Two of my favorite recent reads are coinciding in the soup of my musings this week. They couldn’t be more different. The one is Walter Brueggemann’s Hopeful Imagination: Prophetic Voices in Exile and the other The Glamour of Grammar by Roy Clark. Brueggemann is a theologian while Clark teaches writing as vice president and senior scholar at the Poynter Institute.

The word that’s bringing them together is “conviction.” Discussing the prophet Jeremiah, Brueggemann writes, “Pastoral vitality is related to a concrete sense of what God is doing in the world.” (Brueggemann 16) The same can be said about congregational vitality. In the end it’s a question of conviction.

As I dissected the word, I thought about its most common usages related to belief systems and legal proceedings. One can be convicted by arguments about the nature of God or some philosophical point and one can be convicted in a court of law. I remembered Clark calling two or more words that sound alike and are spelled alike but have different meanings homonyms. (Clark 38) The question then became how different are these two meanings in the context of a life of faith?

Both seem based on evidence, observable facts. To be convicted in a court of law one’s guilt needs to be proved beyond a reasonable doubt. There needs to be evidence. But one’s conviction also needs to be proved when the word is used in the religious or philosophical sense. Our deeds and words need to be consistent with our convictions, provided we are truly and deeply convicted.

It made me wonder what would happen if Christianity were suddenly banned. Would there be enough evidence to convict those who profess to follow Jesus? What would be the legal litmus test for a modern-day disciple? If it’s following in the way of Jesus by meeting the needs of the poor, the sick, the suffering, I’m not so sure many of us will end up with convictions.

This brings the meanings of the word very close to each other and has given me a lens through which to continue pondering my own discipleship.

The theme for last night’s Commune service – our weekly emergent worship offering – was “salt and light.”

In the Sermon on the Mount Jesus calls us “the salt of the earth” and the “light of the world.” He reminds us to maintain our saltiness and to not succumb to the temptation to hide our light. He calls us to let our light shine before others, so that they may see our good works and give glory to God. (Matthew 5:13-15)

Giving glory to God may not always be a motivating force for our actions. In fact, I hazard a guess that few today would consciously think of giving glory to God when engaged in the mundane tasks of daily life like washing the dishes, driving the kids to school, responding to emails, or enduring yet another work or church meeting.

But imagine for a moment if you decided to do whatever it is you do – no matter how great or menial the task – for the glory of God. How would your attitude or behavior shift? What impact would this have on your expectations for yourself and the goals you set?

A line from the movie Chariots of Fire comes to mind. Rev. J.D. Liddell reminds his son, the brilliant runner Eric Liddell, “Run in God’s name, and let the world stand back in wonder.”

I don’t think doing something for the glory of God means seeking perfection, in the sense of some ultimate attainment. I think some notions of perfection are highly overrated. But what about faithfulness or wholeness? Perhaps joyful fulfillment is a more accurate phrase.

Seeking to do something for the glory of God acknowledges from the outset the gifts with which God has blessed us, irrespective of how insignificant they may seem. It is above all an orientation of praise and thanksgiving, giving credit where credit is due.

Here’s my letter to the Congregation in our newsletter, The Reporter, on Sunday, September 25, 2011.

One of my great joys each week is selecting the scriptures for the Sunday worship service. As has been the tradition of our church, I turn to the Revised Common Lectionary as my primary source and have found the readings well coordinated and thoughtful. My greatest difficulty is choosing two out of the four or six scriptures recommended for a given week.

You may have noticed by now that my general preference is to select one passage from the Old Testament (the Hebrew Bible) and the Gospel lection. As often happens, I found all of the readings incredibly inspiring this week, but had to prayerfully choose two on which to focus my sermon. The one I had the hardest time leaving out was Philippians 2:1-13. It begins:

“If then there is any encouragement in Christ, any consolation from love, any sharing in the Spirit, any compassion and sympathy, make my joy complete: be of the same mind, having the same love, being in full accord
and of one mind. Do nothing from selfish ambition or conceit, but in humility regard others as better than yourselves. Let each of you look not to your own interests, but to the interests of others. Let the same mind be
in you that was in Christ Jesus…”

I encourage you to read further. This scripture is a tremendous gift to us. Take out “Philippians” and insert “West Medfordians.” Let us be of one mind, the same love, being in full accord. Let us forgo selfish ambition and, instead, in humility regard others highly. Let us open our eyes to the needs of others and the needs of the church as a whole. Let us strive through prayer to let the mind of Christ be in us.

Being a Christian takes work. It requires constant prayerful watchfulness. It demands humility that defeats selfish ambition. Yet all this work is worth it when we ponder the rewards of our labors.

Each week I write a column in the congregation’s newsletter, The Reporter, and continually seek fresh ways to communicate the need to remain hopeful and faithful in uncertain and difficult times. I was inspired by a talk Dr. Nick Carter gave to the Alumni Board at Andover Newton last week and penned the letter below for last Sunday’s newsletter. I find it necessary to be realistic about the costs of preserving the institution so that we can increasingly adopt the posture of a movement aimed at spreading the Good News. The nature of institutions is that they prize self-preservation, while movements seek to rally around a cause and gather momentum. Here’s what I wrote to the congregation.

Imagine for a moment that you have been in business for a long time. You have made a healthy profit selling horses and buggies.
One day you’re out in your brand new horse- drawn buggy and hear a strange noise coming up from behind. You look back to see a brand new car, the first you’ve seen. It’s big, beautiful, and isn’t drawn by horses.
What do you do? Do you doggedly dig in your heels and say I’m in the horse and buggy business and will never sell cars? Or do you see yourself as being in the transportation business and begin to explore what adding a range of cars would mean for your business?
This analogy was used this week by Rev. Dr. Nick Carter, visionary president of Andover Newton Theological School in reference to the future of seminaries. I think it’s as valuable in reference to the future of the church and, in particular, our congregation.
As with most mainline Protestant churches, we have seen drastic falls in membership over the past five decades while some other churches and social institutions have grown. Even our strong growth over the past few years has made only a tiny dent. With a few notable exceptions, we have kept doing what we have done for many years, hoping that others will be attracted by what makes us comfortable or sentimental. We have confined ourselves to an old model of governance and sometimes dug in to preserve positions of power and privilege.
Any person with good business sense will tell us this is not the way to be successful. One needs to be watchful for new opportunities to diversify the product range and improve the bottom line. At times you have to shift your model and activities to accommodate the new demands of those who need what you offer. The New York Times on Wednesday ran a story about how luxury hotels no longer market luxury. Who needs another plush bathrobe? Instead, they are marketing experiences that meet the demands of their clients in difficult times.
Of course, the church is not a business and our bottom line does not amount to money. Our mission is not to make a profit. We are called to proclaim the Good News and create opportunities for community to gather, for worship, faith enrichment, and mission that meets the needs of the destitute.
It is essential that we continue to revision who we are called to be today and what we need to do to serve God more faithfully in the present. Our work is cut out for us. Yet we are not alone in this work. God has not left us without hope. We need to turn to God with greater fervor. We need to dream bigger dreams. We need to turn to the experts on church revitalization and listen to each others’ ideas for our future. We need to live into the vision already born within our congregation.
We have achieved great things together over the past few years and have grown considerably, yet we still have work ahead of us to live into a fresh and inspired vision.

The times we live in call for action. There can be little doubt that the unrest and volatility besetting Western nations and economies are signs of deep discontent. I would dare to call it deep spiritual discontent. Society has lost its moral compass and its ethical rudder is wedged so tightly by hubris that the wants of the individual receive primacy over the needs of the collective.

The riots in the United Kingdom and Greece are harbingers of greater instability. Politicians running roughshod over the needs of the poor in power plays for cheap political gain are a flare, warning of an ominous tide.

The church now as never before needs to insert itself as the Lion of Judah in society. We need to stand on the best parts of the Christian faith through the ages and proclaim (even with quivering voices) the hope and love we have come to know in Jesus. Jesus’ care of the widow, orphan, and poor should echo in our own concern for our world.

Once again the church needs to become a leader in society, rather than the lapdog of the powers of this world that would see it chasing its tail in search of long-lost members. We, who stand on the fundamentals of love and justice, need to commit deep within our hearts to stand for all that is good, and lovely, and true in our world.

The cost may be high, but the prize is worth every effort. For the Kingdom to come as we pray for every day, each of us must assume our role. Our means must match the ends we seek. So let us become leaders in all the spheres of our lives and show our society the way to Love. The times we live in call for action.

This past Sunday a group from the church and I headed to Cambridge Common where Rev. Jed Mannis and the staff of Outdoor Church host weekly communion services for the homeless.

We’d made about 90 sandwiches for distribution among the burgeoning homeless population, a small effort amid a growing crisis. A higher-than-usual number of teens from the suburbs are on the streets at the moment. Many may head home come October, when the weather turns cooler, but for the time being they find themselves vulnerable to malnutrition and other physical and mental abuses.

Not one of these young homeless folks attended worship and only two older, chronically homeless, individuals joined in. One, an elderly man, read the scripture from Matthew about Jesus feeding the 5,000. I felt awkward given the topic.

Shortly after the service a couple of folks materialized from the shady spots on the Common and approached the mobile altar. It’s a trolley beneath which are kept bags of sandwiches, socks, and hygiene kits. A woman wearing a bright pink dress and a cast around her wrist politely asked for a few sandwiches for her friends who were tending to a man who couldn’t stand.

As she looked us suburban church folks over, she told K (one of our group) that she looked familiar. “You do too,” K responded. She asked for the homeless woman’s name. In an instant, recognition dawned on their faces and grace exploded onto the scene as they walked toward each other with open arms. They embraced. They had been childhood friends in the same neighborhood.

In that moment I realized how much more we’d brought than our seemingly insignificant offering of sandwiches. We placed ourselves in a position to see and recognize our homeless neighbors, folks who are so often overlooked and despised even by those who toss a coin at them.

I remembered an editor I’d worked with here in Boston who demonstrated how he stepped over the homeless. His overstuffed belly threw him off balance. I thought of Congress mired in rancorous debate about the debt ceiling, one sticking point being funding for programs that serve the most vulnerable in society.

But there we were on a sunny Sunday afternoon, meeting our homeless sisters and brothers face to face, sharing the Eucharist, and handing out sandwiches soft enough for loose teeth to sink into. More than this we offered recognition made all the more powerful by an embrace and the merging of stories across the divides of time and privilege.

It seems that I often live a week, month, or even year ahead of the present moment. You may do this, too. I’m constantly conspiring, seeking ways to enrich the lives of the beautiful souls who entrust their spiritual care to me and also the countless others I feel compelled to reach with the Good News of Jesus. So it is that in the fifth week of Lent I find myself preparing for Holy Week with an eye set on Easter and the season beyond. The promise of summer rest is seductive.

With all that’s going on in the world and in our lives, it can be difficult to settle into the moment at hand. It’s hard to be at rest in the beauty of a second. Yet this very second, this moment, as fleeting as it is, is all any of us truly has. The past and the future are beyond our control.

I take a breath, inhaling the cool rainy air streaming through my study window. Cars are rushing on High Street. The air is punctuated by a Harley’s drone. A lone bird chirps in a budding tree, no longer drowned out. Such is this moment. And, of course, I’m writing to you.

How very important it is for each of us to learn to appreciate the moment at hand. I wonder how Jesus lived his moments? I wonder how Jesus looked upon the world and what he saw? I wonder what he heard and how he listened? I wonder how he perceived the beauty in the landscape and the goodness in everyone around him? Oh to see and listen and perceive as Jesus did in this moment.

As we enter Holy Week and remember our beautiful Savoir giving every last breath for us, perhaps we could strive to live more fully in each moment. Let us in each moment be mindful of Jesus and strive to see the world and all we encounter as Jesus would. I imagine soft eyes, a gentle word, a knowing gaze, and belly wrenching laughter.

What beauty! What promise! What peace, even in the face of a violent and unforgiving world that seeks to snuff out all goodness.
The only thing any of us truly has power over is the way we live a moment, the hope we see, the Godliness we perceive, the love we invest in it.

Holy Week offers us an opportunity to remember the love Jesus has for each of us and all creation. It is an opportunity to pause, to wait, to expect, and to remember a love so great it conquered death. In gratitude to our Savoir, let us live each moment this week in a way that echoes the life of our meek and lovely Jesus.

It’s March. It’s late summer in the southern hemisphere. I can still see my childhood home baking in the noon-day sun. A turtle dove coos halfheartedly high in a tree somewhere while Bowser our Boxer-Ridgeback offers a less-than-enthusiastic woof in return. The red earth is hard and the short grass tan. It’s not as hot as it’s been, but make no mistake: it is hot. The evenings begin to carry a coolness on the breeze; the promise of Autumn crispness invigorates the early mornings. It’s the best time to be out on a run.
This March scene may elude the imagination of a New Englander, for whom a less than warm day proclaims the promise of spring. Winter’s chill lingers even as the snow recedes and rivers rise. Sustaining warm days are months away, but cardinals and sparrows and the cheeky jesters of the bird kingdom, the mockingbirds, rejoice in the blessings of a new day.
These images of south and north seem a world apart, and in some respects they truly are. Yet even now there is a season that profoundly binds them together. It’s called Lent. Lent is the 40-day stretch from Ash Wednesday to the glorious miracle of Easter. Lent is a time for introspection and repentance, a time to fast and a time to prepare. The word at its Latin origin means spring, and belies the northern-centered nature of early Christianity and, mournfully, the pervading self-centered views of many Christians in the northern hemisphere.
It is indeed a great gift to experience Lent in the north, where the promise of resurrection can be seen in the crocus, lily and daffodil. The whole earth comes to life under one’s feet. Creeks, rivers, and ponds swell, cleansing and replenishing, sustaining and energizing. Sunny days warm the air and make spirits bright. The earth softens and the ground thaws and soon farmers will till the soil.
But what about Lent at a time of autumn?
I cast my memory back to shortening days and longer nights, the foreboding of very cold dark hours. Searing summer heat gives way to replenishing coolness and the promise of comfortable days. Late-afternoon thundershowers, diminishing in frequency, turn tan to green and soften the earth just enough for winter blooms to start their journey toward bright sunlight. It’s a time of harvest and thanksgiving for the bounty of the earth. Animal life increases its activity, and the world is abuzz with the hum of insects spreading pollen in expectation that the pending winter will give way to spring.
Christianity, a dizzying array of traditions and churches, spans the globe. Yet it’s easy to become focused on just one place and way. Let us be mindful this Lent that the world is wide and that our brothers and sisters in the faith span the globe. Let us consider the beauty and meaning of Lent as spring, but also Lent as autumn. We should celebrate the mystery of God’s love, revealed in the life of God’s own Son, Jesus the Christ, given for the whole world, equally. In the words of the hymn: “Blessed be the ties that bind our hearts in Christian Love; the fellowship of kindred minds is like to that above.”

As Egyptians continue to take to the streets demanding their president’s resignation, I can’t help but think of Dr. King’s statement, “The arc of the moral universe is long, but bends toward justice.” How phenomenal it is to witness citizens of another Arab League state demanding freedom.

It’s tragic that Mr. Mubarak does not get it and I wonder if he ever will. How can he not understand that dissolving his cabinet and single-handedly appointing new leadership is the very abuse of power that his citizens are protesting?

Perhaps more remarkable is the report on Al Jazeera this morning that soldiers deployed on the streets are not interfering with the protests but have, in fact, intervened to prevent police from firing on protesters. The Guardian quotes an Associated Press Report of an Army captain joining the protesters. (See the Guardian’s running blog.) Sadly, reports of violent clashes and police firing on crowds persist. The prospect of a bloodbath looms large. Reports of deaths range widely from 32 to over 70 and will only rise.

Following on the coat tails of the revolution in Tunisia, despots everywhere should be quaking in their boots. News spreads fast in the Internet age. It’s little surprise that Egypt blocked its cell network and Internet access and that China is reportedly blocking references to Egypt on social networking sites.

The US administration is now confronted with its most significant foreign policy dilemma in years. How do you remain a close ally of a country whose dictatorial leaders is poised to quell a popular democratic uprising? Egypt’s military receives more than $1 billion a year in aid from the US. How will the United States be able to continue to fund a military that turns on its own people? I concur wholeheartedly with the Washington Post editorial calling on the administration to “prepare for the peaceful implementation of the opposition platform…. And it should be telling the Egyptian army, with no qualification, that the violent suppression of the uprising will rupture its relationship with the United States.”

We’re living in an extraordinary moment. First Tunisia, now Egypt. Free people everywhere should rise in solidarity with the people of Egypt and call on our governments to support democracy in Egypt. I am invigorated by the courage of the Egyptian protesters who have risen in the face of a brutal opponent. Indeed, I pray that their cause will meet success and that they too will live in a free and democratic society where the voice of the populace matters. The arc of the moral universe is, indeed, long, but bends toward justice. I might add that the arc of human desire is long, but bends toward freedom. Let freedom ring.