Why We Need the Christmas Spirit

Jess: On Thursday, we went to see the Trans-Siberian Orchestra (TSO). This is the second time Wes and I have had the opportunity to do this, and it was just as awesome as the last time. 

Many of you probably know that TSO's fame revolves around its Christmas music and "winter" (Christmas) tour. You might also know that I'm pretty bah-humbug about Christmas starting before Thanksgiving. Despite all of Wes' begging, I don't listen to Christmas music, put up decorations, or prepare for Christmas in any way until the weekend after Thanksgiving. Most of the time, that means the day or two before Advent begins, which is still a little early for me. 

But at the TSO concert, I had a Christmas epiphany. Suddenly I realized why people, despite complaints, want to put up their decorations, have a little snow, talk about presents, and plan gatherings earlier and earlier. We need Christmas spirit. We live in a pretty scary, messed up world. People are rude, mean, and downright cruel to each other. But something changes at Christmas. Now I'm not saying that everything magically gets better, but there is a magical quality of the Christmas season. People are different, and they stay that way until New Year's Day. We need Christmas. 

The problem is that the feelings, the happiness, the joy that we have at Christmas because of parties, food, and presents is artificial. It doesn't last. It can't last. And every year, it seems to wear off a little earlier. And every year, we want to get started on it earlier so that maybe everything will be alright in October and November as well as December. But singing "Frosty the Snowman" and "Baby it's Cold Outside" can only get us so far. 

That spark of Christmas spirit is great, but it's the message of Christmas, the story of Christ's incarnation that we really need. We need to know that God stepped into this world for us, and that God cares for us. We need to share this message with the world. Because the true joy of Christmas isn't (as the Grinch would say) isn't about ribbons or tags, packages boxes or bags! The joy of Christmas is that God birthed something new in the world--something that would save us from ourselves and bring us into right relationship with the Creator of all things. And THAT is a Spirit that sticks around!

Wes: Jess wrote her part of this blog about three weeks ago, and I’m just now getting around to writing mine. Usually, this leads to what Jess wrote needing to be tweaked just a little bit, because my laziness has meant that her post isn’t as relevant as it could be.

This time, though, I think the opposite it true.

This time, I think her words might be even more important, for very different reasons. You see, last night, a grand jury in Missouri decided not to indict a police officer on charges for the murder of a young man.

You know the story. It’s just about everywhere on the news right now.

And my Facebook home page seems to be split into three groups: those who don’t care at all about what happened, those who want to make sure that everyone knows why what happened was the absolute correct thing to have happened, and those who want to make sure that everyone knows just unjust a thing happened.

Wow, do we need Jesus.

We are living in an Advent world right now, one that is full of apathy, extremes, and brokenness. One that is unjust, painful, and desperately seeking salvation. One that needs Emmanuel.

And this is where the church must step in and be the Christmas spirit. Not the Walmart-branded, holly-jolly-sing-a-long spirit, but the spirit of joy that comes to a world in great need of it. In the midst of death, we need to hear again that unto us a child is born. In the midst of injustice, we need to be reminded that unto us a son is given.

We need more than Buzzfeed articles about the “12 Best Holiday Bacon Recipes”. We need more than heavily subjective editorials toting one side’s ideals over another’s. We need more than a social media. We need Jesus.

This is why I love Christmas, and I love Christmas music. I crave so badly the manger scene, the star in the sky, and the babe wrapped in swaddling clothes because I know how badly this world is craving it.

We crave it in places like Ferguson, MO.

And we as Christians have been called to prepare the way for Christmas. To make straight in the wildernesses of the world the paths of our Lord. In this Advent world, I pray we will engage in this task with love.

Because we need Jesus. We need Christmas.

O come, O come, Emmanuel.

Walking with James

Jess: James and I take a walk almost every single day. Sometimes we take several walks in the same day. And every walk goes the same way:

Me: "James, do you want to go to the (library, park, store...)?" 

James: Runs to the door and leaves. 

M: Quickly run out the door to stop James from fleeing without socks, shoes, or sunscreen. Wrestle James back into the garage and get these things on him. 

J: Runs out of the garage, but "patiently" waits at the end of the driveway.

M: Alright, let's go to the (previously determined location)!

J: Takes three steps, then, "TRUCK!!!!"

M: "A green pickup truck, that's right!"

J: Stops to pick up a stick, then proceeds to scrape the dirt out of every crack in the sidewalk for the rest of the walk. "BUS!"

M: That's right, a school bus!"

J: Wanders off the sidewalk into the grass, discovers it is wet and then gets mildly frustrated. "TRUCK!"

M: "A concrete mixer!"

The rest of the journey goes pretty much the same. Usually, it takes us 4-5 times as long to reach our destination as it would if I was by myself. Sometimes, when we finally make it to the park, James doesn't actually want to do anything there. 

Sometimes, I get frustrated with James when we're making these excruciatingly long journeys. But most days, when I think about how fast he is growing or about how precious he is, or just how much fun I have with him, I treasure our walks. This time is short. In fact, it's almost gone. One day, James will be in a rush just like the rest of us. I hope he'll occasionally stop to think like I do--"What in the world am I rushing for? This walk is the point. It's time to enjoy it."

Letter to Corbin

I regret that I will never be able to talk to you about T.V. shows anymore. I never told you, but I would silently refer to you as my own personal T.V. Guide. You knew when was on, if it would be worth watching, and could even schedule for me an entire evening’s worth of programming. I trusted my viewing pleasure to you implicitly. I regret that I will never have to feel shameful about watching guilty pleasure shows anymore, because you won’t be there to roll your eyes at me and remind me that there are so many better series I could be watching instead.

I regret that we didn’t spend more time together one-on-one. One of my most cherished memories of adulthood was us going to TJ’s Burgers in New Braunfels, eating lunch, then driving over an hour round-trip to and from my house to get tubes so we could then go float the Comal River. It was an unnecessary trip in the car, but our conversations and time spent catching up after years apart was just what I needed.

I regret that we will never again get to re-enact J.D.-and-Turk EEEAAGLE moments in crowded places. I will never forget the awkward, uncomfortable look on the faces of those two women who were trying to eat a nice, quiet meal outside in downtown Philly as you ran up and I lifted you above my head as if we were some figure-skating duet. Jess, Russell, and Mary-Ellen laughed so hard, and so did we.

I regret that your time living with Jess, James, and me was so short, and that there were so many tense moments as we tried to figure out how a single guy was supposed to share space with a family of three. All of us got annoyed and frustrated at different times, but it truly was a blessing having you play such a pivotal role in our lives, especially in James’ early life.

I regret that James, who loved his Uncle Corbin and had so much fun with you, has probably already forgotten you entirely. He will not have the chance to get to know you as a little boy, as a growing adolescent, and as a young man. You had such a strong influence in such an important developmental stage, but now you are gone from his life. I regret that this is true not only for my son, but for your true niece and nephew as well. They will never know their Uncle Corbin, and that is so, so sad, for you were absolutely worth knowing.

I regret that every time our group of friends gathers together, there will be a noticeable and impossible-to-ignore gap. You were a major part of our lives. Even though you chose to hold a supporting character role in most of our group functions, you were always there, and we will not be the same group without you.

I regret that, over a month removed from you taking your own life, I still feel guilt and shame. I regret that I didn’t do more to tell you that you were loved and needed. I regret that—as a trained pastoral counselor—I didn’t see any signs that you were this far gone. I regret that I didn’t do anything or say anything that could have stopped you from killing yourself. Even though I know this was no way my fault, I still feel that shame. I still find myself asking, “What should I have done?” I still wonder how it might have been different.

I regret that I am still so mad at you for doing this. Even in the midst of the shame and guilt, I also cannot help but still be angry. What you did was selfish. What you did feels cowardly. What you did shows a lack of hope that I do not want to believe you experienced. And what makes this so hard is that you were none of these things. You were one of the most selfless people I knew, and I don’t know of a single person who could honestly say you were at all cowardly. And to believe that you had lost all hope—in God, in your loved ones, and in yourself—is heartbreaking in and of itself.

I regret that so many of our friends are feeling this shame, guilt, and anger as well. I have read enough about survivor's guilt to know that it hits harder for those who encounter suicide than maybe any other type of death. There will always be the question of "What if?" that plays through our minds, and even though we will strive to remember you lovingly, the feeling of abandonment will be present with us forever. 

I regret that you felt like you couldn't seek help when any of us would have done anything for you. If you could only have known how loved you were, you might have realized that there was still hope, that there was still a reason to go on. If you could only have known how much we cared, maybe you would have said something to someone—anyone!—and maybe you would have received that help that you so obviously needed. You might have felt like it, but I can guarantee you that were not alone. We would have dropped anything to be there for you, and we would have done anything to help you find healing. 

I am thankful for the time we had together. I am thankful that you loved my son and treated him like family. I am thankful that for a few years at least, I had the blessing of calling you friend. I will miss you dearly, Corbin, as will Jess, Ryan, Russell, and the rest of our giant group of friends from TLU. I look forward to the day that I get to see you again, clothed in the glory of God and completely restored to wholeness. I sincerely hope that you have found in death the peace that you were missing in life, and I pray that God will reveal to you the impact you had on so many lives, mine included, in the short time you were with us.

I love you, my friend.

-w

How do you say goodbye? Part I

Jess: It’s been almost three weeks since our friend Corbin took his own life, and I just now feel like I can put words down about it. I just now feel like I have my thoughts sorted out enough to write.

Corbin has been our friend since 2006. He and Wes were in the same class in college, he dated one of our other friends, and he was roommates with others. He came to our wedding. He and two of our other friends were our first out-of-state visitors when Wes and I moved to New Jersey. He helped us move into our house in Kyle. Most recently, he was James’ live-in nanny for six months during this crazy year.

And now there will be no new stories about Corbin. When our next friends get married or have babies, Corbin won’t be there to celebrate. When we gather together for New Year’s and other events, Corbin won’t be with us. There is going to be a hole in our lives forever.

We have a really tight-knit group of about 20 friends from college. Many of us married each other, we have all lived with various individuals or sets of the group, some are siblings, we get together once a month on Skype or Google+ to talk, and when we come together for an event, it’s like no time has passed since the last time we were together. There are people in this world who are lucky to have just one friend like that. And we have 20!

The upside to this during the last few weeks has been that we have had one another to fall back on. Most of us were able to attend the funeral and be together for that time.

The downside is that every single one of us feels this loss deeply. We’re never going to be the same.

And you know what? I’m mad. I’m mad that Corbin, surrounded by this wonderful group of friends, didn’t feel like he could talk to us about his struggles. I’m mad that he did this incredibly selfish thing. I’m mad that there was probably nothing we could have done and definitely nothing we can do now.

And I’m deeply, deeply sad. I’m sad that my friend is gone. I’m sad for the hole we will always feel because of this loss. I’m sad that James, who loved having his Uncle Corbin right in the next room, will never really get to know him. I’m sad that Corbin’s parents, sister, grandparents, etc. had to go through this and will have to deal with his loss for the rest of their lives. I’m sad that his nephew and niece won’t know him. I’m sad for what the world lost—a brilliant, funny, witty, sweet, fun, wonderful man. I’m sad that we won’t get to celebrate his marriage or the birth of his children, that we won’t be able to support him during the tough times and rejoice during the wonderful ones.

But, through all the anger and sadness, the guilt and the confusion, I remember one thing. We read Romans 8 during Corbin’s funeral, and the words that will never be the same to me have cropped up seemingly everywhere in the intervening weeks: “For I am convinced that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor rulers, nor things present, nor things to come, nor powers, nor height, nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord.” Corbin’s death doesn’t separate him from the love of God. Neither does it, ultimately, separate him from us. We will see Corbin again, and just think of all the things we’ll have to tell him!

(Wes will be writing at a later time)

What's the main thing?

Jess: It’s been awhile since we’ve bothered to do a blog on any sort of current event, but we've been talking a lot about the Hobby Lobby suit. If you don’t know what happened, here’s a summary of the action.

The internet was afire with responses to this decision seconds after it was announced. As the Justice Ginsburg stated, this decision seems to open the way for all sorts of “religions” and “religious reasons” for not following federal laws. This is a huge concern for many, and it is definitely one that bothers me. What if I worked for a company owned by Christians who think women should be submissive to their husbands, never seeking employment outside of the home? Is this religious belief also covered?

Wes and I will get our insurance through our religious entity. Thankfully, neither Lutherans nor Methodists are against birth control—in fact we both support it as a responsible way to engage in sexual activity.  But if birth control were not covered, we would have the means to cover it from our own pockets. Many are not so lucky—particularly those who work in low-paying retail jobs. And the fact of the matter is that people working in these jobs, who cannot afford to purchase birth control, also cannot afford to support a child.

I recently heard someone say that many people who claim to be pro-life are actually pro-birth. The thought of ending life before it truly begins goes against everything they believe in, and so they work against it. I think that upholding the sacredness of human life is definitely an important value, and one that Christians should have. We believe that we are made in the image of our Creator, so we are called to treat others as if they were God. And yet, there is more to life than being born. There is also more at stake for pregnant women than we acknowledge.

My concern is manifold. First, a group of people who happen to own a profit-making company are forcing their ideals on anyone who works there. They now have control over what their insurance supports and what kind of coverage individuals get. Although I support Hobby Lobby for other decisions its owners make on religious principles (being closed on Sundays and holidays so that, at least from their end, employees are guaranteed days off; paying a living wage; a CEO who isn’t a complete  glutton), religious views should not allow a profit-making company to avoid obeying the law. Secondly, I am concerned for all the Hobby Lobby employees who will not get coverage they might need and therefore bring children into the world that they cannot support. Thirdly, I do not like the implication that any one person (or group’s) religious views should dictate the lives of others.

But more than any of that, there is something deeply wrong with a theology that decides that all people need to have children simply because that is the outcome (for some) of sexual intercourse. Yes, God told us to “be fruitful and multiply,” but God said this in the context of an unpopulated world. What we frequently neglect is the second part of God’s command that says, “fill the earth and subdue it.” You know what? We have filled the earth. We are now at the point of overfilling, and therefore destroying, the earth. Not everyone needs to have children. Certainly not everyone needs to have the maximum amount of children possible. For some people, that is good. For others, not having children is good. Some people desperately want to have children and can’t. Others desperately want to stop having children and are now facing one more roadblock on that road. Perhaps we should be less concerned about what every woman’s uterus is doing (or not doing) and more concerned with how we are doing with that whole caring for creation thing…

Wes: I heard someone say this week that anyone who will not allow the use of contraceptives and anyone who is vehemently against every kind of abortion and yet does not have a home full of adopted children is a hypocrite and a liar.

I’m going to let that sink in for a second, because it took a second for it to sink in when I first heard it.

Now, I don’t think I would go that far, but it does bring up a very good point. We focus on the microcosm of the uterus quite a lot, and seem to miss the macrocosm of injustice around us.

We talk a lot in the church world about the sanctity of life. Life is a gift from God, and we need to cherish it. Jesus Christ came so that we might have life, and have it abundantly. This is one vein of the argument against birth control and abortion—one that I’ve heard many times. And you know what? I could not agree more. Life is sacred. We should be doing everything we can to make sure that everyone alive has a chance to live the most amazing life possible.

So why is it that our country—our world!—is full of children without homes?

So why is it that we allow poverty and homelessness to ruin lives and run rampant around us?

So why is it that we are not giving of our excess to those who do not have enough to feed their families?

Are not all of these things effecting and impeding the sanctity of life, and life lived to its fullest?

Why is it that the majority of my Facebook friends—myself and other pastors included—are paying more attention to the World Cup than we are about the fact that the ISIS, a group so militant that the Al Qaeda called them extremists, has carved out a chunk of land in the Middle East and is ruling by brute force?

Why is it that the church in the US presents itself as caring more about Hobby Lobby and birth control than we care about the fact that peace talks in the Ukraine and Israel/Palestine have once again broken down into violent attacks?

We—and by “we” I mean Christians in the USA today—have a problem with picking and choosing the wrong hills upon which to die. Our triage system is broken, and our justice sensors are too busy focusing on the (wrongfully perceived) persecution of a people who were told that they would be persecuted to see that the world is dying around us and we are doing next to nothing to preserve the sanctity of that life.

This is a problem. And it’s a problem I know I am guilty of spreading. I just hope I am in some way contributing more to the solution.

Holy Communion, Batman!

Wes: Jess and I like to pretend that there is a great deal of animosity and divide between our two denominations. We like to do this, honestly, because it's kind of fun. We get to fake argue over the merits of minute, trivial aspects of our theology that, in the long run, doesn't make that much of a difference to our identities as Methodist and Lutheran or as husband and wife. But there is one difference between our two denominations that causes a little bit of tension for us.

Not between us, but for us.

You see, the Evangelical Lutheran Church in America has a relatively open table regarding Holy Communion. Any baptized Christian is welcome to come up and receive the elements, experience Jesus Christ present in, with, under, and around the bread and wine, and participate again in the grace present in this meal. It doesn't matter if you are Lutheran, Methodist, Baptist, Catholic, or Orthodox. It doesn't matter if you attend every Sunday or are sparse at best, if you give all you can to the Kingdom of God or don't consider tithing important, if you read your Bible daily or leave it in the corner to collect dust. If you've been baptized, and you believe that Jesus is Lord, you are welcome.

Which is awesome. But it's not enough for me.

Because Methodists enjoy a completely open table. Any and everyone is welcomed to come up and participate in this most holy of practices, because we believe that the Eucharist is a means of grace. It is possible for the first time one experiences God's love and glimpses grace for the first time to happen while engaging in this sacred meal! God can and has used this to change lives, and we do not believe that we have the authority to bar anyone from partaking.

Which is why, every Sunday as I stand before the table, I remind my congregation that everyone is welcome. You don't have to be a member of KUMC, you don't have to be a United Methodist, you don't even have to be a Christian. For everything that needed to be done in this meal to make is holy and grace-infused happened over 2000 years ago when the Son of God died on the cross. There is nothing we can do or have done to earn a place at this table. Jesus paid it all for us. Therefore, any and all who are ready to take a step in faith and who wish to experience God's grace have a place at Jesus' table.

There's the rub between the ELCA and the UMC. It's basically the only major doctrinal difference. What's funny, though, is that this is not now--nor will it ever be!--something that Jess and I argue about! We both agree that the Methodists do it better! (At least in this aspect. I'm still working to convince Jess that the UMC is right about everything else as well, and she's still trying--without success--to bring me over to the Dark Side).

It's sometimes hard for me to go into a different denomination's church and know that some are restricted from receiving the bread and wine/juice. Now, I will say that the ELCA is not near as restrictive as others--there are some churches who demand you be a member of their specific congregation to receive!--but it is hard nonetheless. In a world where there are too many who have been rejected by the church, it is a struggle to see them barred from very meal that we use to celebrate Jesus' free gift to all.

There are a lot of things that I think the UMC could do better. There are even some areas where I think reform and rejuvenation are necessary if we are continue being a vital church. But I thank God every day that we do this right.

Jess: I have struggled with this question of how to properly handle Communion for many years, but this year in particular has been difficult for me. Wes is absolutely correct that we as Lutherans commune only those who are baptized. While I sometimes struggle with this, I am also at peace with it. 

The disciples most likely didn't start having Communion until after Jesus ascended. This means they received the Great Commission (to go throughout the world baptizing) before they began the practice of Communion. My guess is that they were baptized first, so it makes sense that this is our position. Lutherans put a lot of emphasis on "good order." We like to make sure that the means of grace (Communion and Baptism) aren't just thrown around willy-nilly. We believe that Christ commanded these sacraments and is truly present in them. Therefore, only ordained pastors can "do" the sacraments; we want to make sure reverence is kept. 

So, I'm okay with the Lutheran understanding of keeping Communion after Baptism--first you are brought into the community, and then you share in the meal of the community. That's cool with me. What I have been struggling with is the idea that there is some perfect age at which children "know" or "understand" enough to be able to have Communion. We have no such expectation of Baptism. We emphasize God's work in action through the sacrament of Baptism, and yet we neglect to do so in Communion. We are content to have parents take on baptismal promises, but we're not willing to help them teach their children about Baptism. The most ridiculous part of this is that one of the baptismal promises is about Communion!

Most ELCA churches have some sort of age at which they have decided children are old enough to have Communion. At some point during the school year, those children (3rd graders or 1st graders or whatever) are invited to one or two classes about Communion, and then they receive it on the following Sunday. Other pastors have chosen to allow parents to come individually when they believe their children are "ready."

I have a huge problem with this. Yes, I absolutely believe that age-appropriate instruction regarding Communion is a must. I think it's a must across the board--from very young children to adults. We can always hear again about the grace we have received, and how we are receiving a tangible reminder of that grace in Communion. But we have absolutely no right to decide when a child is ready to receive the promise present in Communion. There is no age at which we fully "understand" what is happening in Communion--we Lutherans have many documents that admit this openly. If this is the case, then there is no point at which we should bar a baptized Christian from having Communion. 

This has always weighed on my mind, but as I have had to watch James passed over each week (sometimes three times in the weekend) for Communion, I am absolutely positive that it's just plain wrong. Certainly, James has no idea what is going on as far as God's grace--he can't understand concepts like that. But he can absolutely understand that everyone else is being invited to share some bread and he is not. And he's 18 months old. Imagine how the 7-year-old who is "not ready" feels at being rejected like this. We are bringing up children who are learning that they are welcome to come to church, but they are not welcome to participate fully in the life of the church. We are raising children whose initial impressions of Communion revolve around being left out. This is not okay. 

In Wes' church--but also in Methodist churches around the country--any child who holds out their hand receives Communion. It's okay if they ask this week but not next week. It's okay that they don't "know" what's going on. It's okay because, by being a part of this community meal, by hearing "This is to remind you that Jesus loves you," they are being accepted. And when they are accepted, they will stay around long enough to learn more about Jesus, to learn more about Communion, and to be disciples of Christ.

(For more information on the ELCA's stance on Communion, go here.)

You stay classy, world wide web.

Wes and Jess

A Metheran Easter

Jess: Last year, after attempting Holy Week with a 4-month-old and two churches, we realized that we did not have a sustainable model for the busiest week in a pastor’s year. I really don’t know how we’ll handle Holy Week as the years go by. Once our kids are old enough to stay home by themselves/be ready to go at a certain time, it will be a different story. But for the foreseeable future, we’re going to be struggling to balance parenthood and pastorhood during Holy Week.

For those of you who are unaware, the typical Holy Week looks something like this: a normal schedule Monday-Wednesday, which means working more or less 9-5 or 8-4. Thursday evening includes some sort of service or gathering. Depending on the size of the congregation and the traditions of the surrounding area, Friday includes 1 or 2 services. Again, depending on the church community, there may be some semblance of an Easter Vigil on Saturday, which can range from 1-3 hours and go as late as 1 a.m. Then there is the potential for an Easter sunrise service on Sunday, and definitely one or (mostly likely) more services on Sunday morning. After this, the tradition is for a pastor to collapse in exhaustion. Between us, Wes and I had 12 services between the evening of Maundy Thursday and the afternoon of Easter (7 for me, 5 for him).

Besides the sheer number of services during Holy Week, there is the prep work that goes into them. At least one of the services leading up to Easter Sunday will have a sermon. An Easter Vigil sermon and an Easter sunrise or regular service probably won’t have the same sermon. Had I been the pastor of TLC, I would have preached three times in three days this weekend. At smaller congregations, there may not be the same number of services, but there are still bulletins to put together for each of them, and all the planning that goes into the services, including decorations (or the lack thereof), music, etc.

Wes and I both had enjoyable, worshipful weekends thanks to my mom coming out and helping with James during this crazy week. We also took the initiative to take Wednesday off so that we could rest up a little, knowing that we wouldn’t have an opportunity to take Thursday off as usual. All in all, although exhaustion definitely set in, I think it was a wonderful experience. One of my only disappointments was that we didn’t get a chance to spend time together in worship on Easter. Obviously, this is a reality most Sundays for us, but it was more difficult to deal with on Easter.

One of the nice things about the nature of our work is that, when everyone else is busier, we are generally not so much. Although Christmas is a big deal, it’s not that busy for pastors—it’s generally just one extra sermon and one extra evening of work. We have the blessing of taking days off in the middle of the week, so we can go grocery shopping when stores are empty, eat as a family at lunch special price, and catch up on TV when it’s still almost new. We can go in late or come home early when necessary—or to balance a late-night meeting or activity. We can still enjoy Saturday events as a family. Although we have our challenges, every family does. We have similar challenges to any family with two working spouses. And we get the joy of growing in our relationship with Christ and others and getting paid for it!

Wes: So something ridiculous happened to me during Holy Week. In the midst of all of our business and prep and trying to get things done while still spending intentional time with the family and still spending life-giving time by ourselves and still working on regular spiritual disciplines and still just trying to simply survive in the midst of all of the chaos,

our church

was struck

by lightening.

Monday morning, while our office administrator, Tanya Spain, and I were working away on Easter prep, a lightening storm hit our community. We didn’t think much of it other than that we were grateful that we were inside. Then came the thunder clap that was so deafening that I… Okay, I’m going to level with you. I jumped about three feet off of the ground. And I may or may not have yelped a little bit.

I look over to Tanya’s office, across the building, and she is standing holding her ears. Apparently the thunder clap was—get this!—accompanied by a lightening bolt. A lightening bolt that traveled through wires, frying everything on the West side of the building, and sending an enormous spark through the outlet right at Tanya’s feet.

This is what started my Holy Week.

Honestly, after that, everything else was a walk in the park. With Jess’ mom here playing with James, and so many wonderful people from the church jumping in to serve in different ways, everything seemed to go off without too much of a hitch.

Other than the lightening of course.

What was the most interesting part of it for me was the responses from so many both within and without of the church. I had people spanning the spectrum, giving me interpretations of what God was doing through the lightening strike. On one side, I heard that this was obviously God calling us to spend all of our efforts and money pouring new life into the old building and sanctuary, saying that we need to absolutely drop all plans for a new building and new ministries and focus exclusively on getting back to our roots. On the other side, I heard from a number of people that this was God obviously giving us permission to just demolish the old building and move on to bigger and better things.

It’s just amazing how God can speak near-contradictory things through the same incident, isn’t it?

So I spent Holy Week (and the week and a half since) trying to hold onto Christ’s declaration: “Behold, I make all things new.” I’ve been trying to remember and remind that God is doing a new thing in Kyle UMC while at the same time calling us to be good stewards of the gifts God has given us. It’s been interesting and fun.

So how was your Holy Week? And, since it’s taken me so long to write my part of this, how has your last week and a half been as well?

Oh, and yes. For those of you who are wondering, I did yelp. Like a scared little girl.