Getting real

(somehow I managed to post my work-in-progress yesterday...sorry to those who received a half-written post...just keepin' it real ; )

Things have been getting a little more "real" lately. The vision has become reality, bringing with it a whole new set of joys, fears, and questions. The faith community that was to be now is, and the reality that it will have its own unique challenges goes without saying. After all, we are a group of individuals that each bring our own personalities, histories, upbringings and life experiences to the table. It's going to be interesting.

Probably the most profound way that I am experiencing this "real-ness" is through the challenges we face as a new work. I think it's our tendency as human beings to sort of float along when things are going well, but it's when challenges arise that things get real. For us, the challenges have been centered around making decisions about the future - where and when to gather, how to get the word out, how to structure our life together...lots of decisions for a group that is just getting to know one another! Making decisions together exposes our differences, and sometimes those differences can be hard to work through.

Another more recent way that we're getting real is by journeying together into the lows that we each face. We've had sick parents and struggling co-workers, but now the struggles of those in the group are coming to the surface. There are concerns and crises in the room that have the potential to crack open our life-as-usual routine, and make a way for authentic community to form. This is not easy, though. We expect as followers of Jesus, that there will be lots of opportunities to give to those in need, but what about when we are the ones in need? That's when things get tough, and real.

So much of my learning about what it means to be church happens outside of our group and out in the lives of those in the community. Earlier this week, I had the opportunity to take a friend's neighbor to the doctor. We talked a lot about what it feels like to be on the receiving end of care, about how hard it can be to be dependent on others, and how good it feels to give back. The more we talked I realized how much I was learning from her experience. I showed up to give, but received so much. I was reminded that restoration and healing can only happen when we are able to be vulnerable enough to give and receive. While giving makes us feel good, receiving reminds us of our inadequacy. We need both to experience wholeness, to love and be loved.

I think this is what Kathy Escobar describes as downward mobility in her book, Down We Go: Living Into the Wild Ways of Jesus. As she shares about her own faith community, she describes the ways that entering into the brokenness of her friends has led to her own transformation.

"Entering into the messy places is a core characteristic of downward living. We need a diverse mix of intentional relationships in which to tangibly practice love. ...to live down here we must consider a theology of brokenness that embraces humility as the starting place. It also means we must develop eyes to see what others do not see and to begin to make visible what is often invisible to the upwardly mobile."

The faith community I felt called to create is one in which restoration is not just talked about, but experienced as we share life together. In a world where there is so much pain and brokenness, I don't think we can afford to do anything less.

A candle and a promise

Last night, The Well's first Christmas Eve worship gathering began in a dimly lit room with only the light from our small Advent candles. These candles had been lit as we journeyed through the season of anticipating Christ's birth. Each signified a promise that hope, peace, love and joy would be realities in our lives and in our world. The room grew brighter as we listened to and entered into the Christmas narrative. A prophet's vision would be realized, a barren woman would give birth, a virgin would conceive. The Messiah would come in the form of a tiny baby and dwell with us. What began with a promise became a promise fulfilled as two boys in our church family lit the Christ candle. Light overcame darkness and the room was full and bright as we each raised candles high and worshiped the One who fulfills our longings.

This Christmas morning, I am so thankful for Light. I am thankful for the truth that love can overcome fear and doubt, that old patterns can be broken, that joy can be experienced here and now. God is with us! Merry Christmas!

The voice of Advent

It has been a busy couple of weeks as we have gathered for monthly worship, hosted a service of comfort and partnered to provide a Christmas store and day of fun for neighborhood families. Makes me tired just writing all of that! Although we as a faith community have encouraged a resistance to the busyness of the holidays, it has been difficult not to get consumed by all of this activity. It has taken a great deal of effort to rest, to balance and to slow down enough to hear the rich sounds of Advent.

A couple of weeks ago during worship, the peace candle was lit by a participant of The Well. I had asked him to share briefly about his definition of "peace", and to share a personal example of how he had experienced peace in unexpected circumstances. His story has stayed with me. He began telling about his resistance to enter a treatment program that would help him recover from addiction. He reluctantly entered after his family staged an intervention on his behalf. He endured the program half-heartedly, but admitted to planing to return to his addictive behaviors after finishing treatment. He described how on one morning, the ongoing noise that had filled his head for as long as he could remember suddenly stopped. As he sat alone in a room, he heard a voice from the hallway saying these words of warning: "If you don't stop, you're going to die."

As we lit the peace candle, we heard peace defined as "the time when the other voices stopped and I could hear the one that mattered...God's voice." This has stayed with me. The temptation during this time of year, and in most seasons of life is to hear what's on the surface. Advent reminds us that there is a deeper voice longing to be heard. The sounds of love, hope, joy and peace are waiting to be heard and spoken in our lives and communities. These voices are longing to confront the noises of power, violence, and hopelessness that seem so dominant. This season of anticipation invites us to wait attentively, believing that at any moment, these sounds will emerge. This season also invites us to anticipate a day in the future when all the noise will stop, and only one voice will be heard. I pray we will have the courage to hear the voice of Advent that calls us beyond our busyness and into the depths of God's creative power at work among us.

Look! He is coming with the clouds; every eye will see him, even those who pierced him; and on his account all the tribes of the earth will wail. So it is to be. Amen. “I am the Alpha and the Omega,” says the Lord God, who is and who was and who is to come, the Almighty.

-Revelation 1:7-8

It's the little things...

Over the past year and a half, the list of things I am thankful for has changed and grown. When expressing thanks, I often find myself using the phrase "it's the little things." Those things that are often overlooked, often brushed past or unnoticed have felt like milestones in this church starting journey. I want to share a few of those things with you...

• When I hear someone at The Well say "our church" or "we need to..." (reminds me that we are in this together, something I find very comforting!)
• Hugs from friends who are glad to see me
• The encouragement of those who follow this blog, and share their own insights through email, in person or by commenting
• The sharing of fresh insights into the story of scripture ("I've never thought of it this way before, but...")
• The realization of what we can do if we each share a small amount (from great potluck dinners to providing for a neighbor in need)
• A place to meet that immediately felt like "home" to us
• People eager to partner and "plot goodness" with us
• Words like "next year, we should..." (reminds me that a faith community has taken shape and is anticipating the future - thanks be to God!)
• Countless impromptu conversations with strangers who quickly became friends
• The helpful hands of family and friends (including parents who care for our children after school at least one afternoon every week!)
• Kevin's words when he gets home from work almost every single night: "I'm always glad to get home to my family." (this time last year, he was still commuting from Atlanta!)

It's all of these little things that add up to one big sense of awareness that God is with me/us on the journey. I pray for greater awareness of these not-so-small reminders, and for the wisdom to pause and give thanks.

Eating and drinking together

It's ironic that The Well has experienced communion together in both our first monthly worship gatherings. It's ironic because too often in the life of our own family, we forgo eating and drinking together (at the same time, at the same table) because of our schedules. I know that when we are not intentional about eating together, we miss out on valuable time of really seeing and hearing one another. We miss out on being still together and enjoying the gift of a shared meal.

Certainly, the communion meal or Eucharist is about more than enjoying the goodness of food and friendship. In fact, it is a meal rich with symbol and meaning. It is a time of both remembrance and celebration of the life of Christ. It is a metaphor for our receiving, being nourished by, and sharing the gifts we have been given through God's grace. It is a way by which we participate with Christ's first disciples in accepting the reality of our reliance on God to sustain us for the journey of both suffering and joy that will pave the way to the cross and the tomb.

I just finished watching a DVD version of this Sunday's worship gathering. It was really helpful for me to step back and see what took place without being distracted by the responsibility of the logistics. I saw and heard the sounds of a family coming together to participate in something significant. There was the hearing of God's story, the sharing of our personal stories, the singing of songs claiming hope and faith, and the call to accept and participate in the way of restoration. We were invited to respond in several ways to how we heard and saw God in worship, including the response of coming to the table to share in communion. I watched as people slowly and thoughtfully made their way to receive the bread and the cup, and I recognized another meaning of this ancient meal come to life. I witnessed how our eating and drinking together at the Lord's table serve as a means for transforming a group of individuals into a community of acceptance and hospitality where all are welcome. Young, old, black, white, rich, poor came to the table. They ate and drank from the same loaf and cup, and through this shared meal, gave witness to a God who loves and accepts each one of us. Our professions, achievements, incomes and agendas seemed irrelevant. We all needed the bread and the cup, and we were all called to share it as we journeyed from that place.

I was reminded to be grateful for the goodness of God that is experienced as we gather around tables to enjoy food together. Fortunately for The Well, there are always opportunities to enjoy a meal together, including our upcoming 'Gather Round on November 20th. We'll not only share a potluck meal, but we'll have intentional conversation about how feast(s) and table(s) nourish, shape and challenge us as human beings. We'll think, dream and "plot goodness" around how as people of faith we can be more responsible with how we grow, enjoy, purchase and share our food. If you're in Jacksonville, I hope you will join us. You can register here, and then just show up with one of your favorite dishes.

Grace and peace...until our next meal together.

A beautiful mess

I realized earlier this week yet another way that five years in Georgia has influenced more than just my path in ministry. As I rushed around from meeting to meeting, energized by each conversation, scattered yet grateful, a song came to mind. A country song came to mind. Yes, while living in Atlanta, I had gotten into the habit of listening to some good 'ole country music, and on this day of running late and feeling only half prepared, I began singing Diamond Rio's Beautiful Mess. While the romance-centered mess re-told in the song did not really match the story of my day, the idea of a beautiful mess did. I realized that in moments like these, as uncomfortable as they were for me, I was part of something beautiful.

For the last month on Sunday nights, The Well has been discussing what a spiritual community would look like if it practiced caring for its neighbors, not with charity, but with friendship and economic redistribution. Toward the end of our discussion, one participant commented, "If we do this, if we really practice the stuff we're talking about, it's going to be messy." I wish in retrospect I had let that thought settle for longer and had not moved on so quickly. Her reflection was heartfelt and seemed full of both confession and warning. Are we really serious about getting involved in this kind of work? Are we ready for what might happen? Are we willing to move away from our neat, well-defined and strategic projects and into new, more tangled and vulnerable ways of being in relationship with one another?

On numerous occasions described in scripture, Jesus said "the kingdom of heaven is like...". Compared to a seed, a child, a feast, a pearl, a wedding, the kingdom seems something to be grasped, yet something difficult to define. The kingdom, the work of God, is not easily defined, it does not provide a quick fix, it does not keep us isolated and disconnected from pain and suffering. When we dare to venture into the work of participating in God's work in the world, yes, it is messy and it is beautiful.

I've mentioned before that I do not like mess. I am learning, though, that you can't have the beauty without getting into the unsettled, tangled, often chaotic web of activity and connectivity that can make us feel crazy at times. This particular day involved creating a first budget for our church, sharing in grief over the sudden death of a family member, and planning a Christmas store for low-income families. It involved too many schedules, too many changes, too much pain and too little time.

A couple of questions come to mind: How do we handle the mess? Can we become obsessed with making things neat and manageable? Instead, are there ways we can begin blessing it, calling it beautiful, and recognizing that it just might be the kingdom of God unfolding before us?

Stop and celebrate

A couple of weeks ago, I took both of our girls to the pediatrician for their annual check-ups. I always get a little nostalgic when we go because I realize another year has passed, and they are growing up too quickly! This time, as I sat looking at my daughters in their paper gowns preparing for the doctor to arrive, I felt more than a sentimental stirring. I felt an overwhelming sense of gratitude at the fact that they are healthy. It suddenly dawned on me that there was so much to celebrate about that moment - we have health-care, insurance, have not been sick much, have access to immunizations (which my daughters might argue is nothing to celebrate!), and the list goes on. I felt gratitude, and yes, I also felt a tinge of guilt. While I can be pretty good at noticing when things are not going my way, I can be pretty bad a pausing to celebrate the good things.

I have a long list of things to celebrate, but instead of boring you with the list, I'll share one beautiful example. Two years ago this month, I was considering accepting an associate pastor staff position in a wonderful church in rural Georgia. I was thrilled to have this opportunity, and it was a good one. The role would involve many of the things I love to do. I thought and prayed and listened as people urged me to seriously consider accepting the call. Despite their advice, I just could not do it. Something told me no. About that same time, I began paying more attention to this opportunity I had heard about that involved starting new CBF churches in Florida. I did some reading on new ways of being church and church starting and attended a conference with others involved in "missional community formation." While I was drawn to the idea of church planting, it also seemed too risky, overwhelming, and was not something I could really see myself doing.

This Sunday, as The Well at Springfield celebrated the start of monthly worship, I celebrated my calling into this risky and at times overwhelming work. Admittedly, there have been many days when I have wondered when and how this new faith community was going to take shape; however, this was not one of them. As I looked around the room, I realized that a church had formed and I felt such affirmation. The stirring not to move into a traditional ministry position was what I needed to listen to, even as difficult and crazy as it seemed at the time. The stirring to be part of something new led us to this beautiful day, and for that I want to stop and celebrate.

After Sunday came Monday which brought another work and school week, a car breakdown, and an array of activity. I was about to move on too quickly until I remembered the visit to the pediatrician. I remembered to stop, and to soak in the goodness of Sunday. I need to stop and celebrate, and not forget how wonderful it is to sense the affirmation. I need to stop and celebrate the privelege of serving a God who still shapes and stirs, and to see the evidence of God's love and care through friends who gathered for worship. I'm sure I'll need it to look back upon in the days ahead.