Reflecting on the Rock

We often chastise Peter for his reaction when Jesus stooped to wash his feet on Holy Thursday, but I can’t help but think that every person in that room felt the same way when they watched their Teacher and friend of the past three years stripping down to his undergarments and stooping to serve them. No doubt they all were shocked at what they witnessed. If anyone in that room should be washing feet, it certainly shouldn’t be Jesus!

I sometimes think that Peter gets a bad rep because, unlike some of the others, in this situation and others recorded in the Gospels, he tended to speak first and ask questions later. (Witness his reaction during the Transfiguration—in a moment that transcends spoken words, Peter just couldn’t keep his mouth shut!) But I tend to imagine that Jesus liked that quality in Peter. Yes, he could be impulsive and rash, yes, it might get him into trouble at times, but Peter was also bold and courageous—willing to step out when others held back. (Witness Peter’s walking on water while the others stayed in the boat as well as the way in which Peter does not hesitate to enter the empty tomb on Easter Morning.) Jesus needed a person with exactly the qualities that Peter possessed to accomplish what needed to be done.

Jesus once called Peter, the Rock, on which he would build the church. It’s been suggested that in our modern parlance Jesus might have referred to Peter as Rocky. This of course brings to mind the series of Rocky movies featuring fighter Rocky Balboa. Rocky was famous for being able to take a beating and keep getting back up, for being the undersized fighter who, against all odds—and with lots of training and dedication—triumphs over the toughest foes.

The world ain't all sunshine and rainbows. It's a very mean and nasty place and I don't care how tough you are it will beat you to your knees and keep you there permanently if you let it. You, me, or nobody is gonna hit as hard as life. But it ain't about how hard ya hit. It's about how hard you can get it and keep moving forward. How much you can take and keep moving forward. That's how winning is done! —Rocky Balboa

Somehow, I picture Peter as being similar to Rocky. (I don’t know if he’s quite the same physical specimen as Sylvester Stallone was back in the day, but I do picture him as a rugged fisherman who was probably in good shape.) Peter would take a lot of “hits” along the way as he followed Jesus; he would make his share of mistakes—which the Gospels document. Regardless, from the moment Jesus saw him casting his nets along the Sea of Galilee, Jesus knew he wanted Cephas, whose name he changed to Peter—which means “rock”. Why?

I suspect it’s because Jesus knew Peter was tough—and I’m not just talking physical toughness, though he certainly might have been. No, just like Rocky, Peter’s toughness goes deeper. He’s tough emotionally and, even more, he’s tough spiritually. Jesus says that even the gates of Hell won’t triumph over him.

Nevertheless, in the next 48 hours, Jesus knew that life was going to hit Peter harder than ever. Given time, Peter would recover and keep moving forward. In the end Peter would be a winner. But on Holy Thursday night, Peter fails Jesus in every way a person can fail. As he cowers in the darkness denying he knows Jesus, Peter seems anything but tough, anything but strong. He’s protecting his own hide; he doesn’t want to be recognized as one of the twelve. The man who hours ago arrogantly claimed he would never abandon Jesus, now denies that he knows him and flees the scene, leaving Jesus alone to face his fate.

Any rock can be changed (when they do we call them metamorphic rocks); but it usually requires being buried underground and subjected to pressure and heat. In the case of Peter—the Rock—Holy Week is the impetus for change. Living through the betrayal, the arrest, the trial, the denial, the abandonment, the crucifixion, the burial—and most importantly—the resurrection, is the crucible that supplies the “pressure” and “heat” that are needed to strengthen the Rock for the next chapter of his own ministry.

By the time we meet Peter on the day of Pentecost, he has begun to “get it”; he has had some time to reflect and starts to understand how all he has lived through was exactly what Jesus predicted. The arrogance and impulsiveness that so defined him in the Gospels begin to fade and the boldness and courageousness that characterize him in Acts start to move to the forefront. Peter does not change overnight; transformation takes time. I suspect he probably never fully loses the rash, impulsive tendencies. The less desirable qualities are part of what makes Peter the unique person God created him to be. But God redeems those qualities and uses them for his glory.

I wonder if this insight can help us when we face crucibles in our own life? Do we face difficult circumstances that there’s no way around? Are we buried under challenging life circumstances? Are we under pressure? Are we taking heat? When we face challenges we have a choice: We can lament about them or we can learn from them. Speaking from experience, I’d say I usually do a little of both; I think the key is being open to learning even as we lament. That seems to be what happened with Peter. He was devastated by his failure in the moment, but he eventually learned a great deal from his experience.

Peter’s example reminds us that—if we let them—the difficulties and hardships we live through can actually change us, strengthen us, and equip us for the unique role that God needs us to fulfill.

The Towel Proceeds the Cross...

Tonight is Holy Thursday. One of the scenes we often recall on this night is the scene in John’s gospel where Jesus, knowing this will be in final time with his disciples, wants to set the tone for what lies ahead. He knows the fate that awaits him… and the fate that awaits them, and he wants to try and prepare them as best he can. He will tell them many things in their time together about what will happen in the coming days—John 14–16. (As is clear from their reactions, they do not understand it all in that moment; it is only later, when it all plays out just as Jesus says, that they begin to piece it together.) He will pray for himself, for them, and for the world—John 17. And then he will lead them forth to face his fate—John 18–19. But before all that, however, Jesus becomes the living embodiment of what he is about to teach them—John 13 (esp vv 1-15).

The prelude to Christ’s suffering on the cross to save all of humanity is his picking up a towel and stooping to serve those he loved.

After the meal was over, Jesus shocks his followers by stooping to do the job that even the lowliest servant tried to avoid. The weather in Palestine is hot and dry, the streets of Jerusalem were not paved, and the footwear of that day did not cover the feet. Make no mistake that what Jesus was about to do was a dirty task that no one wanted to be the one stuck with. Yet, Jesus voluntarily does it. He strips himself of his outer clothing (perhaps a foreshadowing of all that he will soon be “involuntarily” stripped of?) and stoops to wash his disciples feet. As he puts back on his clothes, and they pick their jaws up off the floor, Jesus doesn’t miss the teachable moment.

Jesus tells the disciples that if they want to be his followers, they must follow him in every way—and that means they too must stoop to serve one another, and stoop to serve the world.

Every time I read this passage and I hear Jesus say, “For I have set you an example, that you also should do as I have done to you,” it challenges me. I am by nature pretty me-focused and service forces you to be other-focused—whether the other is your spouse, your children, your parents, your friends, your co-workers, etc. You have to put their agenda on par with your own, and that requires sacrifice, and sacrifice is by its very nature, hard. Service is not something that tends to come naturally to us; it’s something we have to practice.

On Holy Thursday we get a chance to practice service. When we participate in foot-washing or hand-washing, we reenact Jesus’ example and intentionally stoop to serve others. Often, we do this in pairs. To have another person wash my hands is always a humbling experience. Likewise, to have someone else allow me to serve them this way requires trust and vulnerability on the part of that person, and is always very moving.

Now consider what this night must have been like for the disciples, what it would feel like to have the hands of the Lord of Creation wash your feet? It’s almost beyond comprehension; I can sympathize with Peter’s reaction to it all.

Consider too that those same hands that so tenderly washed the disciples feet in the Upper Room would, in just a few short hours, be bruised and broken as Jesus endured torture, first at the home of the High Priest, and especially during his time with Pilate. (Luke says that Herod got in on the act as well!) These same beautiful hands that stooped to serve on Thursday would be stretched out on a cross and nailed into place on Friday. Jesus’ hands—and in fact, his entire body—would be broken to heal our brokenness—i.e., so that all of creation might be made whole and holy again. But that is getting ahead of ourselves.

It’s important to remember that the original disciples didn’t necessarily know that Easter was coming. (Scripture can sometimes make it seem like they did, but I simply don’t think that is true.) For them, the Last Supper was very somber, and the turn of events was unexpected; the events that followed were downright gut-wrenching, as they watched the man they called teacher and friend for three years betrayed, arrested, and subjected to torture, culminating in one of the most brutal forms of execution ever invented at the hands of their oppressors and enemies—the Romans.

Make no mistake, for tonight, and for the next 48 hours, from the disciple’s perspective, it appeared that the “bad guys” have won, and darkness reigns.

Part of our problem, perhaps, is that more than 2000 years later, we know how this story ends and, naturally, we tend to want to rush to the “good” part. That’s understandable, but we need to resist that urge. I think it takes something away from our experience of Easter if we rush to the end of the story, or worse yet, skip over the darkness entirely and simply show up on Easter Morning when Christ is risen and all seems hopeful and light-filled.

We need to let ourselves spend some time in the darkness of Holy Thursday, Good Friday, and Holy Saturday. We need to contemplate how it would have felt to not know how this story was going to end. Then the startling news of the empty tomb and the light of Easter Morning will shine out all the more!

Holy Week: When the Fool Became the Hero

I have been pondering the irony of the convergence of the secular and liturgical calendars this year. This year, April Fools Day and Palm Sunday—the start of Holy Week—are the same day. To some, especially political and religious leaders in Jerusalem, Jesus and his band of followers marching into Jerusalem must have seemed like fools... especially to Pilate and his well organized Roman legions. When they saw Jesus, all they could perceive was a threat to their status that needed to be eliminated.

We see this illustrated in the exchange between Pilate and Jesus during his so-called trial—see John 18–19. Pilate simply doesn't "get" Jesus. (For that matter neither does Caiaphas or Herod.) He claims to be a King, but Pilate simply can't wrap his brain around the kind of King that is standing before him. He doesn't "look the part," so Pilate concludes he must be a fool. To Pilate, anyone who challenges the authority of Caesar is clearly fool-hearty—and guilty of treason.

On the other hand, the "crowds" that the Gospel writers (especially Mark) say often gathered around Jesus throughout his ministry seemed to "get" Jesus. It is most likely that these were the same people that lined the road and spread palm branches as Jesus road toward Jerusalem on a donkey that day. The majority of these folks were not people in power; they did not benefit from the status quo of the Pax Romana. These people were eager to welcome Jesus as a hero, and perhaps this made them more willing to believe that he was their long-awaited Messiah. They were ordinary people willing to, if you will, put their faith in a “fool.” They needed to hope for something better and Jesus clearly gave them that.

Paul says the Gospel will seem like "foolishness" to those who don't believe—people like Pilate, Herod, Caiaphas, and to some degree, even Jesus’ own disciples! He also describes himself as a "fool for Christ.” Paul suggests that those who have Christ in them discover an entirely new way of living is really possible in this world. Jesus came to demonstrate that Way, and was so convinced of its reality that he was willing to die for it.

On Saturday however, Jesus truly looks the part of a fool—and a dead one at that—but by Sunday, everything changes.

On Friday night it looks like everything has failed and nothing has changed, but incredibly by Sunday Morning, the stone is removed, the tomb is empty, and Christ is risen! In the Resurrection, we find out Jesus wasn't so foolish after all. Humanity's worst is once and for all overcome by heaven's best. The fool becomes the hero; the hero becomes the fool. It is the Great Reversal that is the basis of our faith.

Moving Toward My Call

As of July 1, my wife Laurie has been reappointed to Good Shepherd UMC in Waldorf[1]. That means our family will be moving from our present home in Southeast Baltimore to Charles County. Overall, I think this is a good move for a lot of reasons. We think the church will be a good one for my wife to pastor; it seems to be vital congregation with good worship, lots of children and youth, and a variety of outreach ministries. We think the kids can attend daycare at the church (with over 200 children!) and get into a good school system in Charles County, which is a definite plus. We will be closer to both Laurie’s mom and my parents—all of whom are over 75 at this point—and we will also be closer to other family members.

Moving places us in an uncomfortable space between two communities—beginning to disengage from one but not yet part of the other. It is a stressful time!

On one hand, we still live in our present community where my wife will serve her current parish for three more months, but on the other our family must begin to plan for and anticipate life in a new community and at a new church. We’ve already met representatives of our new church and begun to search for a place to live—we’re excited that for the first time we can be homeowners! Even as we conclude our time in Baltimore, begin to say goodbye to longtime friends in our churches, and try to finish well, it is inevitable that we begin to peer over the horizon, and try to sneak glimpses of what things will be like on the “other side” in Waldorf—and prepare to greet that new reality as best we can. We aren’t ready to go there quite yet—but on the other hand, July 1 will be here before you know it!

As challenging as it is for us to make this move, we strongly believe God calls us to do it at this time. Obviously, the Bishop and Cabinet have discerned that this is where Laurie should go. So in one sense, this move definitely is “for her”—i.e., a career advancement and new ministry opportunity for Laurie that necessitates our move.

But the other night as I stood up and gazed at the vastness of space and thought about the future that lies ahead for us I heard God say: This move is for you Alan. When I shared that with my wife the next evening, she pretty much said she sensed the same thing.

God is calling, not just my wife, but also me to make this move.

For some time, I’ve sensed I have a call. In fact, I think all of us have a call—sometimes also referred to as vocation. I don’t think it leads me (or many of us) to ordained ministry as it did for my wife, but that doesn’t make the call any less “real” or “authentic.”

I think there is something unique that God calls each of us to do they may or may not have anything to do with what we do for a living.

My own sense of call haunts me; it won’t let me go. I have some ideas about what my calling is; I have done some things to pursue it; but parts of it still remain elusive. (In some ways, it’s less obvious when your job and calling don’t match the way it does for professional clergy.) I feel that my job writing about Science for NASA lets me live out aspects of my call. Furthermore, being husband to my wife and father to my two children is also part of my calling—God reminds me frequently that I serve Him when I serve them. But I also sense there is something more—something that my life to this point has uniquely prepared me to do.

I know that what I search for is not really found out there; it’s found in me.

In other words, a change in geography alone probably won’t lead to a fulfilled sense of call for me. No, unless I come to terms with and am at peace with the unique creation that God has made me to be, I’ll still struggle to feel fulfilled in what I do. I’ve got to come to a point where I begin to see myself as God sees me. This not only means discerning my gifts and graces, but also the flipside—and honest look at my weaknesses and wounds—and allowing God to heal them and help me become whole and holy. It takes a long time—maybe a lifetime—to reckon with what we are; in Christ, we are always called to become something more than we are right now.

I begin to realize that the good, bad, and the ugly are all part of me; I can’t really have one without the other. They work together to form the unique creation that is me, and the unique image of God that I project to the world.

Having said all that, I do sense that our new church and new community may open up opportunities to use my specific gifts and graces that I have not had in our present setting, and this should enable me to more fully live out my calling. As our family embarks on a new chapter of our story together, I am looking forward to walking with God and discovering more of what I was born to be.

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[1] For those who may not know, my wife is a United Methodist pastor meaning she is itinerant and gets moved from time-to-time at the discretion of the Bishop.

Ash Wednesday/Lenten Reflection

Joel’s "Threefold Way"

Often on Ash Wednesday, we read a passage from the Old Testament book of Joel. As I read the full text of Prophet’s words recently, I heard echoes of an ancient well-travelled Threefold Way that Christians throughout the centuries have used as a practical means of pursuing growth in Christ. This way is particularly a popular one to traverse during Lent. (I recommend taking time to read through Joel—at only three chapters long, it’s easily read in a single setting.)

· STEP 1: Returning/Rending (Purgation)—Joel 2:12-14. Joel told a people who had wandered far from God to: rend their hearts… and return to God. Just as we return to the soil of a garden after the winter and work hard to turn the soil over to prepare it for planting, so too hearts that have laid fallow and wandered from God for a time must be “turned over” and purged of anything not conducive to cultivating Christ in us. This stage is often difficult and painful; it does seem natural at first; it requires hard work, sweat, and even tears.

· STEP 2: Receiving (Illumination)—Joel 2:28-29. Joel promised the people he spoke to that God was about to pour out his Spirit. Thus, the rending and purging of STEP 1 serve a purpose—namely preparation. Exerting effort to work up the soil makes it more receptive to life-giving nutrients that will come at this stage. Likewise, “roughing-up” our hearts makes them more open to the workings of God’s Spirit in our lives. The “seeds” are planted and begin to take root and grow in our hearts. Our eyes are opened and we “see” God with a level of clarity that we have not experienced before…

· STEP 3: Rejoicing (Contemplation/Union)—Joel 3:18. As did some other Prophets, Joel promised that though the present circumstances seemed very bleak (see Joel 1:11-12 for example), the day of the Lord would come. On that day, Joel promised that God would restore the physical and spiritual health of the land and the people. God’s presence would return to dwell with them, and wherever God’s presence is found, joy follows. Here, the work done during STEPS 1 & 2 begins to bear fruit. Like the people of Joel’s day, our joy returns to us and begins to deepen as we reconnect with God and experience increasingly more intimate fellowship with our Creator.

NOTE: This process isn’t meant to be something we do once and then we have “arrived at our destination”. No, this Threefold Way takes us on a spiral path toward God throughout our lives. As we progress, we move closer to God (but we never reach God in this life!) and Christ is formed in each of us. Each inward spiral reveals other debris and clutter in our hearts that must be removed (i.e., back to purgation) in order for us see even more clearly (illumination) and enjoy ever-deepening fellowship with our Maker (contemplation/union).

Hope Blossoms: Pondering the Future of the Church

In the third movie of the Lord of the Rings trilogy, “The Return of the King,” the white tree of Gondor[1] sits in a fountain outside the palace. This tree has lain barren for centuries awaiting the return of the true king of Gondor. When the movie begins the tree is barren, but when Aragorn (the true King) arrives in Gondor, we see a brief scene where the long-dead tree now has a single white blossom—signifying hope. At the end of the movie, at Aragorn’s coronation, the same tree is now covered with an over-abundance of white blossoms, a veritable shower of joy for the true King’s return and the beginning of a new era of peace.

Since 1968, the United Methodist Church, of which I am a member, has been declining. That means that I’ve never really known a time when my denomination’s “tree” was in full bloom.

Like the people of Gondor who waited for so many years for their king to come, after 41+ years, I sometimes wonder: Can Methodism’s tree live again? I want to believe that, one day, against all odds, our “tree” will bloom again, and we will see revival. But year after year, I peer out into the “courtyard”, and see little or no new growth on our tree. In fact, if anything, each year, a few more blossoms fall off. Our attendance continues to decline, our congregations get a little greyer (as we struggle to attract youth and young adults), and it gets harder and harder to find enough resources (be it people, money, time, or energy) to do effective ministry in our communities and our world.

There are wonderful exceptions to the rule to be sure, but in general, a state of spiritual malaise seems to have settled over the people called Methodists[2]. We are a denomination in decline, and far too often, we act the part.

The Prophet Ezekiel once faced a similar question concerning the fate of Israel. He was standing looking over a grim site at the time—a valley full of the dry bones of his fallen countrymen—and he heard God ask: “Mortal, can these bones live again?” God wasn’t necessarily talking about these dead bodies so much as he was about the spiritual malaise of the people of Judah. Ezekiel’s reply was brutally honest: “God only you know.” (Ezekiel 37:1-14) Maybe it should be translated: God I hope so!

Ezekiel cared deeply for the people of Judah. He wanted to see his people strong again. But, honestly, he wasn’t sure if it was too late for them to turn back to God. Had they let themselves decline for so long that there was no hope for them to return? He simply didn’t know if their “tree” had any life left in it or not.

Church leaders surely relate to the Prophet’s angst here. We too hope our “dry bones” can live again; we hope that, despite outward appearances, our “tree” is still alive—merely lying dormant awaiting the spark of hope ignited by the coming King. We so much want to claim that future with hope (Jeremiah 29:11), abundant life (John 10:10), and goodness (Romans 8:28) that Scripture claims are possible for those who follow God.

But if we’re honest, we’re not sure what the future holds for us? We want to believe the best but struggle with unbelief (Mark 9:24). After all, how can we have realistic hope for the future when all we’ve ever known is decline?! After one is part of a declining church long enough it impacts how we think, even how we live.

Even the most spiritually zealous people among us are not completely immune to the spiritual malaise I spoke of earlier. It is contagious—it “infects” you if you are exposed for too long.

Many of our churches seem to have adopted a sort of “bunker mentality” to survive. We hunker down in our churches hoping to ride out another winter of discontent far from certain that we will ever see another spring of hope. We don’t share our resources with the world around us because we’re afraid that if we share with them, at some point, we might not have enough for ourselves.

While we can certainly survive for a time in our “bunker”, we will never thrive living that way. We will continue to decline, contract, shrivel, and ultimately—we will die. Surely God’s heart breaks as he watches the Body of Christ wither. This cannot possibly be the life God intends for us, his beloved People…

The upcoming season of Lent is a time for self-reflection, a time to ask: How has our current approach to life been working out? What changes do we need to make to grow closer to God? We can also extend that to our “life together” as the People of God, the Body of Christ—the Church. We can—and we must—ask ourselves: How has our current approach to doing church working? What changes do we need to make as a community? That’s a very difficult question to tackle, but if we are to be faithful to our call to be the Church today’s world, we must continue to wrestle with it until we get some satisfactory answers!

Lent not only calls us to ask hard questions, it also demands honest answers. We can never hope to change if we’re not willing to humbly admit our present reality. And the evidence (I believe) is clear: Our present approach to church is, by and large, not working. We need to consider a different way.

Considering a “different way” doesn’t mean we have to give up on God’s Church or the Kingdom of God. No, but it may mean we have to give up on Church as We Know It—or, to say it another way, “the way we’ve always done it.”

And, yes, in some cases we will need to reckon with a painful reality: Some churches have declined so much that they cannot “live again” in their present configuration. I honestly believe the faithful choice in those cases would be to direct the church's remaining life essence into the birth of something new.

In pursuing this vision of a “different way” to do Church, we would cling to a promise that the Prophet Isaiah once made to the people of Israel: A shoot shall come out from the stock of Jesse,
 and a branch shall grow out of his roots. (Isaiah 11:1). This is a risky approach; not everyone will like it. People get attached to the way things have always been; change frightens us and we lash out at the change agents. (They did it to Isaiah and the other Prophets in the Bible!)

Friends, just as it did for the original recipients of Isaiah’s message, on the surface of things having this kind of hope for the future of the Church seems utterly foolish. We haven’t seen many “shoots” recently, much less any “blooms”. Nothing but lifeless “stumps” as far as the eye can see. We wonder: Can hope possibly blossom here?!

But as people of faith we trust that even though our eyes can’t see it yet, the King is indeed on the move, hope is rallying, and things are happening behind the scenes, under the surface. Preparations are being made for new life that will emerge come spring. God will be faithful to God’s promise—hope will soon bloom!

In the bulb there is a flower; in the seed, an apple tree;


In cocoons, a hidden promise: butterflies will soon be free!


In the cold and snow of winter there’s a spring that waits to be,


Unrevealed until its season, something God alone can see.



—Hymn of Promise, verse 1

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[1] Photo Credit: Photo of a tree resembling the mythical White Tree of Gondor taken at Aleppo Citadel in Syria— www.trekearth.com/gallery/Middle_East/Syria/North/Halab/Aleppo/photo1180665.htm.

[2] The experience I describe is certainly not unique to the United Methodist Church. The statistics show and personal experience confirms that most “mainline” denominations are experiencing similar decline and uncertainty over what the future holds for them.

A Poem for Valentines Day: What is Love?

What is love?

Love isn’t a law… it is lived poetry.

Love isn’t a duty… it’s our shared destiny.

Love isn’t a smooth path … it is a treacherous way.

Love doesn’t come naturally… we struggle to learn.

Love calls to us from the depths.

We give our all on a quest for love

We pour out ourselves on the altar.

We lay down our lives...

All in the name of love.

Love stays.

Love rejoices.

Love mourns.

Love suffers.

Love believes.

Love endures.

Love hopes.

Love is something we practice now and do for all eternity.

It is the language of God’s kingdom.

It is the music we will sing in heaven.

Love is a lifetime commitment.

Love is living.

Love is learning.

Love is letting go.

Love pours in; love gushes out

What is love?

Three words…

God with us.