Burnt Offerings

On Sunday, February 6, I preached on being the salt of the earth and the light of the world according to Matthew 5:13-20. The Old Testament reading for that day was Isaiah 58:1-12, a fast acceptable to the Lord being one when you loose the bonds of injustice, undo the thongs of the yoke, let the oppressed go free, to break every yoke, share your bread with the hungry, shelter the homeless poor, clothe the naked, remove the yoke from among you, the pointing of the finger, and the speaking of evil, and offer your food to the hungry and satisfy the needs of the afflicted. It is possibly my favorite Scripture passage and the one that God used to compel me to serve in the mission field. At the end of my sermon, I passed out index cards and pens and asked each person to write down one act of mercy that they could do that week. I promised I wouldn't read them; what they wrote would be between them and God. If they couldn't think of something, then I suggested they write a prayer asking God's help for them to recognize situations where they could make a positive difference for someone else. We collected the index cards in an offering plate and I prayed over them.

After the service, I was trying to figure out how to dispose of the cards appropriately. Throwing them in the trash seemed rather sacrilegious and disrespectful. Burning them seemed most appropriate to me. The youth group meets after church. Why not have them help? It seemed like a great way to involve them in the prayer life of the church and they'd think fire's fun, right? I explained how in the Old Testament the Israelites offered burnt offerings to God, a pleasing aroma pleasant to the Lord. I also explained about confidentiality and made each of the three youth promise not to read any of the cards, even accidentally. We started with one card in the sanctuary, but I could quickly smell the smoke. So we burned the rest of the cards outside in the yard. One youth had kept her card, but upon learning what we were doing with them, tossed hers in the pile. Instead of throwing prayers in the trash, we presented them as a burnt offering, an aroma pleasing to the Lord.

The Intersection of a Hispanic Church and a Black Church

I'm currently reading "Reluctant Pilgrim" by Enuma Okoro. One of the themes in the book is her search for a church home, a congregation where people noticed her presence and her absences and told her, "we're glad you came back." She even took a multi-year sabbatical from going to church at one point because she was so fed up with it.

Only once in my life have I had serious trouble finding a church home when moving to a new place, and that was when I moved to Philadelphia for grad school (the first time). It took me two months, and in the end I realized, it was my own fault. During those two months, I was going to churches I could walk to from my apartment in West Philly, churches my new friends went to, a mega-church out in the suburbs. At some point, I finally realized that I wanted to go to a United Methodist Church. I had officially joined two years before, had attended one through all four years of college, and was missing some of the liturgy and format in the churches I was attending. First, I went to Conshohocken UMC, about a 20 min. drive from my apartment. I don't remember why, but it wasn't a good choice. So during the week that followed I looked up, between the phone book (this was 2001) and the internet, the five United Methodist Churches closest to where I lived. I called all five for service information and at only one church did a person answer the phone. So that's where I went. Tindley Temple UMC in downtown Philly. And I was home.

As soon as I stepped in the door, I knew that it was where I was supposed to worship for the two years I was in Philly. Even though I was one of an average three white folks who regularly attended this historically African-American church, I felt at home. Most of the congregation welcomed me and told me the next week that they were glad to see me back. A few reserved their opinions until getting to know me better over the next two years as I got involved in Disciple Bible Study and teaching Sunday School. A small handful always resented my presence, but that was their right. In a sense, I was trespassing on sacred space, space where folks could be free for a few hours from racism. I felt privileged to be allowed to temporarily join their church family. Even though I visually stuck out like a sore thumb and others wished I wasn't there, that didn't bother me. I really can't explain why I felt such a peace about attending Tindley Temple, 2.5 miles from my apartment.

My mom mentioned a couple weeks ago that my time at Tindley was preparation for Unidos por Cristo. My mom (and sisters, stepdad, dad, stepmom, stepsister, and grandparents) only attended one service at Tindley, the Sunday of the weekend I graduated from Penn. My Tindley church family gave me flowers and a plaque, thanking me for my help in the church school. I was incredibly touched, and surprised, and so was my family. My grandparents didn't even go to my Penn graduation after that, they were fatigued and felt they weren't going to hear anything better said about me than what had been said at Tindley. But I don't think that's what my mom had in mind when she compared it with Unidos por Cristo.

Needless to say, in many ways Tindley is a typical "black church." The service was always at least two hours, if not more. The senior pastor, a homiletics professor at Wesley Theological Seminary in D.C. was fantastic, as was the associate pastor, a recent grad of Wesley. I've never heard such consistently good preaching in my life. It made you not mind the time - or even notice it passing. The music was incredible - I had never enjoyed singing with an organ in church until I got to Tindley. Choir members gave moving solos and testimonies through their music. You'd hear "Amen!" coming from the pews and "c'mon preacher!" during the sermon. Surely I don't need to explain the black church style of worship, nor do I consider myself qualified really to do so.

What does Unidos por Cristo have in common? Service length doesn't matter. We finish when we finish. Unlike Tindley, there's no clock in the sanctuary. Sermon length doesn't matter. In fact, the longer the better. These folks are hungry to hear the Word of God. And, personally, I like to get verbal feedback during my sermon and prefer it - it means people are paying attention! The more the congregation punctuates the sermon with "Amen!" and "Gloria a Dios," the better. Same goes for prayers. I've noticed since Nicaragua that many Hispanics don't think it rude to pray along out loud with whoever is leading prayer. I know my prayer is better and I'm hitting the mark the louder the prayers of those who are accompanying me. It's not just the preacher or the pray-er by herself; the whole congregation gets involved.

On the other hand, there are some major differences. Music, for one. Unidos por Cristo has no formally trained musicians. Some are self-taught, some were taught by others who had some training. Mostly it's their willingness to do it and a little talent that keeps it going. Tindley is a historic urban congregation dating to the 1930s with a proud history, and also a declension narrative (things used to be better; the pews used to be all filled). Unidos por Cristo is practically brand-new, in the rural south (where many Tindley members have ties), and is just getting started. The best is yet to come. Of course, I'd argue that for Tindley, too: God's kingdom is still coming. And perhaps one day all the pews at both churches will be full!

So, is similar worship and preaching styles what my mom was getting at by comparing the two churches? It might be. Of all the non-Hispanic churches I've attended, Tindley probably is the most like Unidos por Cristo. And I'm still working with my congregants to remind them of the lesson I learned at Tindley: tell visitors, "we're glad you came back."

The Great Divide... in the Church

When the youth group met yesterday, we started by reminiscing over Pilgrimage, a big North Carolina United Methodist youth gathering in Fayetteville, NC, for a weekend in November. The theme this past November was "With One Voice." I may be remembering incorrectly, but I think the phrase comes from Romans 15:6, "so that with one mind and one voice you may glorify the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ." As you might imagine, there was lots of talk about unity within the church, about doing things together, and about how the thousands of youth and chaperons gathered were, in fact, worshiping with one voice when we all sang together, regardless of our individual backgrounds and differences. It's a bit like Jesus's prayer for his disciples in John 17:11, "so that they may be one as we are one."

Driving through Greenville, NC, yesterday, I saw a sign near a church building that read something like: "New Ministry! NOT associated with [insert church name here]." Wow. Something is seriously wrong when we have to divide ourselves and exclude other Christians and not want to share credit for ministries, when we don't want to be one. Part of what I loved about where I served in Nicaragua (pre-seminary) was that the mission agency I was with worked together with about ten other mission agencies as well as locals to all be in ministry together. We shared resources. We shared ministry. We all worked together.

However, in any Latino ministry setting, whether Nicaragua or Grimesland, NC, those who are definitely excluded are the Catholics. The great divide is between Catholics and Protestants. Non-Latinos ministering in Latino settings must be especially aware of this division. I was raised to believe that Catholics are Christians. Most Protestant Latinos disagree with me. For them, it's a big deal to not be Catholic; Catholicism is part of every Latino's heritage. Some Protestant Latinos were disowned by their families when they became Protestant. It's considered a conversion to go from being Catholic to being Christian (whether Methodist, Pentecostal, Baptist, etc.). To put it lightly, there is a strong anti-Catholic sentiment.

I agree that there are problems in the Roman Catholic Church. The news makes that plain. But I'll also be the first to admit that there are problems in the United Methodist Church. And I know there are problems in the Episcopal Church, in which I grew up; those problems are equally as well known these days as the Catholics.' Still, that doesn't make them any less Christian; that doesn't make them any less followers of Christ.

Being a non-Latino in a Latino church, I find myself often teaching about our heritage as Christians. Reciting the Apostle's Creed is seen as a very Catholic act, and so I always preface it with explaining its' origins, from the early church, and why, to make explicit what we believe, and the fact that it's a prayer. I tried singing it, but that didn't go too well, so we now stand and say what we believe in the words of the early church, before there was a Catholic divide.

This past Sunday I again tried to breach that divide and stand in the middle of it, just as I often did in Nicaragua. I don't know yet how successful I was. Following the Revised Common Lectionary (which Catholics use, too), we celebrated the Baptism of the Lord Sunday. Stepping into potentially dangerous water, I preached about baptism and what it means. I said it doesn't matter what church you were baptized in, it still counts because God named you God's own in that baptism and God doesn't make mistakes nor does God lie. If God named you God's child, then you are. Going a little deeper in the water, I also explained why United Methodists baptize infants. In a nutshell, it's called prevenient grace. This is God's grace that comes before us (think Latin, pre-venir, or Spanish, prevenir). The authority in baptism is solely God's grace, it's nothing we do or decide. That grace is there for all ages, including babies. Stepping into even deeper water, after my sermon I led (most of) the congregation in a renewal of our baptismal covenant. It was straight out of United Methodist Spanish resources. I didn't make up one single word. And I included a bowl of water in the front, so that folks could come up and touch the water and remember their baptism and be thankful. My husband said that perhaps half the congregation came up and touched the water. I had to ask him about participation because I spent almost the whole time on my knees praying that I wasn't making a huge mistake. You see, at the back of every Catholic church is a basin of water which the faithful touch on their in to Mass.

Jesus Was an Immigrant

[This is the "sermonette" I originally wrote for Dec. 26. Church was canceled that day due to 8" of snow, so I then included it as part of my sermon this past Sunday. It's based on Matthew 2:13-23, the Gospel reading for the Sunday after Christmas in the Revised Common Lectionary.]

Did you realize that Jesus was an immigrant? That Jesus knows what it's like to move from one place to another? That Jesus understands what it's like to live in a country that isn't your parents' homeland? Did you realize that Jesus was an immigrant?

Of course, not in the same manner as your family or mine. My family moved because of work, the same as y'all, I imagine. Jesus's family moved because the king of their land wanted to kill him. King Herod heard that another king had been born in Bethlehem, King Jesus. He didn't want competition so "he gave orders to kill all the boys in Bethlehem under and its vicinity who were two years old and under" (Matt 2:16). Baby Jesus was born in Bethlehem. And just in time, an angel warned Joseph that they had better flee to another country, to Egypt.

An angel of the Lord appeared to Joseph in his dreams, just like when he was betrothed to Mary and was considering divorcing her. This time the angel said, "Get up, take the child and his mother and escape to Egypt. Stay there until I tell you for Herod is going to search for the child to kill him" (Matt 2:13). Joseph obeyed immediately. Jesus spent the early years of his childhood in another country. I did so, too: when I was little, I lived in Egypt for two years. So also are your kids. The kids of this church are growing up in a land that isn't their parents'. Jesus understands. And for those who return to their home country, Jesus understands that, too. After a few years, when King Herod died, an angel appeared again to Joseph in his dreams and said, "Get up, take the child and his mother and go to the land of Israel, for those who were trying to take the child's life are dead" (Matt 2:19). One difference: Joseph, Mary, and Jesus didn't return to Bethlehem. They returned to their country but to a different part. It would be like if you're from Mexico City and you come to the U.S. with your family. Then, after a couple years you return to Mexico but to San Luis Potosi instead of the D.F. (Mexico City). That's what Jesus's childhood was like. He was a foreigner in a strange land with a different language and different customs. He was an immigrant.

One reason you can trust Jesus is that he understands our experiences. Are you tempted? He was tempted by Satan for forty days in the desert. Are you sad? Jesus's good friend, Lazarus, died and Jesus wept. Are you happy? Jesus attended a wedding and changed water into wine in order to continue the celebration! Likewise, Jesus understands the feeling of a foreigner, of an immigrant. This is the most important thing that we read in Isaiah 63:9, "It was no messenger or angel but his presence that saved them" (NRSV). His presence saved us. Not a messenger. Not an angel. It was God's own self who came to live a completely human life, to save us. God understands your situation. This is the miracle and the mystery of Christmas. God incarnate, Jesus, born in human flesh. Jesus had a pretty normal life here on earth. He understands betrayal. He understands feeling forsaken and alone. He understands what it's like to live in a foreign country away from your homeland. Because he was born as a baby, Jesus understands us. And because of this, we can put our trust in him. Give him your burdens. Give him your hopes and dreams. Come to him, because he will give you rest (Matt 11:28). And because of this, Jesus deserves all the praises of the psalmist: "Alleluia! Praise the Lord!" (Psalm 148:1).

The Visit

Last Thursday at 5 p.m. one of my lay leaders called. Another church member had just called her with the following story and a question, "What can the church do?" The lay leader relayed to me the story and repeated the question, "What can the church do?".

There was a lady who was so sick that she was hospitalized at Pitt County Memorial Hospital (where the family from my congregation met her). She is recently arrived from CA and has a 5 week old baby girl. Social services is involved and might take the baby away since no one can care for her. The lady is from an indigenous part of Mexico; Spanish is her second language. She has no family here and could use some clothing for the baby. What can the church do?

On the phone that evening, I had no idea how to respond. We could gather some clothing for the baby. We could pray. I asked my lay leader for time to think about it.

Sunday morning at church the praise report was given that the lady had been released from the hospital and was now home. There was a bag of baby clothes that had been collected/bought. I arranged to go with a church member to visit the lady on Monday.

Monday morning the church member called to say that she can't go that day after all. I had only that day to go, so I got the address and collected the baby clothes. Discovering that the lady lives in Spring Hope (about an hour from Unidos por Cristo), I called two pastor friends who live in that area. One is a native Spanish speaker. The other is part of Faith Christian Ministry that provides clothing, food, help paying bills, etc. according to the need. Neither could go with me that day but both asked me to call them afterward with how they can help.

I had the address, but didn't know whether it was a trailer, a small house, etc. I drove up the long dirt road grateful that I drive a small SUV. At the end of the road was the house number, and number actually belonged to a set of three buildings that made up a migrant workers' work camp. I'd seen them before, from the road. Never up close. I entered what seemed to be the "main" structure, which was not completely enclosed. The high on Monday was in the 40s with a windchill that felt like the 30s. I called out "hello" and "buenas." No response. I listened carefully and knocked on the first door I heard sound coming from. Fortunately, the lady I was looking for was visiting her neighbor behind that door.

The lady took me over to another building. She lives in one room (about 8'x10', I'd guess) with her 15 or 18 year old brother (he's given both figures as his age) and her 5 week old baby girl. The room was warm. It had three beds and a crib with space to walk around each. Clothes were hanging from clothes lines strung across the room. The lady was grateful for the baby clothes I brought. I also gave her some Wal-mart gift cards I had at the church office. Then I had to explain how to use them. I asked if they had a bible and learned that she cannot read. The baby woke up and was the smallest baby I have ever seen outside of a hospital. I learned later that she was born seven weeks early. Communication was a little hard since we were both speaking our second languages. The lady and her brother had come from CA to work in the tobacco fields, but there was no work anymore. At the end of my visit, I said a prayer over the family and left.

I've witnessed poverty firsthand before. I've visited folks in old and poorly maintained trailers, in huts made of tarps and a tin roof, and in old inner-city row houses when the power's been turned off. But this family was the poorest I had seen in a few years and the poorest I have ever met in North Carolina.

My pastor friends have followed up with the lady and asked the "correct" questions, things like: what is the heat source, do you have food, where do you prepare it, do you have enough clothing, what are your needs? Things I hadn't thought to ask; I was too busy just looking around that one room.

A Little Something Different

Things have been going better at the church since September. Attendance has slightly increased. The youth became active again. Those of us who met at the last women's meeting all had the same realization: Monday night bible study (for all) at the church wasn't working, we ought to start having bible study in people's homes. So I pulled out my calendar and church directory to ask whose house first and when we were going to start. We started last Monday; one of my lay speakers led the study since I couldn't go. Praise God for lay leadership!

This past Sunday we celebrated Christ the King Sunday (in accordance with the Revised Common Lectionary) and Thanksgiving, with a big meal after the service. The service was my longest one ever, two hours. When that was pointed out to me, I pointed out that they'd still be going with the previous pastor - the services he led averaged two and a half hours!

Part of why the service went long was because I began my sermon a little differently. I asked how it was with their soul and how their spiritual life was. I asked if they felt ready and excited to celebrate the kingship of Christ or if they felt a little down. Then I asked the congregation to take 5 minutes and break up in pairs and share with each other how it was with their soul, how they were really doing, with no lies or glossing over. I reminded them that we are a family (somos familia), that we are trustworthy (somos de confianza), and that we don't gossip about each other (no contamos chismes). Most folks paired up although there were a couple groups of three. I have no idea how long we shared with each other. There is no clock in the sanctuary and I don't wear a watch. I have no idea if all groups stayed on topic; I didn't check up on the groups. But after my group was mostly done, I called time and asked folks to move back to their seats. And then I asked if folks now felt more ready to celebrate Christ the King and Thanksgiving. The answer: YES!

Too Many Halloween Hats

As the sole pastor and only employed person at Unidos por Cristo, I've gotten used to wearing different hats: pastor, preacher, pray-er, cleaner, driver, youth pastor, children's ministry consultant, minister of visitation, worship planner, administrative assistant, and more. However, usually each role happens one at a time. I'm either writing a sermon OR I'm visiting a family. I'm taking out the trash OR I'm wandering a corn maze with the youth. However, on Halloween Sunday, all these roles collided.

It was already a busy Sunday. The youth were selling food to raise funds to go to Pilgrimage. We had gone shopping the previous day to get supplies. I got to the church early. The youth got to the church early (the bigger surprise). Others helped the youth in the kitchen preparing the food so that the youth could help direct the service (read the Scriptures, lead prayers, etc.). Three volunteers never made it to the service they were so busy getting things ready for the meal after the service. My husband was grill-master. The youth sold all the food they made. It went well.

After people had started to leave after eating their hamburgers, fries, and cupcakes (the menu the youth chose), the praise band wanted me to practice with them for the two bilingual songs they'd be playing for the charge conference worship service. They felt comfortable with the songs, just hesitant about their English pronunciation. So we start. Then the leadership team chair comes in to ask a couple questions and I leave practice to put on my administrative hat. I return to practice. Then my husband comes in to tell me goodbye. He gets a quick kiss; my wife hat didn't stay on very long. I go back to singing with the praise band. Then one of the youth comes in to say goodbye but I need to talk to him so I go with him to my office to get the Pilgrimage permission form for him and explain next week's plans. Youth pastor hat. And then back to the temporary musician hat. Again.

The good news is that the charge conference worship service went very well this past Sunday afternoon. It was a cluster charge conference, meaning that it was Unidos por Cristo and about ten other churches for worship, then we split up for our separate business meetings. Since Unidos por Cristo is a mission church and not chartered, we didn't have to have a business meeting. So I don't know how those went but I know that worship was wonderful!