually, from the same person:

What struck me as I read T.S.'s tweets was the way she helped me better understand the community's purpose, what it's like for someone recovering from a toxic church, what my role in that could be (and not be), and what in the end we have in common - all with tremendous grace and authenticity.  Here was someone who had felt unwelcomed by the church, making a church person feel welcomed.  I responded with gratitude and thanks for not just what she shared, but how she shared it.
​
The next day, some guy caught the tail end of our exchange and started inquiring about the hashtag, but doing so with an air of condescension and more than a whiff of "if you just knew the real Jesus like I do, you'd be alright."  T.S. was tremendously patient with him - to the point where I was the one thinking, "come on, dude!"  In the end she brought closure to the conversation in a respectful manner I both admired and appreciated. 

I've been following the hashtag ever since.  Checking in on it here and there.  I continue to sit with the anger, the frustration, the hurt of these people.  And I'm learning to approach things differently, based on a few observations:  

First, I now see that this is a sacred space of sorts, although I'm not sure they would necessarily call it that. There is real pain and hurt out there that has been caused by churches, and these people need a place to gather, vent and heal. Because of that, they don't need me to contribute much to the conversation, if at all. What they need me to do is just listen.  And I am.

Second, it appears that most of these folks understand that not every Christian embraces harmful ideologies, and not all churches do the kinds of things that have caused them such deep pain. So they don't need me to keep differentiating myself.  But here's the thing - even so, I can't let myself off the hook. I still have to ask the hard question: whether I or my church/denomination have ever hurt people, intentionally or otherwise.  Chances are I/we have.  And that needs to be reckoned with.

Third, as moved as I've been by the grace I've received from T.S. and some others in the #EmptyThePews community, I've also been appalled by those who see this space as a place to full-on evangelize or, worse, further the kind of spiritual abuse and bashing/shaming that created the need for the hashtag in the first place (made even more painful by the recent release of the "Nashville Statement" that not only doubles-down on LGBTQ condemnation but also condemns non-LGBTQ folks who support LGBTQ people).  As a person of faith, this is embarrassing and disheartening.  It has not gone unnoticed on me that the ones behaving more "Christ-like" in these exchanges are often the ones who never plan on being part of a church or religion again.
​
If I am totally honest, there's a part of me that continues to hope those who #EmptyThePews eventually #FindANewPew, because I still believe very much in the church and its ability to embody the love and justice of Jesus and do good in the world.  And I know there are pastors out there, and their churches, who would love these people as they are and assist them in their healing, because we pastors talk often about this very thing.  But I also realize it would be wrong of me to impose that on someone just because it's been my experience, just because it's my creed.  As T.S. mentioned in the stream above, however these folks find their healing, it should be respected.  And I agree.  

Besides, there are other things the church should focus on beyond simply offering a seat on Sundays. We should first make sure that we align ourselves with the message of Jesus when it comes to how we treat ourselves and each other.  We should root ourselves firmly in love and resist any co-opting of our faith communities by the powers-that-be.  We should not be afraid to speak out when injustice occurs; when the voice and action of the church could really mean something.  In short, we should make sure our own house is in relatively good order, or at least strive to live in greater authenticity/humility/awareness.  Maybe if we were better at those things, people wouldn't be hurt and want to leave in the first place.

Thanks, #EmptyThePews, for helping me listen better.  I'm all ears.

Has it really been that long?

In many ways, it sure doesn't feel like it.  Seems like yesterday I "took a knee" at the front of the sanctuary of White Memorial Presbyterian Church in Raleigh and felt the hands touch my head and shoulders.  Aware of the closeness of the gathering, so many people in such immediate proximity.  My eyes were closed, so I really had no idea who all was up there.  But that was kind of the point, because the more important thing was that they all knew me.

I remember the ordination vows I took - that long string of "will you's" and "do you's" prescribed by the heralded Presbyterian Book of Order.  They seemed to go on forever.  In a weird way it reminded of the Kevin Bacon movie She's Having A Baby, where his character is getting married to Elizabeth McGovern's, and in his imagination the minister's standard "will thou have this woman to be your married wife" morphs into "will thou provide her with two weeks in the Bahamas, will thou try to remember the little things that mean so much like flowers on her anniversary, will thou be understanding when she is tired or has a headache, will thou listen patiently to long stories about kids with colds, will thou be not such a pig when you shave and shower......"

Kevin Bacon, with a deer-in-the-headlights look, nevertheless says, "I do."  As I said to the church twenty years ago. Which seems like yesterday.  Even though the actual twenty years of ministry feels like every bit of it.

And I mean that in a good way.  A great way.  I am humbled and amazed by the things I've been part of these past two decades simply by virtue of being a minister.  And the people who've graciously invited me into their lives - too many to count.  Three churches worth.  Inviting me into their sacred spaces over and over again: births, baptisms, confirmations, weddings, retirements, funerals.  And not just the huge events ensconced with ritual and remembrance.  There's also the side conversations in the church hallway, the quick text exchange, the chance interaction in the grocery aisle.  All of it, sacred and holy.

I've learned what people need most out of their minister - more than a good sermon, more than a great Bible study, more than set office hours or following proper protocol - is simply knowing their minister genuinely loves and cares for them and the rest of the flock.  And I've learned the value of being authentic.  When I started this journey I was worried I'd be pressured to fit a mold that didn't truly reflect the contour and symmetry of the person I was; that I would have to "play the part" of someone people wanted me to be.  What a relief to find out that what people really needed from me is just me as I am.  The best ministers I know are the ones who fiercely remain their most authentic selves.

I've experienced grace too many times to count, including people I've disappointed or inadvertently upset who nevertheless offer forgiveness and a second chance.  If you're one of those, thanks.  I've been inspired over and over again by lay church leaders who so willingly give of themselves, their time and talents and treasure, to further the church along in a turbulent world where the challenge of being church keeps growing even as the need for church keeps growing too.  And they do this in addition to the many other callings in their life.  At least with me it's my full-time job.  They do it on top of theirs.  I find that totally inspiring.

It's not always fun and games, of course.  Ministry is not for wimps.  You don't clock out of this gig at 5pm. There's always a sermon and worship liturgy waiting to be written; what a colleague of mind brilliantly refers to as "the relentless return of Sunday."   And I've had to deal with a few difficult people along the way, God bless 'em.  Ministry teaches you by its sheer force not to take yourself too seriously or too lightly; not to accept too much credit when things are going great, nor bear too much blame when things get rough.  It keeps you in check - and I'm grateful for that.

And how fitting it is that I'm observing my ordination anniversary in a place so formative to my faith.  As many times as I've been to Montreat, this is my first as a back-home leader with my church's youth group at the Montreat Youth Conference.  Years before I knelt on those steps at White Memorial, it was here at this conference where seeds were planted, seeds by the dozens that found fertile soil and room to grow.  I've been back to this valley dozens and dozens of times since, and the growing continues.
​
And the truth of the matter is that I wouldn't trade this gig for anything.  Because it's in my DNA.  I've grown into it as much as it's grown into me.  From time to time I've thought - just thought, I assure you - about what it would be like to have a "normal job," if there is such a thing.  And I keep coming up blank.  I honestly cannot picture doing anything else - which I guess in part is what it means to "be called" to ministry.

On that day twenty years ago when I was ordained as a Minister of the Word and Sacrament, on the day I said "I do" and "I will" to all those vows, there was one in particular I remembered specifically in the moment, and love to this day: Will you seek to serve the people with energy, intelligence, imagination, and love?

You bet. Count me in.

Now, time to go write a sermon.

Not quite a month ago I laced up the sneakers and took a long walk through Uptown Charlotte and beyond.  Nearly nine miles in total, traversing through dozens of neighborhoods, soaking in the myriad of sights and sounds.  I took some pics along the way and did a little blog post on the whole affair, which you can check out HERE.

This week I'm doing my standard #PastorSpringBreak after Easter and chose to do my second #QueenCityStroll today.  Gorgeous day for it - sunny and high 70's/low 80s.  This time I started at Presbyterian/Novant Hospital and headed into Uptown via Elizabeth St. Took a right on North Davidson St. and followed that all the way out to NoDa, a hip little community a few miles outside of Uptown.  After some lunch and visiting my cousin and his husband, I came back via Villa Heights and Plaza Midwood, on to Elizabeth and back to the hospital.  Total miles: 9.5.  

What really amazed me about this walk was not just the diversity of neighborhoods I encountered, but how frequently I encountered that diversity.  Sometimes literally from house to house - a fancy-schmantzy new construction, right next to a scrawny old brick.  It made me wonder - what was there before that fancy-schmantzy house showed up, and where are the the people who used to live there?

Anyway, enjoy the pics below.  As before, I comment only when I feel some explanation is needed.  Otherwise, I let the pics speak for themselves.

​Charlotte peeps - where should my next #QueenCityStroll take me?

 Yesterday was a Friday - thus, the pastor's day off.  I decided to go on a walk, but wanted to get out of my South Charlotte bubble.  So I made a plan to walk most of Uptown Charlotte, as well as venture into a couple of West End communities.  These are areas of my city that I don't get to very often - and if I do, I'm usually whizzing by at 35+ mph.  It took roughly three hours (including a lunch break), and traversed nearly ten miles, but it was worth it.

I decided to take some pictures along the way, and worked them into a slideshow below.  You can also look at them HERE.  I made some clarifying comments on some of the pictures, but only a few.  I figure it's more powerful to let the images just stand on their own.

I really had a blast doing this - will probably do another one soon.  I think it's meaningful to intentionally seek out and experience different communities that don't fall into the handful we spend most of our time in.  Not only did I enjoy the scenery, but I met some nice people along the way.  Good way to spend the day, if you ask me.

Anyone who knows me know that I never wait until the last minute to write my Sunday sermon.  It's pretty much done by the time I leave the office on Thursday, so I can actually enjoy my day off on Friday. I may do some slight tweaking on Saturday morning before the rest of the family gets up, but that's about it.

Recently, though, I've joined the ranks of a lot of other pastors who have had to burn the midnight oil on Saturday evenings into Sunday mornings, revising or even rewriting their Sunday message, given some of the things happening on the world stage. This is not fun, but it comes with the gig sometimes.  As I shared with my pastor colleague at Trinity, I get the sense we pastors are going to need to exercise this muscle a little more regularly in the future.

This past Sunday I exercised that muscle until about 2:30am Sunday morning.  It wasn't a total rewrite - I wanted to speak to part of our 2020 Vision as previously planned - but the latter part of the sermon was in direct response to the immigration ban.  That's the part I'm sharing below (although you're more than welcome to read and listen to the sermon in its entirety HERE).

What are your thoughts on this?  Most everybody has at least one. Feel free to share in the comments below - knowing that while all opinions are welcome, not all tones and language are; and I reserve the right to delete comments that do not contribute to a positive dialogue.

***************

(This part of the sermon is based on Matthew 25: 31-46)

This other parable Jesus tells, the one about the sheep and goats, there’s a reason, I believe, that he saves it for last.  It is that important.  If those disciples remember anything, Jesus wants them to remember this.  All the nations come before the King – all the nations, y’all – and they are subsequently placed into one of two categories: sheep or goats.  And just as in the parable before, there’s some inheriting going on here as well – “inheriting the Kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world” – that’s what’s at stake.  That’s no small inheritance.  This is big-time, bigger than the five talents that first servant got.  We’re talking one’s very soul here.  Perhaps that’s why my Bible gives this parable the title “The Final Judgment.”

But let us be clear about what they are being judged upon: it is not about whether they believed or didn’t believe in a corporate profession of faith.  It’s not about whether they had or did not have a personal relationship with their kingly savior.  No – what ultimately matters, the king makes quite clear, is their relationship with each other, and specifically how they treat each other.

In fact, the king – and this is tremendous – the king draws a direct correlation between the others and him, saying unequivocally, “how you treat them is exactly how you treat me.”  I was hungry, and you fed me.  I was thirsty, you gave me drink.  I was naked, and you clothed me.  I was sick, and you cared for me.

I was a stranger, and you welcomed me in.

And lest we are tempted to take the easy way out and think he’s referring to just some stranger we pass on the street, the Greek word used here for “stranger”, xenos, means "foreigner" or "guest."

Friends, I don’t want to get into government policy or partisan politics – that’s not my job, and frankly, I’m terrible at it anyway.  My job, the one you called me to, is to preach the gospel; and the gospel here tells us to welcome the stranger.  And I cannot help but think that something has gone awry when we as followers of one who was himself a refugee fail to do that. 

Can we at least agree that something’s gone awry when Hameed Jhalid Darweesh, an Iraqi refugee who had faithfully served as an interpreter for the US military for a decade, is not allowed for a time to return to the country he calls home?  Can we agree that something’s gone awry when families desperately trying to flee the ever-present threat of terrorism in their own countries are being turned away from ours because they’re somehow perceived as a threat themselves?  Can we agree that as a people, as a nation, we are broken, we are hurting, we are living in fear, we are not the best version of ourselves – can we at least agree on that?

Like you, I want our church to live into a vision that does more than simply transform how we see our facilities and finances; I want the whole church to live into a vision that transforms how we see each other.  How we welcome each other.  How we stand for and with each other, especially those who cannot stand on their own.  I want us to welcome and be in relationship with the hungry, the thirsty, the naked, the sick, and the stranger because I want us to be in relationship with Jesus – and he has made it quite clear that how we treat those folks is precisely how we treat him.

If this second sermon speaks to what is already on your heart, that’s great – but please don’t stop there, it is not enough to feel confirmed, please find ways that you can speak up and speak out yourself, because the truth now is that we all are preachers of a sort.  And if this second sermon makes you uncomfortable or offends you, then let’s have a conversation about it.  No one says we have to agree all the time to be part of the body of Christ; no one says we have to see everything eye-to-eye.  The important thing, my friends, the most important thing is that we agree that our primary allegiance above all others is to Jesus Christ, and who he is for all of us, and who he calls us to be, and what he calls us to do with all we’ve been entrusted with. If we can at least agree on that, then we are already investing our talents and witnessing to the love and justice of Jesus Christ.

I think it’d be a great time to pray.  Would you pray with me?

God in heaven, we hear you loud and clear: the master entrusts more to those he expects more from.  And you’ve entrusted us with so much: you have given us this church and you have filled our hearts with endless love.  May we invest those talents, faithfully and confidently, living into your vision through our words and our actions – not just for the sake of this church but for all the nations.  So that one day, we too will hear that glorious response: well done, good and faithful servant, you have been trustworthy in a few things, I will put you in charge of many things, enter into the joy of your master!

In the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit, thanks be to God – and may all of God’s people say, AMEN!

It is not easy seeing racism at work if you're white.  I speak from experience.  It takes effort, intentionality, and putting aside defensiveness and denials.  It takes listening - a lot of listening - and resisting the urge to immediately respond. And then listening some more.  I'm still a work in progress, trust me.  I know I'm barely scratching the surface.

This past week I joined fifty of my Charlotte Presbyterian pastor sisters and brothers for a two-day workshop called "Dismantling Racism."  By design, the group was half white/half black.  Our two facilitators led us through a deliberate process in large and small group conversations where open and honest dialogue was encouraged.  I found the experience both enlightening and exhausting.  It is hard having your eyes opened to see in full a reality that, by design, puts one ethnic group at an inherent disadvantage under another.  
​
Our tendency is to say that we didn't ask for this, that it's not the way we think or act or feel, that we're not racist.  It's an understandable initial defense mechanism.  It is not, however, an acceptable final landing place.   As long as we remain unaware of and/or disinterested in learning about the continued effects of cultural and institutional racism on our own lives, we perpetuate the lie that racism is.  

So on this MLK Day I want to invite you (and I'm speaking primarily to my white brothers and sisters here) to do more than simply attend an MLK service or post great MLK quotes in social media: watch the Emmy Award winning documentary Colorblind: Rethinking Race.  A heads-up: this is not an easy thing to watch.  It recounts in stark and shocking ways how various institutions at the center of our societal structure - government, schools, education, science to name a few - have, over the past few hundred years, passed laws and instituted norms and understandings designed to elevate Caucasian people above and at the expense of African-Americans and other people of color.  And how we are still living that reality.

I kind of equate this video to having a bright light blasted in your face. You immediately shut your eyes tight.  Your instinct is not to open them because the light is so bright and it hurts.  It takes intentionality and more than a little faith to get over that instinct.  When you open them, though, your eyes slowly begin adjusting to your new reality, and you start to see, for the first time, what's been there all along.  The trick from there on, of course, is to keep looking.

Let's do more this MLK day than just express gratitude and be thankful for a man who had a dream. Let's also pledge to open our eyes so we can begin to help our world live into that dream.

​I can't control what other people do (or don't do).
I can't make grown adults/elected officials cooperate and do what is best and what is right.
I can only control what I do -
So here it is:

I'm going to listen more and talk less.
I'm going think before reacting.
I'm going to be more cognizant of, and sensitive to, the divides that have grown so deep in our culture - and there are many.
I'm going to actively support and pray for people who are committed to moving us forward.
I'm going to amplify the voices of those who need to be heard; stand with those who need someone to stand with them.
I'm going to speak the truth in love when it needs to be spoken.

I am NOT going to stop trusting people.
I am NOT going to shy away from taking risks and reaching out, even if it means getting burned.
I am NOT going to live out of anger or vindictiveness.

I'm going to hold on to hope, stubbornly so, because I believe what we're experiencing right now in our state, our country and our world are the "last gasps" of the old way of thinking and living; and the real progress that's been made over the past few decades toward positive growth and lasting change scares that old way to death, and one simply cannot live in fear forever.  As Frederick Buechner puts it: the worst thing is never the last thing.

I'm going to celebrate the birth of Christ in a few days with great joy and gratitude because the world Jesus was born into was a world rife with discord, deep divides, painful injustices, saber-rattling from the powers-that-be, and grand uncertainty for the future - and that world back then sure sounds an awful lot like our world now.

 I'm going to do my damndest, as much as my frail humanity allows, to live out of and live into love.

I know that's a lot to try and do.
But I'm gonna give it a shot.
Care to join me?