Exodus 4:13

Virginia Tech

2007-04-16T21:25:00.000-05:00

Psalm 77 (NRSV)

1 I cry aloud to God, aloud to God, that he may hear me. 2 In the day of my trouble I seek the Lord; in the night my hand is stretched out without wearying; my soul refuses to be comforted. 3 I think of God, and I moan; I meditate, and my spirit faints. Selah

4 You keep my eyelids from closing; I am so troubled that I cannot speak. 5 I consider the days of old, and remember the years of long ago. 6 I commune with my heart in the night; I meditate and search my spirit: 7 "Will the Lord spurn forever, and never again be favorable? 8 Has his steadfast love ceased forever? Are his promises at an end for all time? 9 Has God forgotten to be gracious? Has he in anger shut up his compassion?" Selah 10 And I say, "It is my grief that the right hand of the Most High has changed."

11 I will call to mind the deeds of the LORD; I will remember your wonders of old. 12 I will meditate on all your work, and muse on your mighty deeds. 13 Your way, O God, is holy. What god is so great as our God? 14 You are the God who works wonders; you have displayed your might among the peoples. 15 With your strong arm you redeemed your people, the descendants of Jacob and Joseph. Selah 16 When the waters saw you, O God, when the waters saw you, they were afraid; the very deep trembled. 17 The clouds poured out water; the skies thundered; your arrows flashed on every side. 18 The crash of your thunder was in the whirlwind; your lightnings lit up the world; the earth trembled and shook. 19 Your way was through the sea, your path, through the mighty waters; yet your footprints were unseen. 20 You led your people like a flock by the hand of Moses and Aaron.

If the question hasn't been asked already, I know it will be soon. It will sound something like this: "Where was God when all hell was breaking loose at Virginia Tech? When the bullets were flying and students and professors and staff were screaming and crying and dying, where was God?"

The truthful answer is, I don't know.

I fear that some well-meaning pastor or believer will go on CNN or Fox News and try to answer the question. And I understand that impulse. With all that I am, I want to answer that question.

But as the writer of Psalm 77 reminds me, it can't be answered. Because days like today call to mind days long ago. And I remember those days, too.

Columbine. Jonesboro. Paducah. Kileen. The Amish Schoolhouse.

And I ask questions.

Will the Lord spurn forever, and never again be favorable? Has his steadfast love ceased forever? Are his promises at an end for all time? Has God forgotten to be gracious? Has he in anger shut up his compassion?

Where was God on those days? Where was God today?

The truth is, I don't know. And it grieves me deeply.

After all, I am a pastor-in-training. I am supposed to have a ready supply of platitudes and theological band-aids to hand out to my flock when these things happen. But I don't, and I never will.

All I can do is offer a history lesson.

When our ancestors had their backs against the Red Sea and the Egyptians had them surrounded, when all appeared lost and hopeless, a hole opened in the water. By the hand of Moses and Aaron, God led God's flock through to the other side. When the waters saw our God, they were afraid; the very deep trembled. The clouds poured out water; the skies thundered; God's arrows flashed on every side. The crash of God's thunder was in the whirlwind; God's lightnings lit up the world; the earth trembled and shook.

When death seemed to have swallowed up God, when the stone was firmly in place in front of the tomb, when Jesus was dead and buried and all seemed lost, the earth trembled and shook.
When death saw our God, death was afraid. The very deep trembled. And the stone was rolled away, and the tomb was empty. And by the hand of Mary Magdalene and Joanna and Mary the mother of James, we were led to the other side.

So you're saying, OK, Ryan, nice history lesson. But how does that help those poor folks in Blacksburg, Virginia, today, April 16, 2007?

My answer is, it probably doesn't help them. To me, they are like a precious vase that has been broken and smashed into a thousand pieces, and I feel like a two-year-old. I lift some of the broken pieces in my hands, and with tears in my eyes I say to God "Fix it." All I can do is hold them in my heart and lift them up to God in my prayers.

But on days like today, when my own prayers and meditation meet with sighs and weakness of heart, it helps to remember God's mighty deeds. It helps me to open God's Word, to search it out, to find the prayers of an ancestor in the faith who has felt this way before.

It helps me to rememeber that the sea did part.

It helps me to remember that that the tomb is indeed empty.

And it helps me to remember that although all evidence may be to the contrary, God will speak the last word.

Masters Memories

2007-04-10T10:32:00.000-05:00

Last month, my friend Jill stopped me during a break from class.

"Do you have plans for Easter Sunday?" she asked.

"No, not really. Why?" I said.

"Well, I've got four badges for The Masters, and we can't use them. Do you want them?"

"Um, let me think. YES I DO!!!" I could hardly contain my excitement. I immediately called my dad and invited him and my mom to come out to Atlanta for an Easter Sunday we wouldn't ever forget.

Here is a running diary of my Easter Sunday 2007. Note: All times Eastern and approximate.

5:15 a.m. My alarm goes off, and although I usually am slow to wake up, my first thought is, "Today is Easter Sunday." My second thought is, "I'M GOING TO THE MASTERS TODAY!"

5:25 a.m. I take our dog Snickers for her morning walk. Current air temperature: 27 degrees. Wind chill: miserable.

5:41 a.m. I return from our walk. I can't feel my toes.

5:42 a.m. I dress for my day at The Masters. I put on khaki pants, thick socks, athletic shoes, a t-shirt, a golf-shirt, a fleece pull-over, a lined and hooded windbreaker, a stocking cap, and winter gloves. Yes, it's Georgia. And yes, it's April 8. It's colder in Atlanta this Easter morning than it was on Christmas morning.

6:02 a.m. Amy and I leave our house to pick up my parents at their hotel in Decatur. Current air temperature: still 27 degrees. Wind chill: still miserable.

6:15 a.m. We pick up my parents at the lovely Holiday Inn. My mom gets into the car and hands me a cup of coffee from the hotel lobby. God bless her. Sweet, sweet, hot warm caffeine. I'm starting to thaw just a bit. We start our journey toward Augusta.

6:45 a.m. We pull off the Interstate in Conyers to get some breakfast at McDonalds. We decide to get out of the car and go in, but the doors are locked; only the drive-thru is open. My mom says she needs to use the bathroom. There is some discussion about what our options are, since it's Easter morning and many places are closed. Then I have an idea. Conyers Presbyterian Church is open, and they're just starting sunrise services!

6:59 a.m. We pull into the drive at Conyers Pres. We go through the doors, and I can see folks gathering in the courtyard for what must be a very chilly sunrise service. My mom goes to the ladies room while I hang out in the hallway. She comes out a few minutes later, and we quietly slip out to the car before anyone notices us. I snuck my mom into the church I serve in the pre-dawn darkness on Easter morning so she could pee. Then we snuck out before anyone could see us. That was my church experience on Easter 2007.

7:55 a.m. As we cruise along Interstate 20 admiring the beautiful Easter sunrise over the Georgia countryside, I have a sudden, odd realization. I am driving my car, and my wife is in the passenger seat. My parents are in the back seat. My mom is dozing, and my dad is reading the spectator's guide. Our roles have totally been reversed. Twenty years ago, I would have been the one in the back seat reading or dozing. Weird.

8:15 a.m. We stop at a rest area 20 miles outside ofAugustaAgain. Air temperature: 31 degrees. Wind chill: slightly less miserable.

8:30 a.m. I take the wrong exit in Augusta for the golf course.

8:33 a.m. After a brief stop in a gas station parking lot to reorient myself, we are on the road again.

8:40 a.m. We take the Washington Road exit for the golf course. I know it is the correct exit because there is a man standing at the end of the ramp holding a sign that says "I NEED A BADGE." I glance at the envelope full of badges in Amy's lap and smile to myself.

8:42 a.m. I know we are getting close to the gate, because the price of parking increases with every block. It starts at $5, and by the time we are about to turn off of Washington Road, it is up to $20. I glance at the envelope with the parking pass in Amy's lap and smile to myself.

8:44 a.m. We turn off of Washington Road and into Gate 5 at Augusta National Golf Course. A very stern looking police officer directs us into the lot. I am very suprised by what I see. I was expecting a paved parking lot, but instead it's a big grass field. We are directed into a spot right next to the water tower, and we pile out of the car. Current air temperature: 38 degrees. Wind chill: manageable.

8:46 a.m. We ask a lady in the van next to us to take our picture, since we can't bring cameras onto the golf course. She happily obliges. This ends up being the only photo of us on the grounds at Augusta National.

8:47 a.m. We leave our cell phones and cameras in the trunk of my car, and I breifly contemplate taking off my most outer layer of winter clothing. Then a gust of bone-chilling wind comes through, and I decide to keep it.

8:51 a.m. We arrive at the entrance gate. There are long lines at security, just like you see at airports. Amy and my mother have brought their smallest purses, which they must place in a 10X5X5 box. They barely fit, with a little stuffing and cramming. The lady monitoring the box says, "Next year, make sure they can fit in the box. But go ahead, it's the last day." She is dead serious. When Augusta National says 10X5X5, they MEAN 10X5X5.

8:56 a.m. We enter the gate, and go straight to the gift shop. Picture the ultimate women's shoe sale, where people are jostling one another and grabbing items like there's a hurricane coming. That's what it was like in there, except that it was almost all men. I've never seen men shop like that before. It was a sight to behold.

9:12 a.m. We check out of the gift shop, and I take all of our treasures back out through security to put them in the trunk of my car.

9:22 a.m. I go back through the gate and meet up with my wife and my parents. Amy and my mom are laughing because of the complete gender role reversal they've been witnessing. Not only were the men jostling each other during the shopping, but there was a long line at the men's room, but no wait whatsoever at the ladies' room.

9:35 a.m. We step out onto the first tee box at Augusta National. Ben Crenshaw and Katayama are teeing off right in front of us. I can't believe how close the gallery is to the players! There is only a gap in the gallery of about 20 yards for the players to hit through. If I were on the tee, I'd be afraid I would snap-hook one into somebody's teeth.

9:45 a.m. We decide to walk some of the course. We start walking down 10, then hook around and cross 17. It's hard to orient ourselves on the course, because none of the flags are up on the greens yet, and there are no real markers of the tee boxes. Then my dad points out something else. There are no cart paths. Of course! Augusta is only played with caddies!

10:00 a.m. We decide to set up shop in the grandstand to the left of the 15th green. We get almost to the top of the grandstand, but the top row is roped off. My mom asks a security guard about the rope, and he tells her that the top row is for members of the club and for working press. From our vantage point, we can see the approaches into the 15th green over the water hazard, almost all of the 16th hole, and part of the 17th fairway. We can also hear everything that happens on the 13th green right behind us.

10:25 a.m. My dad and I decide to leave my mom and Amy guarding our seats, and we walk around. Our first stop is the restroom. The bathrooms are very nice, not the porta-poddy variety. Then we walk down to Amen Corner. It's just as beautiful as advertised. From tee to green on 13, there are over 1,600 azaleas.

10:45 a.m. We head back to 15, but we stop in the concession stand for a snack. I buy a pimento cheese sandwich and a Diet Coke in a plastic "Masters 2007" cup. My total bill? $3.00
The food at Augusta is unbelievably cheap. Beer is $2. Sandwiches range from $1.50 to $2.50. Snickers, M&Ms, etc., are $.50.

10:55 a.m. We hang out at the 15th grandstand, watching the people and talking to folks. We notice a group of 20-something women wearing sun-dresses and off-the-shoulder blouses with skirts. Current air temperature: 45 degrees. Mental state of those women: questionable.

11:30 a.m. Dad and I decide to walk over and watch the play at the seventh green. We can also see the approaches into the second green from here, as well as the tee-shots on the third. We watch Fred Couples, Adam Scott, Angel Jimenez, and many others hit their approach shots tight, only to miss the put. These greens are something else.

12:00 p.m. We decide to go back to our seats at 15, as the first groups are about to start coming through there. Just as we are headed down the seventh fairway, we see a group gathered around Mike Weir. He has hit his drive into the trees. He takes a mighty whack with a long iron, and the ball clips the bottom branch of a pine tree. It skips up the fairway, runs right inbetween two yawning bunkers, and comes to rest on the green. My dad and I look at each other and smile. We're both thinking the same thing -- they don't ask how, just how many.

1:30 p.m. Angel Jimenez is laying up just in front of the water hazard on 15. He is already +18 for the tournament. He hits a wedge which carries the water, lands on the front edge of the green, but then spins backwards into the water hazard. The gallery gasps. However, rather than advancing to the drop area and thinking through his next shot, he snaps his fingers at his caddie, who tosses him another ball. He throws it down at his feet, hits another wedge, and it lands about six inches from where his first ball hit. Once again, it spins backward into the water. But Angel will not be denied. He throws down another ball, and this time, he air-mails one over the back of the green. When he puts out for his 9, he gets a hearty ovation from the gallery.

3:00 p.m. They finally post the scores of the leaders. Tiger's score gets posted first, and the gallery gasps when they post his bogey on number one. Then they post Appleby's score, and the gasps turn to groans when they post his double bogey.

3:45 p.m. Chaos has broken out at Augusta. No one seems to want to win the tournament. Luke Donald, Mark Calcavecchia, Vijay Singh, and others make moves up and down the leaderboard. At one point, I think there was a six-way tie for the lead. It's like watching the dot race on the jumbo-tron at a baseball game.

4:20 p.m. From our vantage point in the grandstand of the 15th green, we can see the seventh green through the trees. A huge crowd of probably over 1,000 people has gathered around as the leaders come through.

4:25 p.m. There is nary a soul left on the seventh green. The last group has moved through, and all is quiet once again.

4:45 p.m. Somebody has launched a monster drive down 15. It's the farthest drive we've seen all day on this hole. It turns out to be Phil Mickelson, who is +14 at this point. He goes for the green in two, but pushes his approach under the trees near the gallery on the right. He barely saves par. No repeat for Phil this year.

5:15 p.m. Jerry Kelly goes for the 15th green in two, and lands one within about 11 feet. His shot is the best chance for eagle that we have seen all day long.

5:20 p.m. Jerry Kelly misses his eagle put. It looks like we may not see a single eagle today, even though the pin seems accessible.

6:00 p.m. Zach Johnson grabs the lead. Tiger and host of others are right on his heels.

6:10 p.m. Johnson lays up short of the water hazard on 15, and looks to have a good angle to attack the pin.

6:11 p.m. We hear a tremedous roar from 13. We know that Tiger has done something big.

6:15 p.m. Johnson is over his ball, preparing to hit his wedge. The leaderboard operator at 15 posts Tiger's eagle from 13, and the gallery goes nuts. Johnson has to step away from his ball and recompose himself. He hit his wedge and two-putts for par.

6:20 p.m. We watch Johnson's tee shot find the green on 16. Tiger makes par at 14.

6:25 p.m. The gallery around 16 erupts as Johnson makes birdie. Tiger's got to do something on 15 to catch him.

6:27 p.m. There is a ball in the right rough. It's Tiger's. Appleby lays up short of the water.

6:29 p.m. Tiger has a long iron in his hand. The gallery holds its breath as he takes a whack. It's cutting, but it's going to be short. It lands on a little strip of grass between the water and the bunker on the right side, and for a moment, it looks like Tiger might get incredibly lucky. But the ball takes a weird bounce and falls into the water. A hushed electric buzz passes through the gallery. Some dude shouts out, "Come on, Tiger! You can do it!"

6:30 p.m. Unlike Jimenez, Tiger goes to the drop area, studies his chip, gets up and down and saves par.

6:35 p.m. Tiger puts one within 10 feet on 16.

6:40 p.m. Tiger misses his birdie on 16. He's going to have to finish birdie-birdie to catch Johnson.

6:45 p.m. We cross the 17th fairway on our way to 18. We are within 25 yards of Tiger Woods on the 17th fairway at The Masters on Sunday. I have to pinch myself.

7:00 p.m. We line up along the 18th fairway. We don't hear a roar at 17, so we know Tiger is just about out of magic. Tiger hits his drive to within 35 yards of where we are standing on 18. If he holes out from here to force a playoff, it will be the greatest shot in Masters history.

7:01 p.m. Tiger's shot lands front right on 18. The pin is front left. Zach Johnson is your 2007 Masters champion, with a score of 289, 19 strokes more than Tiger's amazing tournament 10 years ago.

7:16 p.m. We are back in the car, tired, a little cold, but all-in-all, amazed at our Easter Sunday 2007.

7:36 p.m. We finally turn onto Washington Road.

7:57 p.m. We finally turn onto Interstate 20.

8:05 p.m. We pull into Ruby Tuesday's in Augusta for dinner.

8:40 p.m. We finish dinner and get back on the Interstate to Atlanta.

10:45 p.m. I drop off my parents at their hotel in Decatur.

11:00 p.m. We arrive home, and I walk the dog. Current air temperature: 39 degrees. Wind chill: becoming miserable.

11:10 p.m. We come in from our walk.

11:11 p.m. I am in bed.

11:11.30 p.m. I am sound asleep.

The Call to Repentance

2007-03-19T14:56:00.000-05:00

Here is the sermon that I preached yesterday at Woodhaven Presbyterian Church in Irving, Texas (our home congregation). It was the first time that Amy and I led worship together, and it was a wonderful and blessed experience.

Grace and peace,
Ryan

Luke 13:1-9 (NRSV) 13:1 At that very time there were some present who told him about the Galileans whose blood Pilate had mingled with their sacrifices. 2 He asked them, "Do you think that because these Galileans suffered in this way they were worse sinners than all other Galileans? 3 No, I tell you; but unless you repent, you will all perish as they did. 4 Or those eighteen who were killed when the tower of Siloam fell on them-- do you think that they were worse offenders than all the others living in Jerusalem? 5 No, I tell you; but unless you repent, you will all perish just as they did." 6 Then he told this parable: "A man had a fig tree planted in his vineyard; and he came looking for fruit on it and found none. 7 So he said to the gardener, 'See here! For three years I have come looking for fruit on this fig tree, and still I find none. Cut it down! Why should it be wasting the soil?' 8 He replied, 'Sir, let it alone for one more year, until I dig around it and put manure on it. 9 If it bears fruit next year, well and good; but if not, you can cut it down.'"

As many of you know, I spent 10 weeks last summer working as a chaplain at Grady Memorial Hospital in downtown Atlanta. Grady is Atlanta’s answer to Parkland Hospital here in Dallas. It’s the level 1 trauma center for the region, and it serves the areas homeless, indigent, and uninsured populations.

Grady is a busy place. Over 20,000 people walk through the doors each and every day. And during the weekdays, a whole team of chaplains serves the hospital, making rounds, visiting with patients and families, delivering Bibles, and checking in with hospital staff. But at night and on the weekends, there is only one chaplain on duty for the entire 900-bed hospital. The on-call chaplain wears a pager and responds to every crisis situation, including every death that happens within the hospital. Every six days last summer, that one lonely chaplain was me.

As you might imagine, I saw lots of death. Some deaths were easier to handle than others. In some cases, the patients who died were old and full of years, and they were surrounded by friends and family who loved and cared for them.

But in other cases, patients died violently, tragically, unexpectedly. Some died as the result of accidents, a case of simply being in the wrong place at the wrong time. And others died as the result of violence brought by one human being against another. Those were the calls that were more difficult to handle. Those were the calls that really pushed me and stretched me as a pastor and as a Christian.

Things weren’t much different in Jesus’ day. It seems that a group of Galileans had been on their way to the Temple in Jerusalem to offer sacrifices, just as their ancestors had done for generations. However, for no determinable reason, Pontius Pilate decided to mix their blood with the blood of the animals they had brought to sacrifice. When it was all over, the Galileans had perished at the hands of the Roman governor.

Over on the south end of town, another tragedy had taken place. A group of folks had been passing through, minding their own business. But with a crack and a roar, the Tower of Siloam came crashing down on top of them, and when the debris and dust had settled, eighteen bodies were buried in the rubble.

In both cases, the victims had simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time. In both cases, death had come suddenly and without warning, and the community struggled to come to terms with these difficult death calls.

I have to be honest with you. I really struggle with this text from Luke’s gospel, because I know the victims of these tragedies. I have stood with a brother in the trauma room as we worked with an Atlanta police detective to identify the body of his sister who had been murdered in cold blood. I have sat in a small windowless room with a widow of 20 minutes. Her husband had been killed in a construction accident. I have stood in the surgery recovery room and grieved with the father of a son who was killed when he was ejected from a car during a terrible crash. I have seen their faces. I have heard their cries. I have held their hands.

So I already know the answer to Jesus’ question. Were those people somehow worse sinners than anyone else? Were their deaths somehow divine punishment for their sins? Of course not. I don’t know much, but I know that God does not punish the sins of 14 year old girls by causing car accidents. I know that God does not punish the sins of 50 year old women by having them murdered in cold blood.

And I know that the patients that I ministered with at Grady Hospital were really no different than any of us. Every one of them was somebody’s mother, somebody’s son, somebody’s grandpa, somebody’s friend. An Atlanta police officer named Peter Faatz was injured in the line of duty on July 21. I sat in the intensive care unit with his family for 13 days. He died on August 3 at the age of 29. I went to his funeral. If we had grown up together in Plano, I think we would have been good friends.

And that’s why the next part of Jesus’ statement really gets to me. “Unless you repent, you all will perish as they did.” This is the kind of verse that makes me want to slap my Bible shut in anger and to just quit reading. It’s the kind of verse that makes me want to shake my fist at the heavens.

What makes me so angry is that the verse seems to insinuate that an act of repentance can stave off or delay death. It seems to suggest that the right words or prayers or incantations will give us a “Get out of jail free card” which we can cash in whenever trouble comes our way.

But you and I know that this is simply not the case. Our own experiences of loss and grief remind us that life is fragile and short and precious, and no amount of penance or acts of contrition or fervent prayers can add a single day to our lives or to those of our loved ones.

Friends, I have to tell you that this verse made me so angry that I even went to the trouble of dusting off my Greek books and checked to see if maybe it had been mistranslated. But no such luck.

So I got to thinking, maybe I misunderstood Jesus. Maybe I misread the text.

Maybe Jesus was not at all suggesting that repentance is some sort of magic cure-all. Maybe Jesus simply wanted us to hear the urgency of his call to repentance. Maybe you and I need to take a minute and talk about what it means to repent.

Now I don’t know about you, but the word “repent” sticks in my craw. It’s not something we talked about too much when I was growing up in the Methodist and Presbyterian church. As a matter of fact, whenever I think about the word “repent,” all I can think of is some wild-eyed bearded man on a downtown street wearing a sandwich board that reads, “Repent, for the end is near!” On my best days, such an image makes me want to roll my eyes and sigh. On my worst days, it makes me want to cross to the other side of the street and pretend like I didn’t notice.

But Jesus won’t let us off the hook. The phrase rings out like a hammer two times in this text: Unless you repent, you will all perish as they did.

There is no getting around this text. There is no room here to roll our eyes or cross to the other side of the street. So what does it mean to repent? What does it look like for you and for me?

To put it quite simply, to repent is to turn. It is to turn away from those things in our life which bring death to ourselves and those around us. It is to turn away from sin and evil and despair. It is to turn away from our participation in systems of oppression and violence and domination that so plague our society.

And it is a call to turn toward the triune God. It is a call to turn toward the new life that is offered in Jesus Christ. It is a call to turn toward justice and mercy and kindness and hope. It is a call to turn toward neighbors, strangers, and enemies with an open hand, rather than a clenched fist. In short, the call to repent is a call to reorient our entire worldview, to turn way from sin and death and turn toward life and hope.

So maybe Jesus is suggesting to us that those folks who died at the hands of Pilate and under the Tower of Siloam perished before they had a chance to turn toward hope. Maybe Jesus is suggesting to us that life is indeed precious and fragile, and it’s too short to live without turning toward God with open arms and unclenched fists. Maybe Jesus is suggesting to us that today is the day to begin the work of turning, because tomorrow is not guaranteed to any single one of us.

Maybe we should keep reading the passage from Luke.

Then he told this parable: "A man had a fig tree planted in his vineyard; and he came looking for fruit on it and found none. So he said to the gardener, 'See here! For three years I have come looking for fruit on this fig tree, and still I find none. Cut it down! Why should it be wasting the soil?' He replied, 'Sir, let it alone for one more year, until I dig around it and put manure on it. If it bears fruit next year, well and good; but if not, you can cut it down.'"

Maybe there’s a little good news in this text after all. It seems that the hard work of repentance is never done on our own. You and I have a gardener who tends us and watches over us with loving care. The gardener checks on us constantly, evaluating our growth, making sure we have enough sunlight and water, and waiting with joyful expectation for the first signs of fruit like an expectant mother waits for the first signs of new life within her womb.

And if those fruits don’t materialize at first, the gardener doesn’t chop us down and use us for kindling, nor does the gardener make an example out of us to show all the other slow-developing fig trees who’s boss.

No, the gardener gets down on all fours and digs at our roots. It’s not a terribly glamorous job. It’s painstaking work, and it makes for dirty faces and dirty fingernails. And it’s not always a pleasant experience for us. Some of us fig trees have worked hard to make the soil around us as hard as concrete and steel, and we live under the false notion that sturdy soil provides stability. But the gardener knows better. The gardener knows that we sometimes need to be churned up at our very core. The gardener knows that sometimes we need the soil around us to be broken, turned, and harrowed. The gardener knows that sometimes we might even need to have a healthy dose of manure.

The gardener works with tenderness and loving care, but he works efficiently, too. For the gardener knows that the master of the vineyard will soon return and will be expecting to see some fruits. After all, the whole reason the master planted us here in this season in this little corner of the garden was to bear fruit, and fruit that will last.

So let us heed the call to begin the hard work of repentance today, March 18, 2007, on this fourth Sunday of Lent. Let heed the call to turn away from those things in our lives which bring death to ourselves and those around us. Let us heed the call to turn away from sin and evil and despair. Let us heed the call to turn away from participation in systems of oppression and violence and domination.

And let us turn toward the triune God. Let us obey the call to turn toward justice and mercy and kindness and hope. Let us obey the call to turn toward neighbors and strangers and enemies. Let us bear lasting and nourishing fruit. Let us to turn toward the new life that is freely offered to each and every one of us in the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus Christ our Lord.

Amen.

Greetings from Tallapoosa

2007-02-18T20:53:00.000-05:00

This morning, I had the privilege of leading worship at Tallapoosa Presbyterian Church in Tallapoosa, Georgia. Tallapoosa is about five miles from the Alabama border, and Amy and I thoroughly enjoyed the drive through the west Georgia countryside on a beautiful (but chilly!) Sunday morning. The church was founded in 1881 and meets in a beautiful whitewashed building in a quiet residential neighborhood.

The people (all 15 members) were so sweet and welcoming, and it was a truly joyful worship experience. The organist is a 17-year-old young man who is self-taught!

After church, Amy and I ate at the Crossroads Cafe. My lunch included:

Fried chicken breast
Mashed potatoes and brown gravy
Green beans
Corn bread
Garden salad with ranch dressing
Sweet tea

I don't need to eat again for a week.

The Countdown is On!

2007-02-13T12:00:00.000-05:00

Senioritis has officially set in. Check out the new countdown timer to the left!

A New Name

2007-01-14T21:52:00.000-05:00

Here is the sermon I preached this morning at Conyers Presbyterian Church in Conyers, Georgia.

Peace and blessings,
Ryan

Isaiah 62:1-5 (NASB) 1 For Zion's sake I will not keep silent, And for Jerusalem's sake I will not keep quiet, Until her righteousness goes forth like brightness, And her salvation like a torch that is burning. 2 The nations will see your righteousness, And all kings your glory; And you will be called by a new name Which the mouth of the LORD will designate. 3 You will also be a crown of beauty in the hand of the LORD, And a royal diadem in the hand of your God. 4 It will no longer be said to you, "Forsaken," Nor to your land will it any longer be said, "Desolate"; But you will be called, "My delight is in her," And your land, "Married"; For the LORD delights in you, And to Him your land will be married. 5 For as a young man marries a virgin, So your sons will marry you; And as the bridegroom rejoices over the bride, So your God will rejoice over you.

I don’t know about you, but I’ve been called by lots of names during my lifetime. If things had turned out differently for my parents, I would have been known to you as Rebecca Lynn Baer, rather than Ryan James Baer. When I was in the first grade, we moved from Midland, Texas, to Houston, and the kids in my school gave me my first nickname. It was “Big Cockroach.” Don’t ask me where they came up with it, but for that entire school year, whenever we were out of the range of the teacher’s hearing, my name was “Big Cockroach.” When I was in the third grade, we moved to Dallas, and I elected to leave the “Big Cockroach” name behind in Houston.

My seventh grade football coach had a name for me, too. He called me “Max.” It seems there was an old TV show called, “The Beverly Hillbillies,” and one of the characters on the show was a tall, lanky, rather goofy man named Jethro Clampett. My coach seemed to think I bore a striking resemblance to Jethro, whose name in real life happened to be Max Baer. My coach thought that he was terribly clever for coming up with such a nuanced nickname, so all through junior high football, I was known by coaches and teammates alike as “Max.”

What about you? What are the family stories behind your name? By what nicknames have you been called during your lifetime? Which ones were terms of endearment? Which ones made you feel loved, welcomed, and safe? And what about those other names? What about the names that made you feel different, left out, or unwanted? The names by which we are called speak volumes about us, don’t they? Our names have tremendous power to shape our understanding of ourselves, both as individuals and as a community. In short, our names are part of what gives us our identity.

The prophet Isaiah spoke to a community that was struggling to understand its identity. As you may remember, in 587 BC, the Babylonian army invaded and conquered Jerusalem, burning the city and carting off thousands of Israelites to live as exiles in Babylon for forty years. In 539 BC, Babylon was conquered by Persia, and the exiles returned to Jerusalem and began the process of rebuilding their broken city and reclaiming their fractured identity. On the one hand, they were overjoyed to have been released from Babylonian captivity, but on the other hand, they were overwhelmed with the rebuilding task that was before them. It is into this context of both joy and trepidation that the prophet Isaiah speaks. Listen to these words again:

2 The nations will see your righteousness, And all kings your glory; And you will be called by a new name Which the mouth of the LORD will designate. 3 You will also be a crown of beauty in the hand of the LORD, And a royal diadem in the hand of your God. 4 It will no longer be said to you, "Forsaken," Nor to your land will it any longer be said, "Desolate"; But you will be called, "My delight is in her," And your land, "Married"; For the LORD delights in you, And to Him your land will be married. 5 For as a young man marries a virgin, So your sons will marry you; And as the bridegroom rejoices over the bride, So your God will rejoice over you.

Friends, Isaiah spoke these beautiful, hopeful, prophetic words over 2,500 years ago in a small, forgotten corner of the Mediterranean world to a people that were struggling to understand their identity. And Isaiah speaks these beautiful, hopeful, prophetic words to us today, right here in Conyers, Georgia, on January 14, 2007.

Some of us in this room have been struggling to understand our identity. Some of us in this room are struggling to understand just exactly who we are deep down inside. And some of us in this room have been called by some ugly names. And dear children and young people, we adults are sorry to report that name-calling doesn’t seem to end when you finish school or move to another town.

But friends, let us not forget the words of Isaiah! Let us not forget that we will be called by a new name, which the mouth of the Lord shall designate. We will no longer be called Forsaken, and no longer will we be called Desolate. We will be called, “My delight is in her,” because the Lord delights in us.

Did you catch that phrase in the passage? The Lord delights in us! God will rejoice over us, as a bridegroom rejoices over a bride. Friends, I think Isaiah must have had some experience with weddings, because his metaphor of a bride and bridegroom is so deeply moving to me.

In October I had the privilege of officiating my cousin’s wedding back in Texas. As many of you know, the pastor has the best seat in the house for a wedding, because the pastor is usually standing at the end of the center aisle and has an unobstructed view of the bride when the doors are swung open. And at a wedding, just about everybody turns and looks at the bride as she enters. Let’s be honest, the bride is the rock star. But I like to look at the groom during that moment, because I will never forget what it was like to be a groom myself. I will never forget what it was like to see those doors swing open and Amy standing at the end of the aisle in her wedding gown. Even though family and friends from all over the country had gathered together at that little church in Kansas City, the only woman that mattered to me in that room was Amy. The hair on the back of my neck stood up and tears came to my eyes as Amy and her father started down the aisle, and I will remember that moment until the day I die.

Friends, in a sense, that is how God feels about you. God delights in you. God will rejoice over you, not because of anything that you have done or not done, not because of anything you have said or not said, but simply because of who and whose you are: a child of the living God.

Author and pastor Max Lucado tells a story of a time when he was returning to San Antonio after a long business trip. As the plane taxied to the terminal, Max gathered his belongings and prepared to make a quick exit from the aircraft. He had been gone for a long time, and he was anxious to see his wife and two young daughters. In those pre-9/11 days, Max knew they would be waiting for him near the gate area inside the terminal. As Max walked up the ramp and into the building, he didn’t see his family at first. Then he heard a high-pitched squeal, and he turned and saw his wife and children. Then he heard something else – applause. His youngest daughter was clapping her little hands for him, as if he had just scored the game-winning shot in a basketball game. Other passengers looked on and smiled as she continued to applaud with all the energy her little body could muster. And just like that, after a long, crowed flight and a tiring business trip, Max felt like he was 10 feet tall and could leap a building in a single bound.

In his book The Applause of Heaven, Max imagines that heaven might be a little like that day in the San Antonio airport. He imagines that when we cross over into the next life, we will hear our name squealed with glee by those that love us, and that as we descend the ramp and enter the Holy City, somewhere in the back, behind the crowds, the one who would rather die than live without us will remove his pierced hands from his heavenly robe … and begin to applaud.

But I wonder. Why should we wait for the afterlife to begin living like God’s beloved children? What would it look like if you and I lived our daily lives like we knew that God delights in us, just simply because of who and whose we are? What would our image of ourselves be if when we looked in the mirror, we didn’t see all the flaws and blemishes, but rather a face that God created with abiding and unconditional love?

What would it look like if we treated those people sitting in the pew next to us like they were God’s beloved children, too? What if instead of calling them “bleeding-heart liberals” or “old-fogey conservatives” or other things that don’t need to be repeated from this pulpit, we started thinking of them as “a royal diadem in the hand of our God?”

Friends, tomorrow marks what would have been Martin Luther King, Jr.’s 78th birthday. And I wonder, what would it look like if we saw people outside these walls the way that God sees them? What would it look like if we saw the cashier at the grocery store as “a crown of beauty in the hand of the LORD?” How would we speak to her? Would we smile? Would we look her in the eye? Or what about woman in line in front of us with the dark skin and the broken English? Would words like “alien” and “immigrant” come to mind, or would we hear words like, “My delight is in her?”

What would it look like if we truly lived into God’s dream for us? What would it look like if we lived like today was the day “when all of God's children, black men and white men, Jews and Gentiles, Protestants and Catholics, will be able to join hands and sing in the words of the old Negro spiritual: Free at last! Free at last! Thank God Almighty, we are free at last!” Amen.

Raise Up Your Heads

2006-12-03T22:43:00.000-05:00

Here is the text of the sermon that I preached this morning at Conyers Presbyterian Church. Blessings on your Advent season, and thanks for reading.

Peace,
Ryan

Luke 21:25-36 25 "There will be signs in the sun, the moon, and the stars, and on the earth distress among nations confused by the roaring of the sea and the waves. 26 People will faint from fear and foreboding of what is coming upon the world, for the powers of the heavens will be shaken. 27 Then they will see 'the Son of Man coming in a cloud' with power and great glory. 28 Now when these things begin to take place, stand up and raise your heads, because your redemption is drawing near." 29 Then he told them a parable: "Look at the fig tree and all the trees; 30 as soon as they sprout leaves you can see for yourselves and know that summer is already near. 31 So also, when you see these things taking place, you know that the kingdom of God is near. 32 Truly I tell you, this generation will not pass away until all things have taken place. 33 Heaven and earth will pass away, but my words will not pass away. 34 "Be on guard so that your hearts are not weighed down with dissipation and drunkenness and the worries of this life, and that day catch you unexpectedly, 35 like a trap. For it will come upon all who live on the face of the whole earth. 36 Be alert at all times, praying that you may have the strength to escape all these things that will take place, and to stand before the Son of Man."

At first glance, this text seems like an odd place to begin the season of Advent. It seems strange to begin our journey toward Bethlehem and the manger with this scene from Luke’s gospel that is placed just before the events of the Passion Week begin to unfold. Jesus’ speech in the temple about the signs of the end of the age certainly doesn’t seem to mesh with the Advent watchwords of peace and hope and love and joy. The signs in the sun and the moon and the stars that Jesus speak of seem like they were taken from a Hollywood disaster movie rather than an idyllic nativity scene.

Instead of flowery language about peace on earth and goodwill toward humankind, Jesus warns us that nations will faint with fear and foreboding for what is coming upon the earth. No, friends, this is not a text that you’ll find on very many Christmas cards.

For some of us, Advent is a jarring experience. Scott Black Johnston, pastor of Trinity Presbyterian Church in Atlanta, compares the season of Advent to the thrust reversers on an airplane as it prepares to land. We are all gliding along smoothly into the cultural aspects of the holiday season, yet Advent applies the thrust reversers and jars us loose. For some of us, the Advent season is hard to understand.

And yet, I have a sense that some of you can relate to this business about fainting with fear and foreboding. I have a sense that some of you are not looking forward to this holiday season. Some of you have endured painful losses this year, and you will find an empty chair at your Christmas dinner table. Some of you are facing significant financial burdens, and you will stay up late this Advent season trying to decide how to provide your family with a nice Christmas this year. Some of you will be mourning damaged and broken relationships, damaged and broken bodies, and damaged and broken spirits.

I have a sense that you are not alone in this room. I have a sense that all of us of a certain age, in one way or another, are weighed down with dissipation and the worries of this life, and the signs that we’ve been reading aren’t in the sun and the moon and the stars.

They’re in Target and Wal-Mart and Michael’s, and any fool can recognize them. They’re usually in red, white and green. They say “Happy Holidays!” Or if a store is really daring and out there, their sign might even say “Merry Christmas!”

Or if you haven’t seen those signs yet, just turn your radio to 94.9 FM sometime later today, and you’re bound to hear those prophets known as the Beach Boys heralding the arrival of yet another holiday season.

The signs are all over the place, and they are very explicit in their instructions. The signs command us to buy, eat, consume, spend, and consume some more. The signs scream at us that there are only 20 shopping days left until Christmas Eve (and yes, I counted). The signs admonish us that hot items like iPods and Play Station 3s are in short supply, and that our loved ones will be disappointed in us if we don’t move heaven and earth to get those boxes full of plastic and wires and buttons. The signs remind us that the holidays are all about family and home, but if for some reason you don’t have a family or a home, then they say that this holiday isn’t really for you.

And it’s interesting to think about what the signs don’t say, too. The signs in the mall don’t ask us to think about who it was in Taiwan or Thailand or Mexico or Mississippi who mass produced that special one-of-a-kind gift item. The signs by the turkeys and hams in Publix and Kroger don’t really ask us to think about the 850 million people in the world who are significantly malnourished. The signs by the winter coats in Dillards and Macys don’t really ask us to think about the 11,000 homeless men, women, and children right here in Atlanta who will compete tonight for the 6,000 available shelter beds. No, the signs I’ve been seeing lately don’t say much about these things, and you don’t have to be an astrologer to see that these signs have nothing to do with the inbreaking of the kingdom of heaven.

So what about this strange and cyptic text from the gospel of Luke? What about these signs in the sun and the moon and the stars?

Well, friends, somebody there in temple that day made a mistake. They were standing there in that beautifully adorned building, admiring all of the fine furnishings and polished stone, and they made the mistake of remarking to Jesus about how pretty the temple looked. Well, that’s all it took to get Jesus going. When we come to our passage in Luke, Jesus has been going on and on about the signs of the end of the age. Can you just picture the disciples standing there off to the side, shuffling their feet and looking kind of embarrassed and nervous? After all, it was all a little ridiculous. Jesus was standing in the middle of the most beautiful building in the land, the very embodiment of strength and stability and security, and yet there he was, going on and on about its ultimate destruction and the signs of the end of the age.

Now, the disciples had been with Jesus long enough to know better than to interrupt him or cut him off. They had been around long enough to see Jesus walk on water and heal paralytics and raise the dead from the grave, but I imagine that all things being equal, they’d have rather been in Galilee. After all, it’s dangerous to waltz right into the temple amid the scribes and Pharisees and start going on about signs of the end of the age. It doesn’t exactly move you to the top of anybody’s pulpit supply list.

But nevertheless, I imagine that the disciples stood there and endured as best they could, trusting that they would soon be on their way back to the relative safety of the Mount of Olives. Then their ears perked up just a bit when Jesus sounded like he was finally beginning to wrap it up. “Now when these things begin to take place, stand up and raise your heads, because your redemption is drawing near.”

I can just hear the disciples’ response:

Um, excuse me, Jesus? Stand up? When the world is collapsing around our ears, we are to stand up? When the wind and the waves start to beat against our boat, we are to stand up? Jesus, you must be crazy. When the fur starts to fly, everything we know tells us that we’re supposed to dig a hole and keep our heads down. When a storm starts to brew, we’re supposed to hunker down in the bottom of the boat and tighten the hatches, not go standing up and raising our heads. No, Jesus, in times like those, standing up and raising your head is a surefire way to lose it.

But here’s the trouble for us 21st century disciples. When we’re hunkered down in the foxhole, the only thing we can see is the mud a few inches from our faces. When we’re hunkered down in the bottom of the boat, the only thing we can see is the bilge water sloshing around our feet.

But friends, it seems to me that Jesus wants us disciples to stand up and raise our heads so that we can see. It seems to me that Jesus wants us to stand up and raise our heads so that we can see for ourselves that the kingdom of God is drawing near. We are to raise our heads and see to see that heaven and earth will pass away, but the Word will never pass away. We are to raise our heads and see that God so loved us that God became incarnate and lived among us. We are to raise up our heads above the piles of wrapping paper and greeting cards and the trappings of a cultural holiday, and we are to see the redemption that begins with the manger and continues in the empty tomb. We are to see the signs hidden in simple gifts like this bread and this wine that show that the kingdom of God is drawing near.

So what are we who call ourselves followers of Christ called to do? Am I supposed to stand up here and tell you not to give your children a nice Christmas this year? Am I supposed to stand up here and tell you to cancel Santa’s visit to your house? Am I supposed to stand up here and tell all you grandparents to resist all of your instincts and not spoil your grandkids? Maybe. Maybe not. I don’t know. It’s something to think about, though.

But here’s what I do know. I do know that we disciples of the Word are called to be brave enough to stand up and raise our heads. I do know that we disciples of the Word are called to stop shuffling our feet and acting so embarrassed about standing up in the midst of this culture of consumerism and death and we are to speak the truth about the new life that is found in the Gospel. I do know that we disciples of the Word are called to be brave enough to rise up above the parties and the travel plans and the stress and to see that the Word will never pass away. I do know that we disciples of the Word are called to be brave enough to stand up, raise up our heads, and see the signs of the inbreaking of the kingdom of God. May you and I be brave enough to raise up our heads and see this Advent season. Amen.

More on Ord Exams

2006-11-09T23:31:00.000-05:00

OK, I promise this is the last thing I will say about Ords. (At least until I have to retake the exegesis exam in January.)

My actual exams finally came back yesterday, and I thought you might like to see some of the comments from the readers. Just as a reminder, the exams are graded on a scale from 0 to 5, with 5 being the best and a 3 needed to pass the exam.

Again, these are the verbatim comments from the exam readers.

Worship and Sacraments
Reader 1
Score: 2
Comments: The writer starts out strongly identifying "one baptism" and stating that one cannot be re-baptized. However, the "meaninful liturgical solution" suggested comes so close to re-baptism that this reader cannot distinguish the difference. The strong statement in II-1 that the motivation for baptism as a desire to comply with the request of a human organization - that this motivation for baptism is not proper, is completely ignored in II-2 and the woman in essence is re-baptized. Disconnect!

Reader 2
Score: 5
Comments: This response offers both a sound theological explanation and a practical solution to the woman's need. It creatively proposes a re-affirmation fo baptismal vows (explicitly not a re-baptism) that includes immersion, satisfying both Reformed guidelines and Baptist requirements. The phrase, "once a baptized Christian, always a baptized Christian" is good -- more theologically accurate than "once saved, always saved." "While we don't believe in re-baptizing people, we always believe in reaffirming our own baptismal vows." -- excellent explanation! And the emphasis on God's initiative and (prevenient) grave is also good. The reasoning and theology in this essay could be a lot more coherent and better organized, but the creative solution deserves an A+. You manage to preserve the integrity of our sacramental theology, and yet make it possible (which is more important!) for this woman to fulfill God's call to ministry.

Church Polity
Reader 1
Score: 2
Comments: This essay is not passing because it did not adequately discuss the various ways that the Book of Order calls the church to work to fulfill the Great Ends of the Church.

Reader 2
Score: 4
Comments: The paper clearly identifies the six great ends and cites an appropriate reference that assigns responsibility for furthering that end. Excellent discussion on the interconnectedness of our responsibilities, duties, and gifts.

(Side note: These comments make me wonder if these people even read the same essay.)

Wedding Bells

2006-11-07T23:05:00.000-05:00

On October 28, I had the pleasure of co-officiating my cousin Cory's wedding at First United Methodist Church in Midland, Texas. It was a wonderful experience, and a true blessing for me. As I was standing there in the chancel before my cousin and his bride, I realized that ordination exams are really not that big a deal, and that I will have many more opportunities to stand in front of brides and grooms than I will to retake exegesis exams.

It was also great to see all of the Baers together again. We hadn't been together since my grandmother's funeral in April 2004 (which I also officiated).

And a side note: my cousin married a wonderful and sweet woman. Her name is Cara.

So her new name is Mrs. Cara Baer. I'm not making this up.

Anyway, here are a few pictures from the weekend.

Peace,
Ryan

Amy and me at the rehearsal dinner.

From left to right: Rev. Jan Reed, Mrs. Cara Baer, Mr. Cory Baer, and yours truly.

All the Baer cousins lined up in age order from right to left: Me, Derrick, Cory, Justin, Deena, and Kristen.

2006-11-07T16:15:00.000-05:00

Betty Butterfield explains the Presbyterian Church

This is too funny...and way too accurate.

Called and Sent

2006-11-05T23:51:00.000-05:00

For what it's worth, here is the text of the sermon I preached on Friday, November 3, in the Campbell Hall Chapel of Columbia Seminary. Just FYI, we observe the Lord's Supper on Fridays at Columbia, and that day was also the first day of the Conference on Ministry, which is a big student recruitment event that the seminary puts on twice a year.

If you're a regular reader of this blog, you'll notice some familiar material incorporated from my Grady chaplaincy experience.

Grace and peace,
Ryan

----------------

Matthew 10:7-10 7 As you go, proclaim the good news, 'The kingdom of heaven has come near.' 8 Cure the sick, raise the dead, cleanse the lepers, cast out demons. You received without payment; give without payment. 9 Take no gold, or silver, or copper in your belts, 10 no bag for your journey, or two tunics, or sandals, or a staff; for laborers deserve their food.

As many of you know, today is a special day in the life of the Columbia community. Today we are blessed by the presence of prospective students and their families who are here as part of the fall Conference on Ministry.

Do you remember what it was like to sit where they’re sitting right now? Do you remember what it was like to be desperately trying to discern whether or not you were called to seminary education? Do you remember what it was like to feel that strange tugging at your heart combined with a sense of sheer panic? Do you remember what it was like to sit in a room like this full of seminarians and professors and wonder if you had completely lost your mind?

For some of us, it was just a few short months ago, and for others, it’s been a little longer. And for some of you faculty members, well, maybe we shouldn’t get into that discussion right now.

You prospective students will hear a lot about call this weekend. We talk about it all the time around here, almost to the point where it becomes a joke. It’s been said that when two new students meet, they instantly need to share three things with each other: their names, their hometowns, and their call stories.

And all this talk about call is not limited to prospective students. I am a senior, and many of my classmates are beginning to think about their first calls and exploring the options that await them on the other side of that great Promised Land called “graduation.”

But this text from Matthew’s gospel is not a call story. When we meet the disciples today, they have already been called. They have already left their fishnets and tax collecting booths and funeral processions, and they have been following Jesus for quite some time now. When we meet the disciples today, they have already heard the Sermon on the Mount, they have already had run-ins with the Pharisees, and they have seen too many signs and miracles to count.

No, today’s story is not a call story. It is a sending story. Jesus is sending the disciples to proclaim the good news to the lost children of Israel. Jesus doesn’t mince words about the task that is before them. Later in the story, Jesus tells the disciples that he is sending them out like sheep among wolves.

So you would think that Jesus would at least equip them with something for the journey – maybe some wolf repellent, or maybe a little cash for a few bribes, or at least a stick with which to defend themselves. But Jesus’ instructions are more strict than the list of items banned from flights by the Transportation Security Administation: no gold, no silver, no copper belts, no bags, no more than one tunic, no sandals, no staff.

For all the talk that we do around here about call stories, we don’t talk very much about being sent. But when we answer God’s call on our lives, whether that involves seminary education or not, we can rest assured that we will be sent. And there is a better than even chance that we might be sent somewhere that we don’t want to go. We might be sent down this hallway over here, into a classroom, where we might listen to a colleague advance a theological argument that we would spend our lifetime arguing against. Or we might find ourselves sent down DeKalb Avenue into downtown Atlanta to the Central Night Shelter, and we might find ourselves sitting at a table with three other men at 11:00 at night discussing God’s grace as it relates to the story of Noah and the flood. We seniors might accept a call to a church, but we might find ourselves sent to establish an ecumenical aid agency in our new community. As those who have been called by God in the waters of our baptisms, so we have also been sent.

It strikes me that most graduate level programs aim to equip their graduates with some specific and technical tools for their lives after graduation. For example, my dad wanted me to go and get my MBA. He wanted me to go and learn the tools of the business world. He wanted me to be prepared to go out into the world and build the next great American company.

A friend of mine will soon have his doctorate in mechanical engineering from the Massachusetts Institute of Technology. He has learned all he can about quantum physics and heat transfers and all sorts of things that give me a headache just to think about. He will be prepared to go out into the world and build the next great engineering marvel.

But what about you prospective students? If you decide to join this circus called seminary life, what will you learn? What tools will you be equipped with three or four years from now? What will you be prepared to do when you graduate?

This past summer, I served as a chaplain at Grady Memorial Hospital in downtown Atlanta as part of my Clinical Pastoral Education requirement. You could say that I was sent there. I did not want to do CPE, but my presbytery requires it. And I can tell you, it was a life-changing experience. One of the things I will always remember is the “Code Blue Calls.”

Whenever a patient begins to lose vital signs, the nearest nurse or doctor will call a "Code Blue." I imagine it's similar to what happens on a warship when the captain calls for battle stations.

A klaxon alarm goes off through the entire hospital, followed by an announcement over the public address system. It goes something like this: "Code Blue. Code Blue, seven J south, seven jump south."

At the same time, pagers all over the hospital begin going off. Doctors and nurses immediately begin running wherever the "coding" patient happens to be. Technicians arrive with all kinds of tools and machines, including "crash" carts, ventilators, and all sorts of medicines. Usually there are more than 15 people in the patients' room, all bringing their tools and training together in an effort to save the patient's life.

When there is a Code Blue, the on-duty chaplain also receives a page. When I was on-duty, I didn’t usually run to the scene, because I was not bringing life-saving equipment. If the patient coded late at night, sometimes family and friends of the patient weren’t present, and I ended up standing outside the patient's room chatting with the unit clerk, peeking in the window from time to time, and offering a few heartfelt but short silent prayers.

I had no medical tools to bring. All I brought with me was a genuine desire to help people, a very few years' worth of experience, and an ancient book from another world filled with narratives, poetry, and proverbs.

I sometimes found myself standing outside that patients' room wishing I had some shinier tools. I wished I had some technical know-how or special skill that I could bring to bear on the situation. I wished that I could offer something besides some silent prayer and some kind but feeble words to harried and stressed medical staff. I found myself wishing I could do something.

I sometimes forgot that God is also known as the Word. I forgot that God created all that is, seen and unseen, not by doing something, but by saying something. I forgot that the tools that God gives us pastor types are not made of metal and plastic, but of thin, flimsy paper and of water, bread, and wine.

Sometimes it's hard to remember that words can heal the sick and the broken-hearted. Sometimes it's hard to remember that Jesus raised Lazarus from the dead with a word. Sometimes it's hard to remember that demons aren't driven out by things, but by words in the name of the Word.

These simple tools of book, water, bread, and wine are all that we pastors have to bring. And as inadequate and as foolish as we sometimes might feel, we must remember that these ridiculously simple, seemingly insignificant tools are the tools that God gives us to proclaim to all the world, "The kingdom of heaven is near."

So friends, know that you are called to come to this Table today and enjoy these simple gifts of bread and wine. Know that you are called to come to this Table today and remember those saints who have finished their labors and joined church triumphant. Know that you are called to come to this Table today and be fed by the Word made flesh, Jesus Christ.

And know that you will be sent from this Table today. Know that you will be sent to comfort the afflicted and to afflict the comfortable. Know that you will be sent to heal the sick, raise the dead, cleanse those who have leprosy, and drive out demons. Know that you will be sent into this broken and sinful world to proclaim, “The kingdom of heaven is near.” Thanks be to God! Amen.

Ord Exam Results

2006-10-23T13:24:00.000-05:00

Bible Exegesis -- U
Worship and Sacraments -- S
Theology -- S
Church Polity -- S

Note: U=Unsatisfactory, S=Satisfactory

I'd write more about my thoughts about the whole ordination exam process, but there is a possiblility that a Pastor Nominating Committee may read this blog one day, so I'd better reserve my comments until a later date.

Check back in this space sometime in 2008.

Waiting With Baited Breath

2006-10-17T11:32:00.000-05:00

I have never understood that expression. But I suppose it describes my mood today.

Ordination exam results are due back on Monday. For those of you who don't know, aspiring Presbyterian pastors such as myself are required to take two days of ordination exams in the summer before their senior year of seminary. I liken it to a trip to the dentist for a two-day root canal.

Just for fun, here is a small sampling of the questions we were required to answer:

-------------------

Theology

A Bible study class is reading the following text from Romans:
What then are we to say about these things? If God is for us, who is against
us? He who did not withhold his own Son, but gave him up for all of us, will he
not with him also give us everything else? Who will bring any charge against
God's elect? It is God who justifies. Who is to condemn? It is Christ Jesus, who died, yes, who was raised, who is at the right hand of God, who indeed intercedes for us. Romans 8:31-34,NRSV

The class asks questions about the relationship of Christ's intercession to our own prayers.

REQUIRED RESPONSE:
Write an essay discussing how Christ's role as intercessor shapes a Reformed practice of prayer. Use and discuss at least one (1) citation (e.g., 0.000) from each of three (3) different documents in The Book of Confessions.

------------------

You are visiting Pat, one of the older members of the church you serve as pastor. During the conversation, Pat says to you:
As I get older, there is less and less I can do for the church. I can't witness door-to-door anymoreb ecauseI can't climb steps. I can't drive at night, so I can't come to evening meetings. Sometimes I'm so sick I can't even make it to Sunday worship. How can I serve anyone? I hear in my mind "faith without works is dead," so if I can't work, it feels like my faith is dead. And if that's the case, I wonder if grace is gone too. I'm afraid that I'm becoming passive, doing nothing, instead of glorifying God by being an active Christian. I know I'm not saved by my works. But I don't know if simply having faith is enough.

REQUIRED RESPONSES:
1. Write an essay discussing the significance of justification by grace through faith for someone in declining health. Base your essay on your knowledge of Reformed theology, using at least one (1) of these resources - Scripture, classical theology, contemporary theology.
2. Building upon your answer in Required Response 1, respond theologically to Pat's concern.

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Worship and Sacraments

You have been asked to serve as the stated supply pastor at a neighboring congregation. At your initial meeting with the session the following observations are made:

Eric: Our previous pastor didn't preach sermons in our Sunday morning services. He said it was too impersonal. That is why we don't have sermons in our worship services.

Sally: We've gotten used to not having a sermon and like having informal Bible study.

Clark: Instead of it all coming from the preacher, we get to say something, too.

Kang: After all, sermons are human words, not God's Word.

REQUIRED RESPONSES:
1. Discuss a Reformed understanding of proclamation of the Word, citing by number (e.g. 0.000) at least one (1) citation from each of three (3) different documents from The Book of Confessions. The answer should be based on your knowledge of the Directory for Worship as well as The Book of Confessions.
2. Informed by your answer in Required Response 1, respond to at least three (3) of the comments of the session members.

----------------------

A woman who is a member of the congregation you serve as pastor is very involved with a nondenominational Christian organtzation. The organization requires their leaders to be baptized by immersion. She asks that you baptize her again by immersion so that she may accept such a leadership position within that organization.

REQUIRED RESPONSES:
1. Identify and briefly discuss at least three( 3) issues in this situation concerning a Reformed understanding of baptism, based on your knowledge of the Directory for Worship.
2. Informed by your answer in Required Response 1, respond to the woman.

----------------------

Church Polity

The congregation that you serye as pastor has a deteriorating and inconvenient facility with virtually no parking. Previously, the session has discussed finding a piece of land and building a new facility.

At last month's sessionm eeting, Elder Lee raised the issue again by saying: "I was talking with Mr. Ramirez and he offered to give us 10 acres of land for a new church if we would be willing to support his efforts to have the rest of his farm rezoned so that a developer would want to buy it to build new apartments."

Elder Berry spoke up to say, "I know that the Little ABC Nursery School is looking for a new and larger location. Maybe they would want to lease space in the new building."

Elder Anciano said, "A new facility would enable us start a ministry to senior citizens in our community. There's a big need, but most of them can't make it up the
steps to our current building."

Elder Grouper said, "Don't I remember something about Presbytery needing to approve any properfy transactions? Pastor, could you give us some guidance?"

REQUIRED RESPONSES
1. Identify at least three issues raised by the elders. Cite and briefly discuss
at least one reference(e.g.,X -0.0000) from The Book of Order for each issue. Use two or more chapters from The Book of Order.
2. lnformed by your answer in Required Response 1, prepare a document for the next session meeting that explains the issues and identifies the applicable responsibilities (if any) of the congregation, session, presbytery, or other higher governing bodies of the church.

A Man Named Job

2006-10-11T21:58:00.000-05:00

Here is the sermon I preached October 8, 2006, at Conyers Presbyterian Church in Conyers, Georgia. The text is Job 1:1, 2:1-13. Please accept my apologies for the mediocre audio quality.

Peace,
Ryan

Ryan Baer: Searching for the Word

Click here to get your own player.

Experimenting with Podcasting!

2006-09-26T14:28:00.000-05:00

Hello, campers. I'm experimenting with podcasting. Below, you'll find a link to my sermon from last Sunday, preached at Woodhaven Presbyterian Church in Irving, Texas.

Peace,
Ryan

Click here to get your own player.

My Story

2006-09-11T15:39:00.000-05:00

I've spent some time watching the news coverage today, listening to the stories. There are so many stories. Stories from New York, stories from Washington, stories from Pennsylvania, stories from here in Atlanta.

It seems that every generation has a story, one of those "Where were you when IT happened?" moments. My parents were about 10 years old on Nov. 22, 1963, on the day that JFK was shot and killed in Dallas, and each of them has told me their own accounts of that day. I know that someday, I will tell my children where I was and what I was doing on that beautiful September morning.

For what it's worth, here the story I might tell someday to my as-yet unborn children.

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I was 23, living at home with your grandparents in Plano, Texas. Your mother and I had been engaged about two months. I was working for a public relations agency in downtown Dallas. I had graduated from college only about nine months before, and I had been working at the agency for about six months as an intern, making $7.50 an hour. At the end of July, I had been hired on full time as an Assistant Account Executive.

It was a beautiful day in Dallas that morning, just like it was in New York. It was a 24 mile commute one way from Grandma and Grandpa's house to my office downtown, and I remember that the traffic was kind of heavy that day. I was driving to work in a white 1997 Chevy Blazer along the Dallas North Tollway. I used to like to listen to sports radio on my way to work, and I turned on the radio as I drove along.

When I turned on the radio, the announcers weren't talking sports and cracking jokes. They were speaking about a plane that had crashed into the World Trade Center.

I was confused, because there is a building in Dallas along the Stemmons freeway called the World Trade Center, and as I drove along, I should have been able to see smoke from the fire, but everything looked fine to me. A few minutes later I learned that they were speaking of New York's World Trade Center.

My first thought was, "oh my, what a terrible accident."

I pulled into the parking garage about 8:15 and made my way up to the office, which was on the 46th floor of the Chase Bank Building. The building is on the eastern edge of downtown Dallas, fairly close to the approach pattern for Dallas Love Field. I got off the elevator and noticed that just about everyone was gathered around the television in the conference room. I entered the room and saw by the looks on everyone's faces that something very bad was happening. I looked at the TV and watched as CNN showed replays of the second plane hitting the south tower.

I knew then that this was no accident.

It's hard to describe how I felt at that moment. I couldn't quite process it. Many my coworkers were remarking that this was like something out of a movie, and I guess that's how I felt, like I was watching a movie. I felt detached, remote, and yet I was glued to the TV screen. It just seemed like New York was so far away from Dallas, and as I looked out the windows, everything in Dallas seemed so perfectly normal.

But what was happening on the TV was far from normal. When CNN showed people leaping from the tops of the towers to escape the flames, some people in the office screamed. I think I said "holy shit" over and over again. I watched a man and woman join hands and jump. It was too much to bear. I will never forget the images of those people jumping.

Then we learned that the Pentagon had been hit, and there were rumors of a car bomb at the state department. We learned that the Sears Tower in Chicago was being evacuated. We all decided it was time to leave our 46th floor office.

I took the elevator back to the ground floor, and remember a sense of relief as I walked away from the building. I didn't realize how scared I was until I got out on the street. I got in the car and began to drive north, away from downtown, and I was surprised to find myself in a traffic jam at 10:00 in the morning.

Your mother called from Missouri, and I assured her that I was out of the building. I called your grandmother, who was teaching school in Plano, and I told her what had happened. I don't think she had seen any of the coverage. She asked me if it was bad, and I said, "It's real bad, Mom."

I listened to the radio as I drove north, and it was full of rumors. One report said that an American Airlines flight had taken off from Dallas bound for Los Angeles and was unaccounted for. Another said that two Arab men had been detained with box cutters at DFW airport. Then I learned that the FAA had shut down the airspace over the entire country. Dallas has one of the busiest airports in the world, and it was bizarre to not hear or see any planes overhead. It was so quiet. I never remember the city being so quiet.

The night before, I had been over Joe's house watching Monday Night Football. I remember the game well, because Ed McCaffrey of the Denver Broncos broke his leg in a horrific play. I arrived at Joe's house about 10:30, just in time to watch the replays of the fall of the towers. I stayed at Joe's until early afternoon, then went home and watched the coverage with your grandparents well into the night.

One moment in particular stood out to me that night. They showed a bunch of members of Congress gathered together on the steps of the Captiol in Washington, DC. They all stood shoulder to shoulder, and somewhere in the back, someone started to sing, "God Bless America." I know it sounds staged, but it wasn't. It was very poigniant, and I remember being relieved that our leaders could put aside their differences and join together in such a special way.

I also remember another moment. CNN showed pictures of people in Palestine celebrating. They were cheering and chanting and shooting guns in the air. They were glad to see that America had suffered so much. Your grandpa and I were totally disgusted by this, and your grandpa noticed that the people in the pictures were wearing Nike shoes and driving a Ford pickup truck.

I wanted revenge. I wanted our president to unleash holy hell on whoever was responsible. I knew that someone somewhere out there was about to catch it, courtesy of the United States military.

I thought about a lot of things that night. I thought about your mother, off in Missouri, and I wondered when I might get to see her again. I thought about all those people who lost their spouses, their siblings, their children on that day. I thought about all those firefighters and policemen and EMTs who knew they were going to die and went in anyway.

I know it's not much of a story, but that's what I remember. That's what I remember of September 11, 2001. Your generation will have a story, too. I wish that wasn't the case, but it's an unfortunate fact of the world that we live in. My prayer is that the story that you share with your children about that day will be as removed and distant from the event as mine was.

Tools

2006-07-27T10:09:00.000-05:00

Here at Grady Hospital, whenever a patient begins to lose vital signs, the nearest nurse or doctor will call a "Code Blue." I imagine it's similar to what happens on a warship when the captain calls for battle stations.

A klaxon alarm goes off through the entire hospital, followed by an announcement over the public address system. It goes something like this: "Code Blue. Code Blue, seven J south, seven jump south."

At the same time, pagers all over the hospital begin going off. Doctors and nurses immediately begin running to the seventh floor (or wherever the "coding" patient happens to be). Technicians arrive with all kinds of tools and machines, including "crash" carts, ventilators, and all sorts of medicines. Usually there are more than 15 people in the patients' room, all bringing their tools and training together in an effort to save the patient's life.

When there is a Code Blue, the on-call chaplain also receives a page. When I am on-call, I don't usually run to the scene, because I am not bringing life-saving equipment. If the patient codes late at night, sometimes family and friends of the patient are not present, and I end up standing outside the patient's room chatting with the unit clerk, peeking in the window from time to time, and offering a few heartfelt but short silent prayers.

I have no medical tools to bring. All I bring with me is a genuine desire to help people, a very few years' worth of experience, and an ancient book from another world filled with narratives, poetry, and proverbs.

And this is what part of that book says.

Matthew 10:7-10

As you go, preach this message: 'The kingdom of heaven is near.' Heal the sick, raise the dead, cleanse those who have leprosy, drive out demons. Freely you have received, freely give. Do not take along any gold or silver or copper in your belts; take no bag for the journey, or extra tunic, or sandals or a staff; for the worker is worth his keep.

I sometimes find myself standing outside that patients' room wishing I had some shinier tools. I find myself wishing that I could offer something besides some silent prayer and some kind yet feeble words to harried and stressed medical staff. I find myself wishing I could do something.

I sometimes forget that God is also known as the Word. I forget that God created all that is, seen and unseen, not by doing something, but by saying something. I forget that the tools that God gives us pastor types are not made of metal and plastic, but of thin, flimsy paper and of water, bread, and wine.

Sometimes it's hard to remember that words can heal the sick and the broken-hearted. Sometimes it's hard to remember that Jesus raised Lazarus from the dead with a word. Sometimes it's hard to remember that demons aren't driven out by things, but by words in the name of the Word.

These simple tools of book, water, bread, and wine are all that I have to bring. And as inadequate and as foolish as I sometimes feel standing around with all these doctors and nurses, I must remember that these ridiculously simple, seemingly insignifant tools are the tools that God gives us to proclaim to all the world, "The kingdom of heaven is near."

These Kids Today

2006-07-21T11:46:00.000-05:00

Most of our seminary friends are at the Montreat Middle School Conference in Clinton, SC this week. It's an annual gathering of mostly Presbyterian middle-schoolers from around the southeastern United States. Amy and I served as adult advisors to this conference last year and had a wonderful time.

My friend dropped off his 12-year-old daughter at the conference this week, and it got me to thinking.

She was born in 1994. This means that she probably

...never lived in a house without a computer or cable TV (much less a remote control)
...has rarely been in a school without Internet access
...barely remembers the days of VHS tapes
...rarely (if ever) listened to a cassette tape
...has no memory of Waco or Oklahoma City or the first World Trade Center attack
...has no memory of the Soviet Union
...never tried Crystal Pepsi
...barely remembers Monica Lewinsky, Kenneth Starr and friends
...has only seen Cheers, Family Ties, and The Cosby Show in re-runs
...never saw The Lion King or Beauty and the Beast in the theater
...has never seen the Buffalo Bills play in a Super Bowl
...has never lived in a world without hip-hop music

As I look at the list above, I realize how many of those items are related to pop-culture and mass media. It's interesting how pop-culture trends have become markers of our own personal histories. Do you have things to add to this list? Your comments (as always) are welcome.

Dog Days

2006-07-19T13:16:00.000-05:00

I think we're officially in the "dog days of summer."

It's hot here in Atlanta. Heck, it's hot all over the country. Yesterday, it was a balmy 104 degrees in my hometown of Plano, Texas, with a heat index somewhere in the ballpark of 110.

Snickers, our Shih-Tzu, knows all about the "dog days" of summer. She pants for a good half hour when we come in from our afternoon walks, and then she goes and finds a cool spot on the kitchen tile and just crashes down with her paws splayed out in all directions.

I watch the folks come in the doors of Grady Hospital with glistening foreheads and sweat stains around their collars. They often pause for a moment in the entryway and take a few deep, air-conditioned breaths.

I am feeling the dog days today. I've got 2.5 weeks left of CPE, with three more on-call shifts ahead of me. Ordination exams are six weeks away, and I have studied all of two minutes for them.

What's worse is that I feel like I am running out of "pastor juice." All of the faces I've seen and the stories that go with them have started to pool together in my mind like a big puddle of sweat. Yesterday, I went to one of my floors, but I could only stay an hour because the smell was just too much for me.

I am physically fine, but I am pretty exhausted emotionally and spiritually.

Days like these remind me of my days playing Texas high school football. I feel like it's early in the fourth quarter, and my legs and my lungs are on fire. The sweat is dripping down inside my helmet and it's stinging my eyes, and I am wheezing for breath.

We used to call this "gut-check time."

It's the time when everyone's tank is on empty, and they have to look deep down inside themselves to find the sheer will and determination to carry on. They have to check their guts.

The thing is, I haven't had to check my guts since I was seventeen years old. I hope that stuff that I drew on back then is still in there now.

Pet Peeves Meme

2006-07-17T13:33:00.000-05:00

Credit goes to RevGalBlogPals for coming up with this list.

I'm wondering about your pet peeves. Here's your chance to vent, gripe, and grumble to your heart's content. Go ahead, it's therapeutic.

1. Grammatical pet peeve

"Your" indicates that you possess something. It does not indicate the contraction for "you are." For some reason, this drives me absolutely crazy.

I also can't stand obvious spelling and grammar mistakes in PowerPoint slides. Nothing derails a presenter's credibility and professionalism more than a PowerPoint that wasn't even spell-checked.

2. Household pet peeve

People who do not replace the toilet paper when the roll is empty. Much to my own personal detriment, I am not in the habit of checking for adequate paper supplies before I sit down. (This has led to more than one crisis situation.)

3. Arts & Entertainment pet peeve (movie theaters, restaurants, concerts)
Since I go to more sporting events than movies or concerts, this comes from the sports world.

A stadium is not a beach. Therefore, there is no logical reason why any patron -- regardless of the ambient temperature -- should be shirtless at any time whatsoever. This goes double for outdoor events in the colder months. Pneumonia is not a sign of ultimate devotion to your chosen team.

4. Liturgical pet peeve
Children's sermons that are obviously intended for the adults and end up going right over the children's heads.

5. Wild card--pet peeve that doesn't fit any of the above categories
Tailgaters. If I can't see your headlights in my rearview mirror, BACK OFF!!! Driving is dangerous enough as it is. Let's not make the odds of a horrific crash any higher than they already are.

Bonus: Because all have sinned and fallen short of the glory of God: What do YOU do that others might consider a pet peeve?
Oh, there are too many to list.

I have a bad habit of kicking my shoes off under the coffee table and leaving them there for weeks on end, which probably wouldn't be so bad if I didn't have size 15 feet.

My wife would say that I am a noisy eater. I love to chomp on ice cubes and popcorn kernels, and I am a gum popper of the first order.

I am sure the list could go on all day, but...

Growth Spurts

2006-07-11T13:09:00.000-05:00

I started the sixth grade at 5'7".

I finished the eighth grade at 6'4".

I grew nine inches and gained 40 pounds in two years.

My parents used to measure me on the door frame of the utility room in our house. The marks are still there on the wall today. Sometimes, when I am home, I pass by those marks and look at them and wonder how I could have ever been that small.

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Amy started Greek School last week. She has an advantage over many of her colleagues, because she has been a student at Columbia Seminary for several semesters now. Many of her classmates just moved to Georgia a few days ago, and they are a bit shell-shocked. I have been listening to Amy describe her experiences and reflecting on my own Greek School summer.

It was only two years ago, but it seems like it was ten. In those two years, I have done a lot of things. This list is by no means comprehensive.

I have cooked five pounds of taco meat for 12 youth and one other adult sponsor in a very small electric skillet.

I have stayed up late at night discussing Biblical hermeneutics, theodicy, and the merits of contemporary versus traditional worship -- in a men's night shelter.

I have preached about eighteen sermons.

I have helped carry a casket.

I have climbed Stone Mountain twice.

I lost my wedding band during a waterballoon fight with my neighbors' kids.

I have learned two new languages.

I have written letters to my Congresswoman and to my Senators for the first time in my life.

I have had an argument with my wife -- about the doctrine of the Trinity.

I have held my God-daughter.

I have helped six families move, and I have moved myself.

I have touched the body of a dying person.

I have taught "Three Turkey Buzzards" and "Purple Stew" to a whole new generation of Vacation Bible Schoolers.

I have had dinner in Merida, Mexico, in the home of a family who spoke no English (and I know no Spanish).

I have taught Sunday School to people who knew me when I was 14 years old.

I have helped a brother and an Atlanta Police Detective identify the body of a homicide victim.

I have shared a beer with a Pulitzer-prize nominated author.

Clearly, I have done a lot of growing in two years. And no, it hasn't been easy, and some of it has been very painful. But all of it has been a necessary part of my preparation for life in ministry. And I am by no means done.

But it's nice every once and a while to stop, turn around, and look at those marks on the door frame.

More on "Holes"

2006-07-06T13:04:00.000-05:00

A few posts ago (before Blogger freaked out and published my sermon four times), I wrote about "holes." I wrote about how my experience at Grady Hospital has reminded me that everyone picks up holes as they go through life, whether they're physical, emotional, or spiritual. Like it or not, we all have them.

But one thing that frustrates and angers me more than anything is the holes that we inflict on one another. It's one thing if a car accident or a serious illness pokes holes in you. These things happen. I understand. I don't like it, but I understand.

What I don't understand is how in 21st century America someone could walk up to a man who is sitting on his front porch and shoot him under his right eye.

What I don't understand is how a 50-year-old woman can be stabbed in the chest in the middle of the street.

What I don't understand is how a 48-year-old man can be struck with a tire iron in the back of his head.

These holes I don't understand. And I don't like it one bit.

I don't understand my own feelings of vengance and anger on behalf of these people. Why do I -- a man who claims to be a disciple of Christ and a man who is training to be a pastor -- want to find the perpetrators of these violent acts and smack them upside the head? Why can I feel the tension and the anger flowing through my arms as I type these words? Is this a healthy sense of advocacy for those who cannot advocate for and defend themselves, or is there a sharper, more dangerous edge to these feelings? Is there some spirit of violence within me that yearns to be unleashed, something that wants to lash out and poke some holes in others?

I can see now how easily violence breeds more violence. And I can see now why non-violence is such a central part of Jesus' life and ministry. I can see why non-violence is such a terribly tall order for we children of God.

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Matthew 5:43-48 (NIV)

"You have heard that it was said, 'Love your neighbor and hate your enemy.' But I tell you: Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you, that you may be children of your Father in heaven. He causes his sun to rise on the evil and the good, and sends rain on the righteous and the unrighteous. If you love those who love you, what reward will you get? Are not even the tax collectors doing that? And if you greet only your brothers, what are you doing more than others? Do not even pagans do that? Be perfect, therefore, as your heavenly Father is perfect.

Out of the Depths

2006-07-02T07:51:00.000-05:00

Here is the sermon that I preached today in the chapel at Grady Memorial Hospital. This preaching experience really stretched me for a few reasons.

First, I had no idea who would show up. I had no knowledge of the congregation, which could have been doctors, nurses, patients, families, or anyone else. I was "preaching blind" so to speak.

Second, because it is a public hospital and the worship service is open to all, I was encouraged by the powers that be not to preach from the gospels or to mention Jesus too much. Let's just say that my theology professors would have had a field day with that.

Finally, I had to keep the whole service under 30 minutes, so this sermon was about six minutes in length.

I offer it here in hopes that it might speak a word of grace and hope to you, whoever "you" may be.

Grace and peace,
Ryan

“Out of the Depths”
Grady Memorial Hospital
July 2, 2006
Ryan Baer, Chaplain Intern

Leader: Out of the depths I cry to you, O LORD
People: O Lord, hear my voice. Let your ears be attentive to my cry for mercy.
Leader: If you, O LORD, kept a record of sins, O Lord, who could stand?
People: But with you there is forgiveness; therefore you are feared.
Leader: I wait for the LORD, my soul waits, and in his word I put my hope.
People: My soul waits for the Lord more than watchmen wait for the morning, more than watchmen wait for the morning.
Leader: O Israel, put your hope in the LORD, for with the LORD is unfailing love and with him is full redemption.
People: He himself will redeem Israel from all their sins.

I have to be honest with you up front. Getting started on this sermon was really hard for me this week. Sometimes sermons just seem to flow, but I had a really hard time with this one. But I’ve done some thinking, and I think I know why I struggled getting started with this one. I think it’s because we don’t know each other. I don’t know you. I don’t know your stories. I don’t know your dreams. I don’t know your hurts and your hopes. And you don’t know me. Oh, I’m sure you’ve been able to figure a few things out already morning, but most of us were perfect strangers until just a few minutes ago.

But we do have a few things in common. First of all, we’re all here this morning. Something or someone called us to gather together as a congregation in this space. Something inside of us felt the need to hear a word of hope and grace. Something inside of us felt the need to worship God in a gathered community.

And we have something else in common. At one point or another, we’ve all been down to the depths. You know the depths I’m speaking of. The depths of pain, illness, and injury. The depths of financial disaster. The depths of despair. The depths of grief. The depths of loss. The depths of death.

The person who wrote Psalm 130 has been down there in the depths, too. The Book of Psalms has been called the prayer book and hymn book of ancient Israel. They are a collection of songs and prayers that have been used in the worship of God for over 2,000 years. And the Psalmist was no stranger to the depths. “Out of the depths I cry to you, O Lord! O Lord, hear my voice! Let your ears be attentive to my cry for mercy!”

Friends, I have been a chaplain here at Grady Hospital for exactly five weeks, and in those five weeks, I have spent a lot of time walking with folks down in the depths. I have walked there with widows. I have walked there with sons. I have walked there with dear friends. I have walked there with doctors and nurses and fellow chaplains. And every single day, I have heard that prayer cried out in one form or another. Every single day.

And I have to be honest with you. Sometimes it can get downright discouraging to hear that prayer day in and day out. It seems like this time of death and pain and despair will never end. But listen to the words of the Psalmist. “I wait for the LORD, my soul waits, and in his word I put my hope.” Friends, I am not someone who likes to wait. But that’s what the Psalmist tells us to do. To wait for the Lord and put our hope in his word. Friends, Grady Hospital is a place where we do a lot of waiting. We wait for test results. We wait for our supper. In great pain and discomfort we wait in the ECC. We sit by a loved one’s bedside through the night, watching and waiting for daybreak.

But the waiting that the Psalmist speaks of is not the same kind of waiting. It’s a waiting for the day when this broken and suffering world will be redeemed and restored to peace and wholeness. It’s a waiting for the day when death and mourning and crying and pain will be no more and God himself will dwell among us. It’s an urgent longing for the kingdom of God. And it’s a waiting with hope in the Word of the Lord.

I want to share a vision I have for this hospital. Every day, I drive to the parking deck, and I look at all the cars. And I remember that every car represents someone who is ill, someone who is hurting, someone who is grieving. But I know in my heart of hearts that the day is going to come when I will drive up to that parking deck and all I will be able to see is concrete. I will walk through the ECC, and the stretchers that line the halls will be gone. I will go downstairs to the morgue, and it will be completely empty. That is the hope that my soul longs for, and that is the hope that we have in the sure and certain Word of the Living God.

Thanks be to God, Amen.

Labeled and Lumped

2006-06-29T12:35:00.000-05:00

I am hurting today. I am angry. I am frustrated. I am feeling misunderstood. I am shocked.

I am feeling labeled and lumped.

I thought I was being so careful to be inclusive. I thought I was being highly sensitive and showing tender care and compassion. I thought I was creating safe space for others.

But apparently, I was not.

My heart was not allowed to speak for me. Instead, my race, my gender, and my physical size drowned out my message. And the sad thing is, I couldn't even hear them.

But to her, they were deafening, screaming out a message of prejudice and bigotry. And so for her, it was easy to label me and to lump me in with others who look and speak like me.

It's not fair.

It's not fair that she has experienced so much hate, so much judgment, so much assumption in her life. It's not fair that she hasn't been given space to flourish as a human being. It's not fair that those wounds are still so fresh. It's not fair that the systems of racism, sexism, classism, and etlitism are still alive and well in 21st century America.

And it's not fair that I have been labeled and lumped. It's not fair that it took her two days to bring it to my attention. It's not fair that when I offered her my sincere and heartfelt apology, she just looked at me blankly. It's not fair that I have been falsely accused of something that I abhor and make every effort to combat and resist. It's not fair that she doesn't believe that I view her as a sister and a wonderfully capable and gifted colleague in ministry.

The whole thing just sucks.

Holes

2006-06-23T10:17:00.000-05:00

John 20:24-28 (NIV)

Now Thomas (called Didymus), one of the Twelve, was not with the disciples when Jesus came. So the other disciples told him, "We have seen the Lord!"
But he said to them, "Unless I see the nail marks in his hands and put my finger where the nails were, and put my hand into his side, I will not believe it."

A week later his disciples were in the house again, and Thomas was with them. Though the doors were locked, Jesus came and stood among them and said, "Peace be with you!"
Then he said to Thomas, "Put your finger here; see my hands. Reach out your hand and put it into my side. Stop doubting and believe."

Thomas said to him, "My Lord and my God!"

--------------

This text has been swirling around in my mind this week. As I walk the halls and corridors of Grady hospital and I listen to the stories, I have realized that people are full of holes. There are people here in the hospital with physical holes, holes that were caused by a GSW or an MVA (that's hospitalese for gunshot wound or motor vehicle accident).

But I am realizing that every single person I meet, whether they're a patient, doctor, nurse, or visitor, is full of emotional and spiritual holes.

Some of the holes are caused by explosive events. Take Mr. J for example. He is 30 years old, and he is incredibly articualte and smart. He has read the Bible from cover to cover seven times.

He is homeless.

Five years ago, his wife cheated on him and took his infant son and left him. He didn't say so, but as he talked, I could sense the huge, gaping wound that this event had left in his spirit. To fill that hole and to ease the pain, he began smoking crack. In his words, he smoked his way through his house, his cars, his tools, through everything he had in the world. His wife destroyed his marriage, and the crack took care of all of his other relationships with his family and friends.

On Saturday morning, he was sleeping on a piece of cardboard in downtown Atlanta. A well-meaning passer-by gave him a ten dollar bill and told him to go get something to eat. But Mr. J needed to attend to his hole, so he drank an entire bottle of vodka instead, and when he came to, he was in the hospital. He told me that he doesn't know his best friend's first name, but he knows its last name is Vodka. He lives for two things -- his next bottle of vodka and his next cigarette.

Then there is Mr. A. His holes started out small, but over the years, they have grown larger and larger, and now they are festering. Mr. A has experienced a long series of unfortunate events. It seems like everytime he takes one step to help himself, something happens that throws him back down. Mr. A has struggled to control his drinking for a number of years. For the past two years, he has not consumed alcohol, but he has replaced it with Coca Cola. He now drinks a two-liter of Coke every night.

Last month, through some more unfortunate cirumstances, he ended up in jail. While he was in jail, his son wrote him a letter essentially telling him what a disgrace he is and how his son no longer wants anything to do with him.

When he got out of jail, Mr. A went out and bought some beer. He told the doctors that he only drank a 12-pack. But he told me that he drank 54 beers that night. Mr. A's espophagus is now full of holes, but I can see that the holes in his soul are just as painful.

Then there is Mrs. M. She is a retired music teacher and a professional musician. She told me about the time she was carjacked by a gang only a block from her school. A van full of teenagers pulled up next to her, and one of the gang members pulled her out of her car by her hair and held a knife to her throat. She was certain that she was about to die.

But one of the gang members recognized her and remembered herr. He stepped in between the gang leader and Mrs. M and pleaded with him not to harm Mrs. M. He told the gang leader that Mrs. M is a good teacher and that she was one of the only adults who ever gave a damn about him. Mrs. M was convinced that he gang leader was about to kill both her and her former student.

Then the gang leader asked Mrs. M if she was a good teacher, and she said she hoped she was. He smiled and let her go, and the gang jumped in the van and sped away.

I am convinced that it is impossible to go through life without being wounded, physically, emotionally, and spiritually. It is an unfortunate result of the brokenness of this world. We end up with holes, and we struggle to find ways to fill them and to alleviate the pain that they leave. Mr. J and Mr. A turned to alcohol. Mrs. M's student turned to gang life. Each of them is wounded, and each of them just desperately wants to be complete again.

But I wonder -- do those holes that we pick up in life ever get filled? Looking back at John's post-resurrection story, I don't think they do. After all, Jesus had been resurrected from the dead! He had conquered death, for crying out loud! But Jesus still had holes -- real, physical holes that Thomas could put his hands and fingers in.

So is there any hope at all for us and our holes?

I think there is. God didn't take away the holes in Jesus' flesh, but God transformed them. The holes were still there, yes, but they had taken on a new meaning, a new significance, and God used those holes to comfort, strengthen, and embolden the disciples, who just moments before had been fearful, confused, and despairing. God used the holes in Jesus' hands and feet to bring wholeness to God's beloved children.

This is tough stuff. I want my holes to be filled. I want it to look like I am perfect and unscathed by life. But deep down, I know that's not how it works. So I pray that God might give me the strength and the wisdom and the courage to face my holes and not try to fill them with things and behaviors that are destructive to myself and those around me. I pray that God will sit with me in my pain and in my despair. And I pray that God might use the holes in me to offer comfort and solace to some of my wounded brothers and sisters.

Random Hill

2006-06-19T10:00:00.000-05:00

Amy and I joined the YMCA last week, and I have been experimenting with the different cardio machines. I had big plans of doing 30 minutes on an eliptical machine, but after 9:30, I was out of breath and my legs were on fire, so I moved to the exercise bike. There's something comforting about being able to exercise and sit on your butt at the same time.

All of the machines have different programs that control the resistance and stress of the workout. Some start out gradually and then level off on a long plateau. Some programs are designed to simulate mountain passes, with long climbs to the top and then smooth, gradual descents.

Then there is "Random Hill."

You may start out at level 2, and then in 45 seconds, you're at level 15, and then a few moments later, you're back down to level 4, and then up to 18, and back down to 9, up to 11, down to 3, back to 15 again, and on and on it goes for however long you can stand it.

I don't like Random Hill. It's hard to get into a rhythm. One minute you're straining for all you're worth against the pedals, and the next you're spinning all over the place.

The last few days, I've been on an emotional Random Hill.

On Wednesday night, I was on call at Grady Hospital. About 5:30 in the evening, I was paged to meet a family in the ICU. They are from Honduras and speak no English whatsoever. Their 24 year old daughter had just died after an unsuccessful surgery to alleviate the effects of a severe infection. The patient's father, mother, brother, uncle and I went into her room to view her body. Because she was so sick, we all had to wear surgical gowns, gloves, and masks. I stood by the door as her family held her lifeless hands and smoothed back her hair. Then her father put one hand on her head and the other in the air, and began to pray. In a trembling voice, her father prayed fervently and honestly. And then, he began to say over and over again, "gracias, Senor, gracias, gracias, gracias." He was thanking God over and over again for the life of his daughter.

In Exodus 3, God tells Moses to take off his sandals because he is standing on holy ground. I once heard a sermon where the preacher suggested that the ground that Moses was standing on was anything but holy only a few moments before. Remember, Moses was a shepherd, and the sheep had probably been doing what sheep do on this ground. But because God was there, the ground became holy.

In that moment in the ICU, I knew I was standing on holy ground. I don't speak Spanish, but I understand the language of prayer, and the Holy Spirit was in that room that night.

On Thursday afternoon, Amy and I boarded a plane for Missouri, and we attended the wedding of our dear friends. The wedding took place in the town where Amy and I met and fell in love, and the ceremony was at the first church I ever served. The whole weekend was filled with joy as we celebrated and reminisced and caught up with old friends. I was the best man in the service, so I had a ring-side seat to the ceremony. And as the vows were said and the rings were exchanged and Scott and Stacy tearfully declared their covenant with God and each other, I knew I was standing on holy ground yet again.

This Monday morning, I'm back at the hospital. I'm on call again tonight, and there's a very good chance that I will be called on again to go and walk with a family through the valley of the shadow of death.

One of the things I'm learning about life is that it is a lot like that Random Hill program. It moves quickly from peaks to valleys, and it is sometimes hard to get into a rhythm or to catch your breath.

Life in ministry brings those peaks and valleys much closer together, and it can truly be dizzying and disconcerting. My prayer this morning is that I might remember that God is the God of both the peaks and the valleys, and when I am tired, when I am dizzy, when I don't want to pedal anymore, I can remember the words of the Psalmist -- "Be still and know that I am God."

Quick Hits

2006-06-12T09:27:00.000-05:00

A few quick hits to catch up on all that has been happening since my last post...

Moving sucks. That's all there is to it. And if there is such thing as a NEW U-Haul truck, I've never seen it. And who's bright idea was it to put a stick-shift on a 26-foot U-Haul truck? You should have seen me driving this thing. Let's just say the last stick-shift I drove was 1989 Honda Accord.

However, I can't begin to express my sincere appreciation to all our friends who helped us move. We had the truck loaded and unloaded in about six hours. After it was all over, Amy even teared up as she commented about how wonderful our friends are.

Our new place is great. We have not one, but TWO bathrooms! Let's just say that this has significantly relieved some tension in my household.

Speaking of bathrooms, I had some severe toilet issues a few weeks ago. First of all, the guest bathroom toilet was backing up, and no amount of plunging could fix it. Then, on that same day I got on the road to go to Texas and pulled into a truck stop in Tuscaloosa for a pit stop. I discovered WAY after the fact that there was no toilet paper in the stall. Then I got to my motel in Jackson, threw my bag on the bed and went to use the bathroom, and the toilet wouldn't flush, so I had to change rooms. It was like I had the Midas touch in a bad, bad way.

My last Sunday at Conyers Presbyterian Church went by in a blur. Everyone was so gracious and loving. It's been almost a month, and I'm still writing thank you notes for all their gifts and warm thoughts. I still laugh at myself when I think about how grumpy I was when I first received a call to that congregation. I thought it was this little podunk church out in the sticks, and I thought I belonged at a big church in the big city. But once again, God knew a lot more about me and where I needed to be! What a wonderfully loving congregation they are!

My father-in-law was ordained to the permanent diaconate of the Catholic Church in Kansas City on Memorial Day weekend. Let's just say it was the Super Bowl of Liturgy. We had processionals. We had incense. We had full vestments, including the bishop with his miter. We had genuflecting and prostrating and all kinds of movement and ceremony. It was a beautiful and moving Mass. It was a wonderful and blessed day, and I know that the whole family is proud of Charlie. This was a seven year process for him!

I have started my Clinical Pastoral Education experience at Grady Memorial Hospital in downtown Atlanta. This will be a significanly more intense process than what I was involved with this spring. It is already challenging me and stretching me in new ways. More will come about all of this later.

I am off to Columbia, Missouri this weekend to go to Scott and Stacy's wedding. I will be the best man in the ceremony. I am really looking forward to spending some time in my old college stomping grounds and to celebrating this special day with Scott and Stacy.

Commanded to Love

2006-05-23T21:27:00.000-05:00

Sixth Sunday of Easter
May 21, 2006
Conyers Presbyterian Church

John 15:9-17 9 As the Father has loved me, so I have loved you; abide in my love. 10 If you keep my commandments, you will abide in my love, just as I have kept my Father's commandments and abide in his love. 11 I have said these things to you so that my joy may be in you, and that your joy may be complete. 12 "This is my commandment, that you love one another as I have loved you. 13 No one has greater love than this, to lay down one's life for one's friends. 14 You are my friends if you do what I command you. 15 I do not call you servants any longer, because the servant does not know what the master is doing; but I have called you friends, because I have made known to you everything that I have heard from my Father. 16 You did not choose me but I chose you. And I appointed you to go and bear fruit, fruit that will last, so that the Father will give you whatever you ask him in my name. 17 I am giving you these commands so that you may love one another.

One of my professors at the seminary claims that it takes at least 14 hours for a group to become a group. In other words, whenever any group of people gets together for any task, it takes at least 14 hours of “group time” for the group dynamic to form. I would venture a guess that most of us have been involved in enough group projects at work or at school to know that this is true, to say nothing of Sunday School retreats, mission trips and the like here at church.

The disciples were no exception to this group rule. And they had far surpassed the 14 hour mark. For three years, Jesus and the disciples had been together. For three years, the disciples had lived together, worked together, prayed together, cried together, and laughed together. You might say they had been through the highest highs and the lowest lows. They had been through every kind of hardship imaginable. They had been through storms at sea. They had looked demons in the eye. They had suffered ridicule and mockery at the hands of their friends and neighbors. They had been tired, sore, hungry, and scared, but through it all, they had been together. And they had been witness to things that are impossible to describe with words. They had rejoiced as the blind were made to see, the lame were made to walk, and the despairing were made to hope. They had cried tears of joy, they had been rendered speechless in awe, and they had witnessed the peace and the power of the living God – and they had done it all together.

As our passage opens this morning, we find the disciples together once again. This time they are gathered together around the Table in the upper room. They don’t know it yet, but in a few hours, Jesus will be betrayed and arrested. They don’t know it yet, but tomorrow morning, Jesus will be crucified and buried. They don’t know it yet, but in a few days, Jesus will rise again from the dead. They don’t know it yet, but the speech that Jesus makes this night will become known to us 21st century disciples as Jesus’ “farewell discourse.”

Listen to Jesus’ words again: “This is my commandment, that you love one another as I have loved you.” I wonder, why did Jesus feel it was necessary to command the disciples to love one another? After all they had been through in those three years, shouldn’t it be a given that they love one another? Shouldn’t these guys, the original Christians, know all there is to know about Christian love? Should Jesus have even had to mention it at all? Why on earth did Jesus feel compelled to command his disciples to love one another?

I don’t know about you, but I like to think that by all human standards, I’m pretty good at love. Amy and I have worked very hard to build a strong and healthy marriage. I am certain that my parents would say that I am a loving and devoted son. My friends know that I love them because I will help them move. After having the privilege of serving you as your seminary intern for the last 12 months, I have learned that love for one’s congregation is a huge part of being a pastor.

And I know from first-hand experience that you are good at loving, too. Twelve months ago, you hired a seminary intern who had preached all of three sermons and you continue to love him through all his mistakes and missteps. Earlier this month, you sat together in Myers hall and basked in love and laughter as you shared an evening of fellowship and food at our talent show. You have loved and nurtured these graduates – some of whom were baptized in this very room – and helped mold them into the fine young men and women that they are today. Yes, by all human standards, you and I are pretty good at this love business.

But here’s the rub. Jesus isn’t commanding us to love by human standards. He’s commanding us to love by divine standards. Jesus is commanding us to love one another as the Father loves the Son. Jesus is commanding us to love one another as he has loved us. Jesus is commanding us to show this broken and hurting world unconditional, self-emptying, self-sacrificing love that he shows for you and for me.
Jesus is commanding us to love one another the way he loves the outcast and the poor. He is commanding us to befriend the leper, to eat our lunches with the tax collectors and the sinners. Jesus is commanding us to break down the barriers and the walls that we build between ourselves and others on the basis of language, gender, skin color, political party, theological position, paycheck size, or any other manufactured classification that we might come up with. Jesus is commanding us to love by praying “forgive them” when the world shouts “crucify” at the top of its lungs. Jesus is commanding us to love by working for real peace and social justice in our communities and in our world. Jesus is commanding us to love one another the way he loved us, as beloved children of God.

Friends, this is a hard word for me. This kind of love really stretches my boundaries. This kind of love means that I have to listen to some voices that I don’t always want to hear from. This kind of love means that I have to give of myself, even when I don’t feel like I’m getting anything in return. This kind of love requires real risk and real sacrifice. No wonder Jesus has to command us disciples to love in this way!

But friends, let us never forget that the love we show for one another and for God’s world is a joyful response to the love that God shows to us each and every day. My friend Jill is a student at Columbia Seminary and a mother of three boys, all under the age of 12. Recently, she shared a ritual that she and her boys go through every night at bedtime. Jill asks, “Who loves you?” And the boys reply, “Mom does.” Jill asks, “Who loves you more?” And if it’s been a bad day, the boys reply, “Dad does.” Jill asks, “Who loves you even more than that?” And the boys reply, “God does.” Jill asks, “Who made you?” The boys reply, “God did.” Jill asks, “Who else in the whole wide world is just like you?” The boys reply, “No one.” Jill asks, “Who loves you just the way you are?” The boys reply, “God does.”

May we beloved children of God, continue to be obedient to Jesus’ command to love one another. May we disciples, who were stretched and formed by the hand of God in our mothers’ wombs, continue to grow and stretch in our love for all of God’s children in this hurting and broken world. Amen.

Our crazy road trip

2006-05-15T22:00:00.000-05:00

Two worship services, Sunday school, and a reception in Georgia.

Session and Presbytery meetings in Texas.

A high-school graduation, an ordination, and a bachelor party in Missouri.

May 21-28, 2006.

10 states.

2,217 miles.

Did I mention that we're moving two days before all this begins?

Thank goodness we're young and stupid.

A Sign of the Apocalypse

2006-05-10T22:24:00.000-05:00

OK, maybe not the apocalypse, but it is annoying nonetheless! It reads,

"Effective May 1, 2006, Grady Memorial Hospital will no longer vaildate parking for clergy. We regret any inconvenience. If you have any questions, please contact security at 404-555-1234."

The powers and principalities are up to their old tricks again!

Movin' On Up...

2006-05-08T23:06:00.000-05:00

...to the East Side

So Amy and I are moving to a new apartment in exactly 11 days. There is so much to do, and I am such a world-class procrastinator. It's a good thing I married well. Amy stayed home from church yesterday and got a TON of stuff packed up. (And Amy, if you're reading this, my apologies for procrastinating by writing this blog post.)

This summer will be my 10th high school reunion, and I got to thinking about all the places I have lived in the last 10 years. Here is a brief list.

August 1996-May 1997 -- dorm room at University of Missouri (which has since been demolished, go figure)
May 1997-August 1997 -- parents' house
August 1997-September 1997 -- FarmHouse fraternity (don't ask)
September 1997-May 1998 -- dorm room (again, now demolished)
May 1998-July 1998 -- dorm room (as part of freshman orientation staff)
July 1998-August 1998 -- sublease of apartment
August 1998-May 2000 -- apartment with two roommates named Paul (again, don't ask)
May 2000-December 2000 -- apartment by myself (really more like half of a double-wide trailer)
December 2000-March 2002 -- parents' house (yay for free rent!)
March 2002-July 2004 -- first married apartment with Amy
July 2004-May 2006 -- seminary apartment
May 2006-? -- Villages of East Lake

Stay tuned ... more to come later.

The Sheep and the Shepherd

2006-05-07T11:27:00.000-05:00

“The Sheep and the Shepherd”
John 10:11-18
Fourth Sunday of Easter
May 7, 2006
Conyers Presbyterian Church

John 10:11-18 (NRSV) 11 "I am the good shepherd. The good shepherd lays down his life for the sheep. 12 The hired hand, who is not the shepherd and does not own the sheep, sees the wolf coming and leaves the sheep and runs away-- and the wolf snatches them and scatters them. 13 The hired hand runs away because a hired hand does not care for the sheep. 14 I am the good shepherd. I know my own and my own know me, 15 just as the Father knows me and I know the Father. And I lay down my life for the sheep. 16 I have other sheep that do not belong to this fold. I must bring them also, and they will listen to my voice. So there will be one flock, one shepherd. 17 For this reason the Father loves me, because I lay down my life in order to take it up again. 18 No one takes it from me, but I lay it down of my own accord. I have power to lay it down, and I have power to take it up again. I have received this command from my Father."

Jesus said, “I am the good shepherd.” This is one of the most beloved texts in the entire Gospel of John, and it has captured the imaginations of countless artists and musicians down through the centuries. For us 21st century folks, it’s easy to picture Jesus as “the good shepherd.” But the author of John’s Gospel tells us that the crowd gathered around Jesus that day found these words hard to swallow.

If we stop and think about it, it’s easy to see why. Remember, the nation that Jesus was born into was one under occupation by a foreign power. Jesus’ Judean community had been living under Roman occupation for over 100 years. The people, Jesus’ people, had suffered under the rule of a powerful, corrupt, and violent regime. They were a people who were looking for a deliverer. They were looking for a GI Joe, an Arnold Schwarzenegger, who would come sweeping into power with guns blazing and show those Romans a thing or two.

So they asked Jesus, “Are you the Messiah?” “Are you our deliverer?” Or, in the words of John the Baptist, “Are you the one who is to come, or should we look for another?” Jesus’ answer was shocking. He said, “I am the good shepherd. The good shepherd lays down his life for his sheep.”

It’s easy to see why the crowd was agitated and confused by Jesus’ response. Can you hear their grumbling?

Who needs a smelly old shepherd? We’ve got serious problems here, and we need someone who is powerful and strong and ready to take charge of the situation. And what’s with this business about laying down one’s life for a bunch of sheep and then taking it up again? He has a demon and is out of his mind, they said. Why listen to him?

They were expecting an action-hero, but they got “the good shepherd.” The good shepherd who lays down his life for his people. The good shepherd who knows every inch of every one of his flock, who knows their pains, their hopes, their dreams, their prayers. The good shepherd whose relationship with his flock is grounded in heavenly love. The good shepherd who has power, who took up his life again for the sake of his people.

Jesus challenged the expectations of his listeners, and he challenges ours today. In our world where individualism rules the day, where independence is the only sign of true strength, where it is considered to be a sign of weakness to depend too much on one’s community, Jesus says, “I am the good shepherd.” In our world where people are alarmingly isolated from one another and desperate to just belong to something or someone, Jesus says, “I know my own and my own know me, just as the Father knows me and I know the Father.” In our world where death and violence appear to be permanently enthroned in power, Jesus says, “For this reason the Father loves me, because I lay down my life in order to take it up again. No one takes it from me, but I lay it down of my own accord. I have power to lay it down, and I have power to take it up again.”

But I wonder. Do many of us 21st century Americans really know or understand all that much about sheep and shepherds? Does the rural, pastoral sheep imagery translate into our complex urban society?

My hunch is that the answer for most of us is no. Here’s an example. A good friend of mine was driving with his girlfriend through the Georgia countryside when they came upon a flock of sheep grazing in a pasture. My friend’s girlfriend looked at the scene with wonder and exclaimed, “Hey, look at all those albino cows!”

As silly as her comment was, on some level, I identify with her. I like cows. Maybe it's my Texas roots. Cows are strong. They’re tough. They make for good mascots for sports teams, like the Texas Longhorns or the Chicago Bulls.

To be honest with you, I didn’t know all that much about sheep, so I did a little research. Episcopal priest Barbara Brown Taylor once faced this same dilemma of how to understand and translate all this sheep and shepherd imagery. She discovered that a member of her congregation had grown up on a sheep farm in the Midwest, so she asked him all about his experiences with sheep. What she discovered surprised her. First of all, she learned that sheep are not dumb animals. They simply behave differently than cows do.

Cows are herded from behind, with hooting cowboys and cracking whips. But that won’t work with sheep at all. If you stand behind sheep making loud noises, all they will do is run around behind you, because they prefer to be led. A cowboy pushes cows, but a shepherd leads sheep, and sheep will not go anywhere unless their shepherd goes ahead of them to show them that everything is all right.
Reverend Taylor also learned that sheep grow quite fond of their shepherds. At night, a shepherd can walk into a flock of sleeping sheep without disturbing a single one of them, but a stranger can’t enter the sheepfold without causing pandemonium.

She writes:

Sheep seem to consider their shepherds part of the family, and the relationship that grows between the two is quite exclusive. They develop a language of their own that outsiders are not privy to. A good shepherd learns to distinguish a bleat of pain from one of pleasure, while the sheep learn that a cluck of the tongue means food, or a two-note song means that it is time to go home. In Palestine today, it is still possible to witness a scene that Jesus almost certainly saw two thousand years ago, that of Bedouin shepherds bringing their flocks home from the various pastures they have grazed during the day. Often, those flocks will end up at the same watering hole around dusk, so that they get all mixed up together – eight or nine small flocks turning into a convention of thirsty sheep. Their shepherds do not worry about the mixup, however. When it is time to go home, each one issues his or her own distinctive call – a special trill or whistle, or a particular tune on a particular reed pipe, and that shepherd’s sheep withdraw from the crowd to follow their shepherd home. They know whom they belong to; they know their shepherd’s voice, and it is the only one they will follow.i

Friends, I don’t have to stand up here and tell you that there are many voices out calling to us above the din of our own bleats of pain and pleasure. We need only to turn on the television to find all kinds of hired hands promising us deliverance from whatever it is that oppresses us and holds us captive. Over all that racket, it can be hard to hear the call of our shepherd. But we know that he is always there. Because our shepherd is the only one who one who willingly lays down his life for his sheep, only to take it up again. Our shepherd is the one who knows us as a Father knows a Son. Our shepherd is the one that calls us each and every one of us by name. And our shepherd -- Jesus the Christ -- is the one who will lead us home. Thanks be to God. Amen.

i Barbara Brown Taylor, The Preaching Life (Boston: Cowley Publications, 1993) 141.

You Are Witnesses

2006-04-30T20:17:00.000-05:00

“You Are Witnesses”
April 30, 2006
Third Sunday of Easter
Conyers Presbyterian Church
Ryan J. Baer

Luke 24:33-48 (NRSV) 33 That same hour they got up and returned to Jerusalem; and they found the eleven and their companions gathered together. 34 They were saying, "The Lord has risen indeed, and he has appeared to Simon!" 35 Then they told what had happened on the road, and how he had been made known to them in the breaking of the bread.

36 While they were talking about this, Jesus himself stood among them and said to them, "Peace be with you." 37 They were startled and terrified, and thought that they were seeing a ghost. 38 He said to them, "Why are you frightened, and why do doubts arise in your hearts? 39 Look at my hands and my feet; see that it is I myself. Touch me and see; for a ghost does not have flesh and bones as you see that I have." 40 And when he had said this, he showed them his hands and his feet. 41 While in their joy they were disbelieving and still wondering, he said to them, "Have you anything here to eat?" 42 They gave him a piece of broiled fish, 43 and he took it and ate in their presence.

44 Then he said to them, "These are my words that I spoke to you while I was still with you-- that everything written about me in the law of Moses, the prophets, and the psalms must be fulfilled." 45 Then he opened their minds to understand the scriptures, 46 and he said to them, "Thus it is written, that the Messiah is to suffer and to rise from the dead on the third day, 47 and that repentance and forgiveness of sins is to be proclaimed in his name to all nations, beginning from Jerusalem. 48 You are witnesses of these things.

Those of you who know me well know that I am not a morning person. At all. It usually takes a hot shower and at least two cups of fairly strong coffee to get me up and going in the morning. But two weeks ago, I woke up at 5:15, full of energy and nervous excitement. It was Easter morning! And for me, it wasn’t just any Easter morning. It was my first Easter Sunday as a worship leader. My mind was full of details about the services as I quickly showered and dressed, kissed my still-sleeping wife, and started making my way out here to Conyers.

But as I drove through the Atlanta suburbs in the pre-dawn darkness, I noticed something disturbing. Nothing looked different. Nothing looked transformed. Nothing looked “Eastery.” I passed by a nightclub on Covington Highway, and I noticed that the bartenders were taking out the trash, closing up after a long shift. Some of the die-hard patrons were walking slowly down the street, preparing to spend the day sleeping off what had surely been a long night.

As I made my way onto the Interstate, I began to think about some of the folks I’ve met downtown at Grady Hospital. Most of you know that I have been working down there about 5 hours a week as part of my Pastoral Care course. I wondered, what does Easter morning look like after spending 67 days on your back in a hospital bed? What does Easter morning look like for the family gathered together in the waiting room of the ICU? What does Easter morning look like down in the morgue? Or what does it look like a few blocks away at the Central Night Shelter? Or down at the Fulton County Jail?

By the time I got to the church, I was wondering what Easter morning looked like for you, as you woke up and looked out at the world through your eyes? What did it look like as you rushed to get your children dressed in their Easter finest and to keep them from eating too much chocolate before church? What did it look like as you bent over to tie your shoes? Did your arthritis feel any better because it was Easter? Had the tumor that is growing inside your body shrunk simply because it was the Day of Resurrection? Had your troubled marriage been healed simply because of the empty tomb? Had Easter eased the pain of your depression and loneliness?

By the time I got here to the church, much of my Easter morning enthusiasm had evaporated. My mind and my heart were still stuck back at Good Friday. But I didn’t have too much time to dwell on this, because Easter morning is always busy day for us pastor types. There was much to do before we gathered together in the courtyard for our sunrise service. I was still brooding about this when Tom read the gospel lesson at the sunrise service. Do you remember the lesson? It was John’s account of the resurrection, and the title of Tom’s sermon was, “Why Are You Crying?” In Tom’s sermon, he reflected on Mary Magdalene, who, when she discovered the empty tomb, just stood there and wept. I spent some time that day thinking about Mary Magdalene and her tears.

Last Sunday, we heard the story of Doubting Thomas. We heard about his reaction when he learned that Jesus had appeared to the other disciples, but not to him. Do you remember? Cheryl and our children beautifully illustrated the story in a dramatic interpretation.

This morning, the third Sunday of Easter, we find the ourselves in the Gospel of Luke. In our lesson today, we learne that the disciples were excited, confused, joyful, and disbelieving all in the same moment. Have you noticed a pattern in the Scripture lessons lately? Have you noticed how the women and the disciples react as they learn about the resurrection of Jesus? Mary Magdalene wept. Thomas doubted and said, “Unless I see the mark of the nails in his hands, and put my finger in the mark of the nails and my hand in his side, I will not believe.” The disciples were “terrified and fearful and disbelieving in their joy.”

Friends, Mary Magdalene and Simon and Thomas and the disciples lived in a Good Friday world. I think the reason they reacted to Easter morning with fear and doubt and weeping is because they were still viewing the world through Good Friday lenses and playing by Good Friday rules. Good Friday rules say that you must use a door or a window to enter a room. Good Friday rules say that a person who has died cannot stand in a room in flesh and blood and eat a piece of fish. Good Friday rules say, “Death is the final word.”

Do these rules sound familiar? They should. We live in that same Good Friday world that plays by those same Good Friday rules. Rules that say that we’d be wise to stay locked up here in our comfortable little church and not make too much noise in our community, because it’s a scary world out there and people are out to get us. Rules say that violence is the only language that shall be spoken here. Rules that say that death is the last and final word for us.

Last month, I met a man down at Grady Hospital whose whole life had been built on Good Friday rules. I will never forget him. We’ll call him Mr. Charles. I didn’t know anything about Mr. Charles before I knocked on the door to his room and introduced myself as a chaplain.

It turns out that Mr. Charles was heavily involved in the drug business and had been shot in the calf muscle during a failed robbery attempt at his home. As he lay there bleeding and fading in and out of consciousness, his neighbor came over and began attending to his wounds.

But there was someone else there, too, looking on over his neighbor’s shoulder, a man that Mr. Charles had never seen before. When I asked him to describe this mystery figure, Mr. Charles couldn’t offer any description except to say that he was male, and that he had an overwhelming sense of peace when this figure was near. Then, for the next seven nights, this figure had visited Mr. Charles in his dreams. He had taken Mr. Charles back through his life and showed him places that he should have died years ago. The figure had shown Mr. Charles the horrible, unthinkable acts he had committed. The figure in the dreams clearly wanted Mr. Charles to make some serious and dramatic changes in his lifestyle. And yet, Mr. Charles still had an overwhelming sense of peace and security when this figure was near.

In the course of our conversation, I learned that Mr. Charles had been on the street since he was 11 years old. Mr. Charles told me about how he owned three cars, and he would park them at different places around the city, so that at the end of the day, he would drive to one location, pick up a different car, drive to another location, and pick up yet another car, just to ensure that no one was following him home. Mr. Charles told me about the arsenal of guns that he kept in his house. He told me about the time he spent in prison. Mr. Charles told me that he had seen things in his life that no one should ever see. Over and over again, he said that he had never been scared of anything in his entire life, but he was terrified by these dreams.

I think God was at work in Mr. Charles’ dreams, and I told him so. I think God was showing Mr. Charles that he didn’t have to live by Good Friday rules anymore. God was showing Mr. Charles that even though all evidence may be to the contrary, money and power and violence do not make the world go round. And it scared Mr. Charles. It scared him badly. A man who wasn’t afraid of anyone or anything, a man who was as tough and hardened a man as any I had ever seen, a man who professed no faith of any kind whatsoever, had been brought to fearful tears by an encounter with the living God, and he had been transformed.

But you know what? I have a confession to make. There was a part of me that was cynical about Mr. Charles’ story. I thought that it might have been the morphine that was producing these vivid dreams. I thought that it might be possible that he was telling me this story as a way to pass the hours of boredom that stretch out endlessly in hospitals. And if I’m to be completely truthful about the matter, deep down, I was more than a little jealous. Deep down, I wish I could have such a vivid and dramatic encounter with the living God. Yes, I was more than a little cynical, jaded, and jealous. Like the disciples in our story today, I joyful for Mr. Charles, but I was also disbelieving.

So, why do we react with fear and tears and doubts when we encounter the risen Christ? I think it’s because we’ve been so conditioned to live by Good Friday rules. That’s how the world has programmed us. And the resurrection totally defies our expectations and understanding of how the world works. When we encounter the risen Christ, we are so quick to dismiss it as anything but an encounter with the holy. We call it a dream. We call it a drug-induced vision. We call it a tall tale. We’ll even go so far as to call it an encounter with a ghost. But we don’t automatically accept the resurrection.

Nor did the disciples. The writers of Luke and John go to great lengths to remind us that it wasn’t the spirit of Jesus that appeared to the disciples, but his real, physical flesh and blood. To those of us disciples who have inherited the Enlightenment, to those of us disciples who can recite the Scientific Method verbatim, to those of us disciples who love shows like CSI and Law and Order, the resurrection doesn’t make any sense at all.

But it doesn’t have to.

Listen to the words of Jesus again. "These are my words that I spoke to you while I was still with you-- that everything written about me in the law of Moses, the prophets, and the psalms must be fulfilled." 45 Then he opened their minds to understand the scriptures, 46 and he said to them, "Thus it is written, that the Messiah is to suffer and to rise from the dead on the third day, 47 and that repentance and forgiveness of sins is to be proclaimed in his name to all nations, beginning from Jerusalem. 48 You are witnesses of these things.

Friends, Jesus reminds us that Easter was part of God’s plan for us all along, from the very beginning of time. Jesus reminds us that the whole of Scripture, all the way from Genesis to Revelation and everything in between, is the only rulebook that matters, because it is the rule of the Creator.

Easter doesn’t mean that suffering and sin and death go away. The disciples figured that out really quickly, and we know it all too well. But the resurrection of Christ is God’s yes to the world’s no. Easter says that human suffering, as real and as painful as it is, is temporary. Easter says that sadness will not reign forever. Easter says that death does not get the last word. As the apostle Paul wrote to the Romans, “I consider that the sufferings of this present time are not worth comparing with the glory about to be revealed to us.”

On this third Sunday of Easter, let’s remember that the resurrection is not a change in the rulebook. It is a restatement of the rulebook – God’s Easter rule. The Easter rule that says not violence, but peace. Not hatred, but love. Not condemnation, but forgiveness. Not death, but life. May we dry up our tears, steady our trembling hearts, and continue to be faithful witnesses of these things, until he comes again. Amen.

Low Sunday Prayer

2006-04-23T09:39:00.000-05:00

The brass trumpets and handbells have been put away.

Most of the Easter lillies have been taken home, and the ones that are still here are a little dehydrated.

The Easter outfits have been sent to the drycleaners.

It seems like last week was just another ordinary week. People worked. People went to school. People lived. People died.

I don't feel very Eastery this morning, Lord.

It's Low Sunday.

Attendance is down -- way down. It always is today. The fire and energy of last Sunday seems so long ago.

It's the second Sunday of Easter, but the world still looks an awful lot like Good Friday.

Please, Lord, don't let me be low today. Breathe your Spirit into me. Don't let my heart be locked up in fear. Let me proclaim your resurrection with all that I am.

Amen.

No habla Espanol

2006-03-30T15:47:00.000-05:00

The door was closed, but I am starting to get more comfortable in my chaplain shoes, so I knocked and opened the door at the same time. The patient was a woman, probably in her early 20s. She was awake, and she looked terrified.

I smiled real big, and I said, "Hi there! My name is Ryan Baer, and I'm a chaplain. Mind if we visit for a few minutes?"

Her eyes remained as big as saucers. She pulled the blanket a little tighter under her chin. My smile faded, no longer reaching my eyes, as I looked down at my census list to check her name.

"Habla usted Engles?" I asked. She shook her head no. In my very broken, very poor Spanish, I tried my best to communicate. But what little Spanish I know I picked up working in the restaurant business while in high school. We clearly weren't going to be able to talk about the finer points of trinitarian doctrine (or more urgent things like her hopes and fears) by using restaurant lingo.

I did my best, but I was frustrated, and I feel like contributed to her anxiety, rather than helping to alleviate it.

It has become increasingly clear to me that I need to become conversational in Spanish, and quickly. No matter what kind of convoluted immigration laws our state and federal governments may pass, the fact of the matter is that the Hispanic population will only continue to grow in the years to come.

There are already enough barriers between people in our nation today. Language doesn't need to be one of them.

The Problem of Evil

2006-03-11T23:29:00.000-05:00

The Problem of Evil
Part 5 of a Sermon Series on The Lord's Prayer
March 12, 2006
Conyers Presbyterian Church
Ryan Baer

Genesis 1:1-31 (NRSV) Genesis 1:1 In the beginning when God created the heavens and the earth, 2 the earth was a formless void and darkness covered the face of the deep, while a wind from God swept over the face of the waters. 3 Then God said, "Let there be light"; and there was light. 4 And God saw that the light was good; and God separated the light from the darkness. 5 God called the light Day, and the darkness he called Night. And there was evening and there was morning, the first day.

6 And God said, "Let there be a dome in the midst of the waters, and let it separate the waters from the waters." 7 So God made the dome and separated the waters that were under the dome from the waters that were above the dome. And it was so. 8 God called the dome Sky. And there was evening and there was morning, the second day. 9 And God said, "Let the waters under the sky be gathered together into one place, and let the dry land appear." And it was so. 10 God called the dry land Earth, and the waters that were gathered together he called Seas. And God saw that it was good.

11 Then God said, "Let the earth put forth vegetation: plants yielding seed, and fruit trees of every kind on earth that bear fruit with the seed in it." And it was so. 12 The earth brought forth vegetation: plants yielding seed of every kind, and trees of every kind bearing fruit with the seed in it. And God saw that it was good. 13 And there was evening and there was morning, the third day.

14 And God said, "Let there be lights in the dome of the sky to separate the day from the night; and let them be for signs and for seasons and for days and years, 15 and let them be lights in the dome of the sky to give light upon the earth." And it was so. 16 God made the two great lights-- the greater light to rule the day and the lesser light to rule the night-- and the stars. 17 God set them in the dome of the sky to give light upon the earth, 18 to rule over the day and over the night, and to separate the light from the darkness. And God saw that it was good.

19 And there was evening and there was morning, the fourth day. 20 And God said, "Let the waters bring forth swarms of living creatures, and let birds fly above the earth across the dome of the sky." 21 So God created the great sea monsters and every living creature that moves, of every kind, with which the waters swarm, and every winged bird of every kind. And God saw that it was good.

22 God blessed them, saying, "Be fruitful and multiply and fill the waters in the seas, and let birds multiply on the earth." 23 And there was evening and there was morning, the fifth day. 24 And God said, "Let the earth bring forth living creatures of every kind: cattle and creeping things and wild animals of the earth of every kind." And it was so. 25 God made the wild animals of the earth of every kind, and the cattle of every kind, and everything that creeps upon the ground of every kind. And God saw that it was good.

26 Then God said, "Let us make humankind in our image, according to our likeness; and let them have dominion over the fish of the sea, and over the birds of the air, and over the cattle, and over all the wild animals of the earth, and over every creeping thing that creeps upon the earth." 27 So God created humankind in his image, in the image of God he created them; male and female he created them. 28 God blessed them, and God said to them, "Be fruitful and multiply, and fill the earth and subdue it; and have dominion over the fish of the sea and over the birds of the air and over every living thing that moves upon the earth."

29 God said, "See, I have given you every plant yielding seed that is upon the face of all the earth, and every tree with seed in its fruit; you shall have them for food. 30 And to every beast of the earth, and to every bird of the air, and to everything that creeps on the earth, everything that has the breath of life, I have given every green plant for food." And it was so. 31 God saw everything that he had made, and indeed, it was very good. And there was evening and there was morning, the sixth day.

Ephesians 6:10-13 (RSV) 10 Finally, be strong in the Lord and in the strength of his might. 11 Put on the whole armor of God, that you may be able to stand against the wiles of the devil. 12 For we are not contending against flesh and blood, but against the principalities, against the powers, against the world rulers of this present darkness, against the spiritual hosts of wickedness in the heavenly places. 13 Therefore take the whole armor of God, that you may be able to withstand in the evil day, and having done all, to stand.

For those of you who may be visiting with us this morning, for the past four weeks, we have been studying the Lord’s Prayer. Pastor Sparks has been leading us as we have been carefully unpacking the familiar words of the prayer, holding them up in the light, digging and poking at them, seeing how the phrases and clauses fit together. We have learned about God’s “hallowed name” and visualized “kingdom living” and discussed our daily bread and learned all about debts and debtors and trespasses and those who trespass against us. This week, we come to the sixth petition of the Lord’s Prayer: “And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil.”

Now, before I go any further, I have to come clean with you. When Tom and I were talking about this sermon series earlier this year, I wanted this week. I wanted to tell you all about sin and evil. They say that it’s easiest to write about something you know about, and I’m here to tell you, I know about sin and evil. Not only do I have first-hand experience as a grade-A sinner, I’ve got something like eight pages of typed, single-spaced notes from my theology class just on this subject. So I thought it would be a piece of cake to develop a sermon on “lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil.” Boy, was I mistaken.

I discovered that didn’t want to think about evil. It’s hard work, and it’s scary. Thinking about evil makes us ask hard questions. How do we justify God’s goodness in the face of radical evil? How do we sing “Jesus Loves Me, This I Know,” in a post-9/11 world? Just 60 years removed from the Holocaust, from Auschwitz and Buchenwald and The Final Solution, how do we sit down at a table, give thanks, and make the theological claim that “God is great and God is good?”

Nope, I didn’t want to talk about evil today. I didn’t want to have to ask you to think about those kinds of heavy, hard questions. It was almost enough to make me want to call Tom and tell him to schedule me to preach some other Sunday on some other passage.

But maybe that’s the point. Maybe that’s why Jesus included this business about “lead us not into temptation but deliver us from evil” in the prayer he taught us to pray. Maybe Jesus wanted to be sure that we disciples acknowledge evil as a real and powerful force that is active in this world. The question is, why? Why does Jesus want us to acknowledge evil and ask for rescue and deliverance from it in our daily prayer life?

Well, before we tackle that question, maybe it’s important for us to understand just what evil is. Evil is a word that is thrown around a lot in our society. The Evil Lord Voldemort. The Evil Empire. The Axis of Evil. So what exactly can we say about evil?

Scripture tells us that evil has a personal nature. I always think of Darth Vader, with his big black mask and creepy breathing apparatus. Scripture certainly supports this personal notion of evil. In Genesis 3, we are introduced to the serpent. In the book of Job, Satan asks God for permission to tempt and torment a righteous man. And certainly in the Gospels, Satan and Jesus go round and round.

But Scripture also talks about evil as a transpersonal force. The writer of Ephesians says that “we are not contending against flesh and blood, but against the principalities, against the powers, against the world rulers of this present darkness, against the spiritual hosts of wickedness in the heavenly places.” So there is a transpersonal notion of evil in the Scriptures, too. Evil is at work in the corrupt power structures, the domination systems, and the vicious cycles of poverty and violence that seek to dominate humanity and hold it in bondage.

In his novel, The Grapes of Wrath, John Steinbeck paints a haunting picture of the powers and the principalities at work. As you may remember, the Grapes of Wrath tells the story of tenant farmers in the Dust Bowl of the 1930s. Steinbeck tells the story of the day that the owners of the land come to tell the tenant farmers that they will have to get off the land because one tractor can do the work of a dozen families. When the farmers protest that they are poor and have worked the land for generations, the owners blame the situation on the Bank. They say,

The bank is something else than men. It happens that every man in a bank hates what the bank does, and yet the bank does it. The bank is something more than men, I tell you. It’s the monster. Men made it, but they can’t control it.i

Steinbeck vividly illustrates the corrupt nature of the powers and principalities. In the case of The Grapes of Wrath, the Bank has become a monster, throwing poor farmers and their wives and children off of land they have farmed for generations. And even though the men who own the land and the men who work at the Bank and the men who farm the fields know that what the Bank is doing is evil, they are powerless to resist. The Bank has taken on a power of its own, bent on its own survival, regardless of the cost to human life and society. So, too, with the powers and the principalities and the domination systems. They are bent on their own survival, and they will threaten with death anyone who tries to resist.

So where do these powers and principalities come from? Scripture gives us no definitive answer as to the origins of evil. In the story of Genesis, the serpent is clearly already fallen and sinful before Adam and Eve ever think about eating from the tree of knowledge. The origin of evil is something that we can’t explain, as much as we’d like to. The Scriptures seem to be much more concerned about what we do about evil, rather than explaining it.

And that’s what I think Jesus is getting at in the sixth petition of the Lord’s Prayer. When it comes to evil, I think Jesus is concerned that we don’t bury our heads in the sand and pretend it doesn’t exist. I think Jesus wants us to name and expose the powers and principalities that are at work in the world.

Most of all, I think Jesus wants us to avoid the Novocain effect. I think Jesus wants us to avoid becoming numb and desensitized to the evil at work in the world. Theologian William Stringfellow claims that numbness is one of the most powerful weapons of the powers and the principalities, because it is much easier to control and dominate a docile person than an active and alert one. And we can see this numbness that Stringfellow describes at work in all levels of our society.

According to the American Academy of Child and Adolescent Psychiatry, the average American child will view more than 200,000 acts of violence on television, including more than 16,000 murders, all before the age of 18.ii Just across the state line in Alabama, three young men have been held in connection with over half a dozen church fires. One witness says that the young men started the fires as a prank that just got out of hand. Friends, that is what I call numbness.

And lest we think that numbness and complacency are things that happen “out there,” see if any of these statements sound familiar. “Nobody really wants homelessness, but millions of people are homeless, and we can’t seem to do anything about it.” Or, “Few people desire war, but the piles of bodies and warheads just keep growing anyway.” Or, “It doesn’t matter whom I vote for, nothing’s really going to change.” Or, “I feel I’m just being swept along by forces beyond my control.”iii

Do you hear it? Do you hear the numbness? Do you hear the hopelessness?

Jesus taught us to pray, “deliver us from evil.” Rescue us. Save us from the evil one. In other words, help us to not be numb to violence. Help us to resist injustice. Save us from our own complacency. Remind us that evil is powerful and real, but it has no power of its own.

You may have noticed that our Old Testament lesson was rather lengthy this morning. We read through the entire first chapter of the book of Genesis. Did you notice the subject and the verbs in the passage? God created. God swept. God saw. God separated. God called. God made. God blessed. And on and on it goes, for 31 verses. And then, in verse 31, we hear, “And God saw everything that God had made, and indeed, it was very good.”

Friends, God created everything, and God created everything good. The God who formed you in your mothers’ womb and called you by name, the God who came and dwelt among us, is the God who created every single thing, above and below. That means that God created Satan, God created Leviathan, and God created the powers and the principalities. And therefore, though evil is a real and powerful thing, and though Satan and Leviathan and the powers and the principalities are fallen and rebellious, they have no power of their own.

And if you want proof that evil has no power, take a look at the cross here in the sanctuary. The cross was once a symbol of domination and death. The cross was the Roman army’s version of the gallows or the electric chair. Everyone who saw crosses at the gates of a town knew that they’d better not resist the powers that be. And yet, here we sit, almost 2,000 years later, in Conyers, Georgia, gathered together at the foot of the cross. God took what was once a symbol of despair and domination and death and turned it into a sure and certain sign of the hope of the resurrection. God took a sign of evil and made it into a beacon of hope.

In 1989, hundreds of Chinese students staged protests against a totalitarian regime at Tianamen Square in Bejing. One of the enduring images of that conflict is a photograph of a single, solitary man, standing in the middle of the street in front of a column of four armored tanks. For over half an hour, one unarmed man immobilized a military machine. And his one act of non-violent resistance became the central and defining image of the struggle.

With that image in your mind, listen to the words of Ephesians again. “Finally, be strong in the Lord and in the strength of his might. 11 Put on the whole armor of God, that you may be able to stand against the wiles of the devil. 12 For we are not contending against flesh and blood, but against the principalities, against the powers, against the world rulers of this present darkness, against the spiritual hosts of wickedness in the heavenly places. 13 Therefore take the whole armor of God, that you may be able to withstand in the evil day, and having done all, to stand.”

Amen.

i John Steinbeck, The Grapes of Wrath, Penguin Great Books of the Twentieth Century (New York: Penguin Books, 1999), 31-32, quoted in Chuck Campbell, The Word Before the Powers: An Ethic of Preaching (Westminster John Knox Press, 2002, 9-10.

ii Eugene V. Beresin, “The Impact of Media Violence on Children and Adolescents: Opportunities for Clinical Interventions,” DevelopMentor, Fall 1999, accessed 3/11/06 at http://www.aacap.org/training/DevelopMentor/Content/1999Fall/f1999_a3.cfm.

iii Chuck Campbell, The Word Before the Powers: An Ethic of Preaching (Westminster John Knox Press, 2002, 10. I am deeply indebted to Dr. Campbell’s work as it relates to the powers and the principalities and the practice of preaching.

These United States

2006-03-08T14:33:00.000-05:00

I came across this feature on another blog today, and I thought it was pretty interesting. I'd like to eventually make it to all 50 states.

If you're into travelogues, I highly recommmend Blue Highways and River Horse, both by William Least-Heat Moon. Over the course of several years, Moon claims to have visited almost every county in the United States!

Road trip, anyone?

create your own visited states map
or check out these Google Hacks.

Pleasure in the Simple Things

2006-03-07T22:51:00.000-05:00

Today was my first day "on the floor" by myself at Grady Memorial Hospital. I only had to do about six laps around the floor before I gathered up the courage to knock on someone's door.

I have mixed emotions about today.

One of the things I hated about my former life in the media relations business was cold-calling reporters and pitching them a story. I hate interrupting people and feeling like I'm imposing upon them. So knocking on a perfect stranger's hospital door and barging into what little private space they have is not natural for me. Even though I know I'm there to help and to listen, I still have to work hard to shake the feeling that I'm being a burden on patients rather than a blessing.

I was feeling pretty wiped out and just about ready to go home this afternoon when I met Mr. E. Mr. E. is a delightful 57 year old man who grew up "back in the woods" of rural Georgia. He reminds me quite a bit of Morgan Freeman's character in "Driving Miss Daisy." He was very excited because he had been in the hospital for quite awhile recovering from pneumonia, but he was scheduled to be discharged today. He said that when they brought him in, he couldn't eat and could hardly move, but through lots of prayer and determination, he had regained his strength.

As he was telling me about his illness and recovery, I was standing near the foot of his bed, listening and nodding affirmatively, trying to give my best pastoral facial expressions and body language. That's when Mr. E. caught me totally off guard.

He said, "And do you know, when they brought me in here, I couldn't keep no food down, and I hadn't taken a dump in three days! But those doctors fixed me up, and I don't mean to be crude, but I finally took a dump a few days ago, and man did it feel good! And I've been taking dumps just about every morning now!"

I paused for a minute, not sure how a chaplain was supposed to react to such a statement.

And then I busted out laughing.

I couldn't help myself. After all, here were these two perfect strangers, a chaplain and a patient, praising the Lord for consistent bowel movements.

Mr. E. laughed too, and apologized for being crude. I said, "No worries, Mr. E. It's the simple, little things in life that we often take for granted, isn't it? I'm just glad you're feeling better."

Mr. E. invited me to sit down, and we talked for almost an hour about football, kids, grandkids, Atlanta neighborhoods, and hospital food. I don't know about Mr. E., but our visit made my day.

And, not to be crude, but when I went to the bathroom tonight, I thought of Mr. E. and thanked God for the simple things.

Pass the Pepto

2006-02-28T23:24:00.000-05:00

Today was my first day "on the floor" at Grady Memorial Hospital in downtown Atlanta. I will be working there as a chaplain for about five hours a week this semester as part of my Pastoral Care coursework.

For those of you who don't know, Grady is known nationwide for both its trauma unit and for its care of Atlanta's homeless and indigent populations. It is a 900-bed facility, and the main hospital building is over 4 million square feet. Over 20,000 people go in and out of the doors each day. (I learned all of these fun facts during my eight hours of HR orientation last Monday.)

A few quick hits from today that stick out in my mind:

On my first visit, I had to put on PPE, or Personal Protective Equipment, which consisted of a paper gown and latex gloves. It felt strange to prepare for a pastoral visit by putting on "protective gear" over my coat and tie.

On my second visit, I met a man who is homeless, suffering from Hepatitis C, Cirrosis of the liver, and diabetes. The doctors have told him that unless he gets a liver transplant, he probably won't live to see 2007. When my supervisor asked him if he had any specific prayer requests, he said he wanted to "pray for those less fortunate than him, especially the kids."

We took a tour of the ER, and we stuck our head in the Detention Room. This is a place where the prisoners from Atlanta area jails and prisons are brought when they are sick. The door is guarded by two uniformed and armed men. In the bed closest to the door was a man who was either asleep or unconscious, and he was hooked up to many tubes and machines. On his legs were a pair of ankle shackles.

On the way out to the parking lot, I asked my supervisor if he had ever been with someone when they died. He sort of grinned as if I'd asked a stupid question, and said, "I get about five a week."

There is much more I could say, but it's time for bed.

Yesterday, I posted about feeling "bleh." Not to sound presumptuous, but I think God might read this blog. After today's two-hour visit to the hospital, my mind is racing with Scripture passages, theological questions, and a whole mix of anxiety, eagerness, and wonderment about this new chapter of my ministerial life.

Green chili enchiladas, indeed. Anybody seen the Pepto?

Bleh

2006-02-27T23:02:00.000-05:00

That's how I've been feeling lately.

Bleh.

Not really up. Not really down. Just kind of bleh.

Maybe it's that I'm three weeks into the spring term, and still looking at lots of readings, papers, exams, and projects to come.

Maybe it's that I'm just barely past the halfway point of this seminary thing, and the light at the end of the tunnel, while at least visible now, still seems to be so very far away.

Maybe it's the weather. Last week, it rained for something like 49 straight days, or so it seemed.

I don't know what it is, but I just feel like I've been eating a steady diet of rice cakes and lettuce for the last few weeks, and I'm craving some green chili enchiladas.

Places of Exile

2006-02-05T12:18:00.000-05:00

“Places of Exile”
5th Sunday in Ordinary Time
Conyers Presbyterian Church
Ryan J. Baer

Isaiah 40:21-31 (NRSV) 21 Have you not known? Have you not heard? Has it not been told you from the beginning? Have you not understood from the foundations of the earth? 22 It is he who sits above the circle of the earth, and its inhabitants are like grasshoppers; who stretches out the heavens like a curtain, and spreads them like a tent to live in; 23 who brings princes to naught, and makes the rulers of the earth as nothing. 24 Scarcely are they planted, scarcely sown, scarcely has their stem taken root in the earth, when he blows upon them, and they wither, and the tempest carries them off like stubble. 25 To whom then will you compare me, or who is my equal? says the Holy One.

26 Lift up your eyes on high and see: Who created these? He who brings out their host and numbers them, calling them all by name; because he is great in strength, mighty in power, not one is missing. 27 Why do you say, O Jacob, and speak, O Israel, "My way is hidden from the LORD, and my right is disregarded by my God"?

28 Have you not known? Have you not heard? The LORD is the everlasting God, the Creator of the ends of the earth. He does not faint or grow weary; his understanding is unsearchable. 29 He gives power to the faint, and strengthens the powerless. 30 Even youths will faint and be weary, and the young will fall exhausted; 31 but those who wait for the LORD shall renew their strength, they shall mount up with wings like eagles, they shall run and not be weary, they shall walk and not faint.

Exile. That’s just not a concept that we’re real familiar with here in Conyers, Georgia, is it? I don’t mean to be presumptuous, but I’m pretty certain that not many of us have had an experience similar to the one that the Israelites endured at the hands of the Babylonians. You probably remember the story -- it's one of the foundational stories of the entire Old Testament. In about 587 BC, the Babylonian army conquered Judah, destroyed Jerusalem, and carried off thousands of the people to live as slaves in Babylon. In a moment, all of Judah’s illusions of security and divine protection from evil were shattered. In a moment, a people that was once free and prosperous was now held captive. In a moment, everything had changed.

The period of the Israelite’s captivity was long and arduous. The days stretched into months, the months into years, and the years into decades. And the Israelites, powerless in their state of captivity, began to ask the hard questions: Did God abandon us? Is God powerless to rescue us? When will we be released from bondage?

We may not have had an experience exactly like that of the Israelites, but I bet some of us have been to places of exile in our own lives. I bet some of us have experienced events that left us feeling powerless, weak, and exhausted. I bet some of us have asked those same kinds of hard questions in those places of exile.

Maybe you found yourself in exile at the office. Things at work seemed to be going pretty well. There had been some talk of lay-offs, but your managers told you not to worry, and you believed them. Then, on a Friday afternoon three weeks before Christmas, you got called to a meeting with the head of HR. “It’s not your fault,” she said, “but we have to do what’s best for the company. We wish you the best in your future endeavors.” In a moment, everything had changed. You quietly gathered your things from your desk, all the while asking hard questions.

Maybe you found yourself in exile on the other side of town. One night at a party a few months back, you tried a little pot. “It’s just a little hit,” you told yourself. “Everybody does it.” But a little hit turned into a few more hits, and now, you find yourself driving through a strange neighborhood late at night, looking for your connection. In a moment, you realize that you are powerless and captive to addiction. And you start asking hard questions.

Maybe you found yourself in exile late at night in front of your computer, with your Bibles and your commentaries and your thick books spread all around you. You have been working and reworking the sermon for hours, and you keep telling yourself that you must be nuts to want to be a preacher, much less a seminary student. You’ve been obsessing over every word and phrase, because you want the people to think about what a great preacher you are, and you’re driving yourself and your family crazy. In a moment, you realize that you are captive to the power of your own ego and need for affirmation. And you start asking hard questions.

Or maybe you found yourself in exile at the graveside of a loved one. Even though you know deep down that she’s no longer in pain and that her death was a blessing, it still doesn’t take away your sense of loss and anguish. No words of consolation from friends and relatives can bring her back. And you start asking the hard questions.

And friends, there is a symbol of ultimate exile right here in this sanctuary. Right over my left shoulder hangs a cross. And Jesus didn’t just ask the hard questions of exile, he cried them. Remember his last words, as attested in the Gospel of Mark. “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”

I don’t know where your place of exile is, but I bet you’ve been there before. And you’ve found yourself asking hard questions. Questions like “What did I do to deserve that?” “How did I get myself into this mess?” “How long will I have to stay here?” “Where was God when I really need God?” “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”

These are exactly these kinds of questions that God addresses through the prophet Isaiah. Isaiah was what we call an “exilic prophet.” He lived and worked among the captive Israelites in Babylon, and he foresaw the deliverance of God’s people. Listen again to how Isaiah addresses God’s people in captivity.

28 Have you not known? Have you not heard? The LORD is the everlasting God, the Creator of the ends of the earth. He does not faint or grow weary; his understanding is unsearchable. 29 He gives power to the faint, and strengthens the powerless. 30 Even youths will faint and be weary, and the young will fall exhausted; 31 but those who wait for the LORD shall renew their strength, they shall mount up with wings like eagles, they shall run and not be weary, they shall walk and not faint.

In other words, there is no power, no principality, no economic hardship, no addiction, no ego, no grief, no state of personal exile that God cannot overcome, because God is the Creator of the ends of the earth.

Friends, let me say that again, because I think it’s something that we Christians often skip over, but it’s immensely important for our understanding of God. We claim that God is the Creator of the ends of the earth. God created every single thing, and God created it all good. That means that God also has the power to sustain and redeem every single thing, regardless of how powerful or immense it may seem.

The apostle Paul puts this concept very eloquently in his letter to the Romans. He writes: 38 For I am convinced that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor rulers, nor things present, nor things to come, nor powers, 39 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.

Friends, we exiles are indeed faint, weary, powerless, and exhausted. But God is none of these. God alone has the power to stand over and against the languishing, dying condition of creation. God is exactly what we exiles need. Remember, the cross is not only a symbol of exile, but also a symbol of redemption. In Protestant churches, we display an empty cross, because we remember that Jesus was raised from the dead and ascended into heaven. But what are we exiles supposed to do?

Isaiah says that those who wait for the Lord shall renew their strength. Now, I must admit, when I first read this verse, I was severely annoyed. When I have been captive, when I have been suffering, when I have been in dire straits, the last thing I wanted to do is to wait. To a people in captivity, this notion of waiting sounds like a way to appease the captors.

But I did some research on the word “wait” as it appears here in Isaiah, and here’s what I found. The Hebrew word for “wait” can also be translated as “to look eagerly.” Rather than bland passivity, the word has a sense of expectant hopefulness. Rather than a sense of somber endurance, the word has a sense of joyful expectation.

We are not to wait like we’re waiting for the MARTA bus or waiting in the doctor’s office or waiting for our tax refund check. No. We’re to wait like a small child, listening for the sound of the garage door so that she can run to greet her father with a hug and a kiss. We’re to wait like a parent of a college student, eagerly anticipating a joyful reunion with their child.

So the verse could be translated, “Those who look eagerly for the Lord shall renew their strength.” Our waiting is an act of confident, eager faith. Our waiting is a willingness to accept the authority, sustenance, and redemption offered to each and every one of us by God.

So, my fellow exiles, let’s come to this Table this morning to commune with our Creator, the one who made all that is, seen and unseen. And let’s come to the Table to commune with our Redeemer, the one who proclaims good news to the poor, release to the captives, recovery of sight to the blind, freedom to the oppressed, and the year of the Lord’s favor. And let’s come to the Table to commune with our Sustainer, who gives us the strength and the power to look expectantly for the new creation.

Amen.

Ruins

2006-02-01T17:30:00.000-05:00

I took the photo above at rural cemetery in Mexico last month. The photo is stored on the hard drive of my computer, but it has been living in the back of my mind for quite some time now.

There was a time when this grave was fresh and well-tended. There was a time when the memories of the deceased were vivid and sharp. The funeral was only about three years ago. But time and nature can work quickly.

What happened to this person's loved ones? Who lets a grave fall into this kind of disrepair? Did they just forget about the deceased and move on with their lives? Did they move away and not leave instructions for the care of the grave?

Or, are they just too busy trying to survive themselves? Are they just trying to scrape enough money together for life's necessities? Do they just not have the resources to care for the dead?

As I have thought about these questions, I have thought about our innate human need to be remembered. The ancient Mayans built huge temples and pyramids in the Yucatan, but many of their structures are crumbling as the jungle creeps in. Here in the United States, we spend thousands of dollars on caskets and headstones and collumbariums. We know our lives are finite, but we want the memories of us to be infinite.

But let's be honest. Most of us don't know the names of our relatives from more than four or five generations ago. And its unlikely that our great-great-grandchildren will know much about us.

Ecclesiastes 2:22 (NRSV) What do mortals get from all the toil and strain with which they toil under the sun?

Now, you may be saying, "Jeez, Ryan, you're depressing the hell out of me." Honestly, that was not my intent. Because there is good news in the Bible, too.

Jeremiah 1:5 (NRSV) Before I formed you in the womb I knew you, and before you were born I consecrated you; I appointed you a prophet to the nations.

Jeremiah 29:11 (NRSV) For surely I know the plans I have for you, says the LORD, plans for your welfare and not for harm, to give you a future with hope.

Even though we are finite beings, we were created and loved by an infinite God, a God who knew us before he formed us in the womb. And long after our earthly bodies have turned to dust and our headstones have crumbled into the earth, God will still be calling us by name.

To me, that is the hope that is found in the empty tomb. That is the hope of the resurrection. That is the hope of life eternal.

Adios, Amigos!

2006-01-04T11:45:00.000-05:00

I might be off the air for a little while. I'm leaving this afternoon for a 16-day trip to Merida, Mexico. T

The trip is part of Colubmia Seminary's Alternative Context program. We'll be studying at a seminary in Merida, exploring the cultural sites, visiting churches and homes, and immersing ourselves in Mexican culture.

Thanks for all your support and prayers!

Grace and peace,
Ryan

The Trampoline vs. Me

2005-12-27T23:34:00.000-05:00

Early On The First Day Of The Week...

2005-12-17T17:13:00.000-05:00

There's nothing quite like Christmas Eve in the life of a church.

As one pastor put it recently in the Atlanta paper, it's the "Super Bowl" of the church year.

Most churches pull out all the stops. The special music. The decorations. The extra seats, extra nursery staff, extra ushers, extra greeters.

None of this happens by itself. Church staff and volunteers put in hundreds of hours of work to make Christmas Eve worship happen, and many churches offer more than one Christmas Eve service.

So I can understand why some churches are choosing not to offer worship services on Sunday, December 25. Attendance is usually low when Christmas falls on a Sunday, and it seems like asking too much for a church staff and volunteers to come back for another service less than 12 hours after the "Super Bowl."

But read this passage from the Gospel according to John.

Early on the first day of the week, while it was still dark, Mary Magdalene came to the tomb and saw that the stone had been removed from the tomb. So she ran and went to Simon Peter and the other disciple, the one whom Jesus loved, and said to them, "They have taken the Lord out of the tomb, and we do not know where they have laid him." Then Peter and the other disciple set out and went toward the tomb. The two were running together, but the other disciple outran Peter and reached the tomb first. He bent down to look in and saw the linen wrappings lying there, but he did not go in. Then Simon Peter came, following him, and went into the tomb. He saw the linen wrappings lying there, and the cloth that had been on Jesus' head, not lying with the linen wrappings but rolled up in a place by itself. Then the other disciple, who reached the tomb first, also went in, and he saw and believed; for as yet they did not understand the scripture, that he must rise from the dead. -- John 20:1-9 (NRSV)

Early on the first day of the week.

The early Jewish Christians worshiped on the first day of the week, the Lord's Day.

That's the day that the women discovered the empty tomb. That's the day that Jesus was raised from the dead. That was the day in all of human history.

It's kind of silly when you really think about it; in a small, remote corner of the Roman Empire, in a place very much "on the fringes" of society, human history changed forever.

And that's why two millenia later, we still worship on Sundays.

That's not to say that we can't worship God on any other day, or that worship is only possible in the sanctuary of your local mainline Protestant church.

But for almost two thousand years, Sunday worship has been "normative" for the church, and to me, there's something sad about cancelling Sunday service because it's simply inconvenient.

Granted, as an idealistic seminarian and pastor-to-be, I'm biased, and I don't have much practical experience with these kinds of issues.

But it seems to me that the "Super Bowl" of the church year is not Christmas, but Easter.

Without Easter, Christmas would lose its meaning. Without the empty tomb, the manger is just another feed trough. Without Calvary, Bethlehem is just another town.

And that's why I hope churches will continue to worship on Sunday, even when it's inconvenient.

Preparing For The Coming

2005-12-03T19:55:00.000-05:00

“Preparing for the Coming”
Second Sunday in Advent
Conyers Presbyterian Church
December 4, 2005
Ryan J. Baer

Isaiah 40:1-11 NRS Isaiah 40:1 Comfort, O comfort my people, says your God. 2 Speak tenderly to Jerusalem, and cry to her that she has served her term, that her penalty is paid, that she has received from the LORD's hand double for all her sins. 3 A voice cries out: "In the wilderness prepare the way of the LORD, make straight in the desert a highway for our God. 4 Every valley shall be lifted up, and every mountain and hill be made low; the uneven ground shall become level, and the rough places a plain. 5 Then the glory of the LORD shall be revealed, and all people shall see it together, for the mouth of the LORD has spoken." 6 A voice says, "Cry out!" And I said, "What shall I cry?" All people are grass, their constancy is like the flower of the field. 7 The grass withers, the flower fades, when the breath of the LORD blows upon it; surely the people are grass. 8 The grass withers, the flower fades; but the word of our God will stand forever. 9 Get you up to a high mountain, O Zion, herald of good tidings; lift up your voice with strength, O Jerusalem, herald of good tidings, lift it up, do not fear; say to the cities of Judah, "Here is your God!" 10 See, the Lord GOD comes with might, and his arm rules for him; his reward is with him, and his recompense before him. 11 He will feed his flock like a shepherd; he will gather the lambs in his arms, and carry them in his bosom, and gently lead the mother sheep.

Mark 1:1-8 NRS Mark 1:1 The beginning of the good news of Jesus Christ, the Son of God. 2 As it is written in the prophet Isaiah, "See, I am sending my messenger ahead of you, who will prepare your way; 3 the voice of one crying out in the wilderness: 'Prepare the way of the Lord, make his paths straight,'" 4 John the baptizer appeared in the wilderness, proclaiming a baptism of repentance for the forgiveness of sins. 5 And people from the whole Judean countryside and all the people of Jerusalem were going out to him, and were baptized by him in the river Jordan, confessing their sins. 6 Now John was clothed with camel's hair, with a leather belt around his waist, and he ate locusts and wild honey. 7 He proclaimed, "The one who is more powerful than I is coming after me; I am not worthy to stoop down and untie the thong of his sandals. 8 I have baptized you with water; but he will baptize you with the Holy Spirit."

Amy and I almost made it all the way through Thanksgiving Day without getting asked “the question.” Last year, I think it was my Aunt Susan asked “the question.” This year, it was my Uncle Marty’s turn. You all know the question I’m referring to. I imagine that at every family holiday gathering the question gets asked of every couple who is in their late 20s and has been married for more than a couple of years. It usually goes something like this: “So, when can we expect some children from you two?” Usually, I’m right in between bites of pumpkin pie, with my fork in mid-air, and I get stopped in my tracks. I usually try to swallow, smile sheepishly, and mumble something about trying to give birth to a Master of Divinity degree before we start giving birth to children.

I know that as soon as Amy and I finish seminary, the question will come up more and more frequently. Oh, don’t get me wrong. I joke around about it, but I don’t mind. I understand that people mean well. After all, there’s something exciting and comforting and innocent about babies, isn’t there? There’s something about that anticipation, the planning, the preparation for a new creation that is on its way. There’s something about the period of expectant hopefulness that precedes a birth, isn’t there?

We’ll be hearing a lot about a baby in the coming weeks, won’t we? The signs of preparation and expectation are all around us. I was walking through the church building on Wednesday night and marveling at how the church seems to have been transformed in such a short amount of time. The greenery has been hung, the nativity scenes are all set in their proper places, and from my office upstairs, I can often hear the choir working hard on all of those wonderful Christmas tunes.
Of course, the signs of Chirstmas aren’t just limited to our churches. Amy and I went into Michael’s back in September, and the Christmas trees, the greenery, the lights and the ribbons were already out in force. I suspect that some of you have had almost all of your Christmas shopping done since before Halloween. And I suspect you might see more than a handful of the rest of us out at Stonecrest Mall in the coming weeks with a frantic, half-crazed look in our eyes as we scramble to meet the post office mailing deadlines.

For several weeks now, a local radio station has been broadcasting nothing but Christmas music, and it’s standard fare now in elevators and doctors’ office waiting rooms. At my house, I know Christmas is drawing near when I hear Bing Crosby, Danny Kay, and Rosemary Clooney crooning White Christmas. It’s Amy’s favorite holiday movie, and it gets played at least twice a week at our house during the month of December. Yes, the signs of Christmas have been all around us for weeks now. It seems like everyone is preparing, waiting, hoping.

And that is why I was perplexed by today’s texts. They have nothing to say about mangers, angels, or shepherds. We’ll find no wise men with gifts of gold and frankincense and myrrh today. Instead, we get a message about preparing the way of the Lord. We get words from Isaiah about a highway in the desert. And if you think the malls are full of wild-eyed people, you should see this John the Baptist character, what with his camel-hair cloak and his munching on locusts and wild honey. So what in the world to these texts have to say about Advent and Christmas?

Well, to understand these texts, it helps to know a little something about the prophet Isaiah. Isaiah spoke to a community living in slavery and bondage, a people that was hurting, afraid, and on the verge of giving up hope. As you may remember, around 587 BC, the Babylonian army invaded Jerusalem, destroyed the Temple, burned the city to the ground, and carted hundreds of Israelites off to Babylon to live as slaves. While the sheer physical devastation of Jerusalem was tremendous, I suspect that the emotional and spiritual destruction that the Israelites endured in this event were far more difficult. After all, the Israelites believed that they were God’s covenant people. They believed that the God of their ancestors, the God of Abraham and Jacob and Solomon and David would protect them and sustain them in times of trouble.

And yet, there was the Temple, the once majestic high place of holy worship torn down to the ground. And nearby, their homes and businesses smoldered in the ruins. They were forced to march across the desert with their children, and all the while, their captors taunted them, saying “Sing us one of the songs of Zion!” And for decades, the Israelites suffered in exile in Babylon. They longed to go back to their homes, to rebuild and worship in the Temple. Yet, they languished in their bondage.

I don’t think any of us would have blamed them if they had given up hope. Everything that the world threw at them told them that God had abandoned them, that they should just accept their fate. After all, it would have been much less painful to just forget about Jerusalem and assimilate into the Babylonian culture. But just when it seemed like hope was really lost, just when it seemed like God was gone for good, the prophet Isaiah piped up.

Comfort, O comfort my people, says your God. 2 Speak tenderly to Jerusalem, and cry to her that she has served her term, that her penalty is paid, that she has received from the LORD's hand double for all her sins. 3 A voice cries out: "In the wilderness prepare the way of the LORD, make straight in the desert a highway for our God. 4 Every valley shall be lifted up, and every mountain and hill be made low; the uneven ground shall become level, and the rough places a plain. 5 Then the glory of the LORD shall be revealed, and all people shall see it together, for the mouth of the LORD has spoken."

My friends, even in this time of parties, gifts, and holiday cheer, we don’t have to look very far to see that we live in a suffering and broken world. The realities of evil and sin do not take the month of December off. But neither does the God of our ancestors, the God of Abraham and Isaac and David and Solomon. In a world that advertises “Must Bleed TV,” God says “Comfort, O comfort my people.” In a world that tells us that we are wretched and worthless creatures, deserving of death, God says, “2 Speak tenderly to Jerusalem, and cry to her that she has served her term, that her penalty is paid, that she has received from the LORD's hand double for all her sins.” In a world that tells us that God is dead, and Biblical faith is ridiculous superstition for the simple-minded, God says, “In the wilderness prepare the way of the LORD, make straight in the desert a highway for our God.” In a world that says “despair,” the God who dwelt among us, Emmanuel, says, “Hope.”

There’s something about the word “prepare” that has stuck in my mind this week. All of us, in our own ways, are preparing for many things. December is largely a month of preparation. Some of us are preparing for travel and for parties. Many of us, myself included, are preparing for final exams and subsequent vacations, praise be to God. My friends Joe and Sarah are preparing for the arrival of their first child at the end of this month. Many of us are excited about the holiday season, and yet for some of us, the holidays are an especially hard time, and in our own way, we prepare to endure.

And yet, regardless of our particular circumstances, as a community of faith, we’re all preparing for something together, aren’t we? In the Gospel according to Mark, the word for “Prepare” is in the second person plural imperative form. So it could be loosely translated “All ya’ll prepare the way of the Lord.”

So that’s what we do in this season of Advent. We prepare. We look for signs of the inbreaking of the kingdom of God here on earth, right here in our midst. Now, some of you may be wondering what on earth I’m talking about. Some of you may think I’m a little looney to be claiming that I’ve seen signs of the kingdom of God here in Conyers, Georgia. But friends, in the 6 months and 4 days that I’ve been a member of this family of faith, I have seen signs. My second day on the job, I saw signs of the kingdom as our family of faith gathered to celebrate a service of witness to the resurrection. I saw signs of the kingdom at 1:00 in the morning in Montreat, North Carolina, as our youth and their adult leaders gathered on the front porch of a house and spent more than an hour giving thanks to God for one another. Believe it or not, I’ve even seen signs of the kingdom in Session meetings, as your elected representatives have met and prayed and worked together to discern God’s will for our family of faith. And in just a few minutes, we’ll see another sign of the inbreaking of the kingdom of God. As a family of faith, we will gather around this table, just as thousands of saints have done for thousands of years before us, and we will commune with one another and with our risen Lord.

Let’s keep looking for the signs. Let’s wait with expectant hopefulness. Let’s prepare for a baby, for angels, for shepherds, for wise men bearing gifts. And yet, let’s prepare for something that we won’t find on any greeting cards this winter. Let’s prepare for the Second Christmas, the Second Coming. Let’s prepare for the day when our risen Lord will return. Let’s prepare for the day that this broken and suffering world will be restored to peace and wholeness. Let’s prepare with expectant hopefulness for the day when “He will feed his flock like a shepherd; he will gather the lambs in his arms, and carry them in his bosom, and gently lead the mother sheep.” Amen.

So Much To Be Thankful For

2005-11-27T20:48:00.000-05:00

What a blessed (and much needed) Thanksgiving holiday! I have much to be thankful for!

Last Sunday, my supervising pastor told us a story in his sermon. In his family, before every Thanksgiving meal, the family gathers in a circle around the table to say grace. But instead of one person offering the prayer, they go around the circle, and using the alphabet, each person offers something that they're thankful for that begins with that letter.

It may sound silly, but it's an excellent way to slow down and really think about what we're giving thanks for. We didn't do this type of blessing at my uncle's house this week, but here are 26 things I'm thankful for.

A -- Amy, my best friend and my wife of 3.5 years.
B -- The Baers and the Browns, and all my extended family. (This year marked the 21st annual Brown Family Thanksgiving!)
C -- Columbia Seminary, where I am continually blessed, uplifted, and challenged by a wonderful community of students, faculty, and staff
D -- Dad, who always offers wise and thoughtful counsel, support, and love
E -- The earth, which is truly a gift from God!
F -- Friends, who energize me and lift me up when I am down
G -- God's grace (double points for alliteration!)
H -- Hope found in Christ's empty tomb
I -- Insight and inspiration, two essential ingredients for preaching!
J -- Jesus (what did you expect!) Also Joe, one of those special friendships where it doesn't matter how long it's been since we talked, we can pick up the phone and pick up right where we left off
K -- Kangaroos, because they're cool and because I'm drawing a blank on K's
L -- Laughter and love
M -- Mom, who loves and nurtures me, even when I am unlovable
N -- New creation, which is promised to us from God
O -- October, my favorite month of the year
P -- Plano, TX, my hometown
Q -- Quick thinking, because I can't think of anything with Q
R -- Red velvet cake (Yum!)
S -- Sustaining love of God, and salvation found on the cross. Also, Snickers, our Shih-Tzu!
T -- Tex-Mex, which I have yet to find in the state of Georgia
U -- Understanding
V -- Vicki (if you've ridden in my car, you know who she is!)
W -- Whataburger, with cheese and jalepenos, please!
X -- X-Ray machines (see "K")
Y -- You, the readers of my blog, who have endured this list!
Z -- Zebras (see "X" and "K")

Christ the King?

2005-11-20T07:50:00.000-05:00

Christ the King Sunday. What a strange liturgical celebration.

It doesn't feel like we've been anticipating anything royal this morning.

I went to bed way too late last night. Again. I dressed in the dark. I kissed Amy good-bye in the dark. I was so jealous of her, all snuggled down in the covers and warm and sleepy.

I drove to church in the dark. Usually, by the time I get to church, the sun is just starting to peek over the horizon. But not today. It's cloudy and dreary outside. Not very majestic.

Our worship committee forgot to change the paraments from green to white today. Apparently, they're not feeling very royal, either.

But according to my handy dandy 2005-2006 Presbyterian planning calendar, today is indeed Christ the King Sunday.

Maybe our notions of royalty are a little mixed up.

When I think of kings, I think of that creepy new Burger King mascot. Or King Henry in "Bill and Ted's Excellent Adventure." I think of an old dude with a golden crown, lots of rings, and some sort of fur robe.

Not a Jewish carpenter in his early 30s with a crown of thorns. Not very kingly.

But that's what today is -- Christ the King Sunday.

Christ, who shatters our illusions of power and subjugation.

Christ, who humbled himself on the cross for the sake of the world.

Christ, who reigns eternally, yet still prays for little old you and me.

It's Not About Me

2005-11-12T18:29:00.000-05:00

While shopping online recently, I noticed a big banner ad at the top of the page that screamed "It's all about YOU!!!"

This afternoon, I went to Oak Cliff Presbyterian Church in Dallas, Texas, to stand before Grace Presbytery and profess my desire to be enrolled as a Candidate for the office of Minister of Word and Sacrament. I was requested to speak for three minutes about "my faith journey, my forms of Christian service, and my motivations for ministry."

I was the second person on the docket, so I had the advantage of listening to the woman who preceeded me -- a woman whom I did not know who is currently a student at Austin Presbyterian Theological Seminary.

This woman is incredible. Before she went to seminary, she was a Justice of the Peace for 15 years. She has been an ordained Elder for over a decade, and her list of "forms of Christian service" was amazing. She spoke poigniantly, without notes, and I could tell that she had everyone in the room in the palm of her hand. If I were the chair of a Pastor Nominating Committee, I would have extended her a call right then and there.

A tiny, annoying little thought crept into my head -- I have to follow this lady?

I looked at my written manuscript, and I began to wish that I could postpone this to March, so I could write something that would really wow them. You know, something funny and poigniant, something that would make people cry and laugh at the same time. Something that would have them still talking about me weeks later.

Then I remembered that advertisement from the Web site. "It's all about YOU," it screamed.

I took a deep breath, and I remembered who and whose I am.

I remembered what my "motivations for ministry" truly are. I remembered that I am not doing this for the fame, the money (ha!), or for my own glorification. I am doing this because I feel called to love and to serve the body of Jesus Christ.

I am not perfect. I never will be. There are many ministers and candidates for ministry out there whose gifts far exceed mine.

But it's not about me.

It's about the One who made me, the One who called me by name, and the One who continues to travel this long, strange journey called preparation for ministry.

Grace in My Mailbox

2005-10-29T21:45:00.000-05:00

So it's been awhile since my last post. Call it "Fall Term Fatigue."

I just haven't felt right. Maybe I was getting a little burned out. The newness and wonder of the seminary experience has gone in this second year. As a class officer, I've been exposed to some of the underlying politics in the seminary that I wasn't so aware of last year.

My classes are harder this term. Theology is full of deep thinking on a conceptual level. And then I switch gears to Hebrew, where a few little dots can change a word's meaning from "morning" to "large cattle." (How do I know this, you ask? Because I missed it on a quiz. For the life of me, I coulnd't figure out what those large cattle were doing in that sentence.)

I've been in a bit of a funk. Not ready to drop out and enroll in truck driving school just yet, but still in a funk.

Last week, after class on Wednesday, I drove the 22 miles out to Conyers like I always do. I went in, said hello to the church secretary, and checked my mailbox. And I discovered that someone had put a little grace in my mailbox.

The text below is a sermon delivered by the Rev. Matthew A. Rich at Union/PSCE last year. The seminary published the sermon in a pamphlet and mailed it to its alumni, which is how it wound up in Tom's hands and then in mine.

Even though I wasn't there to hear the sermon in person, I feel like God spoke to me directly in these words. When I was feeling grumpy and generally sorry for myself, a little grace came into my mailbox and into my heart. I hope you enjoy Rev. Rich's sermon as much as I did.

Grace and peace,
Ryan

Letter from Lowell
by Rev. Matthew A. Rich, MDiv
Sermon delivered at Union Theological Seminary and Presbyterian School of Christian Education
October 15, 2004

1 Thess. 1:1-10

I was honored when Mary Jane Winter asked me if I would lead worship and preach for you today. I quickly said yes, but as soon as I returned the telephone to its cradle I began to ask myself, “What in the world am I going to say?” It has been barely four years since I myself left the seats of Watts Chapel as a student, so I do not yet have a lifetime of ministry experience from which to draw pearls of wisdom. However, I do serve a congregation that has a long history of nurturing young pastors and is interested in theological education. So with their help, and in the spirit of Paul’s first letter to the Thessalonians, I bring to you today a letter from Lowell.

Dear students of Union-PSCE; the faculty and staff who prepare them for ministry; and all who care about them,

I bring you greetings from the Presbyterian Church of Lowell. I send this letter out of love and concern for you as you prepare to serve the church of Jesus Christ as ministers and educators. Do not enter this service lightly. I once had a wise mentor tell me that I should only enter full-time Christian ministry if I could not possibly do anything else. It must be a call from which you cannot run away.

For ministry is a challenging vocation. As a pastor or educator, your time is not your own. Your telephone will ring during dinner, while on vacation, or in the middle of the night with someone who needs you. The voice on the other end of the line will usually say, “Preacher, I’m sorry to call you at home, but…” Sometimes you too may be sorry they called, and other times you will be extremely grateful. Ministry will never be a 9-5 job because emergencies and needs don’t like to keep normal office hours.

However, your struggles will not only be with demands upon your time and your family. No, this is also a particularly difficult time for the church to be the church. The culture in which we live no longer provides tacit support for the Christian story. In fact, the opposite is true, as Christians look to the church to endorse a culture of consumerism, self-gratification, and even violence. More and more churches are asked to cater to the wants and desires of members instead of seeking to transform individuals into disciples of Jesus Christ. Several churches in the county I serve are experiencing severe conflict as different camps choose sides, each unwilling to compromise on what they believe to be “true.” That recurring story plays out at Presbytery and General Assembly meetings throughout our denomination. In your ministry, it will be impossible to please everyone and it is an increasing challenge for Christians who disagree to live and serve in the same church. No, these are not easy days for the church to be the church.

They are stepping into a new world and you will have helped to lead them there.
Yet, I am sure that your eyes are already open to the challenges that await you as pastors and educators in the church today. It is hard to live in a seminary community or to talk to those currently serving the church and not learn of the stress, burnout, and conflict that threaten. However, there is more to the story. And so because I and the congregation I serve are convinced that you do not hear it often enough, I want to share with you a word of hope from the church, a word of the faith and the joy that will sustain you in your call and your service.

You will hold an infant in your arms. Her eyes will open and look at you, sometimes with terror, but most often with trust as you place your wet hand upon her head. As water dribbles down her nose, you will repeat words that are not your own: “I baptize you in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.” As the mother cries, the father beams, and hundreds of eyes in the pews look on fondly, you will see “the living and true God” that you serve and you will know adoption as a child of God.

You will ask questions to young teenagers, shaking in their new dresses and clip on ties as they stand before congregations to claim for themselves what was promised for them at their baptism. Their statements of faith will not contain the detail of the Westminster Confession or the urgency of the Barmen Declaration, and they will sound very similar to the Apostle’s Creed, but you who are blessed to witness the event will see their faith and their courage. They are stepping into a new world and you will have helped to lead them there. As you hand them a Bible with a gold engraving of their name on the black leather cover, you will see “the living and true God” that you serve and the hope of the church.

You will stand before congregations bringing them the Word of the Lord. Sometimes your prayer, your exegesis, your phrasing, and your illustrations will be stellar, opening the Word of God in new and exciting ways. Other times your words will be inadequate and disorganized, your week will have left you with little energy for proclamation, you will be disappointed in yourself, but it was all you had. On those days, shaking hands with your members after the service, you will hear, “Preacher, your words really spoke to me today.” In the handshake of one touched in ways you cannot imagine, you will see “the living and true God” that you serve and the power of the living Word.

You will sit all afternoon in a surgical waiting room with a husband waiting for word about his wife. You will have talked about the church, the weather, business, sports, and even politics until there is just nothing left to say. As he paces around the room, unable to sit in his chair, he will confess, “I just can’t imagine my life without her.” When the doctor finally walks in, removing her white surgical mask and oblivious to the fact that the 45-minute procedure stretched into almost three hours, the husband stops. “She’ll be just fine.” Relief filling his face, the husband will turn to you and say, “Reverend, you don’t know how much it’s meant to just have you here,” and you will see “the living and true God” that you serve and the peace that passes all understanding.

Called in the middle of the night to come, you will watch as a widow of five minutes reaches over to kiss her husband good-bye for the last time. Tears will flow and the pain will be real. Men in dark suits will arrive and speak in hushed tones. Even though cancer will have taken a once strong man away in a black bag on a stretcher, you will repeat the words of the 23rd Psalm and say together the Lord’s Prayer. In that moment you will see “the living and true God” that you serve and you will know the resurrection of Jesus Christ.

For all those times when you are just there and the living and true God that you serve works through your words, your hands, and your presence, you will be remembered forever. In the hearts of all those who look to you for guidance, for strength, for wisdom, and for comfort, even when you don’t feel like you have any of the above, you will be remembered forever. Your very presence will make a difference in their lives because of “the living and true God” that you serve who works through you.

So my friends do not despair for “we always give thanks to God for all of you and mention you in our prayers, constantly remembering before our God and Father your work of faith and labor of love and steadfastness of hope in our Lord Jesus Christ. For we know, brothers and sisters beloved by God, that he has chosen you.” (I Thess.1:2-4)

To God be the glory, forever and ever. Amen.

Good to the Last Drop

2005-10-05T10:33:00.000-05:00

As most of you know, last Sunday, I had the pleasure of supplying the pulpit at Leland Presbyterian Church in Leland, Mississippi.

Sunday was a big day in the life of their congregation. Not only was it World Communion Sunday, but it was also a celebration of "first communion" for the church's first and second grade children.

For those of you who are not Presbyterian, "first communion" is not a sacrament that is understood the same way as it is in the Roman Catholic tradition.

However, some churches make a practice of holding a class for their children to enhance their understanding of the Eucharist. So for several weeks, the Elders of LPC had been meeting with the children to explore the meaning behind the Eucharist, and Sunday was the culmination of those efforts.

Before we began the celebration of the Table, the pastor invited the children to come forward and sit together in the front row. They all came forward with big grins on their faces, and they sat relatively still while we began the litany. After we had finished the litany, I sat down while the bread and the cup were distributed.

I watched as the children took the little cups of juice. Several of them tossed their heads back and downed the juice in one shot, much like we adults do. But one little girl caught my eye.

She held the cup in her hand and studied it carefully. She was still for what seemed like a very long time.

Then she slowly put it to her lips and took one tiny little sip. It couldn't have been more than a few milliliters. She licked her lips, still holding the cup close to her face. She studied it some more, and then took another tiny little sip.

The other kids had already finished their cups and were getting antsy and wiggly, but she sat quietly, savoring every drop, in no hurry to finish.

I've been thinking about her a lot this week. I've got a to-do list to choke a horse. I've been running from one project to the next, barely keeping up. I'm finishing one thing, then getting antsy for the next.

I've been captive to the power of "busy-ness." I've been operating under the fear that if I don't get everything done, the whole world will unravel. That's not to say that I shouldn't take my responsibilities seriously, but I need to remember that I am first and foremost a child of God, and I am invited to the Table not because of what I have done, but because of who and whose I am.

The little girl in Leland reminded me of that. She reminded me that Jesus invites us to come to his Table and rest awhile.

To slow down a little.

To savor our time together.

To remember that God is good to the last drop.

Please Send Someone Else

2005-10-02T22:38:00.000-05:00

Amy and I just walked in the door after a whirlwind tour of Mississippi. I was invited to supply the pulpits at Leland and Hollandale Presbyterian Churches in the Mississippi Delta. It was a good time, but I am very tired, and didn't do an ounce of schoolwork this weekend.

Here is the sermon I preached this morning. If you're a regular reader of this blog, you might notice some familiar elements! As always, I welcome your comments and feedback.

Grace and peace,
Ryan

“Please Send Someone Else”
Ryan J. Baer
October 2, 2005
Leland Presbyterian Church, Leland, Mississippi
Hollandale Presbyterian Church, Holllandale, Mississippi
Exodus 4:1-17 (NRSV) 1 Then Moses answered, "But suppose they do not believe me or listen to me, but say, 'The LORD did not appear to you.'" 2 The LORD said to him, "What is that in your hand?" He said, "A staff." 3 And he said, "Throw it on the ground." So he threw the staff on the ground, and it became a snake; and Moses drew back from it. 4 Then the LORD said to Moses, "Reach out your hand, and seize it by the tail"-- so he reached out his hand and grasped it, and it became a staff in his hand-- 5 "so that they may believe that the LORD, the God of their ancestors, the God of Abraham, the God of Isaac, and the God of Jacob, has appeared to you." 6 Again, the LORD said to him, "Put your hand inside your cloak." He put his hand into his cloak; and when he took it out, his hand was leprous, as white as snow. 7 Then God said, "Put your hand back into your cloak"-- so he put his hand back into his cloak, and when he took it out, it was restored like the rest of his body-- 8 "If they will not believe you or heed the first sign, they may believe the second sign. 9 If they will not believe even these two signs or heed you, you shall take some water from the Nile and pour it on the dry ground; and the water that you shall take from the Nile will become blood on the dry ground."

10 But Moses said to the LORD, "O my Lord, I have never been eloquent, neither in the past nor even now that you have spoken to your servant; but I am slow of speech and slow of tongue." 11 Then the LORD said to him, "Who gives speech to mortals? Who makes them mute or deaf, seeing or blind? Is it not I, the LORD? 12 Now go, and I will be with your mouth and teach you what you are to speak." 13 But he said, "O my Lord, please send someone else." 14 Then the anger of the LORD was kindled against Moses and he said, "What of your brother Aaron, the Levite? I know that he can speak fluently; even now he is coming out to meet you, and when he sees you his heart will be glad. 15 You shall speak to him and put the words in his mouth; and I will be with your mouth and with his mouth, and will teach you what you shall do. 16 He indeed shall speak for you to the people; he shall serve as a mouth for you, and you shall serve as God for him. 17 Take in your hand this staff, with which you shall perform the signs."

Exodus 4:13 is one of my favorite verses in the entire Bible. If I were any good at woodshop or metalworking, I might make myself a plaque for my office wall with just the words “Exodus 4:13” on it. It would make for a nice conversation piece. I can imagine folks walking into my office, and asking “What does Exodus 4:13 say?” And I can imagine a twinkle coming to my eye as I prepared to recite the verse to them. Did you catch it in the text? Listen to it again. “But Moses said, ‘O my Lord, please send someone else.’”

I’ll have to go back and watch the movie again to make sure, but I’m pretty sure that this line was cut from Charlton Heston’s dialogue in The 10 Commandments. But the story as written in the book of Exodus pulls no punches. You probably remember Moses’ back-story from your Vacation Bible School days, but let me refresh your memory. Moses was a Israelite by birth, but through an odd set of circumstances, he was raised in Pharaoh’s house in Egypt.

However, Moses ran afoul of Pharaoh when he killed an Egyptian, and as a result, he was forced to flee Pharaoh’s house. Eventually, Moses arrived in Midian, where he met the local priest, and married one of his daughters, and went to work as a shepherd. As tumultuous as Moses’ early life had been, for all intents and purposes, he had now “settled down” in Midian.

Moses was now a family man, with a nice comfortable job, plenty of relatives nearby, and a comfortable place to sleep and eat. It seemed that Moses had things going pretty well for himself.

But you remember what happened next. Moses was out tending the sheep, minding his own business, when God came calling.

You see, the Israelites were still living in bondage in Egypt under the domination of a cruel and powerful dictator, and they cried out to God in their pain. God heard cry of the Israelites, and God remembered the covenant that God made with their ancestors. So while Moses was “settled down,” God was on the move on behalf of God’s people.

And that brings us to our passage today. It’s the closing dialogue of the “burning bush” episode. For quite some time, God and Moses have been talking. God has been telling Moses the plan for the liberation of God’s people, and Moses has been asking all kinds of questions.

Questions like, “Who are are you? Who am I? What do you want with me? What shall I say to your people? What if they don’t believe me? What if I can’t do it? What if I fail? What if you’ve got the wrong guy for the job? I don’t know about you, but these questions sure sound familiar to me.

God patiently addressed all of Moses’ questions and responded to all of Moses’ insecurities. But does Moses then say, “OK, you sold me, God! Where do I sign up?” Nope. Moses comes back to God with “O, my Lord, please send someone else.”

I think one of the reasons that this text appeals to me so much is that it speaks directly to my own sense of call to ministry. One of the things I’ve discovered about Biblical faith is that as our life circumstances change and we grow in our faith and discipleship, the Scriptures take on new layers of meaning for us. I’ve probably read and reread the story of Moses and the burning bush more than 30 times in my 27 years, but I never noticed Exodus 4:13 until the spring of 2003, when I first began to sense God’s call to ministry.

Back then, I was bringing down decent money and moving up the corporate ladder. I had a corporate American Express card, an office on the 34th floor of a downtown Dallas office building, and my wife and I were beginning to save up money for a down payment on a house. In fact, we had already begun talking to mortgage brokers and looking at neighborhoods. One Saturday afternoon we were on our way home from looking at a neighborhood when I said to Amy, “What do you think about me going to seminary?” She said, “Ryan, I’m so happy for you. I’ve sensed this was coming for a long time. But I think we need to call the mortgage guy and tell him to nevermind.”

As we started investigating the process, I started to get overwhelmed. We had just paid off all our undergraduate debt, but we didn’t have much money saved, and I had no idea how we were going to pay for this little adventure. I had made it through my undergraduate career with decent but not stellar grades, and I really wasn’t sure I was ready to go back to the academic world again. My parents were happy that I felt called to seminary, but they knew that Amy and I would likely be moving far away. All of the pressures of this major life change were starting to get to me, and the status quo was starting to look awfully appealing. That’s when Exodus 4:13 jumped off the page and smacked me over the head with a frying pan. But Moses said, “O my Lord, please send someone else.”

Moses. The one who would lead an entire nation from slavery. The one who would ascend the mountain and receive the Law directly from God. If Moses, Mr. Parting-the-Red-Sea himself said those words to God, maybe it’s OK for us to question God’s call on our lives, to struggle with the awesome tasks that God lays on our hearts.

But remember why God was talking to Moses in the first place. God’s people were in slavery and bondage in Egypt, and they were crying out in their pain. God was clearly on the move to liberate and redeem God’s people, and God wanted to empower Moses to lead that liberation.

When Moses asked God to send someone else, the writer of Exodus tells us that the anger of the Lord was kindled against Moses. And looking at the story, I can see why. God had patiently listened to all of Moses’ reasons about why he wasn’t the right man for the job. God reminded Moses who is really and ultimately in charge in the world. So when Moses ran out of complaints and excuses, he flat out told God to take a hike.

Yes, indeed, the anger of the Lord was kindled against Moses. But the Lord didn’t give up on him. Oh, the Lord could have given up on him. It was perfectly within God’s capacity to strike Moses dead on the spot. Or God could have at least sent one of the plagues that was cooking up for Pharaoh to Moses instead, sort of as a motivator. But God didn’t operate that way. Instead of sending locusts and hailstones, God gave Moses a stick and a brother.

I imagine that Moses’ stick -- his staff that he used to perform the signs and wonders for Pharaoh -- wasn’t much to look at. It was probably just a crummy, dirty old stick that Moses used to move the sheep around and to brace himself as he walked the hills and valleys. Moses’ wife probably didn’t let him bring it into the tent at night. It wasn’t something fancy or pretty or expensive that God used to perform signs and wonders. Moses was just a dirty, smelly old shepherd and with a crummy, dirty old stick. On the surface, that doesn’t seem like much to go to Pharaoh with and start carrying on and demanding the liberation of the Israelites. Let’s leave that aside for a moment and at what else God sent to Moses.

God sent Moses his brother Aaron. Now Aaron had a gift for public speaking, but he wasn’t particularly brave or strong or powerful. Aaron was probably someone you might invite to give the invocation at the next Rotarty Club meeting, but probably not someone who you would pick to help lead the liberation of thousands of people from the most powerful nation on earth. But nonetheless, God sent Aaron to Moses.

So for all of Moses’ questioning and insecurity, for all of his whining, he got a brother and a stick. That’s all. No armies. No fancy religious artifacts. Just a brother and a stick.

But you and I know better. If there’s one thing I’ve learned in my biblical studies courses at Columbia Seminary, it’s to watch out when seemingly small, insignificant things are being used by God. It sometimes seems that God’s power is most evident in those small little things. Small things like a scrawny boy named David who was armed with a slingshot and a Goliath-sized faith. Small things like an infant born to a teenage mother named Mary in a barn in a crummy little town on the fringes of the Roman Empire. Small things like a brother and a stick. Through God’s Holy Spirit, these simple, small, ordinary things became extraordinarily holy. These small, simple, ordinary things changed the world. Thousands of years later, we’re still telling their stories.

We know how Moses’ story ends. Moses took his staff and his brother and liberated an entire nation from slavery and bondage. The man who once asked God to please send someone else became a centerpiece of the entire Biblical story.
My wife has a sign posted above her desk in our home. It reads, “God doesn’t call the equipped, God equips the called.” God called Moses, then equipped him for the journey. And in just the same way, God calls and ordains each and every one of us to ministry in the waters of our baptisms.

Now, I know what you may be thinking. You may be thinking, “OK, Ryan, this seminary and preaching and ordination business is OK for some people like you and Tom and Pastor Landry, but let’s be reasonable here.” And I understand those sentiments. I am not suggesting that all of you quit your jobs and run off to seminary. If this were a world filled with pastors, it would be a very strange place indeed.

But please understand me very clearly here. Each and every one of us was called and ordained to ministry in the waters of our baptisms. Each and every one of us has a part to play in the liberation of God’s people.

The apostle Paul expressed this very eloquently in his first letter to the church at Corinth. He writes: “Now there are varieties of gifts, but the same Spirit; and there are varieties of services, but the same Lord; and there are varieties of activities, but it is the same God who activates all of them in everyone. To each is given the manifestation of the Spirit for the common good.”

God does indeed equip us with small, little, ordinary things. Small things like brothers and sisters. Small things like a Baptismal Font and a Communion Table. Small things like a church family. May God move through our simple, small, seemingly insignificant things. May God use us in the liberation of God’s people. May God’s Holy Spirit turn our ordinary gifts into something extraordinarily holy.

Amen.

My Polemic Against Shopping Malls

2005-09-23T12:25:00.000-05:00

Disclaimer: If you love shopping malls, if you work in or for a shopping mall, or if you in any other way have a strange, unnatural affinity for shopping malls, you may want to stop reading now.

In the interest of fair disclosure, let me remind you that I am a married, 27-year-old man, who buys his own clothes about as often as he buys his own cars. I am 6'5" and weigh 275 pounds, so I have about as much chance of finding clothes in the mall that fit me as I do of finding a dollar bill on my way home today. It happens sometimes, but it's very rare.

On Wednesday, as an obedient, dutiful husband, I stopped at the mall on my way to church to return some shoes that Amy bought last week.

As soon as I walked through the doors at Dillards, I could smell it. You know what I'm talking about. It was that weird aroma of leather, popcorn, and industrial strength cleaning supplies all mixed together.

I honestly think that malls and casinos are built by the same people. There are no clocks, hardly any windows, weird smells, and it's a freaking maze in there. I took the box of "strappy sandals" to the first cashier I could find. A woman dressed in an impeccable blue suit and waaaaaay too much makeup kindly informed me that I would have to take the box to the shoe department, which was through ladies' lingerie (which used to freak me out until I got married), down the escalator, past the misses and juniors departments (whatever those are), around the corner from the makeup and perfume section (more weird smells) next to housewares (where they keep all the expensive breakable stuff at eye-level for all the kids to play with), before you get to menswear (which is in the deepest, darkest corner of the store, sort of like the architects forgot about it until the last minute).

At every turn, I was greeted by mannequins who, if it were a real person, would be in the hospital being treated for malnutrition. Beyond the mannequins were posters with fabulous celebrities wearing fabulous clothes with fabulous skin and fabulous hair. (Don't get me wrong, I like Catherine Zeta Jones as much as the next guy, but a little bit goes a long way).

Not to put too fine a theological point on it, but I could almost hear the voices of greed, inadequacy, and fear whispering to me over the cheesy Rod Stewart music:

"Buy this. You're too fat. Buy that. Your skin is nasty. Buy this. Your wardrobe is soooooo 2003. Buy that. It will make you more popular/sexy/desirable/fun/smart. Buy this. Do your part
to contribute to the consumer economy. Buy that. If you don't, you're un-American. Buy, BUY, BUY!!!"

Needless to say, I high-tailed it to the shoe department, made my exchange, and then began the long journey back to the car. But as I stepped into the Georgia sunshine and breathed that wonderful scent of exhaust and pine pollen, I had a strange craving for a cinnamon pretzel and a cherry Icee, or maybe an Orange Julius.

Wanted: Peace

2005-09-15T22:58:00.000-05:00

Seminarian seeks peace for mental, matrimonial and physical health. Will trade stress over reading lists, papers, lesson plans, sermons, family finances, friendships and familial relationships, and pretty much anything else You want. Interested Parties may meet me at my pillow in 5 minutes.

Beyond the Rivers of Babylon

2005-09-10T23:10:00.000-05:00

Here is the sermon I will preach in the morning. I welcome your feedback.

Grace and peace,
Ryan

“Beyond the Rivers of Babylon”
24th Sunday in Ordinary Time
September 11, 2005
Ryan J. Baer

Psalm 137:1-9 By the rivers of Babylon-- there we sat down and there we wept when we remembered Zion. 2 On the willows there we hung up our harps. 3 For there our captors asked us for songs, and our tormentors asked for mirth, saying, "Sing us one of the songs of Zion!" 4 How could we sing the LORD's song in a foreign land? 5 If I forget you, O Jerusalem, let my right hand wither! 6 Let my tongue cling to the roof of my mouth, if I do not remember you, if I do not set Jerusalem above my highest joy. 7 Remember, O LORD, against the Edomites the day of Jerusalem's fall, how they said, "Tear it down! Tear it down! Down to its foundations!" 8 O daughter Babylon, you devastator! Happy shall they be who pay you back what you have done to us! 9 Happy shall they be who take your little ones and dash them against the rock!

Matthew 5:43-48 43 "You have heard that it was said, 'You shall love your neighbor and hate your enemy.' 44 But I say to you, Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you, 45 so that you may be children of your Father in heaven; for he makes his sun rise on the evil and on the good, and sends rain on the righteous and on the unrighteous. 46 For if you love those who love you, what reward do you have? Do not even the tax collectors do the same? 47 And if you greet only your brothers and sisters, what more are you doing than others? Do not even the Gentiles do the same? 48 Be perfect, therefore, as your heavenly Father is perfect.

Everyone in this room who is over the age of about 10 has a story about that Tuesday morning, don’t they? Mine isn’t particularly exciting or interesting. Back then, I was a 23-year-old assistant account executive with a public relations agency. I was on my way to work when the first confusing news reports interrupted my sports radio station. By the time I arrived at the office on the 46th floor of the Chase Bank building in downtown Dallas, our entire staff had gathered around the television in the conference room.

We didn’t stay long once we learned that other high-rise office buildings in Dallas were being voluntarily evacuated. I gathered a few things from my desk, called Amy and my mother to let them know that I was leaving, and then I went home to watch the news reports roll in.

It seems like every generation has a story about these kinds of events. My grandmother told me in great detail about where she was and what she was doing on Sunday, December 7, 1941, the day that Pearl Harbor was bombed. My parents were in grade school, but they have told me their memories about Friday, November 22, 1963, the day that President John F. Kennedy was shot in Dallas, Texas.

And I know that I will tell my children and grandchildren about where I was and what I was doing on Tuesday, September 11, 2001, the day that our country was brutally and violently attacked.

Perhaps what makes these memories so vivid is the emotions that underlie them – feelings of shock, fear, anger. Feelings of sadness and loss. Feelings of humiliation and embarrassment. Feelings of deep national pride and patriotism. And yes, feelings of a deep desire for retribution and vengeance.

Every generation has a story, and ancient Israel was no different. Our Psalm reading this morning sounds as if ancient Israel is telling us where it was and what it was doing in 589 BC.

That’s the year that Israel was brutally and violently attacked. That’s the year the Babylonian army laid siege to Jerusalem and invaded the city. That’s the year the Babylonians destroyed and desecrated the Temple, the very core and symbol of Israel’s national identity. That’s the year the Babylonians killed hundreds of innocent civilians and carted off scores more to Babylon to live a life of slavery and bondage.

That’s the back-story of Psalm 137. The Babylonian conquest was their Pearl Harbor, their 9/11. Listen to the emotional journey that Israel made in the nine verses of Psalm 137, and see if it sounds familiar as we remember that terrible day.

First, there were feelings of shock, sadness, and loss. “By the rivers of Babylon-- there we sat down and there we wept when we remembered Zion. On the willows there we hung up our harps.”

Then came the feelings of humiliation, helplessness, and embarrassment. “For there our captors asked us for songs, and our tormentors asked for mirth, saying, ‘Sing us one of the songs of Zion!’ How could we sing the LORD's song in a foreign land?”

Then were the feelings of intense national pride and patriotism. “If I forget you, O Jerusalem, let my right hand wither! Let my tongue cling to the roof of my mouth, if I do not remember you, if I do not set Jerusalem above my highest joy.”

And finally, there were feelings of a deep desire for vengeance and retribution. “Remember, O LORD, against the Edomites the day of Jerusalem's fall, how they said, ‘Tear it down! Tear it down! Down to its foundations!’ O daughter Babylon, you devastator! Happy shall they be who pay you back what you have done to us! 9 Happy shall they be who take your little ones and dash them against the rock!”

Now, I have to be honest with you. Before September 11th, I had a hard time understanding how the Bible could talk about murdering someone’s kids in such frank and celebratory terms. But after I watched news reports of people dancing in the streets, celebrating and shouting with glee as New York and Washington smoldered, I understood those verses a little better.

And to be honest with you, that’s why I am glad that Psalm 137 is in our Bible. The psalm reminds us that other faithful people have been where we are, other faithful people have felt what we feel. The psalm enables us to speak the unspeakable, to name our pain and our anguish and to set it all before God in prayer. Psalm 137 reminds us that the emotions so many of us feel when we have been brutally and violently attacked are real, are natural, and are OK to feel. Psalm 137 reminds us that God knows how we feel, and that doesn’t change how God feels about us.

But here’s the trouble. As Christians, we are called to continue the emotional journey beyond the rivers of Babylon. We are not to remain stagnant in that place of vengeance and retribution. Listen to the words Jesus again. "You have heard that it was said, 'You shall love your neighbor and hate your enemy.' But I say to you, Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you”

My friends, this is a hard Word for us, especially on this day, when the memories are stirred, the emotions are fresh, and many of us want to just sit down and weep. This Word is counterintuitive to all those feelings that we just named in Psalm 137. This Word calls us to do something that is totally abnormal and seemingly superhuman. And to make matters worse, Jesus seems to know that this is a very, very hard Word; hence the zinger, “Be perfect, therefore, as your Holy Father is perfect.”

So I have to ask, what is good about this news? Why should we love our enemies, when they so clearly do not love us? Why should we pray for our enemies, even as their armies assemble outside the walls and they cast a leering eye on all that we value and hold dear? Why should we love and pray for those who have hurt us the most, who have violated and humiliated us and even mocked as we cry out in pain?

These are not easy questions to answer. I could take you over to the seminary library and show you shelves upon shelves of books written by folks with lots more education and experience than me who have tried to answer these questions. But nevertheless, here are just a few of my thoughts.

I believe that Jesus’ command to love our enemies and pray for those who persecute us is also an invitation. It’s an invitation to go on a journey beyond the rivers of Babylon, beyond those places of hurt and anger and vengeance and retribution. It’s an invitation to reorient our entire worldview. In praying for our enemies, Jesus invites us to see them from God’s point of view. We can’t seriously pray for our enemies without acknowledging our common humanity. They, too, have been created in the image of God, and no behavior, now matter how evil or destructive, can erase that image. We can’t pray seriously for our enemies without reminding ourselves that the God who created us and loves us despite our disobedience is able to also love those who hate and despise and abuse us. Accepting Jesus’ invitation to see our enemies in the light of God’s love is a first step toward moving beyond the rivers of Babylon and into the kingdom of God.

But does this mean that Jesus invites us to condone evil and appease bullies? Absolutely not! Anger at evil deeds is a very natural, very powerful, and very important human emotion; it’s the engine that drives our struggle for social justice. As God’s people in and for the world, we are called to work for justice and resist evil in all its forms. But we must walk a very, very fine line between justice and vengeance. Both of our Scripture passages remind us that only God has a right to vengeance. Jesus reminds us that it is God who makes the sun rise on the evil and on the good, and sends rain on the righteous and on the unrighteous.

We are simply called to take the first step on a long journey. And to be honest with you, in my own personal prayer life, I don’t think that I’m quite to the point where I can earnestly pray for those people who believe that God has called them to maim and kill others in God’s name. But getting to the point where we can love our enemies and pray for those who persecute us is quite clearly a journey. Maybe some of you are up there ahead of me, maybe some of you are still there by the rivers of Babylon. But our destination has quite clearly been marked out for us … to be perfect as our Holy Father is perfect, to love our enemies, to pray for those who persecute us.

I think there is another aspect to the invitation at work here. Jesus’ command to love our enemies and pray for those who persecute us is an invitation to share with Jesus in shattering what some theologians call “the myth of redemptive violence.” This myth says that the ultimate solution to human conflict is through violence. The ancient Israelites certainly seemed to have been familiar with the myth of redemptive violence when they wrote Psalm 137. In the days following September 11, 2001, many of us experienced the depth of the myth of redemptive violence on a very personal level. Our own Georgia Senator, Zell Miller said, “I say bomb the hell out of them. If there is collateral damage, so be it. They certainly found our civilians expendable.” Many of us, myself included, echoed Mr. Miller’s sentiments in those early days of shock and grief. Perhaps some of us still do.

But in his command to love our enemies and pray for those who persecute us, Jesus invites us to join with him in shattering that myth of redemptive violence. At the time of his arrest, which was a logical time to “fight back,” Jesus refused to be subject to the myth of redemptive violence. When one of the disciples took a sword and cut off the ear of the high priest’s slave, Jesus rebuked him, saying that those who live by the sword will die by the sword. And in the very next sentence, he went on to say, “Do you think that I cannot appeal to my Father, and he will at once send me more than twelve legions of angels? But how then would the scriptures be fulfilled, which say it must happen in this way?” Jesus very clearly and very intentionally chose the way of nonviolence.

And the next afternoon, while hanging from the cross, Jesus spoke words that embody his complete and ultimate resistance to the myth of redemptive violence: “Father, forgive them, for they do not know what they are doing.” On the cross, in his climatic moment of nonviolent resistance, Jesus sought forgiveness for and reconciliation with the very enemies who participated in his crucifixion. In real terms, Jesus loved his enemies, and prayed for those who were persecuting him.

Some 2,000 years later, here we sit in front of the cross. Jesus took what was once a symbol of political domination, suffering, and death, and turned it into a symbol of hope, love, and peace. In his suffering, death, and resurrection, Jesus shattered the myth of redemptive violence, and he invites us to join him by loving our enemies and praying for those who persecute us.

Friends, this loving our enemies business is not easy. These kinds of and bring up all sorts of theological questions and issues, and these are things that I struggle with mightily.

Remember, Jesus’ command to love our enemies and pray for those who persecute us is spoken in love. Jesus words are an invitation, an invitation to move beyond the waters of Babylon, to move beyond the myth of redemptive violence. Some of us are far along on that journey, and some are just beginning. But all that matters is where we are going. We are going into perfection. We are going into the new creation that is brought before us in the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus Christ our Lord.
Amen.

Listening to Church

2005-09-07T21:05:00.000-05:00

Have you ever sat in a church on a weeknight and just listened?

(OK, I know I'm weird, but stick with me on this.)

Tonight, I thought I was supposed to be at church for the kickoff for the fall WOW program (Word on Wednesdays). Problem was, it got moved to next week, and it looks like I was the only one who didn't get the message. So I drove the 22 miles out there after a long day at school to sit in my office.

But since I was already there, I sat down at my computer to work on my sermon for Sunday. And as I sat and started at a blank Microsoft Word document (a truly terrifying sight) and waited for divine inspiration, I suddenly became aware of the sounds around me.

A group of parents and youth were down the hall brainstorming for a mission trip to Costa Rica. I could hear their laughter and excited tones.

Downstairs, an Alcoholics Anonymous meeting got underway.

And then, next door to my office, the choir got cranked up. (And judging by that last chord, they need to keep practicing.)

And I just sat there, listening to church. Listening to faithful people doing faithful things. Some laughing. Some singing. Some crying. All in God's house on a Wednesday night.

Experiencing the Word Through Music

2005-09-04T16:18:00.000-05:00

This morning, Amy and I worshiped together at Central Presbyterian Church in downtown Atlanta. Much of the day's liturgy and prayers were centered on our friends and neighbors in areas affected by Katrina.

I've pasted below the text of a hymn that the church commissioned just this week. I was amazed and moved by the way in which I encountered God's Word in music today.

"As the Waters Rise Around Us"
Text: Mary Louise Bringle, 2005, Copyright 2005 GIA Publications, Inc.
Tune: BRYN CALFARIA
Music: William Owen, 1852
Harmony: Christian Hymns, 1977

As the waters rise around us and the winds rage overhead;
as destruction's wake confouds us with its toll of mounting dead:
Lord, have mercy. Lord, have mercy. Lord have mercy.
Hear Your people's yearning cry. Hear your people's yearning cry.

Numb with grief, our hearts are heavy, seeking courage to endure,
as the harshest cost is levied on the poorest of the poor.
Lord, have mercy. Lord, have mercy. Lord, have mercy.
Hear Your people's yearning cry. Hear your people's yearning cry.

Homes and city streets are ravaged. Looters raid for selfish gain.
Human creatures, newly savage, profit from each other's pain.
Lord, have mercy. Lord, have mercy. Lord, have mercy.
Hear Your people's yearning cry. Hear your people's yearning cry.

Gracious God, Your strong compassion stilled the storm and parted seas.
Calm our fears, help us refashion worlds of justice, hope, and peace.
Lord, have mercy. Lord, have mercy. Lord, have mercy.
Hear Your people's yearning cry. Hear your people's yearning cry.

Blown Away

2005-08-31T14:37:00.000-05:00

That's how I feel today. Blown away.

There is no one to blame. There are no fingers to point.

Insurance agenst will call Katrina "an act of God." But I wonder, what sort of God acts like this?

The truth is, I don't know. And that's what frustrates me and makes me sad and angry all at the same time.

It makes no sense. My modern side wants to be able to rationalize it, to explain it, to justify it, but I can't.

I am reminded of Psalm 88. I have pasted it below in the NRSV version.

1 O LORD, God of my salvation, when, at night, I cry out in your presence,
2 let my prayer come before you; incline your ear to my cry.
3 For my soul is full of troubles, and my life draws near to Sheol.
4 I am counted among those who go down to the Pit; I am like those who have no help,
5 like those forsaken among the dead, like the slain that lie in the grave, like those whom you remember no more, for they are cut off from your hand.
6 You have put me in the depths of the Pit, in the regions dark and deep.
7 Your wrath lies heavy upon me, and you overwhelm me with all your waves. Selah
8 You have caused my companions to shun me; you have made me a thing of horror to them. I am shut in so that I cannot escape;
9 my eye grows dim through sorrow. Every day I call on you, O LORD; I spread out my hands to you.
10 Do you work wonders for the dead? Do the shades rise up to praise you? Selah
11 Is your steadfast love declared in the grave, or your faithfulness in Abaddon?
12 Are your wonders known in the darkness, or your saving help in the land of forgetfulness?
13 But I, O LORD, cry out to you; in the morning my prayer comes before you.
14 O LORD, why do you cast me off? Why do you hide your face from me?
15 Wretched and close to death from my youth up, I suffer your terrors; I am desperate.
16 Your wrath has swept over me; your dread assaults destroy me.
17 They surround me like a flood all day long; from all sides they close in on me.
18 You have caused friend and neighbor to shun me; my companions are in darkness.

The psalmist was blown away, too. There are no answers here. There is no resolution to the lament.

Walter Brueggemann calls this psalm "an embarrassment to conventional faith." It doesn't fit in any neat little box of systematic theology. But it's there in our canon nonetheless.

There are times when life makes no sense. But the psalmist reminds us that sometimes, all we can do is keep praying, keep speaking our laments. Sometimes, in the face of unspeakable loss and grief, prayer is a tremendous act of faith in and of itself.

The View From the Pews

2005-08-29T09:19:00.000-05:00

Yesterday, I did something I haven't done since May 22.

I sat in the pews.

And they weren't just any pews. They were the pews at Custer Road United Methodist Church in Plano, Texas. They were the pews that I "grew up" in.

That is the church I was confirmed in. That is the church where I sang in the choir, played in the band, served on the youth council. That is the church where I first began to sense that God had a claim on my life, and I first began to articulate my own sense of faith.

It was totally weird to be there again.

The church is in the process of renovating the sanctuary and installing a pipe organ, so worship was held in the fellowship hall. Twelve years ago, I played basketball in that space.

But it wasn't just the space that was strange.

I struggled mightily during the worship service. All summer, I have been a worship planner and leader -- a "chief." Yesterday, I was a "tribesman" again. But I had the hardest time getting myself out of "chief" mode.

The pastor refered to the Table as "the altar." (GASP!) There were no confessional statements or assurances of pardon. (OH DEAR!) And perhaps the greatest blasphemy of all, at least to my Presbyterian sensitivites, was that the offering was collected before the Scripture reading and the sermon. (OH, THE HUMANITY!)

There's a saying that doctors make the worst patients. I think I understood that a little more clearly yesterday.

What made it worse, though, was that I could feel myself making a mental catalogue of everything I would have done differently, and I knew it was distracting me from just relaxing and worshiping, but I had the hardest time stopping myself.

So I started mentally kicking myself, which only made it worse. Amy noticed, and asked me what was wrong, but I just brushed her off and kept right on steaming.

But right when I was getting to the boiling point, right when I felt like I couldn't ever sit in the pews again, right when I was ready to have myself committed, a little grace came my way.

Rev. Tim Morrison, the Music Minister at the church, whom I have known since I was in the ninth grade, whom I credit as one of the few important "faith voices" in my life, gave the sermon.

It wasn't so much what he said. It was how he said it. His was a voice that I knew and remembered. He was funny. He was poigniant. He brought God's Word to God's people in that time and in that place. He was just Tim being Tim, using the gifts that God has so clearly given him. And he brought a little grace to me.

And then, when it was over, the congregation sang The Closing Hymn. It's the same Closing Hymn that the congregation has sung since forever. It's The Closing Hymn that everyone knows by heart. It's The Closing Hymn that everyone belts out, loud and joyous and triumphant.

And that strange old basketball gym/fellowship hall became a sanctuary for me again. And I joined my voice and belted out the song.

I was singing so loudly that I almost didn't notice a figure coming down to our row.

In front of all these people, belting out Lift High the Cross, Tim came down from the chancel to our row. He apologetically shuffled his way past the people standing on the end of our row, crawled his way over to me, and gave me a huge bear hug.

He said, "It's great to see you, I just wanted to hug you in case I didn't get a chance after worship."

A little grace. A big hug. And a chance to sit in the pews again.

Mission

2005-08-27T16:48:00.000-05:00

Greetings from the Lone Star State!

Yesterday, Amy and I went with our good friends Joe and Sarah to visit Mission San Jose in San Antonio, Texas. The mission is one of six that Spanish Franciscans founded in south Texas in the 18th century.

The church (pictured above) is absolutely beautiful. As we walked the long center aisle, I could almost hear the voices of those saints who have long since departed. The place resonated with history -- it just looked like what you'd expect a mission church to look like.

And it's still in use today. The Diocese of San Antonio still owns the church, and a congregation worships there regularly. If you look closely, you can see hints of modernity here and there: electric light bulbs are discretely hidden above the doorways; Bose speakers blend in with the chancel walls.

But outside the church, we passed row after row of "Indian housing" -- small tenements where the Spanish monks forcibly imposed their culture, language, and customs on a people who had been living in the land for thousands of years.

It was a strange juxtaposition -- this beautiful, hallowed place of worship, yet surrounded by a place of sadness and loss.

Was it God's will that the Spanish Franciscans "civilize" the Indians and "convert" them to Christianity? Must one "convert" at the expense of one's culture and customs? Is God still at work, even when we use our churches to support our nations' notions of empire?

What lessons of mission and evangelism can today's church learn from the stories of the Spanish missions?

I don't have any good answers right now. These are just some of the questions I'm wrestling with.

Grace and peace,
Ryan

Still Waiting

2005-08-23T19:17:00.000-05:00

You know the saying that no news is good news? I think that's a bunch of crap.

The news we were waiting on didn't come today. So now Amy and I will go to Texas in the morning, and we will wait in another time zone.

God, I could use some patience, please. I seem to be fresh out.

Today, I went with Amy to volunteer at the Outreach and Advocacy Center in downtown Atlanta. It's a ministry of Central Presbyterian Church that provides Atlanta's homeless and near-homeless population a place to get some food, subway tokens, and a cool place to sit and use the bathroom or phone.

My job today was to work in the food pantry. It was my job to greet each person, offer them a choice of juice or coffee and two donuts or a danish.

We opened the window at 10:00 and started serving. There wasn't a lull at the window until 11:45. A solid stream of people passed my little window, and at times, the line was all the way down the hall and back again.

People waited in line for over an hour for a small cup of juice and some day-old donuts. Some were polite and smiled as I greeted them. Some were not. Some were absorbed in their own worlds. Some didn't want to wait, and came up with all kinds of excuses as to why they should get to the front of the line sooner than others. (I'm a diabetic, I have a bus to catch, etc.) But all of them waited.

What choice did they have?

To not wait was to go thirsty on a day when the heat was stiffling and oppressive.

To not wait was to go hungry, maybe even until tomorrow.

Waiting.

Waiting for a little refreshment.

Waiting for news.

What choice do we have?

Waiting

2005-08-22T15:59:00.000-05:00

Right now, I'm waiting on some news. It was supposed to come today. It's 5:00. It doesn't look like it's coming today.

I sure hope it comes tomorrow. Wednesday, Amy and I are leaving town for an eight day trip through Texas, and I'd rather not be waiting in another time zone.

I've never been good at waiting. (I'm a lousy fisherman for that very reason.)
This waiting is especially hard, because I'm not sure if the news is good or not.

There's nothing I can do to speed it up. And that's the worst part -- being totally helpless.

I guess I need to remember my Reformed theology .... God is large and in charge.

Still, waiting sucks.

More Thoughts On Language Barriers

2005-08-11T15:45:00.000-05:00

The week before last, I was teaching our church's Wednesday morning Bible study class. I asked the class, "What happens when we worship?"

I was surprised at how quickly I lost control of the conversation. I was expecting (and ready to discuss) deep, theological answers, but instead, the group began talking about all these "new churches" in town that use screens and projectors in worship.

Then, someone else mentioned the Passing of the Peace. The basic sentiment of the group was that it totally disrupts the flow of the worship service. It shatters the quiet reverence, and instead of passing the peace, people talk about last night's ballgame or where they've got lunch reservations.

One of the members of the group suggested that we move the Passing of the Peace to the end of the service. It seemed more like a "natural fit" there.

I responded by saying, "Bear in mind that I'm pretty wet behind the ears and there is a lot that I don't know, but it seems to me that the Passing of the Peace is attached to the Confession of Sin and the Assurance of Pardon. Once we've confessed our sins and been reminded that we are forgiven, we turn to one another and say 'It's OK. Your sins are forgiven. The peace of Christ be with you.'"

Now, each of the people in the class have been worshiping at this church for at least a decade, but to a person, they each claimed that they had never heard that before. And after we had discussed the reasons for that particular flow in the liturgy, they all agreed that it makes sense for the Passing of the Peace to come after the Confession and Assurance of Pardon.

Once again, I was struck by how we preachers and liturgists assume that the people know exactly what we're doing in the liturgy and why. We are so immersed in the language and flow of liturgy that we just assume that everyone knows why we do things the way we do them. And you know what they say about assuming.

This conversation was an important reminder for me about the importance of worship education. We pastors and worship leaders need to be sure that we're using liturgy as effectively as we can to enhance the collective worship expereince of our congregations.

Language Barriers

2005-08-10T11:09:00.000-05:00

On Saturday night, our friend Casey Thompson dropped by for an impromptu visit. Casey graduated from Columbia in May and has been serving Idlewild Presbyterian Church in Memphis.

I asked Casey what has been the biggest surprise about "life on the outside" of seminary. He said that in seminary, we learn this new vocabulary and new way of looking at the world, and it changes our lives in profound ways. Then, we get out into the "real world," and we discover that no one else talks or thinks that way, except other pastors.

I experienced some of this last night at a meeting of our church's Administrative Council. The church is in the process of hiring two new staff members, and the meeting discussion naturally turned to salaries and budgets. Tom (my supervisor) spoke in terms of "making a faithful step" and "investing in ministry," and most of the members of the council spoke in terms of "profit centers" and "costs versus benefits."

I am glad for the brief experience I had in the corporate world. It gave me a business vocabulary and an understanding of how businesses operate and how buisness people analyze problems.

But I am also glad for the new language and the new viewpoints I have been learning in seminary, and for the chance to remember that God is not bound by balance sheets and income statements.

That is not to say that I think the church should ignore its budget or dismiss it as unimportant. I am very aware that the church budget is what puts groceries on my table right now.

But I am also conscious of the fact that even the church's books have been soaked in the waters of baptism; the church's resources do not belong to the church, but to God. I think that God expects us to be good stewards of those resources, and to leverage them in ways that will best serve God's kingdom.

The Sea Is So Big And Our Boat Is So Small

2005-08-06T22:05:00.000-05:00

Here is the sermon that I will preach in the morning. This one didn't come easy. I thought preaching about Jesus walking on the water would be easy. But I struggled with this one, and I didn't get it to where I like it until about 10 minutes ago. I humbly offer it to you.

Grace and peace,
Ryan

“The Sea Is So Big and Our Boat Is So Small”
Matthew 14:22-33
August 7, 2005 - Nineteenth Sunday in Ordinary Time
Conyers Presbyterian Church
Ryan J. Baer

Matthew 14:22-33 (NRSV) 22 Immediately he made the disciples get into the boat and go on ahead to the other side, while he dismissed the crowds. 23 And after he had dismissed the crowds, he went up the mountain by himself to pray. When evening came, he was there alone, 24 but by this time the boat, battered by the waves, was far from the land, for the wind was against them. 25 And early in the morning he came walking toward them on the sea. 26 But when the disciples saw him walking on the sea, they were terrified, saying, "It is a ghost!" And they cried out in fear. 27 But immediately Jesus spoke to them and said, "Take heart, it is I; do not be afraid." 28 Peter answered him, "Lord, if it is you, command me to come to you on the water." 29 He said, "Come." So Peter got out of the boat, started walking on the water, and came toward Jesus. 30 But when he noticed the strong wind, he became frightened, and beginning to sink, he cried out, "Lord, save me!" 31 Jesus immediately reached out his hand and caught him, saying to him, "You of little faith, why did you doubt?" 32 When they got into the boat, the wind ceased. 33 And those in the boat worshiped him, saying, "Truly you are the Son of God."

For spring break of my senior year of high school, my Dad surprised my Mom and me with a family vacation. We went on a cruise to the Bahamas aboard Carnival Cruise Line’s “Fantasy.” Now, when most of us think about cruises, we think about beautiful sunsets and peaceful, tranquil waters. But the first few days of our cruise were anything but. A storm had brewed up off the coast of Florida, and the wind and the waves tossed the 10-story cruise ship around like it was a toy in a bathtub. I knew it was bad when I saw some of the crew members getting seasick. It was definitely a trip my family will never forget.

When our Bible passage opens this morning, the disciples are in for a rough ride on the high seas, too. Only they’re not riding in style in a 10-story cruise ship, but in a small, wooden fishing boat. And their boat isn’t lit up like New York City at night; they can barely see each other as their boat struggles against the wind.

Now remember, most of these men were experienced sailors and fishermen. They had been through their share of storms, and even though the wind and waves were against them, they managed to make some progress in their journey. But it was slow going, and I imagine that they might have been a little tired, and maybe even a little irritable with one another. Mark’s gospel tells us that it was during the fourth watch of the night, sometime between 3 and 6 a.m. Now, as some of our youth can tell you, I’m not an especially pleasant person to be around during those hours, especially when I’ve been traveling all day, and I can’t imagine that the disciples were to much fun to be around, either.

So there the disciples are, struggling to make their way, tired, irritable, and barely able to see as the boat pitches and rolls in the wind and the waves. Suddenly, something appears on the horizon. The disciples all strain to see what it is. Even though these men are salty sailors, navigating rough seas at night is dangerous business, and anything out of the ordinary immediately causes tension. Then, when the disciples see that is a man, walking on the water towards them, they really start to panic, and they cry out in their fear. In just a few short verses, the disciples have moved from fatigue and irritation to terror and fear.

It dawned on me as I studied this passage this week that we have a lot in common with those disciples floating around in that boat. Last week, this congregation celebrated its 145th birthday. 145 years of ministry. 145 years of worship. 145 years of mission. Some of us are salty sailors, and we have been at this for a long time. Some of us, like me, been in this boat for just a few weeks. Some of us may be a little fatigued, some of us may be getting a little irritable with one another. Some of us may disagree on which direction we should be sailing. We’re definitely a long way from where we started back in 1860. But one thing is for sure, we’re all in this little boat together, aren’t we?

And as we buck and pitch out here on the sea, we remember the prayer of the mariner. “Lord, be with us, for the sea is so big and our boat is so small.” We feel every crashing wave, every shrieking gust. The way ahead of us is dark and it’s sometimes hard to see where we’re going. Yes, we’ve been sent forth by Jesus, on a God-given mission, but sometimes it seems like every force is against us.

As I mentioned last week, I’ve been reading a book by Chuck Campbell called “The Word Before the Powers: An Ethic of Preaching.” Dr. Campbell claims that the life of Christian discipleship can be characterized as an act of non-violent resistance to the powers and the domination systems, those things that reduce the value and sanctity of humanity. And as I studied this text this week, I realized that a very strong power is at work in this story. And the name of that power is fear.

For the first time in Matthew’s gospel, the disciples have been sent ahead, without Jesus, and as their journey begins, they are a bit fearful. And as the winds pick up and the waves grow larger and the night wears on, their fear grows exponentially larger. And by the time they spot Jesus walking towards them, they are almost completely consumed by their fear.

Folks, I haven’t been around here very long, but I consider it an incredible privilege to serve this congregation. I have been moved by God’s Holy Spirit as we have celebrated the sacraments together, we have worked in mission together, we have fellowshipped together, and we have lived and learned together in this community of faith. God is truly at work in this congregation and in this community.

But I have also seen a few waves of fear crashing around in this city and in this congregation. I’ve seen waves of fear as this city shifts from a tranquil small town into a full-blown urban center. I’ve seen waves of fear as the faces in the community change and realtors talk about neighborhoods “in transition.”

And even though I’ve only been around here 10 weeks, I’ve seen waves of fear in this congregation. I’ve seen waves of fear as this church searches for staffing and direction for its children and music programs. I’ve seen waves of fear as the members of this church take a look at the buildings and the full parking lots of other churches in town and wonders what we must be doing wrong.

And truth be told, I was drowning in fear this week. As most of you know, Pastor Sparks was out of town all week, and so the college students and I planned today’s entire liturgy. I was fearful of what you might say to your neighbors when you walked into the church and saw a projector and a screen in the chancel. I was fearful of what you might be murmuring as we processed into the sanctuary with the communion elements. I was fearful of what you might think when we sang a few songs that aren’t in the blue hymnals. I was fearful of the e-mails and phone messages that Tom might find waiting for him on Monday morning.

Yes, fear is a very strong power. Fear wants to paralyze us, to leave us sitting in the bottom of the boat with our eyes shut, just trying to hang on. Fear doesn’t want us to embrace the new and different faces in our community. Fear wants us to think there is something seriously wrong with this church, and that it’s all our fault. Fear wants us to never try new things in our worship life together. Fear wants us to stay right where we are, hunkered down, shaking and trembling as the waves continue to beat on our little boat.

But, Jesus will have none of it. Listen to the words he spoke to the disciples in that boat. “Take heart. It is I. Do not be afraid.” Listen to the words he speaks to Conyers Presbyterian Church. “Take heart. It is I. Do not be afraid.” Listen to the words he spoke to me this week. “Take heart. It is I. Do not be afraid.”

But let’s be honest. Sometimes Jesus’ voice is awfully hard to hear over the crash of the waves and the roar of the wind. Sometimes we’ve really got to strain to hear that voice.
A pastor from Clemson, South Carolina, told me a story about a country boy from the low country of South Carolina who made a trip to New York City to see a friend. When the country boy arrived in New York City, his friend took him out to see the sights. They were walking along the streets of Manhattan, when the country boy stopped in his tracks. “What is it?” said his friend. “I hear a cricket.” said the country boy. “How can you hear a cricket?” said his friend. “All I hear is car horns and people hollering and noise.” But the country boy bent down next to a row of shrubs, and sure enough, there was a cricket chirping away. “How did you hear that?” said his friend. “Because I was listening for it,” said the country boy.

What are we listening for? Are we listening for those voices that say “There goes the neighborhood” when a new family moves in down the block? Are we listening for those voices that say “This church is dying a slow death, and I’m getting out while the getting is good.” Am I listening for those voices that say “You dare not try anything new in a worship service?” Or are we listening for the voice of Jesus? “Take heart. It is I. Do not be afraid.” Can you hear it?

Well, if you’re not sure, you’re not alone. Our friend Peter had his doubts, too. But Peter had just enough courage to resist the power of fear. He had just enough courage to lift up his tired head and look out over the waves and see Jesus standing there. He had just enough courage to say, “Lord, if it is really you, command me to come to you on the water.” Jesus said, “Come.” Peter had just enough courage to get up out of the boat and begin to walk on the water. For a moment, Peter walked on the wavetops. For a moment, Peter stood on top of the chaos of the sea. For a moment, Peter had totally overcome the power of fear.

But you remember what happened. Peter suddenly remembered the wind and the waves. Suddenly, he remembered that humans don’t walk on water. Suddenly, he forgot that he was Jesus’ beloved, and remembered that he was just a simple fisherman, a nobody from nowhere. Suddenly, he stopped resisting the power of fear, and he dropped into the water like a sack of bricks.

And drowning in fear, Peter cried out to Jesus, and Jesus rescued him immediately. Jesus mildly rebuked Peter, and said, “You of little faith, why did you doubt?” I think Jesus has no patience for the paralyzing power of fear. In other words, Jesus said to Peter, why did you fear? Why did you stop resisting? You were doing fine! You were walking on water, for crying out loud! Keep resisting! Don’t pay attention to the waves, pay attention to me!

Peter illustrated a concept that hang-glider pilots call “target fixation.” I’ve never been hang-gliding, but a friend of mine explained it this way: if you keep your eyes on your landing zone, your body will naturally make the adjustments necessary for you to have a successful landing. But if you start staring at the rocks and the trees, you probably aren’t going to like the results.

That’s the challenge for us as we buck and pitch out here on the wind and the waves, isn’t it? To stay focused on the target. To listen for that familiar voice, to believe those familiar words. “Take heart. It is I. Do not be afraid.” To keep sailing, keep working together. To trust and believe that the day is coming when Jesus will stand in the midst of us, and the winds will become dead still, the sea will become as smooth as glass, and we will fall down and worship him, and saying, “Truly you are the Son of God.” Amen.

Two Banquets

2005-07-30T17:47:00.000-05:00

This blogging thing makes for good sermon material! Here is the sermon I will preach in the morning. You may notice some familiar material from this blog and Amy's.

I welcome your comments and feedback.

Grace and peace,
Ryan

18th Sunday in Ordinary Time
Conyers Presbyterian Church
Ryan J. Baer

Matthew 14:13-21 (NRSV) 13 Now when Jesus heard this, he withdrew from there in a boat to a deserted place by himself. But when the crowds heard it, they followed him on foot from the towns. 14 When he went ashore, he saw a great crowd; and he had compassion for them and cured their sick. 15 When it was evening, the disciples came to him and said, "This is a deserted place, and the hour is now late; send the crowds away so that they may go into the villages and buy food for themselves." 16 Jesus said to them, "They need not go away; you give them something to eat." 17 They replied, "We have nothing here but five loaves and two fish." 18 And he said, "Bring them here to me." 19 Then he ordered the crowds to sit down on the grass. Taking the five loaves and the two fish, he looked up to heaven, and blessed and broke the loaves, and gave them to the disciples, and the disciples gave them to the crowds. 20 And all ate and were filled; and they took up what was left over of the broken pieces, twelve baskets full. 21 And those who ate were about five thousand men, besides women and children.

I want to tell you a story about two banquets this morning.

The first story is about a birthday party for a king. Well, he’s sort of a king. He has some authority over his people, but his land has been occupied by the Roman empire for quite some time now, and they’re the ones that really call the shots. But as long as the king makes sure that his people pay their taxes on time and don’t cause a ruckus, he gets to have a pretty sweet life. This king is not a very nice king. In fact, he’s been fooling around with his brother’s wife. And there’s this pesky guy named John the Baptist who has been telling him that he ought not to be doing such things. The king wants to rub this John the Baptist guy out, but he’s afraid to, because his people view him as a prophet. So instead the king arrests him and has him thrown in jail.

Well, the king has a birthday party, and he invites all the power players and the big wigs in the land to come to his banquet. And the featured entertainment at this banquet is his niece, the daughter of his brother’s wife. And as she dances and prances for all the powerful men in the room, the king starts thinking that he might like to fool around with her, too. So in front of all his friends, the king tells his niece that he will give her anything she wants, anything at all.

Well, the niece’s mother, the king’s sister-in-law, the woman the king has been fooling around with, wasn’t very happy that this John the Baptist guy had been butting into her love affair with the king, so she tells her daughter to ask the king for John the Baptist’s head on a platter. The king doesn’t really want to do this, but now he has painted himself into a corner. He has made a solemn oath to this girl in front of all the power players and big wigs in the land, and he knows that he must go through with it to save face. So when the servants bring out the dessert, they also bring out John the Baptist’s head on a platter.

The second banquet looks very different. It’s being held out by the lake, in a deserted, secluded little spot. And instead of a few powerful men gathered around a fancy dining table, thousands and thousands of men, women, and children are sitting on the grass. Instead of dancing girls for entertainment, the crowd has been listening to a preacher by the name of Jesus, and he has been healing their sick, their injured, and their hurting. The food is a simple meal of bread and fish, but there is plenty to go around. And that’s a good thing, because some of these people haven’t had full bellies in a really long time.

There are no servants carrying dishes back and forth to the kitchen, but Jesus’ disciples are coming around with baskets, picking up leftovers. And the disciples are whispering to one another. “Praise God! I can’t believe we fed all these people with just five measly loaves of bread and two scrawny little fish,” says one. “I know,” says another. “When Jesus told us to bring him what we had, I thought that it was just ridiculous. I thought there was no way my crummy little loaf of bread would make a difference.”

Two banquets. One serving sharp pieces of domination, lust, intrigue, and death. And another offering up heaping servings of grace, love, mercy, and healing.

Lately, I have been reading a book by Chuck Campbell called The Word Before the Powers: An Ethic of Preaching. I haven’t made it very far into the book, but one of the things that Dr. Campbell articulates is that the life of Christian discipleship can be characterized as a resistance to the powers, against the domination systems, against the things in the world that reduce the value and sanctity of humanity.

I think that the banquet that took place by the lake was an act of resistance against the powers. Jesus was hurting. His cousin, his friend, his colleague in ministry, had been brutally murdered. The Gospel of Matthew tells us that when Jesus heard the news about John the Baptists’ death, he withdrew in a boat to go to a deserted place by himself, but when he got there, the crowds were there waiting for him. But instead of finding another place to go, or getting angry and rebuking the crowds, Jesus had compassion for them and cured their sick. An act of resistance.

And that wasn’t the only act of resistance that took place at that banquet by the lake. The disciples were tired, too. They had endured many emotional highs and lows, and they were ready to call it a day. When they mentioned to Jesus that it was getting late and they ought to send the crowds away to buy some dinner, Jesus told them that they would give them something to eat. The disciples looked at one another and informed Jesus that among them, all they had were five measly loaves of bread and two scrawny fish. Jesus said, “Bring them here to me.” And the disciples turned them over to Jesus. That was an act of resistance right there. Hungry and tired as they were, they trusted and believed in Jesus enough to fork over their dinner to him and wait to see what would happen next.

Two weeks ago, Amy and I had the unique privilege of serving as Small Group Leaders at the Montreat Middle School Youth Conference at Presbyterian College in South Carolina. A cool thing happened during the Saturday night worship service. We collected an offering to be shared between a Presbyterian home for children and for disaster relief in the Sudan. What was cool was the way in which the offering was collected.

Instead of passing plates, a few youth were stationed around the room with baskets. And instead of just walking forward to bring our offering, the preacher invited us to dance to the music as we came forward. It was loud. It was boisterous. It was "disorderly." And it was awesome. Over 600 people danced their way down the ailes to the offering baskets. Instead of bread, youth brought their allowance and candy money. Instead of fish, adult leaders cleaned out the change pockets of their purses. I’ll admit, it didn’t look like much in the baskets. But when all was said and done, those few hundred youth and few dozen adult leaders had collected an offering of $2,542.90.

Now, before you get nervous, know that I am not going to ask you to dance your way to the offering plate. At least not today. But as I danced and clapped and watched people bringing their offerings, I realized that our liturgy of dancing our offering down the aisle was a great act of resistance against the powers. The joy with which it was brought forth was a powerful statement against those voices in the world that say “You're not making a difference, why bother?” It was an act of resistance against the voices that say “We've got enough problems to deal with right here in the U.S., so why care about those people over in Sudan?” It was an act of resistance, and it was awesome.

As I studied this text this week, I discovered that there has been much speculation about whether or not this event known as the “Feeding of the 5,000” really happened. Some scholars have suggested that people were so moved by Jesus’ healing that they shared what food they had with one another. Still others suggest that the bread and fish were divided up into very small little pieces, and the crowds were fed in a spiritual sense, much like our modern communion liturgies. I wasn’t really sure what to make of this, until Amy shared a story with me.

As some of you may know, Amy works at the Outreach and Advocacy Center of Central Presbyterian Church in downtown Atlanta. Every weekday, the Outreach Center helps people with food, shelter, medical care, job placement, and other basic human services needs. This week, a young woman came to the Center with her two month old baby boy. The Center assisted the woman with several needs, but she had one need they couldn’t fill – she needed baby formula. She was feeding the baby her last bottle of baby formula and needed more.

After consulting with this young woman for an hour and a half, trying desperately to find a resource for baby formula for her hungry little baby, Amy finally sent her to the food pantry for diapers and baby wipes instead. Amy had called every place she could think of…the United Way, the hospitals, a pregnancy resource center…nothing. There were no answers as to how this woman was going to feed her sweet, innocent, little baby.

So, Amy spent the rest of Monday frustrated and agitated. Amy wondered how the Center could be doing its job if it couldn’t give an answer to a young mother and her starving baby? Amy spent most of Monday afternoon complaining to Robert, the full-time food pantry volunteer, about how awful it was that they couldn’t help this family or at least send her to someone who could. After all, baby formula just isn’t something you think about when you think of food pantries…peanut butter and canned goods are more likely to come to mind.

Robert couldn’t remember having baby formula on hand in the pantry in a really long time, if at all. The center doesn’t stock it in the pantry and people rarely donate items like that. So, on Tuesday, the Center went about its usual routine until about 10:30 when Robert came barreling into the office carrying four cans of baby formula. “You’re not going to believe this,” he said. “I was just up at the church office and, out of the blue, someone just donated all of this baby food and baby formula. It's a miracle!”

None of the Center workers could believe it. It WAS indeed a miracle. Amy contacted the family and asked them to come back to the Center, which they did, to everyone’s delight and rejoicing. I don’t know for certain that the “Feeding of the 5,000” really happened the way it’s presented in Matthew’s Gospel, but I know that God is still at work in the world. I know that somewhere in Atlanta this morning, a mother is feeding her two-month-old baby boy a bottle of formula that was made with love and grace. I know for certain that the Outreach and Advocacy Center is a place where people are fed, where the powers of homelessness, of hunger, and disillusionment are resisted every single day.

Every day, we are invited to two banquets, aren’t we? One banquet invites us to the table based on our adjusted gross income, on the kind car we drive, on what kind of clothes we wear, on what kind of connections we have. The host of this banquet says that it’s OK if you have to step on or over a few people to get to the table. The host of this banquet says that once you get your serving, you’d better hang on to it by whatever means are necessary, because those people might be trying to take what’s yours. The entertainment at this banquet is made up of inappropriate expressions of sexuality, of violence, and death.

But the host of the other banquet invites us to the table based simply on who and whose we are. There are no other entry requirements. Our host invites us to come with open hands, to bring whatever we have, no matter how small or insignificant, to share with our friends and neighbors, and yes, even our enemies. Instead of entertainment, we will find healing of the sick, the injured, and the hurting. And for dessert, we will have heaping servings of God’s grace. Amen.

"I Know That He Still Loves Me"

2005-07-27T16:38:00.000-05:00

This afternoon, Tom (my supervising pastor) and I made a few visits to our "shut-ins" -- those folks in our church family who for whatever reason aren't able to leave their homes and attend church services.

One visit was particularly poignant to me. This elderly woman lives in an assisted living center. Her husband is in the hospital and about to be moved to hospice care. He will likely die in the next few days or weeks. In January, the couple celebrated their 68th wedding anniversary.

As we visited, I asked her to tell me the story of how she and her husband met. They literally have known each other their entire lives. They were neighbors growing up in rural Georgia; their family farmsteads were a mile apart. They grew up riding the school bus together.

I commented to her that I have only been married for a little over three years, and I asked her if she had any advice to give.

She said, "Well, I don't have any advice, but I can tell you that he knows that I still love him, and I know that he still loves me."

As we drove on to our next appointment, I pondered her words. Amost seven decades of married life! I'm guessing that theirs has not been a perfect marriage. I am sure they have stressed over bills, had their differences about inlaws and parenting, and been irritated by one another, just like the rest of us.

Paul says that love endures all things, bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things. Almost seven decades of married life, and even as one begins to prepare for the journey into the next life, they still know that they love each other.

As Paul said, "Now these three remain: faith, hope, and love. But the greatest of these is love."

Dancing Our Offering

2005-07-25T11:14:00.000-05:00

Yesterday, Amy and I returned from the Montreat Middle School Conference. The past two weeks have been a blur for me.

I have seen high school youth break down in tears as they share their emotional scars with one another. I have seen the Word proclaimed in new and interesting ways, and I have seen the Word responded to with enthusiasm and joy (including a few standing ovations!). I have played Ultimate Frisbee in the mud and rain, I have driven a church van across three states that reeks of fast food wrappers and b.o. and too much Fabreeze, I have sung and danced and clapped my hands so much they hurt. I have led multiple games of "Lemmon Lemmon Lime Lime," I have used more markers and masking tape in the last two weeks than I have in the last ten years, and I even gave a 15 minute extemporaneous mini-lecture on "How the Bible Became the Bible" to a group of 20 middle-schoolers (another post for another day). I don't want to eat another cookie or french fry or Dorito for at least a month. My wife and I have worshiped together, laughed together, and stayed up late worrying about youth we just met 5 days ago. And through it all, I have felt God's Holy Spirit at work in my life and in the lives of those around me. It has truly been a blessed time, and I am glad to be home with new energy and hope for the future of the church.

A cool thing happened at worship on Saturday night at the middle school conference. During worship, we collected an offering to be shared between a Presbyterian home for children and for disaster relief in the Sudan. What was cool was the way in which the offering was collected.

Instead of passing plates, a few youth were stationed around the room with baskets. And instead of just walking forward to bring our offering, the preacher invited us to dance to the music as we came forward. It was loud. It was boisterous. It was "disorderly." And it was awesome. Over 600 people danced their way down the ailes to the offering basket. Youth brought their allowance and candy money. Adult leaders wrote checks, and we collected over $2,500.

Lately, I have been reading Chuck Campbell's book, The Word Before the Powers: An Ethic of Preaching. And I as I danced and clapped and watched people bring their offerings, I realized that our liturgy of dancing our offering down the aisle was a great act of resistance against the powers. The joy with which it was brought forth was a powerful statement against those voices in the world that say "You're not making a difference, why bother?" It was an act of resistance agaist the voices that say "We've got enough problems to deal with right here in the U.S., so why care about Sudan?" It was an act of resistance, and it was awesome.

Gone Again

2005-07-20T08:01:00.000-05:00

Hey folks,

I'm headed off to Presbyterian College this morning for the Middle School Conference. Please keep Amy and me in your prayers!

Peace,
RB

Off the Air

2005-07-08T07:53:00.000-05:00

I will be off the air for the next week or so. Tomorrow, I am going to the Montreat Youth Conference in Montreat, NC, with 12 sr. high youth and only one other adult leader. Please keep us in your prayers!

Grace and peace,
RB

My Big Fat Preacher Ego

2005-07-07T12:41:00.000-05:00

Three times this week, I have had the opportunity to meet with different groups of church members, and on each occasion, someone in the group has offered positive feedback about my sermon from Sunday. Usually the remarks are something like "We sure enjoyed your message on Sunday," or "Congratulations on a great sermon."

On the one hand, I very much enjoy hearing these comments. They're very validating and affirming, and they trigger something inside my heart that makes me want to go sit down and study the Word and write another sermon. And given the amount of study and work that goes into preparing and delivering a sermon, it is very nice to know that people paid attention and took something away that they can still remember on Thursday.

But those comments can be dangerous for me. They're like a little hit of drugs for my ego. (In case you didn't know it, I have a deep desire to be liked and accepted by people. It says so in my psychological profile on file with Grace Presbytery.)

I certainly don't think people mean any harm. I know they have the best intentions, and they want to support and affirm a young preacher like me. And we live in a culture that is conditioned to applaud and reward performance. And I do think thate deep down people are expressing an appreciation for those who share the gifts that God has bestowed in them.

But still, it's dangerous for me.

Suddenly, I start thinking, "Wow, maybe I am a pretty good preacher," and I forget where the glory belongs. I forget that the Word that I am proclaiming has been entrusted to me by God, and that it is God who made the Word, God who gave me eyes to see and ears to hear and fingers to type and a voice to proclaim.

Suddenly, I've made a shift. Instead being of a Proclaimer of the Word, working to resist the powers and the principalities of the world and to show the people glimpses of the kingdom of God, I have turned into some sort of entertainer/motivational speaker, only working for "attaboys" instead of cash tips. By a simple, almost effortless shift in thinking, I have become a "false prophet."

I don't want to be a "false prophet."

To God be the glory, now and forever. Amen.

Called to Freedom

2005-07-02T21:26:00.000-05:00

For what it's worth, here is the sermon I will preach in the morning. The context is a 450-member church in Conyers, Georgia, which is the county seat of Rockdale County. The church building is in Olde Town Conyers, but it draws members from all over Rockdale County. I welcome your comments and feedback.

Grace and peace,
RB

Ryan J. Baer
July 3, 2005 – 14th Sunday in Ordinary Time
Conyers Presbyterian Church
“Called to Freedom”

Genesis 12:1-4 (NRSV) 1 Now the LORD said to Abram, "Go from your country and your kindred and your father's house to the land that I will show you. 2 I will make of you a great nation, and I will bless you, and make your name great, so that you will be a blessing. 3 I will bless those who bless you, and the one who curses you I will curse; and in you all the families of the earth shall be blessed." 4 So Abram went, as the LORD had told him; and Lot went with him. Abram was seventy-five years old when he departed from Haran.

Galatians 5:13-14 (NRSV) For you were called to freedom, brothers and sisters; only do not use your freedom as an opportunity for self-indulgence, but through love become slaves to one another. 14 For the whole law is summed up in a single commandment, "You shall love your neighbor as yourself."

According the church calendar, today is the 14th Sunday in Ordinary Time. But as you have no doubt noticed by now, today is no ordinary Sunday, because tomorrow is no ordinary Monday. Tomorrow marks the 229th birthday of the United States of America. Like many of you, I won’t be in the office tomorrow. Tomorrow evening, Amy and I will be gathering with friends to eat, watch fireworks, and listen to patriotic music. Here we sit less than 400 yards from a county courthouse that sits in one of the original 13 colonies, a symbol of American freedom. Yes, this is no ordinary Sunday. It’s one of those weird intersections between the church calendar and the secular calendar, and I must admit, it created a bit of a dilemma for me this week.

I was torn. Should our worship “stick to the plan” and not acknowledge anything that is “secular?” Or should we acknowledge America’s Independence Day through our entire liturgy? What to do?

While I was pondering all this, I recalled a conversation I was having with some colleagues who are also doing their internships in congregations this summer. I was mentioning to them that I feel like I’ve worn many “hats” this summer. Some of the “hats” I have worn include “Wild Games Station Manager” at Vacation Bible School, Bible study leader, Sunday School teacher, youth advisor, husband, son, friend, student, preacher, and somewhere in there, disciple of Jesus. It dawned on me that when we walk through the doors of the church building, we don’t take off all our “hats.” In fact, I imagine that some of the children from VBS remember me as the guy who taught them the “Three Turkey Buzzards” song.

We certainly don’t stop being husbands, wives, fathers, and mothers when we walk in the church building, and we don’t stop being Americans, either. But as Tom mentioned last week, all of those “hats” that we wear, including those big, goofy Uncle Sam red-white-and-blue stovepipes, are drenched and soaked through and through by the waters of baptism. Before we are anything else, we are daughters and sons of the Lord our God.

One thing that I have discovered in my very young life as a preacher is that you never know where the Holy Spirit might show up. In my case, last week it came to me in the pages of Reader’s Digest, right there on the “Quotable Quotes” page. “What is the essence of our America?” asks Marilyn Vos Savant. “(It is) finding and maintaining that perfect, delicate balance between freedom ‘to’ and freedom ‘from’.”

When I read that quote, Paul’s letter to the churches in Galatia sprang to my mind. Apparently, Paul was very, very upset with the situation in Galatia. You see, Paul had already made one missionary journey to Galatia, and it seems that he felt that things were running smoothly in the churches there when he left. But after Paul departed, some other folks came along and began telling the Gentiles there that in order to become Christians, they first had to be circumcised. Otherwise, they would not be legitimate Christians.

This distressed Paul a great deal, and a major focus of his letter to the Galatians centers on this debate. For Paul, circumcision or uncircumcision no longer mattered. The only thing necessary to become a disciple of Christ was to profess a faith in him. That’s why he writes, “you were called to freedom, brothers and sisters.”

It would be easy to stop reading there, wouldn’t it? We Americans know a lot about freedom, and we’re good at celebrating it, as we should be. But one thing I’ve learned about Scripture is that you’ve got to watch out for those secondary clauses. Paul continues, “only do not use your freedom as an opportunity for self-indulgence, but through love become slaves to one another.” Boy, those are some words that pop up off the page at you, aren’t they? Become slaves to one another. I don’t know about you, but slavery conjures up some pretty nasty images in my mind. It reeks of domination, exploitation, pain, and flat out inhumanity, and it’s one of the saddest chapters in the history of this nation.

But I think Paul has a different notion of slavery here. According to Paul, we are to become slaves to one another through love. If we are slaves to one another, there can be no domination system, can there? The very hierarchy that makes slavery so evil is destroyed if we all become slaves to one another through love. Through Christ’s death on the cross, we have been set free from sin and death to that we might become slaves to one another through love. A balance between freedom from and freedom to.

In our Old Testament text, we find another example of a secondary clause with a punch. God said to Abram, “I will make of you a great nation, and I will bless you, and make your name great, so that you will be a blessing.” I have been fortunate enough to travel to 26 of the 50 states in my life, and I can clearly see that God has blessed and made a great nation out of these United States. And you will notice that in our hymns this morning, we celebrate God’s blessing on our country, as we should.

Listen to the secondary clause again: “I will make of you a great nation, and I will bless you, and make your name great, so that you will be a blessing.” I firmly believe that God has blessed us and made a great nation out America so that we will be a blessing. We live in the richest country in the world, but that blessing is not meant for America’s self indulgence. It is not for America to become a great nation at the expense of the rest of the world. The resources, the freedoms, the blessings that God has bestowed on America are meant to be used so that America might be a blessing to the world. A balance between freedom from and freedom to.

To me, this movement between freedom from and freedom to is what our life as a community of faith is all about. In the waters of baptism, we come to the font to be claimed and marked as Christ’s own forever. And in the waters of baptism, we receive an ordination to ministry in Christ’s service. Yes, that’s right. On the day you were baptized, you were ordained to ministry. You received the free gift of grace at the font so that you might freely choose to serve Christ in all that you do. Freedom from and freedom to.

And here at the Lord’s Table, we will gather as a community of faith to live out the implications of the baptismal covenant. We come to the table to rest, to be fed, and to remember that we are one day closer to God’s heavenly banquet today than we were yesterday. And once we have eaten our fill, we are sent back into the world, refreshed and renewed for Christ’s service. The grace found in the bread of life and the cup of salvation is freely given, so that we might freely love our neighbors as we love ourselves. Freedom from and freedom to.

Tomorrow, on the 229th birthday of the United States of America, we will gather with families and friends to celebrate freedom, as we should. The freedoms that we enjoy in this country are bought at a tremendous price. We owe it to those men and women who paid that price to celebrate and exercise our freedom as Americans so that America might be a blessing to the world.

But today, on the Lord’s Day, on the 14th Sunday in Ordinary Time, let’s come to the table as a community of faith and celebrate the freedom that God has called us to in Jesus Christ. Let’s come to the table not as Americans, not as families, not as husbands or wives or fathers or mothers, but as citizens of heaven and slaves to one another through the love that has been poured out for us in Jesus Christ. Amen.

Saturday Night Insomnia

2005-07-02T20:58:00.000-05:00

I have discovered that being a leader in a congregation requires you to be "on" for several hours on end on Sunday mornings. My typical Sunday morning schedule goes like this:

6:15 -- Wake up, shower, dress
6:50 -- Leave for Conyers
7:20 -- Arrive at Conyers
7:45 -- Worship staff meeting
8:30 -- Early worship service
9:30 -- Teach Sunday School
10:30 -- Fellowship time
10:50 -- Prayer meeting with Session
11:00 -- Late worship service
12:30 -- Finish greeting parishoners, head back to office

So I need some sleep on Saturday night. But it just doesn't come.

A few weeks ago, I had a dream that I had left my manuscript for my sermon back in Decatur, but I didn't realize it until I had climbed into the pulpit. Everybody was just staring at me as I tried to stammer my way through my sermon. I think this is a modification of the dream where you get to school and realize that you have a test that you forgot to study for.

I also have a tendency to wake up in a panic at around 4:30 a.m. thinking that I have slept through the alarm clock.

Tonight will be one of those nights. I got into some poison oak earlier this week, and I took some benadryl this afternoon, which knocked me out for about two hours this afternoon.

I wonder if this will go away as I get more comfortable as a worship leader?

O for 2

2005-06-29T15:24:00.000-05:00

My supervisor Tom is taking a DMin course this week at Columbia Theological Seminary, so I am the "pastor on call" to handle hospital visits and any pastoral emergencies.

This morning, our church secretary let me know that one of our members, Mrs. Smith (not her real name for sake of confidentiality) was in the local hospital waiting to be admitted as soon as a room became available. I knew of at least one other member in the same hospital who I needed to visit this week (a Mrs. Johnson, again not her real name), so I decided to make a quick trip over there this afternoon.

Tom told me that it's important to try to call ahead when making pastoral visits, even in hospitals, but I was in a rush, so I didn't bother calling. (Can you see where this is heading?)

I showed up at the hosptial and made my way to Mrs. Johnson's room. I got off the elevator, checked in with the nurse's station, and they told me I could "go right in." Fortunately, Tom also taught me the importance of always knocking on a hospital room door before entering.

I knocked on the door, and a female voice said "Who is it?" I identified myself, and the voice said "We're in the middle of a procedure!" (Mrs. Johnson is suffering from some trouble with digestion). Imagine if I had just "gone right in" like the nurse at the duty station said! So I said, "I'll come back in a few minutes," and I made my way back downstairs to find Mrs. Smith.

I went to the information desk in the main lobby and asked the volunteer what room Mrs. Betty Smith is in. She said, "I have a Mrs. Smith, but it's not Betty, it's Marcie. That's the only Smith I have." I said, "Well, that's probably her, just under her legal name or something."

The volunteer gave me the room number, which was in the emergency department, and I made my way down there. Now, bear in mind that Mrs. Smith is a Caucasian woman in her mid-60s. Imagine my surprise when I entered the room and found an African-American woman in her mid-30s! I mumbled something about "pleasedtomeetyouMrs.SmithinternConyersPresbyterianChurchhowareyoutoday?" and she looked at me like I had three heads. I stammered some sort of feeble blessing like "God bless you" and I high-tailed it out of there.

So I got back on the elevator, and went back to check on Mrs. Johnson, but her door was completely closed, so I just got back in my car and came back to the church.

So the lessons learned in this is to make sure I have good information before I leave the office, to take the time to call ahead, and to ALWAYS knock before entering.

They didn't cover this stuff in Old Testament Survey last fall.

A Marketing Problem?

2005-06-21T21:09:00.000-05:00

In case you don't know, I have a background in "strategic communications," which is a fancy word for marketing. Before I ran off to join the seminary circus, I worked for about 3.5 years in a multi-national public relations agency. So, when I first read the report below, I almost keeled over.

I'm torn as to what to think about these numbers. It's clear that the PC(USA) and other "mainline liberal" denominations have been fighting a losing membership battle for many years now. But I wonder, is that a function of something the church is doing wrong, or is it a function of the church losing its place as an "institution" in American culture, or is it both?

Like I said, I'm really not sure what to think. But what I do know is that the PC(USA) is the best way I know of to do church (I borrowed that line from Steve Hayner, for those of you that know him). And I know that we in the church are called to live out the gospel out of deep and abiding gratitude for the grace that God has shown us in the witness of the Hebrew scriptures and in the person of Jesus Christ. And I know that the church is here to stay -- it has survived for over two millenia, despite efforts to overthrow it from both inside it and out.

Still, this article bothers me. On the one hand, I want to say that we need to stay focused on living out the gospel, and the "numbers" will take care of themselves. On the other hand, the "numbers" are what feed and clothe my family. Your thoughts?

Note #8776 from PCUSA NEWS to PRESBYNEWS:

05327
June 21, 2005

PC(USA) lost 43,175 members in '04

Latest statistics are 'a wake-up call' for the denomination,
Kirkpatrick says

by Jerry L. Van Marter

LOUISVILLE -- Active membership in the Presbyterian Church (U.S.A.)
declined by 43,175 in 2004, continuing a trend dating to the mid-1960s.

At the end of last year, PC(USA) membership stood at 2,362,136.

At the time of Presbyterian reunion in 1983, the denomination had 4.2
million members.

The 2004 membership drop was the second-largest of the past decade.
The church lost 46,658 members last year.

The PC(USA) remains the ninth-largest denomination in the United
States.

In a commentary released with the annual statistical report, the Rev.
Clifton Kirkpatrick, stated clerk of the General Assembly, called the
new numbers "a wake-up call."

"We as Presbyterians will only become a growing church if we begin on
our knees," he said, "praying for forgiveness for our timidity in
evangelism and seeking God's renewal so that we lose our image as God's
'frozen chosen' and become instead joyful evangelists who actively share
the good news of the gospel."

The 2004 statistics reflect declines from last year in most
categories: 45 fewer congregations (they now number 11,019); six fewer new
churches (25); 2,400 fewer elders (99,000); 700 fewer deacons (67,400); and
1,600 fewer infant baptisms (33,600).

However, the number of ministers increased, by 39 (to 21,287), and the
number of candidates for ministry was up by 200 (to 1,085).

Professions of faith declined by 5,600, to 60,000. More people
transferred into the PC(USA) -- 40,476 -- than transferred out (30,319), but
death claimed 36,034 members, and nearly 109,000 moved to churches "not
in correspondence" with the PC(USA), or dropped out altogether.

The results were not all bad. While infant baptisms declined, adult
baptisms increased by 285, to 10,459. Church-school attendance increased
by 7,324, to almost 1.2 million. One-third of PC(USA) congregations
reported membership increases, as did 26 of the denomination's 173
presbyteries.

Presbyterians' contributions to the church increased by about $3.4
million, to $2,926,762,293.

Kirkpatrick noted that the racial-ethnic portion of PC(USA) membership
increased to 7.1 percent last year, suggesting that the denomination
may reach its goal -- established in 1996 -- of 10 percent racial-ethnic
membership by the end of 2005.

Kirkpatrick outlined six "imperatives" needed to reverse the
membership trend:

Stronger evangelistic outreach at the congregational level;

A concerted effort to reach inactive members;

Stronger outreach to adults and families to increase the number of
infant and adult baptisms;

Appropriating and adapting evangelism programs and methods that have
worked for others faith groups;

Renewed outreach to racial-ethnic and immigrant communities;

More aggressive efforts to plant new churches.

A Note from Tom

2005-06-18T16:56:00.000-05:00

Greetings, all. The post below is from Tom Bryson. He had some difficulty with blog technology, so he asked me to post this for him.

Peace,
RB

Ready to go!

I decided that since Ryan put me down as a contributor, I should probably contribute something. This has been an interesting summer so far. As many of you know, I am working at a fairly large church in Dunwoody for my SM210 requirement. I have participated in all the usual church office “things” so far (ie. Meetings, VBS, Meetings, Youth Groups, Meetings…). But next week will be quite different from anything I have done yet. This weekend I am going on an incredible trip. I will be part of a team of 22 heading to Honduras on a mission trip.

I have never been on a mission trip out of the United States before. I have worked on Habitat house and served up soup. I have delivered food and cloths and even rang a bell in front of Wal-Mart, but never anything out of the country. The preparation for the trip is almost enough to turn any normal person off of ever doing anything like this. Lists of things to bring, horror stories about bugs, mice, and snakes, shots and medications that are required so that your immune system doesn’t shut down, paperwork and photo-copies of passports and plane tickets, relearning enough Spanish to get along, and lists of things to memorize about how to act, eat, sleep, water safety, and it goes on and on. Thank goodness there are those in my group that have been before and help relieve many of my anxieties about being away from the comforts that I expect when I wake up every morning.

Despite all this, I am ready to go. Ashley can attest to the fact that I am not one to wait around or patiently relax when I know I have to go somewhere. I am ready for the experience. I am ready for the sites, sounds, foods, people, and lives that may be completely new to me. There is a feeling that comes with doing something new, different, exciting, and kinda scary. Every time we do those things, we take a step into a larger world. Outside of our own bubbles, comfortable places, that we build around ourselves is a world that can change us or be changed a little by us. Those times and places can transform our outlook and alter our perspective on our comfort zones and the rest of the world. I have been blessed with many of these times in my life: Montreat, summer camp counselor, college, first “real” job, marriage, and recently seminary. All of these and many more, had a profound life changing affect on my life. Each time, those experiences pushed me to be more than I had been, to become a better person, or challenge my beliefs and faith to grow and amend. I believe that will happen again next week, and that is why I am ready to go.

A sign in front of a church near my apartment in college once said: “God does not comfort us to make us comfortable, God comforts us so we may comfort others.”

Amen!
Tom

A Man With Many Hats

2005-06-16T07:18:00.000-05:00

One thing that has struck me about my brief experience thus far in parish ministry is how many different hats I have worn in just two weeks and four days.

Last week, my supervisor and I went into Atlanta to visit some parishoners in the hospital. (If any of you read this blog regularly, you know what a deep impact this experience had upon me.) I hardly had any time to process my feelings that afternoon, because we had to hustle back to Conyers to prepare for a staff meeting.

This week, we've had Vacation Bible School in the mornings. (I am the "Wild Games" coordinator, which has been fun but tiring.) Today, as soon as we finish up, I am having lunch with our youth at Chick-Fil-A, then driving out to Griffin to visit a parishoner who is recovering from surgery.

Tomorrow is supposed to be my day off, but I'm coming back for the last day of VBS, and I still have a Sunday School lesson to prepare and liturgy to review for Sunday worship.

This balance thing is more difficult than I thought.

On the one hand, it's been a great relationship-building experience for me to be involved with VBS this week. (Yesterday, a four-year-old little girl came up to me and said, "Mr. Ryan, we just love having you." I definitely put that in my mental "treasure chest.") I love my Thursday lunches with our youth, and hospital visits are vitally important for my development as a pastor.

But on the other hand, my daily reflection and preparation time has been totally shot this week. I was talking about this with my supervisor yesterday, and he had this to say:

"Parish ministry is definitely about balance. You have to build relationships, that is certain. But you also have to understand your unique role as a theological interpreter. In our Presbyterian way, this congregation has pointed a faithful finger at you and said, 'We want you to tell us the truth about Jesus Christ.' That is why it is vital that you manage your time wisely and carve out time for study and preparation for your next preaching and teaching opportunities."

I understand what he is saying, and time management is definitely a "growth area" for me.

I have to close now, because it's time for VBS.

God, be my center, because I am still dizzy.

Too Tired, So More Bulletin Funnies

2005-06-14T16:07:00.000-05:00

I've got some things I want to post about, but I'm too tired tonight, so here are some more bulletin bloopers.

Ladies, don't forget the rummage sale. It is a good chance to get rid of those things not worth keeping around the house. Bring your husbands.

Next Sunday is the family hayride and bonfire at the Fowlers. Bring your own hot dogs and guns. Friends are welcome! Everyone come for a fun time.

The pastor would appreciate if the ladies of the congregation would lend him their electric girdles for pancake breakfast next Sunday morning

Smile at someone who is hard to love. Say "hell" to someone who doesn't care much about you.

Remember in prayer the many who are sick of our church and community.

For those of you who have children and don't know it, we have a nursery downstairs.

The rosebud on the alter this morning is to announce the birth of David Alan Belzer, the sin of Rev. and Mrs. Julius Belzer.

Grace and peace,
RB

Sabbath

2005-06-13T15:36:00.000-05:00

Early Saturday morning, I drove my wife to the airport to catch her flight to Kansas City. She's spending the week with her mother, who is recovering from shoulder surgery. I had made plans with some friends to go to the Braves game that afternoon, but it looked like rain, so we decided to stay in.

We called a few other guys, and pretty soon, there were six of us sitting around Robert's dining room table, playing poker, drinking a few beers, watching baseball on TV, playing videogames, and basically being being stupid, goofy guys.

It was exactly what I needed. These first few weeks of summer have been intense. I have been to funeral homes and hospitals, prepared sermons, developed liturgy, and done intense theological reflection. I have basically been "on" since May 29. I needed a day "off."

One of the things that scares me about life in parish ministry is not being able to find time for Sabbath. I have only been at this for two weeks and one day, and already I feel drained. I know that it will become increasingly more difficult to find time to just waste a rainy Saturday afternoon with friends. And I know that it will become increasingly more difficult to find friends that I can feel completely comfortable with.

One of the wonderful benefits of being in seminary is that you and your colleagues are basically all in the same boat. You're all poor (at least by the standards of western culture), you're all trying to do something with your lives, and you all have similar core values. My sincere hope and prayer is that after I leave seminary, I can develop friendships where my job title doesn't impact how I am viewed as a man and as a friend.

Recently, I was reading an article by a pastor who had attended the Presbyterian Pastor's Retreat in Utah. One of the speakers at the retreat asked the audience of pastors to reflect about who they were on their Sabbath. The author of the article noted that his entire identity was built around his vocation. For example, he coached his son's baseball team, but he was still known as "Pastor Rich." He found himself at the movies on Friday night with his wife thinking about issues that needed to be addressed for Sunday morning. Basically, his identity as a pastor had consumed him.

I know that this calling and this vocation is different from many others, and in many respects, I view that as a privilege. But my hope and my prayer is that when I take my Sabbath, my identity as "Pastor Ryan" doesn't overshadow or supercede my identity as "Husband Ryan" or "Son Ryan" or "Friend Ryan."

Mr. Miagi (from The Karate Kid) may have had something there when he talked about balance.

Daniel-San, frustrated with the slow pace of his training, kept asking, "When will I learn to punch?"

But Mr. Miagi, in his infintite wisdom, said, "First learn balance, then learn fight."

Amen, brother Miagi.

Fun With Bulletins

2005-06-08T22:53:00.000-05:00

This Sunday, my supervisor will be out of town, so I will be preaching and leading worship at both services. I'm nervous about it, but very glad to hit the ground running (more like sprinting).

Since I'm preaching, I also planned the liturgy. Today, the first draft of the bulletin came back for my review, and I noticed an error that I thought should be corrected. It read something like "Pastor Tom Sparks and Pastoral Intern Ryan Baer will be leading a Bible Study on Psalms each Wednesday morning at 10:30 in the Session Room. This being vacation time, it is expected that not everyone might attend each Wednesday."

I made the suggestion that the word "expected" might be changed to "understood." My expectations aren't that high in terms of attendance, but no need to make that publicly known!

Anyway, I came across a list of other bulletin bloopers that I thought might give some folks a laugh.

Scouts are saving aluminum cans, bottles, and other items to be recycled. Proceeds will be used to cripple children.

The outreach committee has enlisted 25 visitors to make calls on people who are not afflicted with any church.

Evening massage - 6 PM

Low Self-Esteem Support Group will meet Thursday at 7 PM. Please use the back door.

For those of you who have children and don't know it, we have a nursery downstairs.

Don't let worry kill you - let the church help.

Thursday night - Potluck supper. Prayer and medication to follow.

The third verse of Blessed Assurance will be sung without musical accomplishment.

The choir will meet at the Larsen house for fun and sinning.

Miss Charlene Mason, sang, "I Will Not Pass This Way Again," giving obvious pleasure to the congregation.

More to come later.
Grace and peace,
RB

Two Prayer Requests

2005-06-08T08:31:00.000-05:00

First, please pray for the Reeves family. They are long-time friends of Amy and her mother.

Yesterday afternoon, their son Stephen Reeves was killed in a one-car accident in east Texas. He was 24 years old.

Second, please pray for my mother-in-law, Katie-Tillman Cecil. She is undergoing shoulder surgery this morning.

Grace and peace,
RB

Demons

2005-06-06T12:48:00.000-05:00

They cast out many demons, and anointed with oil many who were sick and cured them. -- Mark 6:13

I just returned from my first hospital visit. I am shaken right now, because I have seen demons up close today.

Before you ask what I've been smoking, let me explain. The demons don't have names like Legion, nor do they have horns and tails. But they're very real.

The demons have names like Lukemia and Parkinson's Disease. They have names like Frustration, Fear, and Doubt. I've seen them before, but I've never sought them out like this. Never have I been forced to confront them as part of my job. I am shaken, because some of these demons are my demons, too.

Oh, that I were like the disciples, and I could cast them out! I looked into my brother's and my sister's eyes, and I could see the desperation, the desire to be rid of the demons. A young woman simply wanted to be at her grandmother's house playing with her cousins. A gentleman fought back tears because he wasn't able to attend a Sunday baseball game with his wife and son. I could see the demons sucking the life out of these two, my brother and my sister.

I wanted so desperately to give them a hug, but they don't know me, and they have no reason to trust me. I wanted so desperately to tell them that it's going to be OK, but I don't know that for certain. All I could do was sit and listen, to offer a feeble "Amen" to the end of my supervisor's prayer. I am a big guy, but I feel so small and insignificant. I feel like my tie is choking me to death, but it's the huge lump in the back of my throat.

So Jesus, if you're reading this, I'm turning this all over to you here and now. I am totally inadequate as a as a seminarian, as a theologian, as a pastor, as a man, to handle this. I will carry the love of my brother and sister in my heart, and I am laying our burdens inside that empty tomb.

My sister and my brother need to know that the demons have already lost. I need to know that there is no place that I will go -- be it a hospital room, a hospice, a funeral home, a classroom, a sanctuary, a session room, a living room, a street, an outreach center, a playground, or ANYWHERE -- that you have not already gone, even into the depths of hell.

Come, thou long expected Jesus
Born to set Thy people free;
From our fears and sins release us;
Let us find our rest in Thee.

Israel's strength and consolation,
Hope of all the earth Thou art;
Dear desire of every nation,
Joy of every longing heart.

Born Thy people to deliver,
Born a child and yet a King,
Born to reign in us forever,
Now thy gracious kingdom bring.

By Thine own eternal Spirit
Rule in all our hearts alone;
By Thine all sufficient merit
Raise us to Thy glorious throne.

Charles Wesley, 1744

The Gospel According to Star Wars

2005-06-03T14:29:00.000-05:00

If any of you are looking for a good Sunday School resource for the summer, Covenant-First Presbyterian Church in Cincinnati has developed a 12-week curriculum using episodes 4, 5 and 6 of Star Wars.

The resource is free, and you can download it here.

A Service of Witness to the Resurrection

2005-06-03T11:46:00.000-05:00

This is the title of the funeral liturgy in the Presbyterian Book of Common Worship. I am so grateful for that title, because it communicates volumes about my theology of dying and death.

The funeral is both a celebration of the life of the deceased, and it is a worship service of Jesus Christ. The resurrection is central to my understanding of the Christian message. It says that death does not get the last word. It says that disease, tragedy, sadness, and grief have no power over God. It says that a day will come when all of the things that don't make sense about our world will be reckoned to us.

On Wednesday, I attended the funeral service of Mrs. Dorothy Nossel, a member of Conyers Presbyterian Church who died at the age of 85. I never met Mrs. Nossel. In fact, the first time I ever saw her face was at the funeral home on Tuesday. But listening to the stories of her children, grandchildren, and friends, I got to know her.

I learned that she loved to take her sports car to the drive in at Jack in the Box and laugh at the looks on the workers faces when a grandma drove by in a muscle car. I learned that she always wore bright pink lipstick, and loved to plant sloppy kisses on everybody, including the pastor. I learned that she was crazy about her dog (Miss J.T. Bark, or Missy for short), and she refused to feed her dog food, and instead made her eggs, cheese, and bread. I learned that she loved angels, and had a huge collection of them in her home. I learned that she fretted over what to wear to church, and she was always dressed to the nines.

One of the things I think I will love about being a pastor is being invited into people's lives for all kinds of occasions and getting to share in their stories, even the sad ones. I never met Mrs. Nossel, but I won't soon forget her.

Grace and peace,
Ryan

Observations from the road

2005-05-31T21:04:00.000-05:00

On Monday, Amy and I drove back from Plano, Texas to our home here in Decatur, Georgia. Along the way, I saw a sign that said "Guardrail Damage Ahead". I've seen these signs before, but when you're on mile 262 of an 800 mile trip, you tend to ponder these things more.

Can someone please tell me why the state finds it necessary to inform me that there is guardrail damage ahead? It's not like I was planning to use the guardrail, but just in case I was, they're telling me to find some other piece of guardrail to hit? Here's a novel idea. Why don't they fix the guardrail?

One other observation. Amy and I were stopped in a traffic jam on I-20 outside of Jackson, when a guy in an SUV drove up next to us on the shoulder and motioned for me to roll down my window. He said, "What city is it that you switch highways to go to Atlanta?" I said, "You don't switch highways. I-20 goes straight there."

Recently, it dawned on me that my butt has traveled over every last mile of I-20 over the course of my lifetime. All the way from outside of Van Horn, Texas, to Florence, South Carolina. Just thought you'd like to know.

Peace,
RB

Greetings from scenic Conyers, Georgia!

2005-05-31T15:42:00.000-05:00

Hello campers,

I hope everyone is having a wonderful start to Summer 2005.

Today was my first day as "pastoral intern" here at Conyers Presbyterian Church, and today my supervisor (Rev. Tom Sparks) and I made a trip to the local funeral home. One of our members died this week at the age of 85. Her daughter and son-in-law are also long-time members of the church and were at the funeral home when we arrived. They seemed to be in good spirits and were very composed. But her daughter said something to Tom that I thought was very profound.

She said, "You know Tom, I'm OK right now, because we have so many things to do that have to be done exactly in order. But I'm really going to need you in about a week and a half."

Judging from my own experiences with funerals, I think her words couldn't be more true. When someone dies, there is much to be done, and quickly. But once those tasks are accomplished, once everyone else resumes life as previously scheduled, grief really kicks into high gear. Something for us pastors to always be mindful of.

The funeral is tomorrow morning at 11:00. I'll update you tomorrow on how it goes.

Here is an interesting verse from today's Daily Lectionary reading.

Deuteronomy 12:8-9 (NRSV) You shall not act as we are acting here today, all of us
according to our own desires, for you have not yet come into the rest and the possession that the LORD your God is giving you.

Grace and peace,
Ryan