A new generation of ministry

I sure hope you'll be joining us tonight for our Campaign Dinner in fellowship hall. It's a great opportunity to enjoy some great food, even better fellowship, and to better understand the importance of our G2G phase 2 campaign.

Many of you have already made a commitment to the campaign. Others are waiting until Commitment Sunday on February 23. To all, thank you for your commitment to preparing space for a new generation of ministry.

I'm not sure who helped to build my elementary school or Lineberger Park in Gastonia -- where I spent my first 7 years -- but I know it took a committed group of folks who had kids like me in mind. I'm not sure who drew up the plans for Robinwood Lake or Lutheran Chapel Church, but I know it took a group of faithful men and women who dreamed of future generations being woven into the fabric of that community.

That's how I think of this campaign. Future generations may not remember our names, but they will be formed, encouraged, cared for, challenged, and immensely blessed because of our commitment today.

Thank you for who you are and the important work you do at St. John's and in this community! We hope to see you tonight.

Ripping up the speech

This has been a politics-heavy week.

Final votes on the impeachment trial are due today. Monday was loaded with the Iowa caucuses and the drama of counting ballots (still not complete). Last night was the State of the Union, with the Speaker of the House ripping up the president's speech and the President refusing to shake her hand. 

That's a lot to process in three days!

If ten of us were to meet for lunch and talk about it all, I'm pretty sure we'd have ten different opinions. I HOPE we wouldn't end up in a food fight, but these days, well, you never know. Tensions are high, compromise is nearly non-existent, and kindness is nowhere to be seen.

Through this roaring sea of change, I find myself repeating a mantra I learned as a kid in Sunday School: "Jesus Christ is the same yesterday, today, and forevermore" (Hebrews 13:8). As policies shift and tempers rise, I lean more and more into the sure and steady presence of Christ, a "peace that passes all understanding" (Philippians 4:7). As I become more and more distressed about the state of politics, hoping/waiting for an adult to enter the room, I remind myself that God's great desire is "that we might have life, and have it abundantly" (John 10:10).

I hope that you see your faith (and your church) as a counterbalance to the chaotic seas around us. That's why we gather in the early morning of the first day of the week -- so that your week might begin from a place of peace and rest, after having been reminded of God's great love for you and this world. We're fed simple gifts of bread and wine, we're forgiven of sins that weigh us down, and we're joined together with a much broader family of Christ. I'm so very thankful for that weekly rhythm. To be honest, I'm not sure how I'd get through the week without it.

This week we'll focus on being a "light to the world." We certainly need some light these days! I'll look forward to seeing you in church.

Doggone good leaders

To quote Roy Williams, our church leaders are doggone good. 

I don’t mean that to sound overly cocky, just honest. This past weekend was our annual Leaders Retreat (Jan 24-25), where members of Council, staff, and some key leaders of the church gathered to establish priorities for the coming year (Friday evening) and engage in leadership development on Saturday morning. Even though I lead these retreats, I do my best not to show up with pre-determined priorities. I’m far more interested in seeing how a new crew (and every year is new) approaches the very basic question: What are our three priorities for the coming year? 

We reviewed our congregation’s strengths and opportunities, considered what’s on the horizon for our community, and identified under-impacted audiences. Armed with all that data, we divided into small groups and asked them to dream a little. They filled four newsprints with ideas, which were then whittled down into three buckets/themes: 

1.     Rethink the Sunday Morning Experience,

2.     Discipleship in the Digital Age, and 

3.     A Faith-Filled Approach to Abundant Living for All. 

These three priorities will be further developed at next week’s Staff Retreat, and then considered by each of the five ministry groups in developing goals for the 2020-21 ministry year.

More than you want to know? I get it! But at the very least it’s important to see that planning for robust ministry takes great prayer, discernment, intentionality, and planning. 

And good leaders. We’re blessed with some really good leaders. Doggone good. 

Speaking of which, special kudos to a trio of folks who guided us through the “leadership development” portion of our retreat: Mike Edwards, Dr. Cyndi Osterhus, and Mark Ritchie. They bring a wealth of experience to building leaders, and we’re grateful for their eagerness to building a culture of leadership development at St. John’s. 

And there’s more. Kudos, as well, to a group of 7 of our folks who have just completed part 1 of our Young Leaders Cohort. The goal is to identify, build, and equip early career adults to thrive in their vocation, community, and congregation. Part 1 includes four months of weekly gatherings, bookended by two retreats. In part 2, these young leaders are yoked with a vocational mentor for 1x1 mentoring between now and May. It’s a great process, and I can’t say enough about the character and competency of the participants. If you’d like to join a future cohort, just let me know. 

We take leadership development very seriously at St. John’s. It’s a long process with lots of starts and stops, but the investment of time and resources is necessary as we build a new generation of leaders for the church and community. From generation to generation. Sound familiar? I hope so. 

Blessings to you as we continue to plant trees under whose shade future generations will sit. 

on local elections

I’m writing this note three hours before the polls close on this year’s elections. Odd-numbered years aren’t normally very exciting, but don’t tell that to those running for local offices. They’ve spent long hours shaking hands, hosting events, planting signs, and writing Facebook posts … all for the sake of serving the communities they love so much. 

I don’t yet know who will win our local elections, but I have to hand it to all those who throw their hats in the ring. It represents a high level of commitment to our neighbors, schools, parks, rec centers, public servants, and business partners. They are committed to our shared history, to government efficiency, and to making sure all our voices are heard. No doubt, they love this place. 

No matter who wins – and by the time you read this letter, we’ll all know – let’s pledge to support and encourage our elected officials, whoever they may be. And when that time comes to disagree, as it surely will, let’s do so from a place of common ground: that we’re on this journey together, all of us eager to make this community a better place. 

Thanks for your good work in the garden. 

The funeral of a friend

It’s November, which begs one simple question: Where did October go?!?

October is normally one of my favorite months. Cooler weather, colorful leaves, nights on the porch that beg for a sweater or a pair of wool socks. 

But not this October. I’m pretty sure it was 98 degrees one day and 62 the next. Not much transition at all for Mother Nature this year. 

Sometimes life surprises you. My preaching professor in seminary said that we have to be prepared for the occasional left-handed junk ball. I never played much baseball, but I always remembered his vivid description of the junk ball, a pitch designed to throw off a hitter’s timing because it’s either significantly slower and/or has confusing movement between the pitcher’s hand and the catcher’s glove. 

Life throws left-handed junk balls at you sometimes. 

Early October I was surprised with a phone call from a friend who told me that our close friend, Paul, had just died. 54 years old. Totally unexpected. It threw me for a loop during a pretty busy time of our year. A playground campaign, Consecration Sunday, G2G, a new staff member, expanding our 3^rd grade reading model to other schools, bringing the racial equity workshops to Rowan County. I didn’t have a choice but to keep busy …

… until the funeral. Krista and I took the day off and drove to Grace Moravian Church in Mt. Airy, a church on the outskirts of the neighborhood where Paul grew up. We passed his high school, some local hangouts, and the business his dad owned downtown. When we walked in the sanctuary, I was handed a bulletin … and that’s when it hit me. As we do with every funeral bulletin we print at St. John’s, there was Paul’s name in bold letters, the date of his birth and death directly below it. 

It hit me like a ton of bricks.

I have the privilege – and often the terrible misfortune – of walking with a lot of people through some very dark patches of life. The left-handed junk balls you’ve experienced are sometimes overwhelming and can seem down-right confusing.

Many of you have done the same, in far more profound and remarkable ways. You’ve prayed, cooked, cleaned, driven, and sacrificed time and resources .. all for the sake of walking alongside a friend in need. 

And here’s what’s beautiful. You’ll earn nothing for your care. There are no extra jewels for your crown or fast-passes through the heavenly gates. That’s not why you care. You care because God cares. 

“We love because God first loved us,” John writes (1 John 4:19). Our love is to be a reflection of God’s love, a love given without expectation of reward or recognition. It’s like grits served with a good, Southern breakfast. You don’t order it; it just comes. 

A few days after Paul’s funeral, I pulled up that day’s scripture reading from the Moravian Daily Text, which Paul first shared with me when we were in college. I was stunned to read from Psalm 56:8, “You keep track of all my sorrows. You have collected all my tears in a bottle.” I needed to hear that word of comfort, a beautiful reminder that God hears my cries and has not overlooked my/our grief. 

When life throws a left-handed junk ball at you, my hope and prayer is that you’ll feel the strong support of this community of faith .. and that you’ll know the hope that is ours – of a God “who comforts us in all our sorrows so that we can comfort others in their sorrows” (2 Corinthians 1:4). 

What's with the red doors?

St. Paul's Lutheran Church in Columbia SC It's Reformation again .. which means we'll get a lot of questions about red doors on Lutheran churches. Well, not on THIS Lutheran church, but most. Where does the red door tradition come from? Several ideas: The most common response is that Christians have entered into worship, into the presence of God, through the blood of Christ. In the earlier history of the church, it was common for wooden church doors to have the whole life of Christ carved into them. Tradition holds that Martin Luther nailed his 95 theses to the red doors of the Castle Church in Wittenberg. From that time onward, red doors symbolized the churches of the Reformation. During the Middle Ages in England, churches with red doors represented places of sanctuary. If someone was being pursued by a town mob, they'd find safe rest on the other side of the red door, where s/he could plead their case for justice without threat of violence. Our Jewish brothers and sisters would immediately recognize the connection between red doors and the Passover, where the angel of death was to "pass over" all the homes of those who smeared the (red) blood of a lamb over their doors. So there you have it. It's interesting to note that the red door tradition isn't limited to Lutherans. Most churches embrace the idea, although churches of the Reformation have been particularly proud of their red door heritage. What about St. John's? Well, take a look at our front doors and you'll see displayed the earlier tradition that uses a church's front door to tell the story of Christ, "the Word made flesh." And that, my friends, is the rest of the story.

The valley of the shadow of death

Over the next few days, we'll be celebrating the lives of two beloved folks in our community: Bee Soderberg and Barbara Benton. Among all the things we do as a faith community and as pastors, presiding at one's funeral is always the most humbling and profound, as we commend loved ones into the arms of Jesus.

Bee's life was defined by a remarkable sense of faithfulness to God, family, friends, and church. She and Rich were married for 70 years, always remaining each other's best friends. She was smart, witty, a world traveler and perhaps the best dog owner ever. She will be missed.

Barbara was a long-time middle school teacher in our community, 24 of her 30 years at Knox. So many former students have told me this week that Mrs. Benton was "the best teacher I ever had." Barbara had many other interests and passions, but what a beautiful way to be remembered, as such a fine teacher and mentor.

I normally don't write about folks who have passed along, but as we prepare for these two memorial services, we've been given the chance to press "pause" on the busyness of our week and give thanks for the chance to walk with folks through the valley of the shadow of death ... into the waiting arms of our Lord and Savior.