Talk With the Preacher

It seems like standing on the edge of a new year always makes me stop for a minute to celebrate the good things in the year gone by, but I also spend a lot of time thinking hard about what’s been missing in my life.

I adapted this poem of Joyce Rupp’s to post my thoughts as I stand on the edge of this New Year. May 2006 be full of all of these . . . for all of us. Blessings.

A lot of people seem to think that by this time in my life I should have figured out the whole God thing. Answers for every question, you know?

This is particularly true given my profession.

So I figured it might not be a bad idea for me to revisit some of the basics as we enter a brand new year. First on my list to consider: Does God really exist?

Recently, a friend invited me to explore this great site on NPR where random people contribute essays under the title This I Believe. If you take a look at the site I am quite sure one or two will jump out at you. Of course, given my ornery nature (and possibly my recent spiritual ponderings), I was immediately drawn to the Penn Jillette essay explaining why he is an atheist.

Do I believe in God? Hmmm, this was an interesting question to consider, since its answer is almost always assumed to be an unequivocable “yes!”. After all, I grew up in the church and I currently support my lavish lifestyle by working for the church (considered by some to occasionally function as the earthly institution of God). So . . . what’s not to believe?

Penn Jillette’s essay made me think, though, about whether I also assume the obvious too often and don’t take the time to be thoughtful and intentional about this important issue.

And as if to underscore this recent revelation (coincidence? divine intervention?), I also just finished reading a very powerful book called The True Story of Hansel and Gretel: A Novel of War and Survival by Louise Murphy.

Based on the fairytale of Hansel and Gretel, the book tells the story of a Jewish man who is forced to abandon his children in a forest in Poland in the middle of winter hoping that they might find a way to survive until the war is over. The author recounts a conversation the father (known in the book as “Mechanik”) has with one of his rebel colleagues. Here’s how it goes:

“At night he (Mechanik) talked to her (his missing wife) in his head as he lay next to the others trying to get warm, trying to go to sleep. First it was as if she was alive and lying beside him. He would tell her about the day and what they had done. Then he noticed that the talking to her had become like a prayer, so he stopped doing it and lay staring at the cold sky until he fell asleep. You only prayed to dead people. Or God. And he didn’t believe in God and couldn’t accept that she was dead. He was left lying on the frozen earth with the dark sky above and his heart unable to take comfort from anything.

“At least I don’t believe in God,” he told the Russian one morning.

“And if you did believe, Mechanik, what then?”

“Then I’d kill myself. Because if God is all-powerful and all-knowing, he must have no pity. He looks down and sees everything and doesn’t bring the evil to an end. I wouldn’t live if I thought a God could end the pain and didn’t.”

“And what good would your death do?”

“It would teach God a lesson.” The Mechanik walked on and didn’t care that the Russian laughed. He knew it was true, and he was glad that he didn’t believe. It saved his life every day.”

The whole book was very moving, but this passage stuck out to me because it reminded me that the basic belief that God exists is not so easy for everyone, especially in the face of such extreme suffering like Mechanik and his family endured. And, clearly, Penn Jillette would agree with Mechanik.

I admit I have never been in a situation so extreme as the one the book portrays, but I’ve had a few moments when I’ve questioned the great big universe, shaken my fist at the sky and demanded and answer that didn’t seem to materialize. In the end, though, I must still insist there must be something out there on the other side. See, it is just inconceivable to me to think that I might be ultimately responsible or in charge of things (and if you know me, this idea might scare you, too).

Not wanting to depend on myself does not sound like very convincing reasoning for the existence of God, I’ll admit. And, I guess on an intellectual level I understand Mechanik’s and Jillette’s refusal to believe in God . . . it is much less complicated and, on the surface, provides a bunch of answers that appear to be clear, concrete, tangible. But I think that, honestly. . . everybody believes in something beyond what’s right in front of them, even if that something is an extension of themselves. So, when Jillette says “This I believe, that there is no God”, I think that he is really saying, “This I believe, that I am God.”

Pretty much the only thing I’ve figured out so far on this path of life is that it doesn’t look like I am going to be figuring it out anytime soon. All along in my struggle for definitive answers I have come back again and again to the conclusion that, if there are any, I don’t have access to most of them.

But, for all the reasons I tried to articulate above and for so many more that are mysterious and beyond my ability to express, I think for this moment I can definitively say that I believe there is a God.

And, she is not me.

That indisputably true statement right there is enough to at least strongly suggest the existence of a benevolent deity, don’t you think?

I noticed a few nights ago while at a holiday party that, once people find out what kind of job I have the first thing they ask is how I am surviving this week. Christmas falls on a Sunday this year, as you know, making regular Christmas Clergy Stress rather intensified (and, in case you’re wondering, no, we do not cancel church for Christmas, the holiday on which we celebrate the birth of Christ).

All of that was on my mind yesterday afternoon while I was outside raking leaves (yes, it is technically winter and this would be a job best done in the fall, but we do the best we can). So, after the UPS man had stopped by for a third time today, I started wondering the same thing about him–how has he been surviving the week?

As I wondered I raked my heart out (as you can see). But the fourth time the truck stopped (I could insert a comment here about advanced planning or efficiency, or even about rampant consumerism, actually, but in the spirit of the season I will resist . . .) I thought I’d ask him what it feels like to be him this week.

With a big smile (how annoying!) he said, “I have the best job! I get to bring people their gifts!”

Later, as I finished writing my Christmas morning homily, I realized that as much as I love to see the UPS man pull up to the curb, I think I might respectfully disagree with him on this issue.

Tonight, you see, our church family will gather and I’ll get to read those beautiful words from John chapter 1 about God coming to live among us.

And as I do I’ll be thinking, “I have the best job! I get to bring people their Gift.”

I’ll admit I am not always the most appreciative recipient of my friends’ Christmas letters. I mean, I love hearing about their lives and seeing how much their kids have grown, but it just seems like everyone has the most delightful time writing about their most wonderful year and sending it to all their dearly beloved friends.

And I feel that perhaps my life (wonderfully fabulous as it is mind you) just might not be the same level of wonderful as everyone else’s.

The irony of all of that, of course, is that I try my very best to get a beautiful card accompanied by a cheery review of the year to all my friends before Christmas, too.

This year, however, was full of one pitfall after another, a whole series of mishaps leading to the sad fact that all my dearly beloved friends will not be getting their news of our wonderful year until after Christmas. This is something of a nagging concern to me, you understand, because I can clearly see how the late arrival of our annual Christmas letter might possibly suggest to our far-away friends that everything in every part of our lives has (gasp!) not been quite perfect this past year, and that maybe our kids did not, in fact, smile the entire year through just like they are smiling in the picture.

Here’s what happened. As you know, you must begin the process of creating the perfect Christmas greeting by acquiring beautiful, unique, high quality (but cheap–especially when you have as many dear friends as we do!) cards, preferrably with adorable pictures of the kids on them.

The first mishap in this effort was that (and I am ashamed to admit this) I have not taken any pictures of my children since about March, all of which would be sorely out of date for use as a Christmas photo. Just the thought of rounding the kids up, making sure they are dressed and dressed decently, then threatening them sufficiently to make them smile beautifically–all three at the same time–well, that was enough to make me want to crawl under the covers and not come out for a long, long time.

Sadly, this procrastination led to more procrastination and by Thanksgiving I had no picture.

I am happy to report that God came to my aid in this matter through my friend Monica who, for some reason unknown to me, likes to take pictures of children and took a bunch pictures of my children while she was here visiting at Thanksgiving. Her kind attachment of these photos to a recent email was like a message from God that perhaps all was not lost in the quest for the perfect holiday greeting.

So, starting to feel the pinch of the deadline but emboldened by the good fortune of a cute picture, I pressed on.

The second setback in the effort this year was placing the order for the cards. I finally decided from which company to order but had to schedule an appointment with Mark to discuss our printed greeting. (Even though we’re married to each other we have to schedule appointments because we are both extremely busy and important. And tired.)

The question of our greeting was a delicate one. We wanted something heartfelt but not cheesy, socially responsible but not too generic, reflective of our faith but not offensive, classy but not cold. Furthermore, we could not ignore the fact that we live in a city recently rocked by controversy over our president and his wife choosing to print “Happy Holidays” instead of “Merry Christmas” in their cards. What was our collective position on this critical issue?!?!! Did we know our position? Did we even know this was an issue? Did we want to become embroiled in political controversy by either adopting the White House’s approach or choosing the opposite in protest? Would our friends be offended if we used Merry Christmas? Would our friends think we weren’t spiritual enough if we used Happy Holidays?

Profound discussions ensued and finally we decided “Wishing You Peace” would be the best option. Everybody likes peace, after all, and it sort of sounds spiritual, right?

Once that was decided I discovered if you pay a lot of extra money you can mask your procrastination by getting your cards printed really, really fast and shipped overnight. (With miracles like that I just don’t see how people can doubt the existence of God.) That is, of course, until I got an email on December 22 from the printing company that began: “Dear Valued Customer: It is with deep regret that we must inform you of a massive system failure which has resulted in our inability to print your holiday cards. It pains us as much as it must you that your cards will not be delivered before Christmas . . . .”

I can’t really print my full thoughts on that turn of events, but suffice it to say that I am fairly certain they were not as pained about this turn of events as I was or . . . as I hoped they would be.

So, here we are two days before Christmas and no greetings from the Butlers are clogging up the U.S. Postal Service processing centers. What this means, of course, is that all of our dear friends, many of whom mailed us their holiday greetings the last week in NOVEMBER, will go through Christmas 2005 without the opportunity to exclaim with delight over the perfectly wonderful year the Butlers had.

For this, I apologize.

But the good news today is that I am well on my way to rectifying this unfortunate dilemma. See, I’ve solved the card problem (stay tuned) and, in fact, have already begun the family letter:

Dear Valued Friends: It is with deep regret that we must inform you of a massive system failure which has resulted in our inability to mail our holiday cards until after the holiday. It pains us as much as it must you that you will not get to spend your holiday reflecting on the delightful year we had . . . .

If I don’t watch it my 7 year old Sammy is likely to start his own blog. Lately he has been spending a lot of time on the computer composing essays with titles like, “Quidditch” and “The Case of the Dragon”.

His most recent composition is entitled “My Life in Second Grade”.

Excuse me, but what kind of 7-year-old voluntarily sits down at the computer to write an essay called “My Life in Second Grade”?

In the first place, I don’t think he’s old enough to have a life, really. Well, that is unless you call catching the bus to school, coming home, occasionally practicing the piano and doing your chores a life.

And, secondly, it took me a good, long while . . . at least 30 years . . . to recognize that I had a life and to think that it might be useful to reflect on that life. Plus, we didn’t have computers when I was 7. I am wondering exactly what inspires that little mind to create?

Here’s an excerpt from Sammy’s recent composition:
My life in second grade is fun and easy. I know about mathematics, science, reading and social studies. We have fun things to do in second grade, like Math Olympics, Fun Friday, the drawing and most important, learning. I have a really nice teacher. My teacher’s name is Ms. Bartley. My friends are named Bethany, Bety and Max. I also like Spiderman and pizza and Harry Potter. My favorite color is red. I am seven years old. I was born in the year 1998. I have one brother and one sister. I am in second place to be the smartest kid in my class. Today when I am writing there are 5 days until Christmas.

Okay, so maybe he does have a life. And maybe one of the greatest things about his little life is an appreciation for the simple things that make up 7-year old living: pizza, a crush on your teacher, Math Olympics, being almost-the-smartest-kid in the class. (In case you are wondering, I do take issue with the glaring omission from this list of his inspiring and supportive mother . . . .)

Observing Sammy in his optimistic and enthusiastic assessment of life makes me want to take a step back for a minute to think about all of the simple, wonderful things I have in my own life, a list, which, by the way, also includes pizza.

And, reading his thoughts also makes me think that instituting Fun Fridays might not be a bad idea, either. What do you think?

It is freezing outside today, and I am not just saying that because I grew up in Hawaii. Even though the sun is out the wind is rather cutting; it makes the 40 degrees outside seem just a little cooler than 40 degrees. Thank goodness there’s a whole lot of warmth, goodwill and charity floating around; they help with the temperature. Those and the cute purple chenille gloves my colleague John Mein gave me yesterday.

This afternoon I had the good fortune to hear four Calvary folk sing at D.C.’s Downtown Holiday Market. Frankly, a Calvary group invited to sing in public is in itself enough to warm my heart, as we have had a few ups and downs on the music front at Calvary of late. And, in my totally unbiased opinion, they sounded . . . GREAT!

Singing their hearts out in this picture are Cheryl Branham (soprano) who is also our talented new music director (want to be part of the music renaissance at Calvary? Email Cheryl!), Marj Bunday (alto) and Joe Price (tenor)–both friends of Calvary (Joe is singing Christmas Eve at 7:00 for worship at Calvary) and Mark Butler (bass), who, in addition to singing in Calvary’s choir also happens to have fabulous taste in women.

Since the Downtown Holiday Market is a new project for the Penn Quarter not too many folks have turned out to participate this year–even with the walking gingerbread woman, booths of crafts and (lest you forget) quality musical presentations.

However, our singers’ hearts were undoubtedly warmed by the appreciative listening of the audience, such as it was . . . . Hey, thanks for coming out Marilyn, Kim, Chuck and Dan (though Dan is not pictured here–something about having to get back to work??!?). The other two fans, believe it or not, were in no way coerced to attend. They came freely.

Maybe next year the fan base will be a little stronger. In the meantime, here’s to taking a moment to be grateful for good music, hope for the future, incredible potential, dedicated church members and our cool downtown neighborhood. All of these are warming my heart, even though my hands are still freezing!

I am going to write a book someday. I’m sure of it. I’ve already assembled quite a few topics I’ve filed away, things I know I have profound thoughts about somewhere . . . if only I could find them.

It was suggested to me today by a church member that I entitle my yet-to-be-written book Real Preachers Wear Stilettos. Boy does that tell you something about the sort of people who worship at Calvary (thanks for the suggestion, Kevin)!

Kevin’s suggestion, however, leads me to think about something that’s been bothering me for quite sometime, and now seems a perfect time to get it off my chest.

It’s about my hair.

At first it started as a joke–somebody at church would mention my hair, something about the way I was styling it or something like that, and I would laugh and brush it off as insignificant. But yesterday it just got ridiculous; I stopped counting after 10 comments ranging from, “Your hair looks nice today” to “What have you done to your hair today?” to “Want some advice? Lose the barrette!”

When I wondered aloud if there was something in the water one of our long-time members chimed in, “Well, we’re the ones who have to look at you for an hour every week!”

You know, you can’t argue with that logic.

The thing is, if you really must know, I am trying to grow my hair out in my constant, life-long quest to look like Meg Ryan. So for awhile it is going to look different, weird, strange, whatever.

On one level I appreciate that people even notice. Wouldn’t the world be a sad and lonely place if no one ever noticed anything about you?

On another increasingly more prominent level, I will admit that I am starting to feel rather annoyed. In my opinion the only people who should care about my hair are me and the woman who cuts it, though to be perfectly honest I really don’t even think she cares about it as much as some of my church members seem to.

In the world of church organization I understand that different size churches focus organizationally on different things. For example, the “family size church” is like an extended biological family system and functions much in the same way. The larger “program size church” gathers around the quality and variety of its programs. At this point in its organizational life Calvary is what is known as a “pastoral size church”, defined by Alice Mann in her book The In-Between Church as “a coalition of several overlapping family-friendship networks unified around the person and role of the pastor.”

I understand this phenomenon and I welcome it to some degree. I understand that people need a focal point around which to gather. In light of current comments about my hair, however, two things have started to bother me.

First, in the final analysis it really isn’t going to matter much what my hair looks like. Really.

Sara Groves got it right on her album, Conversations: “When I stand before the Lord, I’ll be standing alone. This journey is my own.” It’s not like God and I will be having “the talk” and there will be someone standing behind me protesting: “But you have to admit she did have a very cute hair cut during Advent 2005!”

I can’t ever forget that. I don’t WANT to ever forget that.

I don’t have all the answers to the meaning of life but I am pretty sure that whatever they are they have little or nothing to do with my hair.

And second, when folks come to worship at Calvary I really hope they can sit in that beautiful sanctuary and WORSHIP. This is precisely why I wear a robe . . . to help people focus away from the personality and more toward the purpose for which we gather. I understand that the pastor sets the tone but when church becomes about anything other than hoping for an encounter with God, well, then, I am not doing my job.

I don’t know what the solution to this dilemma could be . . . I guess I can’t really control what people think about my hair, can I? But I can tell you this: I am not sure if it’s true, what Kevin said . . . that real preachers wear stilettos. Frankly, some very scary mental pictures spring to mind at this phrase (Brother Palmer in 5 and 1/4-inch patent leather mules?!?!?). I don’t personally own a pair and, even if I did I am doubtful that I could make it across the dais without falling flat on my face.

No, I think real preachers love Jesus, and no matter what I’m wearing, if that doesn’t come across when you meet me. . . well, it might be time to change more than my hairstyle.

Here’s a riddle for you: how do you pastor a church and remain sane?

If you know the answer, please comment below. Or write a book. Soon.

One of the ways I know I have managed so far has been the incredible staff members who share my workload. In a critical position at Calvary right now as we move into our newly renovated space is church administrator, Paul Rosstead.

Paul came to Calvary’s staff one year ago this month and, without exception, everyone has been thanking God for THAT turn of events.

I personally have been burning incense and making small donations to the Red Cross.

I can’t (or don’t want to) remember professional life B.P. (Before Paul, of course). Everyone should be as lucky as I am to work with such a gem. Thanks for all you do to keep me sane, Paul, and happy one year!

Today was a beautiful day for a neighbor, as Mr. Rogers would sing, and Calvary Baptist Church has some of the finest neighbors around.

Calvary is located in the most incredible neighborhood. The Penn Quarter/Chinatown neighborhood is undergoing revitalization and as a result the church, which has been here for all the ups and downs since, oh, about the time Abraham Lincoln was assassinated, is gaining some wonderful new residents, all of them our new neighbors.

All the neighbors gathered tonight for the annual Penn Quarter Neighborhood Association Gala, held at the National Building Museum. The food was provided by the restaurants in the neighborhood and, believe me, it was incredible.

The best part of the evening (besides the Starbucks peppermint hot chocolate with whipped cream on top) was that all of our neighbors showed up with donations of toys for Calvary’s Horizon’s Club and for our partner project the Miracle on Seventh Street.

Here’s a picture of Horizon’s Club member Ferlando, who helped helped stack and haul all the toys; next week Calvary members will be in and out of the church everyday during the week to wrap and label gifts. What a great community effort to provide a Christmas for so many kids who would not have one otherwise.

Yes, whenever I think about the word “neighbors” I always think of Mr. Rogers’ hokey song. It IS hokey, but I think on nights like tonight I really echo his sentiments: Penn Quarter friends, I’ve always wanted to have neighbors just like you!

Thanks for all the partnership and potential to make a big difference in our community.