An Open Letter to the New Presiding Bishop

Last month, the Evangelical Lutheran Church in America (ELCA), the denomination that I belong to, elected the Rev. Elizabeth Eaton to be our new Presiding Bishop. Pastor Eaton currently serves as the bishop of the Northeast Ohio Synod, and will begin in her new role in November. 


Bishop Eaton:

Congratulations! There is much to be said about your election as the 4th Presiding Bishop of the ELCA. Your election has sparked energy across our church, and for that I am grateful.

In interviews following your election you said that congregations that aren't online are invisible; that we need to become more creative in using social media to share the faith. Such statements from our new Presiding Bishop excite me and fill me with hope for our church.

I have watched my generation move our community centers from the local park to social media. We value and deeply desire community; and often the desire for community overflows into the digital world where we talk about our lives and those things that matter most to us. I then watched as our parents and grandparents joined us at those online water-coolers. I have watched our children find new ways to use digital media to make meaning of their world.

And far too often I have watched the church -- our church -- sit on the sidelines. People are gathering at the digital community centers to talk about the world in which we live, and discuss how we make sense of the events of the news and our lives. And the voice of the church is silent.

As a pastor who teaches technology, I have learned that organizations are only effective in treading new paths if their leaders are out in front. Or -- to put it another way -- the congregations that have an effective online presence are those congregations in which the pastors are leading the way with their own digital presence.

Bishop Eaton, if the ELCA is going to have a voice in the digital conversation, we need you out front.

Show us by your example what it looks like for the church to preach hope in the digital age. Grant permission by your example for congregations and ministries to reach out to their communities using digital tools. Help us by your example to transition from being an invisible church being a church that creatively proclaims the Gospel.

It can be daunting, and there are certainly challenges to online ministry. But there are many of us (both within the ELCA and without) who have been using digital tools for ministry, and exploring what online communities mean for the church. We are eager to help. Reach out to us, talk with us, and ask for advice. We are all in this for the good of God's Kingdom.

The birth of our Lutheran tradition was made possible by a revolution in communications. Finding ourselves in the midst of another communications revolution, we are presented with a wonderful opportunity for rebirth and renewal within our church.

Thank you, Bishop, for your willingness to accept this call to serve as our Presiding Bishop. And may God bless your ministry!

Review: "Pastrix" by Nadia Bolz-Weber

I encountered the Rev. Nadia Bolz-Weber when I started blogging at "Postings from Prairie Hill" about 6 years ago and she was writing on a Typepad site. What I admired about her then, is what I still admire and shows up in her new spiritual memoir, Pastrix (Jericho Books, 2013).

Pastor Nadia does not put on a false front -- you get Nadia, 100%, in every encounter. Authenticity pervades her ministry -- whether online, in print, or (I would expect) in person. Pastrix is quite simply the most heartbreakingly, joyfully honest book I have read in a very long time. I can't remember the last time a book evoked as much raw emotion from me as Pastrix has. I laughed and cried throughout this book. It is beautiful.

And, you probably should not buy this book, especially if you:

• think Christians should have it all pulled together, know all the answers, and never seem flawed. 
• think the F-word is extremely offensive. (No really, make no mistake. Nadia curses with frequency, creativity, and conviction). 
• use the word "liberal" as an insult.
• are offended by the idea that God might invite gay and lesbian people fully into the life of the church.
• think Christians ought to most resemble June and Ward Cleaver. 
• have a perfect life, never have any doubts, and are suspicious of anyone who is not the same.

I mean this in all honesty; Pastrix is probably not for everyone. In fact, I know lots of good, church-going people who will be angry about this book, who will not like this book, and (if they read it) will be outraged at everything that Nadia's ministry represents. 

I wish that were not the case. I wish we could hear. I wish we were not so caught up in comfortable cultural norms that prevent us from hearing the Good News of God's love in ways that speak loudest to those on the outside. I wish we could see more clearly how Jesus loved and welcomed misfits and troublemakers, and would do the same in our lives.

But, I think it's okay that not everyone will enjoy or "like" this book. Pastor Nadia's ministry at House for All Sinners and Saints has never been about adhering to a traditional model of church. It has been a community for people who don't fit in anywhere else, who are not always welcomed into more traditional churches.

So maybe this book is for you, especially if you:

• have ever been hurt by people who say "Everyone is Welcome" but don't really mean it. 
• struggle with your failures and flaws and shortcomings.
• consider yourself a person of faith, or maybe a person considering faith, but you are wary of the church. 
• want -- or need -- a God who is all about second chances.
• If you are looking for the Shepherd who will come into the dark and broken places of life, this book is for you. 

At the end of the day, Pastrix is not a book about Pastor Nadia Bolz-Weber. Pastrix is a memoir of grace -- and not grace that is polished and cleaned up so that it can be put on a shelf and admired.

Pastrix is not about grace "in theory." Pastor Nadia's story, her friends' stories, and stories of members at House for All Sinners and Saints reveal gritty, real grace. A story of grace that shows up at rock bottom, in Alcoholics Anonymous meetings, in the broken places of life. A story of grace that does not wait for us to become good or perfect or nice, that does not wait for us come to church, but instead comes and finds us where we are. 

Pastrix is a book that I will read over and over again, because I need to be reminded of who I am, and reminded that God does not give up on any of us.

(Order Pastrix on Amazon, Barnes and Noble, or support local booksellers and purchase it in a brick and mortar store)

The Secret of Ministry

There is one fact of ministry that cannot be emphasized enough.

We talk about the long hours pastors work, and the tendency for burnout. We talk about how congregations and pastors can work together better. We talk about educational requirements, and skills.

But there is the one fact that matters most. One fact that we don't talk about enough, and which not enough people realize: We (pastors) love you.

Every pastor I know deeply loves the people he or she has been called to serve and deeply loves the church. Deeply. We don't do this work because of the pay; we don't do it because of the "prestige" or "authority" of the pastoral office; we don't do it because we think it is holier than other work.

We do it because we love the people we serve and we love the church. Whether a senior pastor or an associate, whether a rector or a bishop, whether a chaplain or a preacher, everyone who is in ministry is in it because we love the people. (See my advice for new pastors).

This week, the Rev. Elizabeth Eaton was elected as the Presiding Bishop of the ELCA; which means that the Rev. Mark Hanson will no longer be serving in that role. Bishops in particular are subjected to a scrutiny and a second guessing of their motives. What agenda are they pushing? What is the real reason they make certain decisions?

This picture, taken by Brett Nelson in the evening after that election, sums up the truth of the matter: like all other pastors, our leaders love the people whom they serve and they love the church. I think every pastor has had this moment.

Thank you, Bishop Hanson, for loving the people.

Photo by Brett Nelson, used with permission. 

The Best Advice Ever

What do you say to someone who is thinking about seminary?

How can you encourage someone who might be called to ordained ministry? 

Very often - for all the right reasons - those of us who love the church respond like vampires. Fresh blood! Quick, don't let it get away! 

And so we encourage. "You really should go to seminary." "Parish ministry is awesome." We talk up the best parts of parish ministry (and there are lots of them) and we talk up the gifts of the person we are trying to encourage (which also may be many). 

This is an important role to play. If you talk to anyone who is in ministry, chances are that countless people along the way encouraged them to consider seminary. With most clergy (although certainly not all), we experienced lots of affirmation of our gifts on the road to parish ministry. To be clear: For these encouragers and affirmers, I am deeply grateful. I would not be where I am without them. 

But while listening to a recent Freakonomics podcast, I was reminded of the greatest advice I received on my road to ordination. It came from my Grandfather, in the last months of his life. 

Grandpa Hansen was a pastor. 57 years of ordained ministry. He had served in the ULCA, the LCA, and the ELCA; he was a mission developer, a regularly called parish pastor, and an intentional interim. He was also a preacher's kid, growing up in parsonages as a child of the church. He was also the father of a pastor. Gramps knew the church. 

Toward the very end of his life, Gramps had some short-term memory loss. He remembered my parents, but as we gathered for Sunday dinner I had to be re-introduced to him. 

"This your grandson, David," said my Mom. "He's in seminary, preparing to be a pastor like you and Chris. Do you have any advice for him?"

Gramps looked up and thought for a moment, said, "Consider another line of work," then when back to eating his Sunday lunch. 

The best advice I ever got in my preparation for ministry: "Consider another line of work."

Here is the truth:

If you are called to ordination, nothing else will make you feel as fulfilled as ordained ministry.
And if you are not called to ordination, nothing else will make you feel as miserable as ordained ministry. 

Consider another line of work.

Is there another way to live out your calling? Are there aspects of parish ministry that appeal to you, but others that you hate to think about? Consider another line of work.

Are you pursuing ordination to make someone else happy - parents, pastor, or others? Are you considering ordination because you "should"? Consider another line of work.

Often, our first reaction when someone pushes back against a feeling of being called to ministry is to get defensive. But the truth is, the pushback is necessary. Sit with the idea of doing something else. Give it serious consideration. 

There are lots of important vocations (lived out to the glory of God, there are only important vocations). There are lots of ways to serve God. There are lots of ways to minister to God's people. Ordained parish ministry is just one. 

I'm not saying you aren't called to ordained ministry. Maybe you are - truth is, I hope you are. But give thought to where your mission in the world is. What would you do if not ordained ministry? What would you pursue if not this? And if you did those things, would you be just as fulfilled as you would in parish ministry?

Are you thinking about seminary? Listen to the wisdom of Rodney Hansen: Consider another line of work. Rule out all other possibilities. 

And if, having considered all other lines of work -- having ruled out all other options -- you discover that the call to ordained parish ministry still rings loudest in your heart, then jump in. 

What about you? What is the best vocational / career advice you have ever received? 

(Freakonomics Podcast, The Upside of Quitting, transcript and audio)

(Considering seminary? Here are some tools to begin the conversation. Talk with your pastor to explore your options.) 

(Clerical) Suit Up!

The dog collar. The flea collar. Clerical collar. Roman collar. Tab Collar.

Whatever you call it, the stiff white collar worn by many clergy (most often with a black shirt) is funny looking. Many pastors and priests have abandoned clerical collars. They are too formal. They make us (clergy) look different than everyone else - and we want people to know that we are just like them. Clergy want to seem more approachable, more relaxed, more laid back. We don't necessarily want to be connected to institutional religion in an age when people don't trust institutional religion.

All good reasons to abandon the clerical collar. And yet, I remain someone who wears clericals more often than not. I have outlined before some reasons why I do so. However, the greatest reason is this: I want people who are looking for a representative of God / the church to be able to find me; and to find me easily.

But, you may say, people don't really go looking for a representative of God or the church. And most of the time you are right. But when people get to the end of their rope, when people start feeling overwhelmed they do. Or, to put it another way, people do not start looking for someone in a clerical collar until their need is great.

The analogy I've always used is police officers. If I am in need of help, I am much more likely to look for a police officer in uniform than I am a police officer in plain clothes. Granted, it is not often that I am looking for a police officer. But when I am, I need to be able to find one as soon as possible.

So too, clergy. It is may not be often that a person is looking for a pastor, but when they are they often need to be able to find one as soon as possible.

Yesterday, I went to the hospital and visited with a member recovering from surgery. Walking out of the Critical Care Unit to go visit with the family in the waiting room, a young woman stopped me. "Will you be in the hospital long today? They are taking my Dad off life support today."

I told her I would be back. I went and visited with the family of the congregation member who went through surgery. I went back into the Critical Care Unit, and met the young woman's mother and her father. We prayed together. We cried together.

We watched as the ventilator tube was removed from the man. And then we sat together some more. We talked about God and suffering and pain. We cried some more. We prayed some more.

I spent about 3 hours in that room - because I was wearing a collar. They were experiencing the long dark night, and they needed - desperately - someone who could speak with them about faith and God, someone who represented the church. And I was the guy in the funny looking collar.

There is no argument that can outweigh my experience with that family yesterday (and others I have had like it).

And so, in the words of Barney Stinson, I will continue to "suit up."

Thank You

Given all the new people reading this little blog of mine, I feel like I should say something witty and clever. Now that you're here, I should have something witty and ironic for you to read ... something to follow up my "Crappy Pastors" post from earlier this week.

But I don't.

What I have to say is thank you. Thank you for reading these little rants of mine. Thank you for being people who care about your pastors. Pastors, thank you for taking care of one another.

"Get Rid of Your Crappy Pastor" came out of a particular frustration. Over the last few months, I have watched multiple pastor-friends get used and abused by congregations. It was made known that significant portions of the congregation no longer wanted them to serve as pastor, and their lives were made miserable. I have more than one pastor-friend who has been so miserable that they just quit - before having a new congregation lined up to work in.

So I wrote "Crappy Pastors." And it hit a nerve. I have watched it spread over the last two days. For the first day, 600 people an hour were reading my blog. That's right, in one hour more people looked at my blog than are members of the congregation I serve ... In the last week, I have had almost as many pageloads as there are people in Brenham, Texas. I am humbled.

Since writing this post, I had friends from around the country contact me saying, "I want to be a crappy pastor, so people will get rid of me like that!"

Shhh ... Here's the secret: We're all crappy pastors. Yup. I'm a crappy pastor. I regularly fail, let people down, say the wrong thing, forget important things, and hurt people's feelings. I am a crappy pastor. Pastors: go ahead and admit it. Trust me, it is freeing to face up to and be honest about our shortcomings.

And any pastor who can't make that admission is a crappy pastor because they are not aware of their shortcomings. We are all crappy pastors. The perfect pastor is like the Sasquatch: We've all heard of them, but no one has actually seen one.

We are all crappy pastors, because we are all sinful, imperfect, and flawed. We need the love, encouragement, and prayers of our colleagues and the congregations we serve.

And the congregations we serve? Yup, you guessed. They're crappy, too. Filled with sinful, imperfect, and flawed people who need the love, encouragement, and prayers of one another and the pastors who serve them.

The good news? Our God is head over heels in love with flawed, imperfect people. We are just God's type!

So thank you. Thank you for being people who love imperfect, crappy pastors. And thank you for being pastors who love imperfect, crappy people. And thank you for reading. One of these days another one of my posts might just be clever and strike a nerve.

Occupy Wittenberg?

It started with one man, a pastor. Fed up with watching the poor in his community get taken advantage of so that those who were wealthy could get even wealthier, he protested publicly in the town square. Making use of the latest technology, his ideas spread. What was a local protest became a worldwide movement, spread farther than could ever have been imagined before. Those in power, those with the most to lose, dug in their heels and refused to hear the very real critique against the corruption and abuses of the current system, but the protest only grew stronger.

Looking out over the past few weeks, and the growth of the Occupy movement, this story is familiar. It started with one blog post, and grew into a movement making use of social media to spread the word. Concerned with the well-being of the poorest in the US, they have lobbed some very real critiques at the current political and economic systems of the US; but those in power have not listened.

But this is not the story of Occupy Wall Street, this is the story that we recount every year on this day, the story of the Reformation. While Martin Luther's critique of Rome and her power structure had a profound theological motivation, he appears to have been compelled to act - above all else - out of pastoral concern for his flock. Watching the poor families under his charge hand over what little they had only to have that money go into the pockets of bishops who already had more wealth than they could possibly spend, Luther could not remain silent. And, thanks to the new technology of the printing press, Luther's ideas spread farther and faster than anyone could have anticipated.

Am I overstating the case? Am I seeing connections where there are none? Have a listen to Martin Luther himself, in the 95 Theses he posted on the evening before All Saints Day, in 1517:

46. Christians are to be taught that, unless they have more than they need, they must reserve enough for their family needs and by no means squander it on indulgences.

And as he later explains what he means by this thesis:

There are many who have neither bread nor proper clothing and yet, led astray by the din and noise of the preachers of indulgences, rob themselves and bring about their own poverty in order to increase the wealth of the indulgence sellers.

Certainly, Luther is not opposed to wealth. He goes on to argue in other places that the princes and public officials have an obligation - in their public office - to acquire and accumulate a certain amount of wealth ... But that wealth is to be acquired and accumulated for the public good. That is, certain members in society as Luther envisioned it had an obligation to acquire wealth so that they could make sure that everyone else in the town/province had enough. How different would our conversation be today in America if this was how we viewed wealth?

Martin Luther saw the poor being exploited by the wealthy, and he attacked the underlying theological system that allowed such exploitation to take place. At the end of the day, the truth our current system believes in is this: Those who have the most deserve it, because they have worked the hardest. Make no mistake, this is a theological claim. But the Reformation truth is this: "Work" and "deserving" are not a part of the gospel lexicon, but grace and mercy are. On Reformation Day, in a country with a predominantly Protestant Christian population, I cannot help but wonder: Where is the grace and mercy of our political and economic systems?

Reformation Day Sermon

Preparing for Reformation Sunday this year, I happened across this: the first Reformation Sunday sermon that I preached. It is from Reformation Sunday, 2006. While sermons tend to go stale pretty quickly after being preached this one has held up pretty well, and still speaks to me.

Disclaimer: Like all sermons, the text of the manuscript is not necessarily the same as the text preached.

The Pursuit of God

Grace and peace to you in the name of our Lord and Savior, Jesus the Christ.

On this Reformation Sunday, I want to talk with you some about why we are here.

Not the existential question “Why are we here on the face of this earth,” but why are we here at Saint John Lutheran Church.

For many of us in this congregation, we grew up in the Lutheran church. Our parents were Lutheran, and their parents before that. We were born into and raised in the Lutheran church, and we never left.

Others in this congregation married into the Lutheran Church. You grew up in another tradition, maybe Baptist, Episcopal, or Presbyterian, and married someone who was a Lutheran. Rather than worship at two different churches, you joined your spouse at the Lutheran church.

Still others live in the community surrounding this church. You come here to worship because it is the closest church to your house, and you want to be a part of this community.

I am one of those who grew up in the Lutheran church. By that I don’t mean that my parents brought me to the Lutheran church on Sunday morning, I mean that I spent the much of my childhood inside the walls of Lutheran churches – I grew up in the church.

Many of you know my story. My Dad was a Lutheran pastor, as was my grandfather and my great-grandfather. And not just them, my great-uncle and a number of my great-great uncles were also Lutheran pastors. All told, I am the 12th Lutheran pastor in my family.
In fact, I am so Lutheran that my Episcopal friends at the seminary I attended called me “Little Luther.”
It would seem that I had little choice in being a Lutheran.

But in fact, just as you did, I did have a choice, and I continue to choose the Lutheran church; and I hope you will continue to choose the Lutheran church.

I could find the hymns that I love in the Baptist church.
I could find the liturgy that I love in the Roman Catholic or Episcopal Church.
I could find the emphasis on Scripture that I love in any number of non-denominational churches.

Yet, here I am, here we are, in Saint John Lutheran church. Why?

I can’t answer for you, but I know why I – in a world littered with different churches and different denominations – continue to choose the Lutheran tradition. And it starts for me with the story of Martin Luther.

Martin had just finished his undergraduate studies and was preparing for law school. He grew up in the church, raised by faithful parents. He went to religious schools for his entire education.
He was like many of us – a faithfully person living his life as best he could – yet not terribly committed to the church – after all, he was a college student.
It was then that he was caught just outside the forest in a fierce thunderstorm. With the rain pouring down on him, the thunder rolling overhead, and lightning flashing almost non-stop, young Martin saw no sign of shelter. So he called out to God for help, pledging to enter a monastery if God would save him from this storm.

Well, Martin did survive the storm. You can call it fate or chance, but Luther described it as God’s guidance that this young man who had big plans for a successful career as a lawyer wound up in a monastery.
In fact, Luther would say that God pursued him, leading him to a life in the church.

But it did not end there. Luther immersed himself in both the monastic and the scholastic worlds as he taught at the University of Wittenberg. He soaked in the Bible, teaching from the Old and the New Testament and preaching regularly in the Stadtkirche, the city church of Saint Mary’s.

Spending time as a monk in isolation, Brother Martin had a great deal of time to reflect on his life. In doing so, Luther realized how far he fell short of what he should be. He was very aware of his inadequacies and he failings. He was sure that he was unlovable – that even God could not love such a person.

Interior of the Castle Church,
All Saints, in Wittenberg 

But in his study of Scripture, Luther discovered something else. He discovered a God who loves us so dearly, that we are relentlessly pursued just as Luther was during that storm. He discovered a God who would send the only Son – not for the perfect people, but for the sinners. He discovered, above all else, a God and a Savior that will NEVER abandon us, that will stand by our side no matter how often we fail or how short we fall.

And Luther began to tell the world about this God. He began to talk about the God who adopts us as beloved sons and daughters in the waters of baptism, and never lets us go. He began to talk about the Christ who relentless pursues the lost sons and daughters of God into the darkest places of the world – not to scold them but to save them. He began to talk about the Spirit that transforms our lives, so that even while we continue to sin we become more and more God-like and Christ-like.

For a variety of reasons, what Luther began to say to the world got him into trouble. He was thrown out of the church. The emperor sentenced him to death and put a price on his head. So this young man, now about 35, who once had never thought about a life in the church, who thought he was unworthy of God’s love, went into hiding because of his proclamation of God’s love.

Luther went to a castle called the Wartburg, high on a mountaintop outside of the city of Eisenach. There Luther became depressed. He was sure now that God had abandoned him, that he was right to feel unworthy of God’s love.

But God’s love in Christ Jesus pursued Luther even to that mountaintop. There, once again, Luther encountered the light of Christ, creeping into even the darkest of places in his life. He dove back into the Scriptures, translating the Bible from the Latin into the German. And Luther left that mountaintop fortress even more convinced that God will never abandon those who are adopted as God’s sons and daughters in the waters of baptism.

Why do I continue to choose the Lutheran church?


Because I know that this life is often frightening, chaotic, and sad; and I need a Savior who will stand by my side especially in those dark, tragic times.

Because I know that there are times that I will fail, when sin will overpower me; and I need a Spirit that will strengthen and transform me.

Because I know that I will wander and that I will lose my way; and I need a God who loves me enough to pursue me and find me, who loves me enough to bring me home and never give up on me.

I continue to be a Lutheran because – as it did for Martin Luther – it all began here for me, in the waters of baptism, when Christ wrapped me up in his arms and God said, “You are my beloved son, and I will pursue you wherever you go, and I will never let you go.”

And that, dear friends, is reason enough and grace enough for me.

Faithful Conversation

On Sunday night, I was up late watching the news come in that US Special Forces had killed Osama Bin Laden. The next day, processing my reaction to the news, I felt the need to have some sort of service at the congregation I service - some opportunity for us to pray and talk together. I bounced the idea off colleagues who helped me think whether or not this was really the appropriate course of action.  In the end I decided to go ahead and have a service of prayer and conversation on Tuesday night.

I had a couple of reasons for deciding to do this. First, this was a historic event - one of those, "you will remember where you were when you heard," events. And I believe that we need to make the faith community a part of those events in our lives. As people try to figure out the meaning of major events in our world, the church cannot afford to sit on the sidelines. People are looking for answers - and if they cannot seek those answers in the church, they will look for them elsewhere. The death of Bin Laden certainly will not be the end of terrorism, but it is a symbolic victory - and who knows better how to talk in symbols than the church?

Second, the death of Osama Bin Laden brought forward raw emotion for many people. It brought back to the surface feelings of grief, anger, and fear that originated in the terrorist attacks of 9/11. The church needs to be a safe place for people to come and live out those emotional responses. A place where the people of God can expose their wounds and their scars, seeking the comfort of one another and the presence of the Great Healer.

And third, the death of Osama Bin Laden stirred in many people the tension of their dual citizenships in the United States and the Kingdom of God. As Americans, there is a natural response of nationalistic triumphalism, a certain rejoicing at the execution of justice. As children of God, a pondering of how this fits into God's justice and Jesus' command to love our enemies.

And so I called for a service of prayer and conversation. It was intentionally not a "class" or a conversation in the Parish Hall. We met in the sanctuary. The people of God find our meaning in worship, in prayer, and in Scripture. I sent out emails, spread the word over facebook, and on Tuesday night about 30 people gathered in the sanctuary of St. John - Prairie Hill.

I prepared a bulletin of sorts. It had a bare bones liturgy, but more importantly it had some pertinent prayers and readings from Scripture. I didn't know if we would use the liturgy, but I wanted it to be available as a structure in case the conversation got heated or we need the structure to move us forward.

We opened with the gathering litany from the ELW Vespers service, and a prayer for the Spirit's guidance in our worship and conversation. And then, I opened the floor. We talked about how we heard the news, and our initial reactions. We talked about how our reactions changed after we had sat with them for a couple of days. As we talked, from time to time I would stop the conversation and offer a prayer or a reading, to keep us centered. Almost everyone present shared in some way, and in all we talked for about 45 minutes. We closed with Luther's evening prayer and a benediction.

The prayers I included came from ELW with some slight modification. The were the prayers for enemies, prayers for our nation and our leaders, prayers for those in military service, the prayer of St. Francis, and a few others. The readings I included were the judgement of Cain, Romans 12:2-21, and Matthew 5:38-48.

Everyone in that group that gathered expressed some sort of conflict about their reactions. What did it mean to pray for our enemies? What if you were not able to forgive your enemies - not just Bin Laden, but the people in your life who had wronged you? And we talked about those tensions, together. I shared with them the story of Dietrich Bonhoeffer, and his conflict over the decision to take part in the plot to assassinate Hitler. I talked a little bit about Luther's two Kingdoms. I'll be honest, I don't remember everything I said. What I know is that, at the end of the night, we had all expressed our relief at the death of Bin Laden, our struggles to love and forgive our enemies, and our desire to become people who live into the Sermon on the Mount.

And I took a number of other things away from this. Even in the very conservative area where I serve, there was a real sense that rejoicing was not the right response to the death of another. As much as my clergy colleagues have been talking about this over the last few days, you would think that most people's reaction was one of joy. I certainly did not see that. Relief is a much better word. Less a shout of alleluia, and more a collective sigh of relief.

I also observed that people were hungry to hear what the church has to say. They wanted to know, what does this mean for my faith? What does Scripture say? I think we (clergy, church leaders) have done the people of God a disservice by not making the church a place where people can come to make sense of the events of the world. I'm not talking about political commentary or partisanship -- they can get that everywhere else. Nor am I talking about being berated by a prophetic pastor who tells them how far short they fall and how wrong their politics are. No, I am talking about a safe place, where they can engage in dialog with each other, the Scriptures, and their pastor about how their faith can help them understand the political and historic events of the world.

Finally, I observed that the congregation was hungry for me, as their pastor, to be honest and authentic with them. The room opened up when I talked about my own struggles to love and forgive my enemies. Had I tried to say that I am able to live into the Sermon on the Mount without struggle, they probably would have tuned me out. Yes, pastors, speak with authority when God calls us to. But, there are other times when your people need to hear you say, I don't know, or I pray for God's strength - because God knows there are people I struggle to forgive.

Pardon the rambling nature of this note. I am still very moved by the experience that we had, talking and worshiping with these people whom I love so much. Their faith inspires me, and their willingness to listen for God's voice speaking through the Body. It was a small group that gathered, but I think that what took place last night at Prairie Hill was exactly what everyone needed.