This is the song that never ends...

Two weeks ago, 20+ students from our youth group spent two hours and considerable elbow grease dusting the both the new and old sanctuaries of our church.

We went over each surface at least twice. We stuck the corners of our rags into every crack and crevice. We worked hard. At the end of our time together, David (one of our sextons) came and thanked us for our work telling us we had done a great job. Before I could even reply, I heard a chorus of students behind me say, "Thank YOU David for all the hard work that you do so that we can have our programs."

You see, two people are in charge of the cleaning and care of our entire property, with all of its buildings and light bulbs and bathrooms and lawn work and dust and carpets and trash....and on and on and on. Our youth reflected about how many lightbulbs would need to be changed and how many surfaces collect dust each day. They reflected on all the things that need to happen in order for them to have youth group each week, all the trash that is taken out from their snacks, all the waste that is cleaned up behind them -- a lot of work, a lot of behind the scenes, thankless work. Spending two hours hard scrubbing might not be the most enjoyable afternoon, but it enabled our youth to reflect on the many things that are necessary for the church to function as it does, especially a church our size.

Happily Ever After...Ish?

Often, this is where we end out testimony. I am perhaps the most guilty of this: I like to tell you all the successes and the blessings and the joys of youth ministry in our congregation. I like you to know that your youth are learning and making a difference in their community. Even in times that aren't as great, I like to spin it around to sound good or talk about what we've learned or how we are going to do better in the future or frankly, I just leave out some of the mess. Everyone doesn't need to know all the sordid details of youth ministry.

We really like to tell stories of faith and mission that end with shiny pews and smiling sextons. But discipleship is not a fairy tale that ends with perfection and happily ever after.

On Wednesday of last week, a crew came into the new sanctuary to climb a considerable height to change some of those light bulbs. (As a side note, I should have sat and watched, as the sheer cavernous quality of our sanctuary is mind-blowing to me.) As they worked, a sprinkle of debris turned into a blizzard of dust particles cascading in earnest onto the freshly polished chairs, pews, and and wood surfaces below. Many observers came to me and expressed their dismay about the dust:

Oh no, the work the youth did was completely negated.

Oh dear, the youth will feel so bad.

Even after all that help, now the sextons will still have to do the work of dusting once again.

When I first heard these statements, I confess it was much the same feeling I have each week when I put on my freshly cleaned white Saturday sweatshirt, last week's coffee stain carefully and diligently removed, only to immediately spill my first cup of coffee down my front.

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Total frustration. Overwhelming exasperation. Admit it: you know the feeling I'm talking about. When you've just cleaned the kitchen sink and someone puts in a dirty plate caked with dried food. When you've just cleaned the litter box and your cat chooses that moment for his morning constitution. When you've just cleaned and organized your desk and a pile of papers comes into your inbox. 

Sometimes it's like the chores of life never end; we just cycle back through them over and over again. Sometimes we put all of our effort into something that goes unrewarded and unnoticed. Sometimes no matter how hard we work, it's like we can't get ahead. Sometimes, if we are really honest with ourselves, we wonder why we even try, if our efforts really made a difference, if there was a point to any of this.

The total monotony of discipleship

The reality is that discipleship can often be like dusting our sanctuary: by the time you finish, the other side has already gotten dusty again. Whether it was workers changing light bulbs or just simply time, the dust returns and must be scrubbed away. We can avoid it, sure, but in a few weeks, as we pull out our hymnals, feeling the grit of their dirtiness and sneezing as the dust assaults our noses, we know it simply can't be avoided any longer.

When I think of the monotony of discipleship, I think about the Israelites in the desert. After weeks of wandering and eating nothing but manna, the Israelites cry out, "If only we had meat to eat! We remember the fish we used to eat in Egypt for nothing, the cucumbers, the melons, the leeks, the onions, and the garlic; but now our strength is dried up, and there is nothing but this manna to look at!" (Numbers 11.4-6).

We long for the cucumbers and the fish, the melons and the leeks, the onions and the garlic, the wild, flavorful, vibrant pieces of discipleship. We long to be doing exciting and adventurous things, things that make a big difference, things that make us feel good and like we are a part of something bigger than ourselves. We signed up for this Christian journey for the excitement of the Promised Land and the hipster Jesus bracelets. We didn't sign up for manna...day in and day out...manna...bland, bland manna.

God responds that humankind does not live on bread alone but on the word of the Lord. We do not do this whole Christianity thing for the glory, and the warm fuzzy feelings and the total ecstasy we feel. We do this whole Christianity thing because we are following God, because we are committed to God's will and God's journey, because we want to give the glory and honor, praise and majesty to God. That means a lot of discipleship is eating boring manna. A lot of discipleship is endless dusting of the sanctuary and shredding documents and sitting in meetings and cleaning up the kitchen after we're done and stuff that's not sexy or glamorous but contributes to the real experience of worshiping Jesus. 

Just keep swimming...

So today, I want to encourage us to do a couple of things:

1. Let's celebrate the monotony as well as the excitement. When we tell stories of discipleship, let's tell about dusting as well as about worship at Montreat; let's tell of digging post holes as well as the beach trip; let's tell of service as well as games. Let's not complain that the manna is getting bland and boring; rather let us give thanks that we have manna at all.

2. Let's look not for entertainment but for Jesus, not for fulfillment but for Jesus, not for self-satisfaction but for Jesus. For Jesus. 

Some stuff I learned in Florida

I receive a friend request from a former student on Facebook. I look at the name and the picture of the nearly unrecognizable young man and remember nearly 10 years ago being on a mission trip with him. I can vividly remember my eyes welling up as he spoke gently to folks with special needs and worked hard to clean up dinner. With eagerness, I accept the request and go to check out his profile. What I find is meme after meme of racist slurs and sexist remarks. What I find is a commitment to atheism and self preservation. What I find is not the kiddo I remember who had so much potential.

*****

I see a student I had as a camper on the news. She's at a demonstration downtown and proudly waving her atheist and anarchist flags. I wish I saw the beautiful, eager, and spiritually hungry girl I saw at camp, but I see an angry, bitter young woman who has walked away from the seeds that were planted.

*****

I'm on a mission trip, and I find out that my seniors, whom I've worked with for five years, are lying to me and keeping their cell phones. Although they are hard workers and have good hearts, they can be found lounging on work sites and leaving others out of their conversations. Five years of work, five years of love and kindness and discipleship, and here they are, disrespecting me and others in the group.

*****

After three years of discipleship and intimate relationship, Jesus kneels at the last supper to wash the feet of his disciples. Jesus washes the feet of men who will run away merely hours from now as he's arrested. Men who will deny him in public. A man who will betray him for 30 pieces of silver. A man who will doubt when he is miraculously resurrected. This is not the Olympic team of disciples; these are not the close followers that perhaps Jesus could have hoped for, perhaps that he deserved.

#DiscipleshipFails and other things I learned last week

Last week, I had the great privilege of attending the annual Disciple Making Conference put on by Presbyterian Mission Agency in St. Pete Beach, Florida. The speaker, Rev. Jeff Eddings, a dear friend and mentor to me, focused our time on the spiritual disciplines and musings of St. Ignatius of Loyola. I have learned a lot from this, and I'm sure that it will bleed into much of what I talk about over the next several weeks, but one of the greatest pieces of insight we discussed was a movement from the phrase "disciple-making" to "disciple-allowing." 

Failure:

I'm rather competitive. I don't like to fail. I constantly assess my progress and skills. When I ran the half marathon in Pittsburgh 3 years ago, I was disappointed because I ran it two minutes slower than my goal (never mind that I ran the whole thing and still managed an 10:30 min/mile pace, which was great for me). I'm absolutely inconsolable today as I mourn the Steeler loss to [Bill Belle-cheat and the] New England Patriots [the refs were paid!]. As a child, I would do anything to convince my brother to swim races with me because I knew it was the only sport I could beat him in. I don't like failure and I have a high standard of what it means to succeed.

I think many of us have been conditioned this way. Nearly every week, I am asked by congregation members how many youth are attending youth group each week. When our youth shared life-transforming stories on Youth Sunday, many of us were moved to tears hearing our young people standing up for their faith. That day really felt like a success, and I heard many folks tell me such. 

In 10 years of youth ministry, I honestly can't say that I don't have a minor panic every time a kid stops coming to youth group or gets in trouble for something or disappoints me in some way. I ride the high of Youth Sunday with vigor, and I crash along with my youth when I hear about their mistakes and unhealthy decisions. Sometimes ministry feels like one step forward, three steps back.

At the Disciple Allowing Conference, we had a discussion about #discipleshipfails. We talked about how failure is never the last word, but also how success is actually not the last word either. We talked about how we are obsessed [a disordered attachment] with whether or not we consider a ministry a success or failure; we are molded and sculpted by our production and consumerist society.

Is God calling us to constantly produce? To produce perfect, cookie-cutter disciples? To produce seamless mission projects? To produce and produce and produce and for our congregation to consume consume consume?

Scripture: The parable of the sower

I have been reflecting on Matthew 13.1-9 and 18-23. In this parable, Jesus tells of a farmer who sows seeds in a variety of places: along the path, in rocky places, among thorns, and on good soil. Of course, in the less ideal places, the seeds do not take root and they are snatched up or wither and die. In the good soil, the harvest is plentiful.

As I have read this parable over the years, I have focused on the meaning Jesus speaks of in vv. 18-23, I have focused on the seeds and how they grow. Recently, however, I have been reflecting on the farmer. I'm not a farmer, but my great grandparents were. My Pap Pap was very organized when he planted plants. His part of the garden was neatly planted and organized and labeled, But my Nunny (and my Uncle Butchy) would scatter their seeds wherever and hope that some of them would grow. As a result we would have sunflowers on the rocky path and tomatoes growing against the house.

I am struck by the fact that this farmer just tosses seed wherever he goes. Each seed has this unlimited life potential as he tosses it in the fields, but he does not protect or control the seeds: he tosses seeds in places where growth might be stunted or unsure. It's almost as thought he isn't sure where the good soil might be or that he has hope for every kind of soil. Perhaps the job of the one sowing the seed isn't to judge the soil or manipulate the conditions for growth, but rather to simply plant the seeds and pray for their growth.

Indeed, that seems to connect to 1 Corinthians 3. 6-9:

I planted the seed, Apollos watered it, but God made it grow. So neither he who plants nor he who waters is anything, but only God, who makes things grow. The man who plants and the man who waters have one purpose, and each will be rewarded according to his own labor. For we are God's fellow workers; you are God's field, God's building.

Perhaps those of us who devote a part of our lives to making youth into disciples [youth advisors, pastors, friends, parents, teachers], perhaps we are trying to control the growth of disciples too much. Perhaps we are trying to take the role of God. Perhaps it is not our job to understand the quality of the soil or the progress of each disciple; perhaps it is our job to indiscriminately spread the seed of the gospel.  Perhaps it is simply our job to create a situation where faith might grow, should the seeds decide to accept the nutrients of the soil and to transform into a plant.

Rev. Jeff Eddings described this another way: he said he thinks of our faith much like the story of the three little pigs. For many years, he felt as a pastor it was our responsibility to stand between the houses of the three little pigs and prevent the Big Bad Wolf from blowing them down. Perhaps it was even his job to help the piggies trade straw for brick.

Through his ministry, Jeff has learned that the Big Bad Wolf comes whether he is standing there or not. The piggies's houses blow down, whether they're made of straw or wood, or even brick. His job as pastor isn't to manipulate or prevent the wind or the building of the house. Rather, the job of pastor is to sit with the piggies in the pile of rubble that once was their house (their faith) and to sift through the mess to find what is good, to find the new beams and bricks upon which the new faith might be built. Ultimately, however, the piggies have to build their own houses.

By their own initiative...

A little over a year ago, the Youth Ministry Team prepared 5 goals for youth ministry at Unity Presbyterian Church. In my personal opinion, the best, most comprehensive one is the first one:

To create opportunities for youth to develop personal relationships with God by their own initiative.

So basically, our goal is to spread some seed. No matter how many Montreats I go on, Confirmation classes we teach, youth groups I run, Bible Studies we lead, Sunday School lessons one attends, or mission opportunities we offer, I can't be the Holy Spirit. I can't force a kid to fall in love with Jesus. I'm imagining Bruce Almighty as he stands in the street and stares at Jennifer Aniston yelling, "Love me!!!!"

Love doesn't work like that. Neither does faith. Neither does discipleship. Each person has to develop a personal relationship with God by their own initiative.

This means I'm just a farmer. This means I just toss the seed out there and pray it takes root. This means, I don't judge the soil or pull the weeds or prevent the Big Bad Wolf from coming; it means that I am present, hopeful, and faithful. It means that you, also, as parents, as pastors, as educators, as advisors and mentors, you are just farmers, just folks doing the planting and the watering...y'all can't control the growth. Only God controls the growth of the seeds. This is both extremely frustrating as one who wants to make everything work perfectly, and extremely liberating in knowing that I have limitations. It's ego-deflating and humbling. It reminds me that God is God so that I don't have to be. It reminds me that when discipleship seems to #fail, the weeds and the thorns and the birds do not have the last word. The Holy Spirit continues to work.

****

If Jesus can look Simon Peter in the eye and wash his feet, and serve him as his disciple and friend, knowing that in a matter of hours this man would pretend that he didn't know Jesus, if Jesus can do that, who am I to place discipleship in a box? The rock on whom Jesus built the church chose self-preservation over discipleship in the most critical moment, the moment when Jesus, as a human, needed him the most. The man that Jesus chose to spread his word to the Gentiles was Paul, exactly the man who was trying to kill Jesus' disciples and followers.

I don't get to decide how these discipleship journeys end up. I don't get to evaluate whether we are succeeding or failing in our ministries. I don't get to force kids to love Jesus. I just get to spread the seed and make the opportunity possible. I just get to watch as God's garden grows.

Resources

Some articles about the conference

Baptized in ICE

They say it only takes one winter in a new place to change your blood, and I'd have to say I agree. I have never loved the snow or the cold, especially in my adult life when snow and cold means waking up a half hour earlier to clean off my car and struggle to get to work. This weekend's "snow" storm (which was mostly ice in my area) has not exactly been my cup of tea (although it has inspired me drink a lot of tea). Now mind you, I lived through the blizzard of 2010 in Pittsburgh:

{my car}

{a lawn chair}

{our road}

But on Saturday morning, I spent a couple of hours watching the snow fall with my southern kitty, George Hairyson, who had never seen snow. I relished in the warmth of my home and did everything in my power not to leave. On Sunday morning, I woke up late for church and went about my normal routine. At 10:00 I went out to find that unfortunately the snow had not melted off of my car and neither had the ice. I sighed and turned the car defrosters on full blast. I crawled into the trunk to find the flimsy scraper/brush that I have (my nice one was left to my brother in Pittsburgh) and began to work on the rear windshield. After 20 seconds of hard work and not much progress made, I sheepishly looked around the parking lot. Of the 8 people out scraping their cars, I was the only one with a real scraper. All others were glaring at me with contempt or outright envy as they scraped their cars with pancake flippers, sleeves, and scrub brushes. Even with the proper equipment this was going to take a while.

I finally gave up on the back, figuring the defroster could help me if I waited patiently, and walked to the side of the car, only to find I had absentmindedly left the driver-side door open, allowing all this cold air to come in and nullify the effects of my blasting defroster. Cursing myself, I shut the icy door and continued my process. All the while, I could hear my father's voice in my head telling me not to leave any snow on my lights and to be very thorough so the ice and snow didn't fly off my car while going down the road. I confess, at 10:25, I grumpily got into my car, tossing my puny scraper onto the floor and began running the windshield wipers like mad. I pulled out with only two small spots to see out of, and hid under the brim of my winter hat to avoid being associated with this absolutely terribly scraped car. Even though no one would know I'm from the north by my North Carolina license plate, it felt as though the southern sun was glaring at me, exposing my quickly fading northern winter survival skills. I arrived at church much later than I had hoped, completely out of my routine, with cold ears, cold fingers, and cold toes....not to mention a rather grumpy disposition. This week's blast of winter weather altered my routine and knocked me off-kilter. And of course, I moved to the south on purpose: this was not a welcome winter weather system in the White household.

Baptism of the Lord

It just so happens that this Sunday was Baptism of the Lord Sunday. We celebrate Jesus' baptism by John in the Jordan River, and we remember with joy our own baptisms. But what does that really mean?

Baptism in the PCUSA

Baptism means lots of things in different denominations, and in the Presbyterian Church USA, we believe that baptism is a sacrament in which everyone may participate. The Book of Order (our constitution) states, "Baptism is the sign and seal of incorporation into Christ." In other words, baptism is the physical sign and secure assurance that the individual being baptized is a member of the family of God. That's why we baptize infants - because before we could think for ourselves, God claims us and seals us as belonging to the family of God. The congregation promises to contribute to the upbringing of that child in the family of God. The sense of inclusiveness found in baptism is essential to our Presbyterian beliefs on the matter, and it is what we emphasize as we wipe the cool water across the heads of infants and adults who come to the waters.

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Super graphic death and resurrection

There is a less cute and fluffy side to baptism, however. The Book of Order continues, "In Baptism, we participate in Jesus' death and resurrection. In Baptism, we die to what separates us from God and are raised to newness of life in Jesus Christ, who died for us and was raised for us." We participate in death. We die. Not exactly appropriate for Disney's next animated feature. 

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{p.s. this picture is so creepy and weird...gah...}

In baptism, the parents and the congregation promise to reject a life of sin, a life without Christ, and to be committed anew to a resurrected life following Jesus Christ. God promises to let the life of sin be washed from us in the waters of baptism and cast to the bottom of the sea; God promises to see us as resurrected and new, as recreated in God's Kingdom. 

While I love the Presbyterian Church's attention to joy and celebration and commitment to practicality (and I'm grateful I don't have to wade in rivers and dunk people's heads under water), I think the Baptists capture something we don't in their "slam-dunk" approach. I was baptized as an infant, so I don't remember, but I've watched immersion baptism, and I can imagine the discomfort and challenge. The person being baptized comes, probably feeling awkward and exposed before the pastor and the congregation. He/she leans back into the arms of the pastor and trusts that as he/she goes under the water, that they will surface again, trusts that the pastor will not drop him/her in the water, that the submersion is temporary. The one being baptized emerges from the water at a pull from the pastor's hand on their neck, breathing in that first breath as though they were being born again, born anew. I can imagine the cool pressure and slight panic of the water surrounding you and then the sharp relief of that first gasp of air as you come up. There is something totally vulnerable and deeply uncomfortable about immersion baptism, about being dunked in the water, that we don't fully capture in the Presbyterian Church with our sprinkle and smear. It exposes our needs, our fragility, our dependence on God for survival. It is challenging, uncomfortable, and unpleasant.

So back to the ice...

It seems fitting to me that on the weekend of Baptism of the Lord Sunday, we should be washed over by ice and snow. On Friday night, as we ventured out for dinner in the 35 degree weather and rain, my husband declared in a most crotchety voice, "This is absolutely my least favorite weather." I must agree: those cold drops will chill you to the bone and it seems that my toes and my nose will never be warm again. This type of weather is uncomfortable: it disrupts our routine, calls us to change our clothing and our awareness, and forces us to pay attention to the water on the road and the droplets on the trees. The only thing I look forward to when winter weather rolls through the region is the possibility of a snow day or snow delay when I get to stay home and cuddle George Hairyson and knit and make soup. 

{I mean, who wouldn't want to cuddle this cutie all day?!?!}

And weirdly this same type of disruptive discomfort found in a storm of frigid precipitation is strangely similar to what we celebrate in Baptism. We celebrate the uncomfortable, vulnerable submersion of our sin-sick selves into God's cleansing and purifying waters; we celebrate our explosion from the waters, our gasping for air, our disorienting first breath. We celebrate the challenging call found in a life of discipleship, a life that asks us not to sit comfortably with George Hairyson all day long; a life that commands us to stand in uncomfortable places as we follow Jesus.

So as we celebrate cold weather and startling baptisms, let us feel the challenge and call of our baptism in our lives. We are called to a life of discipleship that takes us to the frozen windshields of life. Unlike this terrible northern example, we are called to continue the job even when it is difficult, when our hands our frozen and our patience is fried and we are cranky and embarrassed and inconvenienced. There are opportunities every day for us to step out of our comfort zone and into the cold weather of Christian discipleship. How will we respond to that challenge today? This week?

Resources

Prayers for celebrating baptism

Can I Tell You How Resurrection REALLY Feels? Nadia Bolz Weber