Thursday, December 11, 2014

Advent and Apathy: What Millenials May Be Waiting for This December

They say 95 percent of the world's oceans have yet to be explored. They remain mysterious and uncharted waters inhabited by the unknown.

You could say we mostly have a surface level understanding of aquatic life. We can make guesses and develop hypotheses, but in order to make new discoveries marine biologists must dive deeper.

Their real challenge is to plunge into the darkness of the 95 percent and remain open to the mystery before them. If researchers want to enhance their work, they must be willing to risk going places others have either previously hesitated or failed to explore.

But these waters are dark and mysterious, able to challenge most of what has been considered sure and certain for so long. It is far easier to cling to the five percent up top, where we have more of a history and control.

This past Monday at Lutheran Theological Seminary, theologian Andrew Root posited some rather poignant observations about the slow currants of younger generations in the church. Root suggested the demographic between ages 18-35 don't hate the church. "They can't," Root said. "You can't hate something you aren't connected to or involved in." Instead of the misconception that younger generations hate the church, Root exposed a much more challenging response: apathy.

Why such pervasive apathy?

The church* has demonstrated an unwillingness to swim in the same waters as millenials. Religious communities have hesitated to dive into the depths of curiosity and wonder that make up the lived experiences and raw questions of younger generations. In a sense, Root suggested the church and related preaching, teaching, and ministry programs, have copped out and merely hovered on the surface while generations continue to come and go, longing for a community to explore the complex mysteries and issues of the day.

The church has not adjusted the religious rhetoric or fostered environments where millenials can wrestle with God and find solidarity as they ponder...

....questions of faith and an suspicion about absolutes.

...ambiguities and insecurities related to identity and self-worth.

...inclusion of LGBTQ persons and others who frequently feel unheard and devalued.

...fresh takes on old biblical stories and Christian theology aimed at a way of being versus thinking.

...interfaith dialogue and a religiously plural world.

...angst about long-term commitments and intimacy.

...a nation and world far too eager to wage war and expecting citizens to pay for it.

...increased pressures forced upon us by consumer culture.

...pervasive racism underscored by the deaths of and responses to Michael Brown and Eric Garner.

...unjust systems that protect the rich and powerful at the expense of minority groups and those on the margins of our communities.

...a financial future that will never again look like it did for generations right before us.

This begs the question, will the church snorkel in shallow waters of the five percent while millenials suit up in SCUBA gear and plunge into the darker and deeper waters of the 95 percent yet to be defined?

It's time for the church to join the youthful crowd, maybe even follow their lead, as they push us further. After all, they don't hate us. Actually, studies suggest they'd appreciate our company.

Advent is a popular time for millenials to show up at church. Despite misconceptions, many young people like the liturgy of seasons like Advent and Christmas. The challenge for the church, are we narrating the Jesus story in such a way that makes space for their honest questions and demonstrates we are wrestling with God in the same ways they are?

Karl Barth once wrote, "In the crib of Bethlehem and at the cross of Golgotha the event takes place in which God gives Himself to them to be known and and in which they know God."**

The God we proclaim at both Christmas and Easter, times when more than just millenials return to church, must be celebrated as One who entered as a child into the dark waters of real history. Our real obligation as communities of faith is to proclaim Immanuel as the One unafraid of a deep and mysterious world of pain, suffering, complexity, and various manifestations of despair and death.

We must make space for questions this time of year, too.

And many are waiting this Advent for exactly that. In light of the pressing issues of racism and unjust political systems, imbalanced economics, increased pressures of consumer culture, an increasingly violent world, uncertainties about financial futures and mounting debt, concerns about local and global poverty, and ever-shifting self-understandings and individualized identities- Advent is a chance not only to proclaim, but also embody all we believe to be true about who God is and where God may be calling us next. We echo the grace of a God who is as concerned about the mysteries and darkness of first-century Bethlehem as those of today's Ferguson, Coatesville, West Chester, Liberia, Honduras, and Washington, D.C..

Advent is a chance to validate the musings of younger generations who may be walking in the church doors once again or for the first time after prolonged seasons of apathy and avoidance.

Advent is when we dare to suggest the church is eager to hang out with younger generations in the deep waters of their lived experiences, unafraid of uncertainty and ambiguity, darkness and mystery.

Maybe then they will come back after the holidays.

I pray they do. The church needs them.


*When I say the "church" I am speaking mostly about the Main Line Protestant church I call my tradition and context.

**See Church Dogmatics Volume II.1



Tuesday, December 2, 2014

St. Nicholas Would Sandal Slap Santa: Ancient Bishop as Advocate for Children, Victims of Human Trafficking, and Wrongly Accused on Death Row

There's a legend about St. Nicholas that many fanatics of Early Christians desperately want to be true.

The story goes that Nicholas and Arius were among many at the Council of Nicaea in the midst of a heated theological debate about the nature of God. That's when Nicholas grabbed a brick, lifted it up, and declared that as the brick was one substance in three parts, i.e. earth, fire, and water, so also was God one substance (homoousios) made up of three parts. Father. Son. Holy Spirit. The brick then burst into flames, vanished from their site, and left only water to drip from Nicholas' hands and onto the floor.

Arius, on the other hand, was a gifted orator* and began to spit rhymes about how Jesus was not fully divine. Christ was actually not of the same substance as God the Father but had a created beginning. I like to think that after his rhythmic rhetoric, Arius dropped his mic, shook the dust from his shoulders, winked at his counterparts, and stepped aside in challenge.

St. Nicholas wanted nothing to do with this blasphemous, albeit popular and catchy, theological beat. So the Bishop of Myra stood up, took off his crusty sandal, and slapped the would-be heretic across the face.

That's right, St. Nick sandal slapped his theological opponent. So much for being jolly.

It's not known whether St. Nicholas was even at the Council of Nicaea and unlikely that his nemesis Arius was even invited, as he was not a bishop and would have had to send representation. Still, the story gives hints and guesses to the pure passion of the man who would be morphed into a Coca-Cola ad campaign of the 1930's and the foundation for consumer-driven Christmas, long lists that keep places like Macy's, Walmart, and in business, and the parental threat that runs a muck this time of year- better be good, Santa's watching.

Needless to say, anytime I pass by a makeshift North Pole in a shopping mall I pause and think, would St. Nicholas sandal slap the bearded icon and all nine of his reindeer? I wonder if Nicholas would do the same to Santa Claus as he supposedly did to Arius, counting Claus as some sort of blasphemous and offensive distortion of who he was and all he aspired to be as a disciple of Jesus and leader in Christ's church.

Sure, there is much to like about Santa. Maybe the old fella encourages the imaginations of children and playful generosity of parents. It's possible that Santa is a fun folklore to hand down to each generation, fostering a spirit of mystery and anticipation common to the season.

It's also possible that Santa has overshadowed the more brilliant stories that were told for generations before soda companies and capitalism got hold of him.

Stories like the time when St. Nicholas rescued three women about to be sold by their father into an ancient human trafficking ring.

The family had run out of money and found themselves uncertain about how to live another day. The only option the father felt he had was to sell off his young girls into prostitution. Bishop Nicholas got word and on two separate occasions anonymously tossed bags of money into an open window. The money, which came from Nicholas' inheritance, was enough to pay the dowry needed to be wed and prevent them from captivity and the horrors of prostitution.

But there was still one more daughter. And the father was determined to find out the identity of this mysterious donor. As the father camped out on the roof of his home he saw Nicholas dropping a bag of money down their chimney and into a sock hung out to dry.




Anyway, caught red-handed, Nicholas made the man promise to protect his identity and refrain from revealing who had provided such elaborate funds. Thus the beginning of the mystery behind the man with a beard and red mitre.

Yet the story was too good not to be told. The prophetic and radical generosity of those who benefited from and followed behind the secret graces of Nicholas even birthed new legends.

There's the story of those wrongly accused of a crime and sentenced to death by beheading. Just as the sword was about to come down, Nicholas intervened, seized the downward thrusting sword in his calloused hand, halted their execution, and played a pivotal role in accusations being expunged.

There's the tale of two parents whose enslaved child was lifted by his hair out of the courts of an oppressive ruler and returned to his mother and father by the spirit of the deceased Saint Nicholas.

It can be said that Nicholas was one of the earliest advocates of victims of child labor and slavery, human trafficking, and those wrongly accused who sit on death row.

A far cry from what has become to be known as Santa Claus.

As we approach December 6th and the Feast of St. Nicholas, may we pay homage to the faithful witness and man behind the myth. May we tell our children these sacred stories of justice, advocacy, intervention, concern for the poor, and desire to give mysteriously more than receive abundantly.

Maybe then we will begin to tap into the true Spirit of Christmas, which neither involves sandal slapping our theological opponents nor trampling those in front of us in the lines at your local retail store.

Happy Feast of St. Nicholas.

*"Arius' views were all the more popular because he combined an eloquent preaching style with a flair for public relations. In the opening stages of the conflict, he put ideas into jingles, which set to simple tunes like a radio commercial, were being sung by the dock-workers, the street-hawkers, and the school children of the city" (Bruce Shelley, Church History in Plain Language 100-101).

See Pete Enns Post, St. Nicholas: What Can I Say, He Was a Beast

The Man Who Would Be Santa Claus by Adam C. English

Tuesday, November 25, 2014

Thanksgiving, Privilege, and #Ferguson: What We Can Learn from 10 Lepers in Luke

I watched the unfolding of the Ferguson Grand Jury's decision in the comfort of my home with a newborn baby resting peacefully on my chest. I was able to lament in luxury and from a position of privilege.

That's because I am not Michael Brown. I also am not Trayvon Martin. I am white. I am male. I am privileged.

But I am not shocked. While it is rare for a Grand Jury not to return an indictment to the prosecuting attorney, which simply would allow for this case to go to trial, I was not surprised the group selected chose to be one of the few to do so.

We would like to think the walls of division all around us are crumbling, but the reality is bricks are being added vertically and horizontally every single day. Whether it's race, religion, sexual orientation, ethnicity, or political affiliation, segregation continues to plague our nation, world, and even sanctuaries. We are a divided people and neither the setting fire to local businesses and police cars nor the refusal to take this case to court will further progress our communities towards the reconciliation and peace we all long to be the fabric of our future.

We can do better.

It's interesting that the decision not to indict Darren Wilson came on the Monday of Thanksgiving week. The temptation, as a white male situated in the suburbs of two Pennsylvania cities, is to watch the events unfold and hang my hat on gratitude and be thankful.

I could give thanks that when I get pulled over for speeding, which happens at least annually, other assumptions and suspicions are not cast upon me based upon the pigment of my skin.

I could give thanks that when I walk my dog late at night or in a parking garage after shopping, those who pass by me in my hoodie don't assume I am an aggressor.

I could give thanks that I have never had difficulty finding a job because of my skin color or gender.

I could give thanks that I do not know the pain of Michael Brown's parents that lead them towards both longings for four-and-a-half minutes of silence en memorium or to seek vengeance on those a part of an egregious decision by the Grand Jury.

I could give thanks that I have never experienced something in my life that has tested my commitment to nonviolent resistance or even to want to act out on deep-seeded rage.

I could give thanks for all the privileges I have not earned but simply assumed, thanking God I was neither born black, gay, middle eastern, Muslim, or even female, but then I would simply widen the gap and add to the piles of bricks that continue to work against any and all forms of reconciliation.

That's because we give thanks not in contrast to the circumstances and experiences of others, we give thanks as a means to link arms with the God who made all of us. Our gratitude is cruciform and moves us towards solidarity with all of those who suffer in silence, long for justice, work for peace, and protest the many manifestations of corruption and oppression near and far.

Thanksgiving is not about feasting on our privilege but leveraging it for the sake of the other.

I wonder if that is the real punch of Luke 17:11-19 and Jesus' healing of ten lepers.

All ten were reconciled and made whole. All ten were set free from their identity as a marginalized people group. All ten were made new by the One who was in the process of making all things new and right again.

But only one, a foreigner from Samaria, returned to the source of reconciliation and gave thanks. Only one fell facedown in worship and identified with the One who could use this healed leper to extend the same sort of healing towards others. Only one was thankful and chose to link arms with the mission and movement of the Messiah.

Only the man from the margins understood and so was charged by Jesus, "Get up, rise, be on your way. Your faith has saved you. Resurrection has happened in you. Practice resurrection all around you. No longer keep your distance from me but draw near to the kingdom and those like you who are invited into it."

The other nine kept their distance. They were set free from their marginalization and chose to cling to their new privileges. It's quite possible they even returned to the temple priests, declared their gratitude from afar, and returned to full participation in the religious community. How quickly they forgot their Master and Teacher who healed them and those on the fray and a part of their leper colony.

Are we the same? Do we merely give thanks from a privileged distance versus living out of our gratitude as we link arms with Jesus and those to whom he identified? Do we respond to embarrassing dismissals by Grand Juries with acts of violence and vandalism so distant from the teachings and witness of Jesus and wreak havoc on small business owners part of the same marginalized groups seeking justice? Do our faith communities even talk about what is taking place in our country this week or do we give thanks from afar, grateful we do not live in Ferguson, Iraq, Israel, Palestine, Coatesville or other parts of the world torn by violence and injustice?

Do I keep my distance because now is not the time and there are others more capable, whose life circumstance more susceptible, to truly work towards change?

If we believe in the resurrection and long to have any part in it, our discipleship and life as those who follow Jesus begins with gratitude to God; it's what we do when we worship. When we give thanks and worship, like Luke's Samaritan, we no longer keep our distance rather link arms in faith with the God who made us in the beginning, reconciles us in the person of Jesus, and sends us by the Spirit on our way to use all we have and all we are to be God’s generous, gracious, and just people in and for the world. We live graciously out of our thankfulness, which moves us out of our privilege and towards those all too familiar with exclusion, injustice, prejudice, discrimination, and systems bent against them and others in their communities.

This Thanksgiving I am grateful for those who are on the front lines of God's kingdom, which is justice, peace, and joy in the Spirit. I am grateful for lawyers, advocates, preachers, teachers, and protesters who will peacefully work towards change. I am grateful for those who will not tire despite the opposition but will use their privilege to link arms with those on the margins longing for a voice.

This Thanksgiving I pray I would do the same.

Only then will I truly demonstrate my gratitude, even within the comfort of my home with a new baby yet to be discouraged by the despair of yesterday.


Related Links

Statement by Stated Clerk of General Assembly (PCUSA)

Call to Prayer by Presbyterian Disaster Assistance

Christian Leaders Respond to Ferguson Grand Jury

A Sad Night in America by Jim Wallis

White Privielge and Male Privilege by Peggy McIntosh

Photo above is a peaceful demonstration by varied persons of faith, including Cornel West and Jim Wallis.

Tuesday, November 18, 2014

Prayer as Graffiti of the Soul and Melody of Mission

As parents of three little ones, it's a rare thing to find quiet and solitude in our home. When I covet devotional time for prayer and meditation, I often feel like the Psalmist: Where can I go? If I take the wings of the morning, you are there asking me to go potty. If I descend into the depths of the basement, you are there planting a mine field of Legos. If I turn out the lights and hide in the darkness, you turn on the flash of my iPhone and claim we've constructed a fort. For even the darkness is not dark to you, the night is as bright as the day so you find joy in pushing your bedtime later and later (Psalm 139, Parent Remix).

These aren't complaints. They also are not confessions of a parent who hides from his children, for nothing could be farther from the truth. Instead, it's an honest embrace of reality. Real life is not crafted for variations of monastic prayer. But prayer is most definitely intended for real life and the chaos that comes with it.

Which brings a whole new meaning to Karl Barth's well-known statement, "to clasp our hands in prayer is the beginning of an uprising against the disorders of the world."

Prayer is one of faith's greatest mysteries. Prayer cannot be defined, explained, comprehended, defended, or perfectly performed. Yet, whether while we pace with a fussy newborn in the middle of the night, wash dishes that have piled up during the day (or week), walk the streets of Philadelphia or the market of Tegucigalpa, huddle together with forty teenagers on retreat, or sit in the silence of an empty chapel, we are invited to pray.

Prayer is a lot like graffiti, we are not always certain about the how or the why or even the who and when of our prayers. Prayer pops up all over the place, not limited by convention or sacred galleries we call sanctuaries. Prayer, much like graffiti, is beautiful because it's honest and scribbled over both the ordinary and complexity of everyday life. You could even say prayer is a secret movement of the Spirit whose petitioners and practioners do not look for public recognition rather express what is frequently buried deep within the human soul.

Jan Milič Lochman says it well, "Prayer as this inner dimension embraces and accompanies the whole polyphony of human life. In this sense all thoughts and actions that respect God and his creation are acts of prayer" (The Lord's Prayer 6).

PolyphonIc prayer includes all of the following and more:















Prayer as encompassing all the varied sounds of human experience may be why the writer of First Thessalonians challenged the faithful to "pray without ceasing" (5:16). Prayer, in the midst of life's ebbs and flows, is the on-going, steady, and centered posture of trust in the God who made us, redeems us, and sends us into the world. When we doubt, lose trust, and stray from our sacred center, prayer is the Spirit's metronome that gently tugs at the heart and draws us back again.

It could be said that prayer is the never ending melody that shapes our whole life and interaction in and for the world. So when we pray without ceasing to a God who has promised always to hear our prayers we begin to see ourselves, others, and the world around us through the same lens of the God who made all things and the Jesus who suffered, died, and rose again for the whole world, including you and I.

Prayer must also ultimately push us towards action. We don't pray passively. We pray expectantly. We pray for healing, justice, forgiveness, comfort, generosity, peace, and for all the wrongs, even our worst of enemies, to be made right and good again. And when we pray these kind of prayers, we begin to shape our lives so they echo the sounds and move in rhythm with what we have prayed for and to whom we have prayed.

"Christians pray to God that he will cause his righteousness to appear and dwell on a new earth under a new heaven. Meanwhile they act in accordance with their prayer as people who are responsible for the rule of human righteousness, that is, for the preservation and renewal, the deepening and extending, of the divinely ordained human safeguards of human rights, human freedom, and human peace on earth" (Karl Barth, The Christian Life 205).

We confess this because prayer is not only about asking for things from God. Prayer is also about God asking for a response from us. Prayer reminds us we are God's partners and co-laborers in ushering in the kingdom, God's dreams for a new and transformed world.

There's a whole lot more that can be said about prayer. But prayer is meant to be engaged not by a talking (read: blogging) head, but by the collection of the faithful called the church.

Actually, prayer is meant to be humbly and mysteriously sprayed with quiet utterances all over the disordered world. These are the very beginnings of subtle uprisings that draw others towards the love, justice, generosity, and peace characteristic of the new heaven and new earth already here and still to come.

So may our prayers never cease, even when we cannot find quiet or solitude. Actually, may we pray all the more in the midst of life's chaos and confusion. That's what God intended anyway.


*Image above is street art in London by the mysterious Banksy. The boy is praying in front of what is supposed to be a stained glass window crafted over graffiti on a building. The irony is awesome.


Wednesday, November 5, 2014

Yep, Our Son Was Born on October 31: Parenting as Fear and Faith Formation

I am not sure why, but I had this hunch that October 31 was to be the birthday of kid No. 3.

Maybe it's because holiday deliveries seem normal to us, as our Twinado made their grand entrance just over three years ago on Maundy Thursday. This made for a poetic albeit chaotic Easter when we brought new life home for the first time.

Maybe it was because I have never been a huge fan of Halloween and thought the universe, in a cruel twist of irony, had aligned the stars so I would be forced to celebrate on this day every year from now until forever.

Maybe it's because I love the significance of All Hallows' Eve and had already considered my son a saint in utero.

Maybe it was because I had visions of a book in honor of Martin Luther, who on October 31, 1517, posted 95 Theses for church reform on the door of the Catholic Church in Wittenberg, Germany. However, unlike the great reformer, my book would be a collection of humorous anecdotes titled, 95 Feces: An Unorthodox Guide to Parenting in the Way of Jesus.

Maybe it was because I saw how uncomfortable my wife was at the tale end of the pregnancy. I knew 39 weeks was considered full term and a few days early would've been welcome relief for the courageous yet tired love of my life.

Needless to say, my prediction was a spot on oracle of precision.

So here we stand with a baby boy born on both Halloween and All Hallows' Eve. His delivery surrounded by cultural dramatizations of horror and ecclesial celebrations of the holy. While we may eventually grow tired of festive cliches and birthday puns, October 31 may ultimately serve as perfect metaphor for parents like us who hold in tension the frightening and hallowed call to faith formation.

We may fear the health and safety of our children, not wanting them to be short changed by debilitating diseases, become victims of unnecessary hazards, or lose out because of the irresponsibility of others. At the same time we pray our children hear God's hallowed call to take risks for the sake of others, especially margin dwellers and oppressed persons. We pray the pain they will endure, for they indeed will, moves them to enter into and seek to alleviate the pain of others.

We fear our children will not be treated with the same kindness and love we have taught them about since their birth. We dread school buses, lunch tables, and playgrounds that can be communities of grace and platforms for hostility. We cringe as we consider the possibility that our children will be the butt of jokes tossed at them by the same kinds of children we encountered when we were young. We also dare our children to cling to the hallowed image of God that defines them and can never be taken away from them. We must nurture them to be saints who reflect that very image in all those they encounter, celebrating diversity versus condemning difference.

We fear finances and the inability to provide all that our children need or want. We fear mounting medical bills, student loans, and rising costs of living. We fear our children will become pawns in the capitalistic, consumer culture and obsessed with the need for more and better. We strive to foster a holy trust in the very Creator who promises us not abundance but daily bread. We pray they would explore opportunities to share that same bread with those who are poor, sick, and hungry.

We fear they will become cynical in light of a world saturated in violence, poverty, injustice, and steady streams of corruption and hypocrisy. We pray for the sacred opportunities to dream alongside them as they quest to become agents of generosity and innovative peacemakers, embodying the different world they know can and one day will be possible.

We fear they will become jaded by church systems and politics that quickly distract God's people from the mission of God and God's dreams for a better, cleaner, and safer world renewed by creativity and beauty. We covenant as faithful parents to empower our hallowed children, in the words of Richard Rohr, to critique the bad with the practice of the better. We also hope to tilt their eyes and ears to those very places where the world still reflects the very brilliance of Eden and wondrous sounds of God's shalom.

We fear our children will live in angst and anguish in light of what they read, watch, witness, and personally experience. We long to respond to our Christian call and form them to be disciples not crippled by fear but propelled by the perfect love of God in Christ that has driven all fear away.

Let's be honest, fear is a part of parenting. Fear is intimately a part of being human. Maybe that's why we mimic it on Halloween.

Still more, faith formation is the sacred call of parents, who are accompanied by the great and hallowed cloud of witnesses called the church. When we hold in tension the reality of fear and our holy obligation to faith formation, the possibilities are endless not only for us, but also and especially for our children.

After all, theirs is the kingdom of God.

So I guess I'm kind of grateful for my son's October 31 birthday, colliding with both Halloween and All Hallows' Eve. Maybe this annual celebration will be a reminder for him (and us) to live within the tension of fear and faith formation. That seems to be the very place where God dwells, too.

Happy Halloween. Blessed All Hallows' Eve.

Even if it's a bit belated.


Related Post:


Tuesday, October 28, 2014

Job and Jesus at the Dump: Suffering Part 2

There's an epic moment at the end of Toy Story 3. (Don't judge my current movie and media references, I have young kids, my wife is pregnant, and I now drive a minivan.)

Buzz, Woody, Jessie, and their entire network of toy heroes are about to be consumed by a fiery furnace at the local dump. While at the top of the trash heap, they brace themselves for inevitable destruction on the heals of their greatest adventure to date.

They no longer speak.

They have surrendered their visions of some sort of dramatic escape.

They know there are no plans for Toy Story 4 and so have lost all hope.

As their garbage pile moves closer and closer to the edge, the friends silently link arms, grasp hands, and gaze into each other's eyes as a final digital display of solidarity.

A pretty dark and dramatic moment for a kid's flick.

It's also what came to mind when I thought of another story whose characters suffer in silence upon different trasheap of despair:

"Satan left God and struck Job with terrible sores. Job was ulcers and scabs from head to foot. They itched and oozed so badly that he took a piece of broken pottery to scrape himself, then went and sat on a trash heap, among the ashes...Three of Job’s friends heard of all the trouble that had fallen on him. Each traveled from his own country—Eliphaz from Teman, Bildad from Shuhah, Zophar from Naamath—and went together to Job to keep him company and comfort him. When they first caught sight of him, they couldn’t believe what they saw—they hardly recognized him! They cried out in lament, ripped their robes, and dumped dirt on their heads as a sign of their grief. Then they sat with him on the ground. Seven days and nights they sat there without saying a word. They could see how rotten he felt, how deeply he was suffering."

Job 2:7-13 (The Message)

This ancient story reminds us sometimes there are no words in the face of death, dying, and human suffering. While we may be tempted to promote our carefully crafted theologies, unleash clever Christian cliches, and defend God and all related God speak we have been taught since childhood, there are moments when silence is best.

I only wish Job's friends would've stopped there. I wish they would've ended with their decision to dump dirt on their heads and practice the presence of the God who hears more than speaks. I wish the three ancient theologians would've been willing to bypass rigid quests for certainty and reason and embrace mystery in the midst of a friend's misery.

I wish they would've remained silent.

But I'm glad Job didn't. I'm grateful for the pages that turn rather quickly as Job confronts the very God who has apparently permitted his agony, which will never sit well with me. I am grateful Job gives vocabulary to the emotions I have felt in moments of anguish. Job even permits us to challenge God's (lack of) involvement or concern. I am grateful Job freely vocalizes his rage. I am grateful God listens, too.

I am also grateful for another dump of despair outside Jerusalems city limits:

"The soldiers brought Jesus to Golgotha, meaning "Skull Hill." They offered him a mild painkiller (wine mixed with myrrh), but he wouldn’t take it. And they nailed him to the cross. They divided up his clothes and threw dice to see who would get them...At noon the sky became extremely dark. The darkness lasted three hours. At three o’clock, Jesus groaned out of the depths, crying loudly, "Eloi, Eloi, lama sabachthani?" which means, "My God, my God, why have you abandoned me?"

Mark 15:22-24, 33-34 (The Message)

We frequently look to the cross as a symbol for the sin of the world. We see the crucifixion as synonymous with other words like forgiveness and atonement.

But what about the cross as a witness to a God who not only saves but also suffers and dies? What about Golgotha, a trash heap on the outskirts of Jerusalem, as another Job-like encounter with the garbage of death, dying, and a world caught within the grips of evil and injustice?

What about the cross as a grand mystery that dares us to sit in silence and ponder the meaning of the Messiah's most difficult question, "My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?"

There are enough people ready and willing to respond to a suffering world with pat answers, carefully-constructed statements, and well-intentioned theological systems. But I wonder, are there even more willing either to sit in silence alongside those who grieve, crucifying a lust for controlled rationale or still more faithful enough to venture alongside others who suffer in silence and pray for someone to speak up as advocates for their deliverance.

Teenagers seem to have a knack for this sort of ambiguous confrontation with pain and heartache.*

Maybe that's because they have a hunch that this is what the cross is all about. Maybe they know this is what it means to carry one in a world with more than a fair share of Golgothas.

Still, Job and Jesus at the dump are not overcome by darkness. If we linger in the story long enough we encounter a God who carries and buries the sufferings of this world in the cross of Christ. God doesn't bury our suffering so to dismiss, hide, or increase divine apathy and ignorance. Rather, like a careful and confident gardener, God plants the seeds of our sorrows in the soil of God's promise with full awareness that in time new life can and will sprout.

This will be true for all of us, indeed true of all creation.

But until that day, sometimes all we can do is sit by the dirt and quietly wait.

Or get our hands dirty and plant seeds of justice and peace.

But we clasp our hands and wait nonetheless.


Related Links and Books

On Job by Gustavo Gutierrez

Adolescence and the Stewardship of Pain by Frederick Buechner

Is God to Blame? By Gregory Boyd

Why Does Life Hurt So Much Sometimes? Suffering Part 1

*"Let me suggest with total inaccuracy that the word adolescent is made up of the Latin preposition ad, meaning 'toward,' and the Latin noun dolor, meaning 'pain.' Thus 'adolescent' becomes a term that designates human beings who are in above all else a painful process, more specifically those who are in the process ofdiscovering pain itselfoftrying somehow to come to terms with pain, to figure out how to deal with pain, not just how to survive pain but how to turn it to some human and creative use in their own encounters with it. Thus adolescents, as in the official etymology, are ones who are growing to be sure but who, in terms of my spurious etymology, are growing in this one specific area of human experience."

Frederick Buechner, "Adolescence and the Stewardship of Pain"

Monday, October 20, 2014

Why Does Life Hurt So Much Sometimes? (Suffering Part 1)

My dream snuffed out again. The 30-plus year wait prolonged for at least one more.

Swept away were my hopes and visions of a much craved celebration with friends and family.

That's right, baseball season came to an abrupt conclusion when the chirpy Royals took four straight from my beloved Orioles.

My suffering as a lifelong and borderline idolatrous Orioles fan continues and I often wonder if my mourning will ever turn to dancing.

That last line was a little over the top. You can even say it may be insensitive and trivialize real suffering.

But it did hurt to see my hometown team go down the way they did.

But it didn't hurt in the same way as so many other bouts with suffering and grief.

Not even close.

While I could begin to craft an endless blog about real experiences and periods of suffering and despair, a post that would look more like a theatrical monologue cleverly crafted so to tug at your heart strings, I'm not sure that would be helpful. I have all-too-often been frustrated by the overdramatization of human experience in efforts to generate intended human responses, or worse, religious encounters and confessions.

But what I can say is that whether it's been conflicted relationships, death of loved ones, financial strain, vocational uncertainty, or bleak personal health diagnosis or the same of family members- even a child diagnosed with a chronic illness- suffering has not escaped me.

That said, I have had more than enough walks in parks and spur of the moment car rides when I have hashed it out with God. Just ask the trees in Goose Creek Park or the steering wheel of my Honda CR-V.

Yes, this youth pastor has had more than one verbal sparring match with the One who made all things. These are the moments when my faith is not so much strongest, but certainly most raw and honest. These are some of my purest, albeit colorful and brash, prayers. And what I love most about these encounters is how God doesn't respond to my rhetoric with ridicule or reason, explanation or false hope. God lets me go, cry, scream, and even accuse God of not responding. God listens and God hears when I can't stop asking, "why does life hurt so much sometimes?"

What we are really talking about when we ask this question is suffering. We are talking about death. And not only being buried kind of death. I read this the other day,

"If death had a Facebook profile its interests would not only be putting people in the grave but also killing their dreams, their loves, their peace, their dignity." (Andrew Root, The Promise of Despair xii).

Death is not only about being six-feet under and in a box. Death also lurks around in the forms of life sucking experiences of sorrow and despair. Death shows up when we feel alone even though we are surrounded by peers in the school cafeteria. Death shows up when a kid is given a sudden nudge in the hallway as a reminder that his or her classmates don't really value who they are. Death shows up when we have more than we can handle with schedules, exams, pressures of academics and athletics, even church, making us feel like we are never doing enough. Death shows up when we read about wars and disease, from Isis to Ebola. Death shows up when kids are diagnosed with both curable and terminal cancer. Death shows up when we lose our jobs and can no longer pay the mounting medical bills or student loans. Death shows up when we fight with parents, children, spouses, or closest friends. Death shows up when our dreams for ______ fail to come true.

Death, yes, also shows up in dying and the loss of loved ones.

You could say death not only has a lot of Facebook interests, but also a lot of friends and followers.

So life hurts sometimes. A lot. And when it does, the tired cliches and Christian catch phrases are no help. At least not for me.

"God let this happen for a reason..."

"God is trying to teach you something through this."

"You just got to pray harder and trust stronger."

"God has a perfect plan."

"God is in control."

There may be some truth to some of this, although I struggle with most if not all of them, but when we are face to face with the monsters of death and despair, in any and all of their ugly forms, religious cliches and photoshopped memes don't offer much hope. They actually dismiss suffering and become toxic distractions. They are like drugs that give us a cheap and false high that pulls us out of real life, even for just a moment, only to be let down when we come out of it.

So what does the Bible have to say about suffering, despair and death? Better, what does the Jesus story tell us about how God responds to the monster of despair and dying we face all too often?

I think the Lazarus story is one of the best places to look in John 11.

"This illness does not lead to death...but so that God can be glorified." Jesus' initial response irks me. I think it bothered the disciples, too. Did God allow the death of a friend to happen for some sort of narcissistic reason to affirm God's insecure status as king of all kings? Doubtful. I wonder if Jesus is merely reminding us that even the worst of suffering God can and often does redeem and birth new life. Jesus may be able, unlike this blogging youth pastor and all my fellow humans, to see both the forrest and the trees.

Still I don't find this particularly helpful and, when I was told my three-year-old daughter has juvenile arthritis, talk of God's glory was not where my brain or heart went.

It probably will never go there.

But I don't doubt that somehow God is and can be glorified in the midst of suffering like this. I just believe God's glory comes not through sadistic divine and predetermined plans but through varied forms of a chaotic and redemptive nevertheless.

"He stayed there two days..." Why the delay? It's no wonder the disciples were confused, but Jesus knew despair is not and would refuse to be the end. While I wish God worked on my clock, God doesn't. But that doesn't mean God is not still working. God is always on the move and especially laboring for the sake of all those who suffer. So while God may appear slow, and frankly you can't convince me otherwise, we trust that while two days of waiting for our own Lazarus deliverance may be long, the third and fourth days are coming. Both the resurrection of Lazarus and the empty tomb of Jesus are reminders of death's great eviction notice. The stench of despair will soon be no more and the world will be delivered and once and for all restored.

"But let us go to him..." Jesus enters into the suffering of others and runs towards those who are caught in death's grip. We are to do and be the same. While we may be tempted to buy bigger rugs, so the hurt and pain can be more easily tucked away, Jesus lifts up the dusty throw and shakes out the grief. God's people are even dared to expose all forms of death and dying as we carry our cross alongside those who lay in the wake of destruction, despair, oppression, conflict, and shattered dreams.

"I am resurrection and life..." The reality is that Lazrus did eventually die, again. I am not sure what would've hurt worse for his sisters, Lazarus' first or second final breath. It probably doesn't matter. What does count is the promise, Jesus is the resurrection and the life. Death is not God's final word. Grave clothes are not our final attire. The stench of decay will eventually be overcome by the fragrance of a feast and the scent of celebration. Life will win out in the end, and not just for Lazarus. And if Jesus is the resurrection, we are to be those who point towards it and practice it as we follow him in a world with more than enough reasons to grieve.

"Jesus began to weep." God is not beyond empathy and feels our sufferings alongside us. God is not immovable and out of touch. As Andrew Root writes, "God knows death from the inside...God works life out of death; God brings possibility out of nothingness." (The Promise of Despair 86). God, much like a good friend or parent who has been there before and yet does not rush towards answers, reasons, or cheap religious cliches, when we are in our darkest hour, Jesus wraps his arm around us and cries with us. It's not right. God knows it's not right. And God refuses to quit acting until all is right and good again.

"I know that you always hear me..." God hears the prayers of suffering people. So while we may find it difficult to pray, Jesus has been praying with and for us and the broken world we inhabit. And when our prayers are raw, honest, are borderline disturbing and more accusatory than filled with gratitude, God hears them, too.

"Unbind him, and let him go." We are called to enter into the suffering of others, weep alongside them, and work towards their deliverance, too. Lazarus will die again, which means the mission of the church is to work towards his unbinding until the return of Christ and the whole world's liberation. The mission of the church is to share this news with the whole world, and sometimes the best way to share the message is not by words or kitschy cliches but to simply shed tears, too. After all, that's what Jesus did.

If I am confident of anything it's this: God does not cause suffering for some sort of sick and twisted plan to teach us a lesson or strengthen our faith. No. God enters into suffering and cries right alongside us, whispering hope and comfort until the day comes when there are no more reasons to weep, mourn, grieve, or lament.

Sometimes the best news to hear, or maybe feel, is that in Jesus God weeps. God cries. That's because God also feels and hears our prayers of pain and anguish.

That's the greatest message of the Lazarus story. It's actually the message of the cross of Christ. Jesus goes to the cross as a reminder that God never, not for one second, runs from human suffering. No. When we are at our darkest hour God dives in and weeps with us, sings alongside of us, and tilts our head upward to a cross and tomb both empty and a promise for resurrection and healing just over the horizon.

That's what keeps me going in the midst of so much suffering. That's what gives me hope and faith when life hurts so badly sometimes. That's what allows me to comfort others in their sorrow, too. A simple message, God is with you. God is here. Jesus, who was crucified and burried, who suffered and died, is the resurrection and the life.

The monsters of death and despair are not the end.

So, why does life hurt so much sometimes?

I don't know.

But it won't hurt forever.

But my longing for a World Series Championship, now that's another story.

Related Post:

Is God to Blame by Gregory Boyd: Unpolished and Unrefined Reflections

Tuesday, October 14, 2014

Reverse Mission: Real Mission Partnership Creates Opportunities to Flip the Script of Hospitality and Service

This past summer, we were in the backyard of Marlon and Diana's Guaimaca home when I experienced one of the more precious demonstrations of hospitality. The youth and leaders from our church were invited to lunch in their garden as Marlon and Diana's young son walked by me with his t-shirt curled into a pouch filled with fresh-picked starfruit. With eyes wide and grin even wider, Marlonito approached the table and unfolded the bottom of his shirt as starfruit rolled across and off the foldout tables. Our young host remembered from the previous summer how much his American friends enjoyed picking from their trees and tasting the best of Honduras' produce, so he was more than prepared for our visit this time around.

Hospitality and welcome was offered by the next generation of missional partnership.

Then there was last Monday. The dream had been realized of reversing mission and welcoming our friends from Honduras into our community as we were gathered in my living room. While we were chatting about this growing partnership, my son and daughter desperately wanted to take all of us out and show our guests around their stomping grounds. So like little pilgrims, my son and daughter lead us on one of their favorite adventures, briskly walking about twenty yards ahead of us and towards the creek behind our townhouse.

Noah and Lily had made their way into the woods, briefly out of sight, although their tiny footsteps and voices were sure to be heard in the neighboring town. As Marlon, Alex, and I drew closer we encountered a familiar display of hospitality and welcome. Noah's shirt, much like Marlonito's this past summer, had been curled up and filled to overflowing with gifts. But due to the lack of suburban vegetation, instead of starfruit he delivered walnuts. Noah had gathered as many of these "walnut balls" I recently introduced him and his sister to and handed them out, one-by-one, to his new friends from Honduras. "One for you and one for you and for you," he said to each visitor. Then he showed them how to throw nature's baseballs into the creek, each toss met with a jubilant "yes!"

I froze. I am pretty sure a few tears welled up and trickled out of my eyes. My son and daughter understood partnership. They understood friendship. They understood one of the most basic elements of mission and discipleship: sharing the joys, gifts, resources, and discoveries with one another. Marlonito knows this simple truth quite well, too.

Our children no longer knew Daddy's friends as abstract people. Honduras was no longer somewhere Daddy went every summer an airplane ride away. Honduras and the people who lived there were now their friends and family, too. Actually, my daughter claimed two of them were "her girls."

If I have learned anything from the Honduras Youth-to-Youth Missional partnership it is this: mission must be reversed if ever to become true partnership. If the church desires to move beyond paternalism and less-than dignified attempts to love and serve our neighbors in other parts of the world, we must be willing to extend invitations to our friends in these communities to serve and explore alongside us in our cities, neighborhoods, communities, and churches. We must be willing to return the favor of hosting and become recipients of those who are rarely offered a chance to visit where their American brothers and sisters practice the mission of God and witness of the church.

Real Christian mission must be willing to flip the script and exchange parts if partnership is truly the desired goal. Failure to do so will only further the "us and them" mentality. That's something neither I nor Marlon want for our children. Thanks be to God we have been able to expose them them to something different. I only pray our kids will one day be able to meet.

After all, they seem to understand partnership best.


I could write endlessly about our extended weekend together, which is no doubt a highlight of my 12 plus years in youth ministry. But I think the only way to come close to capturing the joy is through selected photos:

Samy, who has liked every youth event on Facebook, finally gets to attend!
Our youth greeting friends from Honduras at airport.

Hanging out with fellow youth leaders from Honduras, Alex (left) and Marlon (right)

Friday Night High School Football Game

Yes, they wanted to see the Rocky Steps

My son thinking he's just another Honduran teenager.

Serving at Broad Street Ministry

Alex sharing that our Souper Bowl Sunday Fundraiser has helped provide meals to over 350 families during a major drought this past August.

Participating in worship and signing a two-year covenant of partnership

Hanging out at my house

Apple picking at Highland Orchards

Click "Honduras Tab" for other related posts, most notably "Declaration of Interdependence" and "The Kingdom of God is Like Mango Trees in Guaimaca."

Monday, September 22, 2014

Silly Questions of Faith: The Fault in Our Stars and Life According to Trey Part 3

There's a scene in The Fault in Our Stars when Hazel Grace is confronted by Van Houten, her once-beloved author now exposed drunk cynic.  Hazel Grace ventured with Gus to Amsterdam in pursuit of what she perceived to be an unfinished novel with too many questions left unanswered.  As they storm out of Van Houten's disheveled apartment, enraged and disappointed by their "hero's" crass and less-than-hospitable behavior, the author leaves them with a parting retort:
"Have you ever stopped to ask yourself why you care so much about the answers to your silly questions?"
Silly questions? These questions had become the very rhythm of her cancer-laden life and now they were being labeled "silly."

I wonder if this is how many youth feel when their young minds rattle off question after question in a world not yet done with claims of certainty. I fear youth may balk at asking questions, faith, life, death, and despair questions, assuming they will be received by the adults in their life as silly.

So they write off church as Hazel Grace wrote off the one who wrote her most cherished story.

So as I prepared to write a youth talk for this past Sunday, I returned to a short story I wrote for youth this past May. Youth resonated with the brief narrative, who had quote a few silly questions of his own, so I added the chapter below.

I pray youth, who may be a lot like Hazel Grace, would always know even their silliest questions are welcome in the church.  Actually, these questions are not silly at all.  They are markers of faith.

Trey, Cora, and Questions of Faith: Life According to Trey Part 3 

Trey was entering his second year of high school.  His first year was not so bad, although he could've done without the absurd amounts of homework his history teacher, Mr. Franklin, had handed out the second semester.

His parents didn't seem to agree.

They felt Trey didn't push himself hard enough, apply himself often enough, and frequently told him he needed to spend more time in the books if he wanted to get into a good school.

"I'm 15," he would remind his parents. "Fifteen!"

The pressures of Trey's freshman year were unexpected and overwhelming.  They only increased his sophomore year.

Track. Academics. Clubs. Piano Lessons (Trey hated the piano).  Choir.

O, yea. church. There was also church and the Second Presbyterian youth group. Trey struggled to fit that in and often had to surrender youth group and time with his friends because of an endless list of other responsibilities that demanded his time and attention.

Yet Treys youth pastor, Hope, often reminded him that church and youth group were not to be one other pressure point. Actually, they were the very people Trey could count on to be there when the pressures were too much.  They wouldnt shun him if he missed a few weeks. 

That was always a breath of fresh air, but still, Trey felt bad he couldn't be as involved as he was over the summer.

And Trey had quite the summer, nothing that surpassed his week-long mission trip with the youth group to Baltimore. That was an experience he would never forget.

How could he? The questions were still wracking his brain.

And so was Cora.  Trey and Cora had struck up quite the friendship.  Cora was also a high school sophomore and was the type of person Trey found intriguing.  She was somewhat mysterious and didn't act as though she had everything figured out.  She wasn't a glass half-empty kind of girl, but certainly didn't think the glass was always full either.

Cora, much like Trey, was a bit of a skeptic and struggled to find her place in the youth group.  That was, until she met Hope, their youth pastor.  Hope and Cora had similar conversations as those Hope had with Trey.  Hope also encouraged her to come along on the summer mission trip.

That's where Cora and Trey met.  More specifically, the two met serving meals at an inner city ministry on Martin Luther King, Jr. Boulevard.   They spent a few afternoons in conversations with those who had called the streets their homes, most without a job.  These new friends, as Trey liked to call them, broke all kinds of stereotypes about the homeless. 

Sure, there were recovering addicts and others constantly looking for another way to collect disability checks.  Some with more legit explanations than others, of course.

But there were also former college professors in their fifties and sixties who had been let go and unable to find another gig.  There were parents of young kids who ended up on the streets after unexpected medical bills piled up because their employer didn't provide sufficient health insurance, leaving them bankrupt.  There were veterans who had so many traumatic memories that they couldn't hold a job since returning from the horrors of war, some pains inflicted by fellow soldiers who used their rank as a means to assure secrets could be kept far too long. There were even those who had a job, but the cost of rent was too high that not even minimum wage could help them get off the street. Let's not forget the teenagers who were homeless.  The stories were unbearable.  Youth shared about being kicked out of their homes when their moms new boyfriend moved in or fleeing their homes because they couldn't take the violence and abuse any longer.

The stories of Trey's new friends were endless.  The summer mission trip challenged and confronted Trey more than anything ever thrown his way by Mr. Franklin.  The same was true for Cora, which is why they became such good friends and were able to have conversations like the one on the bus on the way home from a day of serving one afternoon.

"Trey, I thought this mission trip was going to teach me a lot about faith, God, and Christianity.  Instead, I feel like everywhere I turn I am just faced with another story of despair," Cora said on the bus back to the retreat center where they were staying.

"You're not alone," Trey agreed. "I was hoping this summer would be an opportunity for me to deepen my faith, maybe even find the answers to the many questions I have had for so long.  But all I have come up with are..."

"....more questions?!" Cora interjected.

"Yes. More questions."  Trey was grateful for Cora.  While many in the youth group seemed more concerned about taking photos and posting to Instagram, Cora was really wrestling with each experience.

Cora pondered, "Yea, where is God when a kids home life is so bad that it would be safer to live on the streets of Baltimore than spend one more night in the midst of so much yelling, screaming, and violence?"

"What about when someone is diagnosed with a form of cancer but can't pay the mounting medical bills?" Trey wondered.

"And then they go bankrupt, leaving them homeless when they recover." Cora added.

"All of this also makes me think about stuff at our school. Like my friend, Chris," Trey began to whisper as though really uncomfortable, "who recently came out as gay to his family. Where is God in the midst of that?"

"Don't get me going on that one," Cora replied back in certainly more than a whisper.

"Easy, Cora."

They went on and on, listing everything from Christians who have been killed for their faith in the Middle East to natural disasters.  They even talked about the ridiculous pressures they face with homework and after school obligations.

People seem to forget we are kids not CEOs! Cora gritted her teeth.

Trey nodded, thinking of his parents reaction to any and all of his complaints about school work.

"Speaking of kids!  Trey knew Cora was on a roll now, so he just listened.  Child refugees! They are fleeing Honduras and Guatemala, without their parents, hoping to find safety in this country because the drug and gang wars have become too much for their parents to bear.  They think it's safer for their young children, even toddlers, to ride a freight train from Central America through Mexico and into Texas, ALONE, versus stay home with their parents. Where is God there? I thought the kingdom of God, like Jesus said, belonged to children?"

Trey chimed in, "Hope has said something before about Jesus being 'good news for the world.' Apparently gospel means good news.  All I see around us lately is bad news.  Is there any good news anymore?"

That's when they realized Hope was on the same bus with them.  Apparently she heard them chatting but didn't want to interrupt.  But this last remark by Trey, she couldn't help but jump in on the conversation.

"That's it," Hope whispered.

Startled, they turned to see Hope with a bit of a grin.

"That's what?" Trey asked.

"That's the point of all this mess we call Christianity.  That's the point of this trip to Baltimore.  That's the point of following Jesus," Hope shared.

"Gonna have to be a little more specific, Hope." Cora was obviously frustrated.

"Gospel means good news, Hope said. Because we are to be those who ask the question, 'what could, would, and should good news look like in all those places and experiences you just mentioned.  What does good news look like to gay youth or homeless cancer survivors?  What does good news look like to Christians in Iraq, whose lives are in jeopardy every day?  What does good news look like to families who have lost everything to a tornado, tsunami, hurricane, or fire? What does good news look like to the thousands of children fleeing Honduras and taking refuge in this country? What does good news mean for youth, like you, who are reduced to test scores and grade point averages in our achievement based culture?"

Trey and Cora were both perplexed, but intrigued nonetheless. The last one especially got a few nods from Cora and Trey.

"I don't know, Hope. Why don't you tell us? You seem to always have answers. I just have more questions," Trey lamented.

"Trey," Hope's voice softened. "Christianity is not about answers. Christianity is about questions. Asking good and faithful questions.  I have way more of them than you could even begin to imagine. I have doubts, too.  Lots of doubts, especially because of all the bad news we hear, see, and personally experience."

Cora jumped in, "I thought Christianity was about right belief? You know, getting the answers right."

"Cora, replied Hope. If you think you have all the answers you are not a Christian."

"You're not?" Cora asked.

"No, said Hope. You're arrogant. A good follower of Jesus, a disciple, is someone who asks the right questions.  Good news questions.  Questions of despair and heart ache.  Questions that center on the longing for the world to be better, newer, safer, cleaner, more equal, just, fair, and drenched in peace.  Questions that ask, where is Jesus in this place and who is Jesus calling me to be alongside my neighbors near and far? Questions about evil, sin, suffering, forgiveness, life, and death, even life after death."

Trey thought for a moment, "Is that why Jesus' disciples asked so many questions? Were they actually more faithful than we give them credit for?"

Hope let out a breath as though refreshed by Trey's youthful moment of enlightenment, "Yes. Sure, they were cynics and critics, missing the mark more frequently than they got it, but they were full of faith.  Their questions were a strong mark of faith.  And Jesus asked questions, too.  Like what does good news mean for the man possessed with a demon and isolated by family, friends, and anyone within arms reach?  Good news meant being greeted with an embrace and healed of the possession.  What did good news mean for the woman who had been bleeding for 12 years? It meant she finally could be made clean and able to participate in her religious community and welcomed at the family dinner table.  What was good news for the 5000-plus men, women, and children who gathered hillside when Jesus was teaching? Good news meant being fed until they were satisfied. Good news meant all those who were labeled sinners and outcasts were forgiven and invited to the table.  Jesus even responded to the greatest question of all: what about death? The good news for all of us is that death does not win in the end, but, through Jesus, resurrected life is gifted to all.

Trey started to get it.  "So we are supposed to ask not avoid questions? Like, what does good news mean to my neighbor whose parents just split up and is not sure what life will look like in the days and weeks ahead?" Trey immediately began to think of his friend, Sam, who didnt talk much about his parents recent decision to split up. But he knew it was always on his mind.

Exactly! My favorite line of Scripture comes right after Jesus healed a paralytic and is confronted by critics.  He said, My Father is still working, and I also am working.  While others found every reason to avoid the bad news of suffering, even using religion as an excuse, Jesus questioned human suffering and then entered into it.  Jesus knew that even in the darkest of human experiences, God was, no, God is somehow, someway still working.  God is there. 

Cora thought for a moment, Sorry to be a bit blunt, but what does that have to do with us, with what we do? Sure, we trust God is working- although I often question that- but even if God is, what does that have to do with us?

Hope nodded in agreement, I hear you.  I also frequently question Gods presence. But I keep working, hoping, praying, and believing good news is out there somewhere. So, as those who follow Jesus, when we see others suffering and in the depths of the worst kind of news, we are called to hear their questions, ask versus avoid many of our own questions, and then consider how can we begin to work towards good news much in the same way Jesus did.  So, what might that look like for your friends you met this week or your friends, Sam and Chris, back home?"

Trey paused. Cora looked at Trey, hoping maybe he would have a response. They both shrugged.

"I'm not sure.  All I have right now are a lot of questions, and we still have two more days on this trip.'" Trey said this, wondering if he was going to frustrate his youth pastor.

"And if Trey has six questions. I have ten." Cora said, as though she wanted to back up her friend.

Hope grinned again.  "That's why I love teenagers. That's why I will never stop serving alongside teenagers."

Again, the two friends were confused. 

"Why?" They asked.

"Because you ask the best questions.  You're not afraid of questions. You challenge adults who all-too-often think they have all the answers and life figured out.  In those moments, you push us.  I think that's maybe why Jesus said we needed to have faith like a child.  Not because of blind obedience, but because kids are always asking questions. And by asking questions, good news questions in the midst of so much bad news, only then do we begin to see the face of Christ. Only then do we actually demonstrate child-like faith."

Cora smiled. "I have one more question, Hope."


"Is this our stop?"

"No, smiled Hope. Our stop was the last one.  Whoops."