Senior Sermon: The Word of God? by Caroline Barnett

Preached on: April 8, 2019 at APTS

Scripture: Revelation 21:1-8

¹ Then I saw a new heaven and a new earth; for the first heaven and the first earth had passed away, and the sea was no more. ² And I saw the holy city, the new Jerusalem, coming down out of heaven from God, prepared as a bride adorned for her husband. ³ And I heard a loud voice from the throne saying,

“See, the home of God is among mortals.
He will dwellwith them;
they will be his peoples,
and God himself will be with them;
⁴ he will wipe every tear from their eyes.
Death will be no more;
mourning and crying and pain will be no more,
for the first things have passed away.”

⁵ And the one who was seated on the throne said, “See, I am making all things new.” Also he said, “Write this, for these words are trustworthy and true.” ⁶ Then he said to me, “It is done! I am the Alpha and the Omega, the beginning and the end. To the thirsty I will give water as a gift from the spring of the water of life. ⁷ Those who conquer will inherit these things, and I will be their God and they will be my children. ⁸ But as for the cowardly, the faithless, the polluted, the murderers, the fornicators, the sorcerers, the idolaters, and all liars, their place will be in the lake that burns with fire and sulfur, which is the second death.”

Friends, is this the Word of God?

Is it?

On the one hand, God declaring that God’s home is among humans, that God will be with us, wiping every tear from our eyes… that sounds like a good word. In this text we hear that death will be no more, that mourning, and crying, and pain are all things of the past. That’s a word I can say “thanks be to God” for.  

But the passage doesn’t stop there.

And then, we are treated to a different vision of God’s interaction with people. We read a word in which God’s comfort and life-giving waters only extend to some, and the rest—those so-called cowardly, faithless, polluted, murderers— well, the word of God sounds a little different for them.

And so, I ask: Is this the Word of God?

Is it?

I’ve spent my last three years in seminary classrooms, and if there is one thing I will take with me as I graduate, it is that nothing is ever as it seems, especially when it comes to the biblical text. In class, I’ve approached the Bible confident I’ve got it “figured out,” only to find that my previously held conclusions are in fact only one way to see things. And I learn, I might even be missing some crucial information.

And so, potential pastors learn new languages, as baffling as they are. We build up new strategies of analysis, talk about redaction history, investigate the cultural contexts of the ancient world, and delve into the history of interpretation that has existed long before we ever showed up.

And sometimes— and this is my favorite thing I have learned in seminary—we discover no one actually “knows what it means;” we’re all just guessing at this point.

But all of this tells us that the text might say more than what we read on the page in our neatly printed and bound Bibles.

The Word of God is often far more complicated than we give it credit for. And it so satisfying that these words are big enough to hold all these complex questions, and we have all these tools for digging into it.

And yet, all these tools to analyze the Word of God cannot erase the violence in this passage.

Sure, we might look at the Greek and discover the various translations and connotations of the word pornois or fornicator. It might not mean what we think it means.

We might think about the recipients of this vision and how they live under the Roman Empire. Their lives are marked by war, violence, and conquest, and so the image of a conquering God, a God who could defeat an empire, that makes sense.

We might look at how the author quotes the Hebrew Scriptures—in this case the prophet Isaiah—to say that God will dwell among mortals. People have dreamed of God’s comforting presence for a long time.

And we might even look at how other Christians have interpreted this passage, and how it has affected our imagination about what the afterlife might look like. 

All of this good and necessary work, and it adds much needed nuance to the text, but what if it can’t erase the fact that our Word of God says that some people will burn in a lake of sulfur and fire for their second death? What if, after all our work, we can’t explain it away?

If you haven’t guessed, I don’t particularly like this part of the Word of God, and I don’t really agree with it. It feels so contrary to the God of love, justice, and grace that I have seen in Scripture, at work in creation, and in my own life.

I can’t wrap my head around a God who says “Love God with all your heart and love your neighbor as yourself”[1] with a God who condemns some people—regardless of what they have done— to some sort of eternal punishment.

I just can’t.

But neither can I ignore it.

Because it’s there in the Bible. It is a part of our canon. It may not get much play in our lectionary, but long ago the Church decided that this is the Word of God, and I’m not inclined to start cutting up the Bible.

Of course, violence is not exclusive to the text of Revelation. If we started cutting out certain passages, who knows far we’d have to go. Though our holy Scriptures are filled with beautiful poetry, thrilling epics, and stories of a God who desires a relationship with humanity, they are also filled with stories of war, rape, violence, and subjugation. It is in the Hebrew Scriptures, for example with the rape of Dinah[2] and Tamar[3] and the unnamed woman in Judges 19.[4]

These are violent words.

And it is in the New Testament, not just in Revelation, but in the epistles, as Paul advises churches on how to handle their talkative women,[5] and he tells slaves to obey their masters.[6] 

These are violent words.

And even Jesus, who I wish were above it all, has some less-than-commendable moments. He tries to deny healing to a woman’s daughter on the basis of ethnicity.[7] He tells people that he does not come for peace, but with a sword,[8] and though Jesus was a Jewish man himself, he calls a group of Jews the children of the devil.[9]

These are violent words, with violent implications, and they are there in our Word of God.

Our Word of God is complicated, and we could spend a lifetime studying each of these complicated passages to understand them beyond the words printed on the page.

But what if, at the end of the day, after all our hard, studious work, the words are still violent? What if the Scripture we turn to for comfort are the words that end up bruising us the most?

And our text from Revelation hits me in the gut, every time.

When I attended college in Michigan, the arrival of spring and the melting of the snow was cause for celebration, but it also meant we would receive some visitors to our campus. Now, these visitors weren’t prospective students from nearby high schools, but they were a group of adults who were not allowed to step off the public sidewalk and onto our school’s property. They would stand there, and they would yell.

Scream, actually. Shout at the students who were walking by, and they carried signs with Revelation 21:8 printed on them. They told us that without a doubt we were polluted, lying fornicators, and they knew where we all belonged, and it was in that lake of fire and sulfur.

I’m not sure any student took these people seriously—I don’t think their message or method of communication swayed anyone to their worldview. Mostly, that day every spring was marked by frustrations and eye rolls that these visitors were ruining one of the first warm days of the year. We laughed about them and went on with our life. But even as I laughed, still I felt those words hit me.

And a bruise formed, because, despite what the nursey rhyme says about sticks and stones, words can hurt us, and, even if you don’t agree with what these words say, they are some seriously hurtful ones. But I didn’t know how to heal the bruise, because the words that had hit me are from the same source of words that usually wiped every tear from my eyes. How could both be printed in one book?

We can’t ignore these words from our Scripture even though they hurt. In fact, we have to look at them because they have caused so many people damage. People, both inside the church and outside of it, are walking around with bruises in the shape of the Word of God. 

And it feels a little insincere to offer up healing without accounting for the pain we’ve caused. It is not enough to ignore this trauma, and say, “but we’re not all like that” or “those people, well they don’t understand God’s love.” Because the damage has been done, and the weapons are so clearly laid bare on the page. And if I’m being honest, I don’t know how to turn this one into a plowshare.

Some days it feels impossible to live with the knowledge that the things we love are the things that can hurt us.

Last February, my seminary community gathered for three days of worship and discussion to honor Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. and the experiences of African American people on our campus. At this event, we admitted that a thing we love—this seminary—has bruised a lot of people. We learned a little bit about the history of our institution, and well, it’s not always a good story.  

In particular, one of the people responsible for the creation of Austin Seminary, Robert Dabney was a Presbyterian pastor, theologian, and scholar, and he owned slaves and served as a chaplain in the Confederate army.[10] He was an ardent defender of slavery, and he made his justification using texts from the same Bible you and I read today.

And today, when this community gathers for worship, for class, and even for fellowship, we are doing so in part because of Robert Dabney. Though I don’t think Dabney would be thrilled to see our community comprised of people of many races, he does have some responsibility for its creation.

Just as our text from Revelation is a part of the Word of God despite how much it might bruise, Dabney and what he represents are a part of the story of this seminary, the story of our Church, and the story of Christianity. We can’t ignore that. I’m not sure we can explain it away.

I’ve loved my time in seminary; it’s been a good place to me. But it is a complicated place, a place that even today is not without its bruises. Bruises we are trying to heal and bruises we have not yet uncovered.

But Dabney and the bruises he represents are not the end of Austin Seminary’s story; he’s a part of the story—a part we can’t ignore—but he’s not the end of it.

And just because this text in Revelation about a lake of sulfur and fire falls near the end of the Bible, it is not the end of God’s story.

We know who the end is.

It’s God.

It is God who is the Alpha and Omega, beginning and end. God was there in the beginning, God is here now, and God will be here ‘til the end, if there even is such a thing as an ending in God’s time. And God has been at work in our complicated story making all things new.

In fact, sandwiched between a passage of God’s promise to dwell with mortals and the threat of fiery second death, God reminds us that even these words that God calls trustworthy and true, they are the not of the story because God can make all things new.

And if we believe in the transformational power of God, who’s to say that God cannot also transform the Word of God?

Why can’t God change God’s mind—and I know that’s a dicey subject for theologians—but why can’t God take a red pen to God’s word and say “this violence is not the end of our story?”

God is not done speaking even though we stopped writing it down.

The Word of God is still among us, changing and transforming, healing, and yes, it still bruises sometimes. And it’s not enough to simply cut out the parts of Scripture we think are wrong. It’s not enough to pretend that those who have committed violence in the name of God are reading from a different Bible.

But God is still speaking. God is still speaking in new and in ancient ways, and if we listen to God tell God’s story, we are given the opportunity to do the same. To rethink how we might tell our own story, our history. We can’t ignore the bruises, but they don’t have the final say.

Because God is not done speaking. And most days, God’s words sound an awful lot like that promise from Isaiah, recorded again in Revelation: God is with us, comforting the bruised, choosing life over death, and making all things new.

That is the Word of God I love. Thanks be to God. Amen. 

[1] Deuteronomy 6:4-7; Matthew 22:37-40; Mark 12:30-31; Luke 10:27

[2] Genesis 34

[3] 2 Samuel 13:1-22

[4] Judges 19

[5] 1 Corinthians 14:34; 1 Timothy 2:12

[6] Ephesians 6:5; Colossians 3:22

[7] Matthew 15:21-28; Mark 7:24-29

[8] Matthew 10:34

[9] John 8:31-47

[10] Handbook of Texas Online, Daniel A. Penick, “DABNEY, ROBERT LEWIS,” accessed April 28 2019, https://tshaonline.org/handbook/online/articles/fda01.

For more information about how our Proclaim series started, click here.

Photo from Twitter account @malnotmel

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This Easter season, as we consider the story of the Resurrection, I’d like to spend some time thinking about linen.  More specifically, the fabric that bound the body of Jesus and on which his body lay in the rock hewn tomb in Jerusalem.  I’m not sure why this piece of the Resurrection narrative is so resonant with my heart this year, but as the spring season emerges, bits and pieces of the why are beginning to emerge. 

For context, here is the scriptural description from the Gospel of John regarding the state of the Empty Tomb when Peter encountered it after hearing Jesus’ body was no longer present:

Early on the first day of the week, while it was still dark, Mary Magdalene went to the tomb and saw that the stone had been removed from the entrance. So she came running to Simon Peter and the other disciple, the one Jesus loved, and said, “They have taken the Lord out of the tomb, and we don’t know where they have put him!” So Peter and the other disciple started for the tomb. Both were running, but the other disciple outran Peter and reached the tomb first. He bent over and looked in at the strips of linen lying there but did not go in. Then Simon Peter, who was behind him, arrived and went into the tomb. He saw the strips of linen lying there, as well as the burial cloth that had been around Jesus’ head. The cloth was folded up by itself, separate from the linen. Finally the other disciple, who had reached the tomb first, also went inside. He saw and believed. (They still did not understand from Scripture that Jesus had to rise from the dead.) -John 20:1-9, NIV

The passage goes on to describe Mary’s grief over the missing body, and her eventual encounter with the risen Christ as a figure she does not recognize at first, but quickly comes to realize is Jesus and He speaks a word of wisdom and encouragement to nurture her grieved heart.  But the bindings are the thing that have stayed with me, and the more I sat with that, the more I realized it felt deeply connected to and with our work.  As this project persists, again and again it seems the heart of what we do is to advocate for the continued practice of real, incarnate Christian community and gathering amidst an increasingly inhospitable climate.

Last week I was sent links to articles about “downloadable” Communion, religions using robots to connect with the public, and a compelling article from the Atlantic about the slowly revealed fallacy among Millenials that work has replaced religion as the  place they’ve been taught to go for fulfillment, purpose, and connectivity.  Some days the onslaught of information about how lost we seem and how deeply the church seems to flounder in this time of seismic cultural change is downright depressing.  And then I consider the linen.

Jesus’ body, entombed, was bound by strips of cloth.   Like those strips of linen, who are we and what are we to do in order to hold the body of Christ?  As Christians charged with holding together the legacy of one man’s radical life and love, what is our job?  This spring I’ve been more and more convicted that at the most basic level, our job is to keep this body bound by remaining interconnected.  Gathering in the flesh.  Checking in on each other’s lives, and encouraging one another.  When God’s kindom has come, our work will be done and, like the strips of linen, these practices can fall away.  But only then.  Until that time, our job is to be together in whatever way we can find.

The ways we’re practicing that this spring in the Collective are by holding space for food and conversation, which we’ve done twice this spring and will do twice again this summer.  These Communal Dinners are not “checking up” on each other’s work, they are times to rejoice together and sometimes commiserate, but most importantly, they are times to be and do the thing that we want to call into the world, that is, a refreshed and re-committed way of being God’s church in the world for generations under-served or under-represented in many church settings, and hopefully, generations to follow.

One other way we’ve practiced this commitment is through communal song.  In our first 787 Studio event in early April, thirteen people gathered on a warm spring night in Shelton Chapel to be led in song by the fantastic song leader Josh Blaine.  Josh heads the organization Finding Our Voice and leads community song circles every two weeks in the Capitol Rotunda.  It was one of the first warm days of spring, and by 7 pm when we started, the chapel felt warm and a little stuffy.  So we opened the doors wide on every side.  As we sat in a circle at the front of the church by the altar, bit by bit our souls loosed by the power of pure song, with no books, sheet music, or accompaniment, that sort of spiritual magic that happens when people gather in earnest and make themselves vulnerable began to occur.  The heat of the day gave way to a cool night, and a breeze picked up.  Some people walking by the chapel stopped to listen. The breeze grew into a wind that we could hear and feel.  Something about being there, singing with the doors wide open, felt a little wild, a little edgy, and also, somehow, exactly right.

Image by Steve Norris from Pixabay

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Name: Evan Hearn
Age: 25
Relationship to the Collective: Young Adult Advisor

Describe the event in three sentences or less: Over the course of two days, leaders and participants of spiritual innovation hubs from across the country met against the backdrop of the historic Alexander Hotel in Indianapolis. Our objective was to share the experiences, successes, and shortcomings of our respective initiatives – each seeking in its own manner to bring together young adults and the Church in new and lasting ways.

What did you notice during or about this event? Everybody came with questions and left with more, yet among all of us there seemed to be a sense of optimism and faith. While none of us had any definitive answers to the big question of, “How do we get young people involved in their communities in a spiritual sense?”, all of us appeared to be advancing down our own paths.  

What impacted you the most? I was most impacted by the richness of interaction between older hub leaders and young adult participants such as myself. It would be no exaggeration to say I was able to converse with some intellectual titans of Christian thought and spirituality – people who have dedicated their lives to this kind of work. Yet simultaneously, I was able to learn much about the work my peers are involved in – this diversity of backgrounds made for a constant exchange of perspectives and lessons learned.

What about this event struck you as spiritual and/or carried spiritual significance for you? As someone who has struggled for many years to find a faith community, being able to participate in this event carried a significant spiritual weight for me. There is a lot of spiritual joy to be felt in being welcomed and accepted by strangers at every opportunity, and these two days were filled with such moments.

What new or next thing, if anything, did this experience inspire you to do/be/or try in the future? This gathering reestablished in my mind that the project I am helping with, the Good Start program, is on a good track. While there is still much to do and further to go, I feel confident that we are advancing towards making a real material difference for young adults in the Marble Falls community, which will undoubtedly entail and facilitate spiritual growth.

If you want to find out more about how the “In Our Words” series got started, click here.

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Senior Sermon: I don’t know…by Todd Jones

Preached on: February 25, 2019 at APTS

Scripture: Luke 4: 1-13

Jesus, full of the Holy Spirit, returned from the Jordan and was led by the Spirit in the wilderness, where for forty days he was tempted by the devil. He ate nothing at all during those days, and when they were over, he was famished. The devil said to him, “If you are the Son of God, command this stone to become a loaf of bread.” Jesus answered him, “It is written, ‘One does not live by bread alone.’” Then the devil led him up and showed him in an instant all the kingdoms of the world. And the devil said to him, “To you I will give their glory and all this authority; for it has been given over to me, and I give it to anyone I please. If you, then, will worship me, it will all be yours.” Jesus answered him, “It is written, ‘Worship the Lord your God, and serve only him.’”

Then the devil took him to Jerusalem, and placed him on the pinnacle of the temple, saying to him, “If you are the Son of God, throw yourself down from here, for it is written, ‘He will command his angels concerning you,
    to protect you, and on their hands they will bear you up,
    so that you will not dash your foot against a stone.’”

Jesus answered him, “It is said, ‘Do not put the Lord your God to the test.’” When the devil had finished every test, he departed from him until an opportune time.

I want to begin with a small confession that I imagine most of you will understand all too well. I will next be preaching on March 10^th at First United Methodist Church in Harlingen, TX. This will serve as something of an introductory sermon, as I will start as their Youth Pastor in June. That day in March happens to be the first Sunday of Lent, and when I checked the lectionary, I saw that the Gospel reading for that day was the passage that I just read out of Luke 4. Since these sermons were fairly close together, I chose to save myself some work and did some double dipping by using the same text for both. So, for those of you who attend churches that use the lectionary, you’ll probably hear this scripture again in a couple weeks and you’ll be able to decide which sermon you like more.

But even though that is how this passage came to be read in this time and place, as I prepared for this, I found that it is an incredibly appropriate text for this occasion of a senior sermon. I also find it rather poetic that this same text is at the heart of both an ending, goodbye type of sermon like this one and a beginning, hello type of sermon like the one I will give in Harlingen in a couple weeks. Now, I know that this is not really goodbye and that will not really be hello, for a number of reasons, including the fact that there are three months left in the semester, but still, I enjoy the balance and duality of these two things. A beginning and an end.

I especially enjoy it because this passage is also something of a beginning, hello moment as well as an ending, goodbye moment for Jesus. This passage is one of several that make up the beginning of Christ’s life of ministry. Prior to this story, Jesus is baptized in the Jordan by John, and the Holy Spirit descended on him and led him out into the wilderness. And directly after this comes Christ’s sermon in Nazareth, his hometown, where he declares that he is the fulfillment of God’s promise to proclaim good news to the poor, release to the captives, recovery of sight to the blind, and so on. When he finishes speaking, he is thrown out of town, and he goes on his way to start casting out evil spirts, healing the sick, and calling disciples to follow him. This is all the beginning of a journey that will eventually lead Jesus to the cross. It is the beginning of something incredible and historic. But, it is also an ending. It’s an ending to the life Jesus knew before. It’s an ending to being known as Joseph’s son, or perhaps Mary’s boy. It’s an ending to a private, quiet life as a carpenter or stonemason or whatever it was that Jesus was doing for work. The life he is about to begin will look nothing like that life. That life is over. It is a huge pivot moment for Jesus.

And for that reason, it was impossible for me not to put myself in the place of Jesus in this story. To make myself the main character who is experiencing such a significant ending and beginning. It just fit too well with where I am right now. So, as I reflected on this text, Jesus became me and the wilderness became Austin Presbyterian Theological Seminary. Those 40 days became my four years. Now, don’t get me wrong, there are so many ways that this place is nothing like the wilderness that Jesus experienced in this text. But, let’s not pick apart the metaphor just yet. Save that for later, when we are around the lunch tables.

Anyway, as I put myself in the story and made it fit my experience in this place, I began to ask myself, “What ‘temptations’ or ‘tests’ did I experience here?” Now, one way to look at this is academically, with the tests being specific classes or assignments that were particularly difficult to complete. One might be Jen Lord’s massive annotated worship service paper at the end of Intro to Worship. Another might be writing an exegesis paper at the end of a long semester when you just don’t have anything left and you’re grasping at straws trying to say something, anything. Or perhaps one is sitting in Bill Greenway’s class just trying to understand half of the concepts he’s talking about. These were most certainly times of trial that I experienced in this wilderness.

Another way to look at it is through a community lens, with the tests being different times when it was particularly difficult to live into beloved community. Times when is seemed impossible to achieve the goal of being a winsome and exemplary community of God’s people. These, too, represent metaphorical temptations and tests in this wilderness. A third type of test might be personal, as all of us experience various hardships in our lives during our time in seminary. We experience losses and enter into grief. We question our identity as people of faith. Our families take on extra burdens because of the demands of our theological education. The tests and temptations in this place are certainly abundant, just as they were for Jesus in the wilderness.

But why? Why does Jesus enter the wilderness? Why does he fast for 40 days? Why is he tempted and tested by the devil? And why are we tested and tempted in this place? And who is doing the testing? One could argue that it is an essential part of preparation for ministry. A time of pruning and purifying that must precede one’s life of ministry. One could also argue that it’s a way of weeding out the ill equipped. Only those able to pass the tests in the wilderness are qualified to preach the good news. Another argument could be that these temptations force us to lean more fully on God and less on our own strength. Or perhaps there is no reason or meaning to any of it. Perhaps none of it really matters. All that matters is getting through it so you can move on to the next step.

But I’m not going to make any of those arguments. In fact, I’m not going to make any argument at all. I don’t know why Jesus was tempted in the wilderness. And I don’t know why seminary students experience trials and tribulations. There could be reasons for all of it, some of it, or none of it. I don’t know. And I think that is what seminary has taught me more than anything else. That I don’t (and can’t) know everything. Or even many things. I don’t know everything about God. I don’t know everything about humanity. I don’t even know everything about myself. And I won’t.

But I do know some things. I know that I was created in the image of God and have a need for God in my life. I know that I am loved by God and have been called by God to minister to the poor, the captive, and the blind. I know that God speaks to me through creation and through scripture and leads me by way of the Holy Spirit. And I know all of those things are true about all of you.

And I also know Jesus knew these things. And knowing them is what got him through his temptation in the wilderness. Knowing these simple truths was all he needed to withstand the temptations and pass the tests. Nothing more. Nothing less.

Now, I imagine most of you have not had the experience of crafting a senior sermon, as this is just the second one of the semester. So let me tell you, it’s a very strange thing to do. On the one hand, there is a desire or pull to use this to show off some of the things you’ve learned during seminary. You want to prove that you know how to use good seminary words like kenosis and eschatological. You want to demonstrate your exegetical and preaching skills. Additionally, there is a pull to offer some wisdom to your classmates. To share about your seminary experience in a way that enlightens and edifies. And at the same time, there is another pull to simply focus on the text and speak truth about God in a way that is meaningful to you and the people who will hear you.

I don’t know if I’ve manage to accomplish any of those things in this sermon. I didn’t write a focus or function statement either so I can’t use them as tools for evaluation. But to be honest with you, I’m pretty tired of evaluation right now, so I think I’m ok with that. If nothing else, this sermon gave me an wonderful opportunity to reflect on this pivotal moment in my life (and in many of our lives). It allowed me to reflect on where I was when I entered seminary, where I am now, and where I hope to be in the future. It provided a space to recognize the temptations and tests that I have encountered along the way and see how I succeeded (and failed) in meeting them. And it has left me even more convinced of the simple truths of God’s love, God’s calling on my life, and God’s leadership through the Holy Spirit. But why should I be the only one who benefits.

I’m going to shut up now. You will have the next few minutes for silent reflection. Feel free to use it however you wish, but I do want to invite you, whether you’re a senior or not, to consider this moment in your life. To reflect on your own wilderness experiences (whether they are related to this place or not). And to ask yourself “What do I know?” “What are the simple truths I can hold on to?” and “How do those truths sustain me in the midst of tests and temptations?”

For more information about how our Proclaim series started, click here.

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On March 12 & 13 I attended the Young Adult Initiative Consultation in Indianapolis as a member of the 787 Collective. This was my first time at this conference, the fourth year it’s taken place, and on the flight up from Austin I read a packet of information from the previous year. This packet summarized the demographics and feedback of the young adults, pastors, congregation members, and Innovation Hub leaders. The first task at the conference was to write on posters hung around the great hall our questions and/or observations based on this packet. I asked how both the white dominance of the previous conference and LGBTQ inclusion had been addressed. The answer to the former was, to my delight, that the leadership team from the Lilly Endowment had worked to deliberately amend the racial imbalance!

Amid plentiful delicious food, I met members of similar collectives from across the country. We asked each other questions, shared concerns and stories, networked, and provided an array of resources. After a brief powerpoint presentation about the statistics of young adults who have left institutional Christianity, there was a panel of young adults and a panel of Innovation Hub leaders. Common themes were the importance of authentic connections, service-based faith, and intersectionality. Dr. Anne E. Streaty Wimberly from Connecting With Hope Innovation Hub in Atlanta blew everyone away with her call for using stories to bring different generations together.

That afternoon I attended the breakout session “Beyond Church Walls.” Fifteen people attended and seven were men, seven were women, and one nonbinary person. Rev. Michael Baughman from The Zoe Project in Princeton facilitated this session about where young adults seek community or fulfillment away from church, how congregations can make use of “third space” gatherings, and the functions of social media. I was blown away by a young African American woman who stated “the people you center in leadership are what you get as a result.”  I was also pleased that the conversation around social media was multilayered and nuanced, as opposed to labelling it as all-good or all-bad. When a session participant asked what the drawbacks of a social media-less church could be, I pointed out that white nationalist organizations are very skilled at using social media to recruit, network, and plan events. A church with one such white nationalist organization in their community would be helpless without social media.

After the breakout session, representatives from the Lilly Endowment announced that they wanted volunteers to suggest and lead similar breakout sessions the next morning. I leaped out of my chair and offered to lead a session on “how congregations can be more LGBTQ-inclusive or, if that’s moving too quickly for you, how congregations can talk about what their LGBTQ-inclusivity might or might not look like.” The next morning I facilitated this hour and a half long session; ten people attended, six were women and four were men. I was very active in the Milwaukee LGBTQ community in college, I’m a co-leader of my church’s LGBTQ ministry, and I am currently pursuing a Masters degree so that I can work in LGBTQ ministry professionally. Additionally, I provided the list of resources that is posted at the end of this blog entry. The ten participants asked very smart questions, brainstormed what their congregations could do in their local communities, and prioritized bridge-building compassion. When I explained the history of the Stonewall Inn, I suggested using such stories, as Dr. Anne had mentioned the day before, to unite uncertain congregants and LGBTQ youth.

My time at the conference was incredible, and I’m so grateful for the opportunity to meet so many different people with a similar mission.

Organizations:
New Ways Ministry
Call to Action
Equally Blessed
FutureChurch
Q Christian Fellowship
PFLAG
Dignity USA

Podcasts:
Queer Theology
Queerology
The Liturgists episode “LGBTQ”
Nancy episode “God + the Gays”
Making Gay History
Blue Babies Pink

Books:
More Than A Monologue: Sexual Diversity and the Catholic Church
Sexual Diversity and Catholicism
Radical Love: an Introduction to Queer Theology
Ministry Among God’s Queer Folk
Building a Bridge
Nobody Passes
The Sexual Self
The Invention of Heterosexuality
The Trouble with Normal
Queer: A Graphic History
PoMoSexuals
She’s Not There: A Life in Two Genders
My Gender Workbook
Transforming: The Bible & the Lives of Transgender Christians

The post Notes from the Field: LGBTQ Resource List appeared first on 787 Collective.

            I remember hearing this quote from a Fresh Air interview with Bishop Gene Robinson when it first aired way back in 2013 and being eagerly in agreement with his words.  I was rebounding from a bad breakup with a church I had attended for nearly fifteen years and was making my way back into church again after some time away.  I had many of these same feelings about church – I was tired of the religion but still desired worship in community.

            I ventured out of my comfort zone to the local Presbyterian church, and, to my surprise, the look and feel of worship was familiar to my previous (non-denominational) experience.  The leadership wore regular clothes, a praise/worship team led the music with drums and guitars, and we worshiped communally.

I found what I was seeking in this church.  In this group of imperfect people I found a community who came as they were to worship God.  The music wasn’t always exact, the pastors occasionally flubbed their sermons, the congregation didn’t always read in unison, and the ushers sometimes forgot to greet visitors.  But they all admitted their imperfections and worked at making worship better.  It was an honest house of worship and an authentic community – it was good church.

            When I attended my first Presbyterian service in Austin, I was a bit perplexed by what I experienced.  The leadership wore robes, the music was accompanied solely by the organ and we sang EVERY verse to EVERY song, there was confession…and profession…and public prayer…and communal reading.  The service was ‘high-church’ with plenty of liturgy, order, and staidness – not the Presbyterianism I had known.

            As different as this worship service was for me, it was just that – different.  It wasn’t wrong, it wasn’t improper, it wasn’t displeasing to God.  The stylistic differences in worship between these two churches didn’t negate the things that kept me coming back: I found places where I could worship God and places where I belonged.  I found congregations that were true to who they were and didn’t try to be something they weren’t.

            Worship can be a tricky thing for leaders to plan and do: how do we do it faithfully?  How do we do it according to our denominational standards?  How do we make it pleasing to God?  How do we maintain the religion and give people space to access God?

            While the ‘things’ that we do in church are important, we get into trouble when we make them more important than why we do them.  The main reason why people go to church (or synagogue, mosque, or other house of worship) is to feel closer to God,[2] and those of us working in the church should make this movement toward God as accessible as possible.

My suggestion is this: be the best church you can be, and be authentic in your worship.  If your worship is more traditional, you don’t have to be like the church down the street that has the rockin’ worship band.  If your worship is more contemporary, you don’t have to venture down the high-liturgy path.  Don’t try to be a church that you’re not.  Do what you do well.  Do what you do honestly.  Do what you do authentically and make space for your congregation to access and be in relationship with their Creator.

[1] Terry Gross, “Retired Bishop Gene Robinson On Being Gay And Loving God,” last modified January 10, 2013, https://www.npr.org/templates/transcript/transcript.php?storyId=169066917

[2] Pew Research Center, “Why Americans Go (and Don’t Go) to Religious Services.” August 1, 2018.  http://www.pewforum.org/2018/08/01/why-americans-go-to-religious-services/

Guest blogger this week is Austin Seminary student, Sheth LaRue. He is in his second year at the seminary and loves to write. He is the editor of our student newsletter Kairos. If you’d like to read more of his work, his blog can be found here.

The post “Good Church” by Sheth LaRue appeared first on 787 Collective.

Our first 787 Studio short course is coming up on April 11th at 7 p.m. with the fantastic Josh Blaine! The event will take place on the Austin Presbyterian Theological Seminary campus. Come enjoy the fellowship and the learning as he shares his approach and philosophy around building community with and through song.  Register here!

The post 787 Studio: Community Sing! appeared first on 787 Collective.

Nostalgia: This Is Your Space, Not Mine
1 Samuel 3:1-10; Philippians 3:12-18

Someone once joked, “My alarm clock and I had a fight. It wanted me to get up, I refused. Things escalated. Now I’m awake & it’s broken. Not sure who won the fight.”

I’m not sure how many of you feel like that most mornings, but I can relate. And I bet most of us can relate to this morning’s scripture when Eli is ‘woke’ by Samuel. It’s a popular scripture passage and is often used for confirmation classes or others who have experienced some form of “call” from God. Let’s look at the passage again.

Three times Samuel awakes Eli who he thinks has called him. Samuel exclaims, “You called me, here I am!” Eli tells him to stop it and get back to sleep. After the third time, Eli says, “Knock it off. If it happens again, don’t wake me up…it must be the Lord calling you. Wake him up and say, “Speak Lord, for your servant is listening.” And that’s exactly what happened. The Lord calls, again, and Samuel answers, “Speak Lord, for your servant is listening.”

Students in seminary certainly relate to this scripture. Like Samuel, they have heard the Lord call them, sometimes repeatedly – we get many students in their 40s, 50s, or even 60s. They’ve often heard the call many times before. Then at some point they let the noise, the Eli’s of their world drift off to sleep. They listen….they finally listen and they say, “Lord, your servant is listening” and they discern God is calling them to a life of ministry. And so they come to seminary.

We often focus on the “call message” in this passage, and rightly so. I focused on it for much of last year’s Theological Education Sunday sermon. But recently, I found there’s another message that can be easily overlooked. The passage, as well as the one we read from Philippians, also serves as a wake-up call to God’s community. There’s the obvious wake-up call – Samuel literally awakes Eli not one, not two, but three times. There is also within this passage a figurative wake-up call from one generation to another. And in this case, it’s a wake-up call from the younger generation to the older.

Eli is old school. I know that phrase is cliché, so maybe it’s better to say, Eli is old church. As one bible commentator notes, “Eli represents the vested interests who are used to having their way, and who expect that the place that they have occupied in this present generation will continue indefinitely, even into the lives of their children, world without end.  By contrast, Samuel represents those to whom no one ever listens, the people who are regularly dismissed as unimportant, peripheral, or out of touch with “the real world.”  It is such people, the text shouts in whom the Lord delights in using as conduits for bringing God’s Word to the people.” (https://politicaltheology.com/the-politics-of-1-samuel-31-20/)

It’s no accident that Samuel is called during the night. Eli is asleep. Eli is the high priest and he will be the second to last Israeli judge, with only Samuel succeeding him. After that, the country will be ruled by Kings. So maybe Eli is asleep because he’s tired after leading the Israelites for so many years. Maybe he’s asleep because he’s become complacent and it’s just habit. Or maybe he’s asleep because the work just doesn’t excite him anymore and he’s nostalgic for the old days. Regardless the reason, Eli is asleep when Samuel, the younger generation, is called by God to lead.

In just these short 10 verses, we learn that God is not always okay with the status quo. We learn that God delights in finding new conduits for bringing God’s word to the world. We learn that God can do that in as little as one night.

In our world though, it tends to take a bit longer to accept and give way to new conduits. It’s been at least 15 years since we started lamenting about declining church memberships and the increasing of nones and dones. For a long time, much of the church has believed that with a small tweak here or there we can return to our “good ol’ days.” We pine for, we become nostalgic for the way the church was “back in my younger days.” Speaking of nostalgia, I remember when I used to be nostalgic: I miss those days.

In the late 1600s, Swiss medical student Johannes Hofer invented the word nostalgia — combining the Greek words for “return,” and “pain”— to describe how Swiss mercenaries fighting in other European countries behaved. One report explains, “These soldiers were reportedly plagued by an obsessive longing for their homeland, which manifested itself in hysterical fits of crying, anxiety, heart palpitations, diminished appetite and insomnia.” They felt real pain because they wanted to return home.   (https://www.ministrymatters.com/all/entry/8492/nostalgia-and-faith)

Dr. Neel Burton writes for Psychology Today. In one article he notes, “Today, nostalgia is no longer looked upon as a mental disorder, but as a natural, common and even positive emotion, a vehicle for travelling beyond the deadening confines of time and space.”

A vehicle for travelling beyond the deadening confines of time and space. However, many psychologists also warn, that when over played, nostalgia can tempt us to dwell in the past and make us ineffective in the present. Maybe that’s why Paul warns the Philippians: Beloved, I do not consider that I have made it my own; but this one thing I do: forgetting what lies behind and straining forward to what lies ahead.

It’s a bit of a balancing act, not only for individuals but for churches too – finding the value of shared stories and life lessons learned in the past without being so tied to the past that we are ineffective, complacent, asleep, or we fail to strain forward to discover what lies ahead as Paul says.

A couple of years ago, John Hamm starred in a film called Nostalgia. I don’t know if I can recommend it to you. While I loved it and found it provoking and moving, a couple of co-workers I suggested watch it were not so glowing in their reports. So that’s a 33 percent rotten tomatoes from just our office.

The movie follows several story lines about nostalgia. A couple of those stories intertwine and all of them focus on the question of how does our tie to the past impact the present and the future. In the clip you will see, a brother (Will) and sister (Donna) are in the attic of their childhood homes. Both parents have died recently. The sister has asked her 20 year-old daughter, (Tallie) to help them go through the attic items.

(Movie dialogue):

Tallie: So how long am I going to have to stay and help?

Donna: Are you?…I mean…

Tallie: Well I was thinking I could go up to Kathleen’s lakehouse with her and Marie. They invited me, I could be back Sunday afternoon.

Donna: No, you can’t go sweetheart. You can’t. I’m sorry you can’t go, I told you about this…

Will: Let her go, I don’t care. We can do this on our own. I don’t mind, let her go to her friends.

Donna: Please stay out of this, this has nothing to do with you. (looks towards daughter) But we made an agreement and I just expect you to stick by it, that’s all.

Tallie: No. I, I, I will and I know…I know that it matters, it’s just hard for me to understand what this all means to you. I get that you grew up with it and that it’s probably always been here. There’s just a lot of it…and it takes up so much space. Space that we don’t even have, Mom. So, I’m just a little confused. That’s all.

(Pause, Will and Donna look at each other, befuddled)

Tallie: I mean I do like these uh… (picks up homemade stuffed animal)…these little grandma-y things. But, I don’t know…Being up here isn’t fun. And it doesn’t remind me of my times here. I actually never even came up here. So, most of this stuff is stuff I’ve never actually seen. I mean most of it has probably been where it has been since before I was born. (long pause)

So…this is your space, not mine. Um, but it’s really cool that you are both really into it. And I mean that I’m happy that I get to see you Uncle Will and that you flew here to see us. So…

Donna: Yeah. (Looks at Will) Me too.

Will: Me too.

Daughter: So, I’m glad you found these cool records (a box of vinyl in the attic) and if you come by some cool tunes, you can just send me the names and I’ll download them.

Will: Deal.

Daughter: But Kathleen keeps texting me. Can I go or not? (Donna nods). Thank you. (As she leaves the attic) I love you both.

End clip.

“It’s hard for me to understand what this all means to you. I get that you grew up with it. This is your space not mine.” I don’t know that the filmmakers intended this scene to say this, but when I heard the daughter passionately tell her mother and uncle those words, I couldn’t help but wonder if that’s not exactly what Generation X and the millennial generation have been telling the older generations. This is your church, not mine. I get that it is what is important to you. I understand what it all means to you. I get that you grew up with it. But this is your church, not mine. Hello generation Samuel. And it’s probably too late for the Eli old church to be woke. God is calling a new conduit to be the church.

Although greatly behind the curve, I believe most seminaries have begun to see and understand this shift to the Samuel generation. Students arrive and are more like the daughter in the movie clip, or Samuel if you will, and less like the parents or Eli. Often it seems the seminary learns more from students than vice-verse because most of today’s students come to us with ideas about churches without walls, youth groups without pizza parties, congregations without prejudices.

Seminaries must learn how to help students learn to listen to, interpret, and proclaim the word of the Lord. At the same time we must help these future pastors learn how to examine scripture with a critical, historical, and theological approach, even amongst the ever changing norms and needs of each generation.

Here’s one way Austin Seminary is trying to answer the needs of the Samuel generation. At the end of this academic year, in May, we will graduate our first students in the new Master of Arts in Youth Ministry Degree. Students in the program learn how to be more intentional in leading young adults in ministry. Students gather on campus a couple of times a year for an extensive long weekend of classroom training. They also do lots of study together online. But the whole time they are working in youth or young adult related jobs at a local church. For three years they get to put their studies to work in a real world, practical setting.

Another example of the seminary listening to the needs of the Samuel generation is our 787 Collective, which is funded in part by a grant from the Lily Foundation. Named after the first 3 numbers in the Austin zip code, the 787 collective works with Austin-area congregations seeking to engage with young adult through creative ventures that deepen love for God, self, and others. Churches submit ideas for innovative programs they feel might connect with young adults. A key point is that these programs are not about increasing membership on church rolls. Rather, programs are designed to discover new and innovative methods for bridging Christian communities and young adults. Discovering ways that will transform both populations not simply for the 20th century church’s self-preservation, but for the benefit of young adults in our 21-century community, for the great pleasure of sharing the way of Jesus, and ultimately for the renewal and transformation of the Church. The renewal and transformation of the Church, doesn’t that sound like God’s call to Samuel?

Those are just two ways the seminary is answering the call to the Samuel generation. Or to use Paul’s words to the Philippians, ways that we press on toward the goal for the prize of the heavenly call of God in Christ Jesus. By the time we know all the ways, most likely it will be time for a new generation to be called while generation Samuel sleeps.

Remember the two words that form the word Nostalgia – return and pain. The good news this morning is that God’s kingdom offers us just the opposite of that. Through Christ Jesus we are offered a time not to return to, but a time we can look forward to with forgiveness from the pain of our sin. Knowing that, with great joy let us remember Paul’s words to the Philippians and forget what lies behind and strain forward to what lies ahead. To God be all glory. Amen.

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A quick Google search about the nature of proclamation revealed the following immediate hits:

Dictionary.com defines proclamation as “a public or official announcement, especially one dealing with a matter of great importance”

ReformedWorship.org says eloquently that “proclamation is personal witness—a bold, risky statement of biblically-informed conviction enmeshed in Spirit-issued joy.” Their description goes on to describe proclamation as:

the product of deep study and spiritual discernment, careful biblical interpretation and relevant application based, whenever possible, on personal knowledge of the people gathered.

But John Calvin was careful to name both the proclamation and the receiving of God’s Word as the mark of the true church. The preacher may be the one on whom the burden of presentation rests, but the congregation, the gathered community, shares equal responsibility for preparing their hearts and minds to receive and apply the Word proclaimed.

In this way proclamation speaks to the heart of what we do, that is, working with clergy and congregational communities to a) better understand the communities of young people whom they wish to gather and to serve, and b) prepare congregations to hear the inspired word of God as it pertains to their own community life and the ever-evolving call of the Church in this world.   And now we’ve taken to harvesting these great sermons when we find them to share with wider communities to whom God has given ears to hear. And we’re hoping to find other forms and examples of effective proclamation as well since our work hinges on exciting encounters with the new and emerging even as we celebrate the time-honored practices from each of our faith traditions.

If you hear a sermon that you think our readers would be interested in, or other excellent examples of proclamation, please send it to mcoon@austinseminary.edu and we will post it on our blog. Keep a look out for our Proclaim Series!

Photograph by: Lesley Nowlin Blessing

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