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“Save us from worship that is untouched by the misery, ignorance, and injustice of life.”

So this year is the 175th anniversary of the congregation I serve as Senior Pastor, St. Peter’s United Church of Christ in Ferguson, Missouri – a small, but amazing and vital congregation.  In honor of this milestone, we are doing much to celebrate and remember our heritage, as well as look ahead to our future, including monthly spiritual challenges, a church-wide retreat, and a celebration banquet in October.

Another way we are expressing our gratitude for 175 years is in worship – through a sermon series based on the various stained glass windows that depict the life and ministry of the Apostle Peter, our church’s namesake. In our sanctuary there are eight windows, four along each side, so every month, we are taking a Sunday to preach the text that inspired each window. As an added twist, I thought it would be fun to also explore the ways in which this 175 year old German congregation, born from the Evangelical and Reformed (primarily Evangelical) tradition has evolved in its worship. On the Sundays we are focusing on a window, we also model our worship from past services. The great thing about Germans is that they throw nothing away, so through the hard work of a wonderful group of church historians over the years, in our archives we have original bulletins dating back well over 100 years.

The first Sunday of the series, our worship consisted of the exact order, the exact liturgy, and the same hymns from our 75^th anniversary celebration in 1918. The next time, we jumped ahead to 1938, and this coming Sunday (June 24, 2018) our service reflects the tradition of St. Peter’s worship during our Centennial Celebration in 1943.

Today, I was preparing the liturgy and bulletin for the coming Sunday when I came across a line in a unison prayer used in response to the offering in 1943:

“Save us from worship that is untouched by the misery, ignorance, and injustice of life.”

When I first read that line, I could not help but chuckle, because somehow the words “worship,” “misery,” and “German” all seemed to fit nicely together. But then I read the words again.

Then again.

Then again.

And then it hit me – those words, as a part of a response to receiving the tithes and offerings of a faith community, were very radical … very bold … very prophetic … very justice driven … very different than the attitudes brought to many places of worship across our country today.

“Save us from worship that is untouched by the misery, ignorance, and injustice of life.”

I cannot count the number of times I have heard lament (ok, that is too Biblical) COMPLAINING from people that worship is too much of a downer. “People want to be entertained.” They come to worship as a form of escapism – to leave behind the mess we have made of the world and to hear only the good things. I once had a woman come to me and say she wanted to hear more about “the happy Jesus” stories and not the stuff I preached on (I preach from the RCL, by the way). This is why Joel Osteen is so popular. He demands nothing of us, rather filing people with cotton candy for their spirits, which feels good at first, but before long, they all crash from the sugar high it caused and are left with a hollow feeling in their gut.

I do not want worship to be depressing or bland, rather I want it to have substance. I think most people want the same, and I know God wants and expects substance from us in return as a faithful response to who and what God is and for what God does within the world.

“Save us from worship that is untouched by the misery, ignorance, and injustice of life.”

This means our worship of God, must include recognition of the misery and the ignorance and the injustice within the world. It must name and claim, rather than ignore or push to the side the suffering of God’s people and the systems which cause and enable suffering.  Beyond “naming and claiming,” we must also confess and repent of our own role and privilege within these systems. In our current climate, our worship must include conversation, prayers, reflections, and sermons on the topics of racism, poverty, immigration, economy, and idolatry, for within those topics we find the misery of God’s people; within those topics we come to grips with the ignorance of God’s people; within those topics we discover and confess our privilege and our roles in perpetuating the injustices of life. In our worship, we must talk about access to health care; we must talk about gun violence; we must talk about 2500 children being separated from their families and placed in internment camps. If we don’t, then we are simply trying to fill ourselves on cotton candy.

Worship is a form of protest, therefore our worship should protest the causes of misery, ignorance, and injustices plaguing God’s people, in large part because Scripture is the account of God’s protesting of those very things.

Some might find that hard to handle – become dismissive or frustrated by claiming the church as no place discussing “political issues.”  I challenge that frustration and dismissiveness because every day, Jesus spoke politically – he spoke to the very issues the people were facing, and he spoke of a NEW Kingdom, one not led by Caesar or Pilate, rather one spoke to the heart, mind, Spirit, and politics of God.

Our worship of God must look for and recognize the very presence of God.  In those who have suffered misery, who have been harmed by ignorance, who have succumbed to the many great injustices thrust upon them … we shall see God … we shall see the Christ.

“Save us from worship that is untouched by the misery, ignorance, and injustice of life.”

 Our German Evangelical and Reformed elders knew what they were talking about. They were blessed with a deep and rich and sincere piety that was reflected in their prayer life.

May we all be saved from worship that is untouched by the misery, ignorance, and injustice of life. May we all be saved from a life that is immune, indifferent, untouched by those around us who are suffering and hurting. And may we respond to the call of God to “do justice, love kindness, and walk humbly.”

Today, I give thanks to my German predecessors who, 75 years later, have reminded me of the difficult, uneasy, and sometimes scandalous nature found within our worship of God.

 

For many, many years I have been yelling within the echo chamber of the church, only to be ignored or considered a pariah . Within a denominational power structure is a known rapist – a known abuser of power. This person continues to wield much power and influence over and within the church. My yelling has been heard, but ignored, and in the process I have been dismissed, even as abuses of power continued. The church loves parlor games – shuffling the deck, moving the shells around. You can dismiss a person; blackball them and ignore them, but it does not change reality.

One day, I had a very well respected middle judicatory leader tell me on the phone, “Patrick, it is as if you are just trying to ruin his career.”

Think about that for a minute.

His career.

His career.

I am just trying to ruin his career.

Let that sink in.

Let the disgusting nature of that sink in.

A father of daughters, a grandfather of granddaughters seemed to be more concerned about the career of an abuser than the impact that abuse has had on a victim or victims.

I have never been silent on this issue, and I never will. I have, however, experienced attempts at silencing me in the form of retribution, at times to the detriment of my career.

A year ago this past week, an audiotape was released to the public containing two voices: the first was that of a male celebrity journalist and the other belonged to the current occupant of the White House. In that tape, the latter was heard detailing multiple cases in which he committed acts of sexual assault and harassment. The former of the two voices was heard in nervous chuckles and attempts to re-direct the conversation. He made inappropriate comments about a co-worker. He was fired for his complicity, while the other won the Electoral College and became President.

Just this week, a New York Times report detailed the decades long abuse, harassment, and possible acts of rape committed by one of the most powerful and influential media moguls in the country, Harvey Weinstein. Weinstein’s acts are despicable and atrocious, and he is currently being punished in the court of public opinion and through the loss of employment, power, finances, and respect. Time will only tell if he is held accountable by legal means.

Since the Times report, not only have more women come forward with horror stories of abuse by Weinstein, there have also been questions about who-knew-what-when, the sin of silence, and calls for continued accountability for those who knew, but remained silent. One of Weinstein’s victims, actress Rose McGowen had her Twitter account temporarily suspended for “violation” of the social media platform’s terms of services. Her sin? Publicly calling out a powerful male colleague who feigned shock and called for accountability of Weinstein’s actions, even though he had been aware of the behavior for years.

The actions of Twitter – the silencing of a victim and critic of an abuser – are themselves common forms of abuse. They are meant to demean, intimidate and potentially gaslight the victim/critic. Over the weekend, there was a boycott of Twitter by women to call attention to the abuse of silencing victims and critics. As a result of the protest, the CEO of Twitter issued somewhat of a mea culpa and pledged to do “more” in the future <insert eyeroll here>.

What does this have to do with the church?

A lot.

Everything.

Most likely nothing.

Because I do not believe the church cares about sexual assault.

Every time I have raised this issue, it is met with disdain and apathy. There are plenty in denominational circles who roll their eyes each time I speak to this. They will do so again, should they read this or hear of it. I have lost relationship with people I once considered friends over this issue. My ministry and my family have been impacted over this issue.

Do I care?

No.

I do not.

I. Do. Not. Care.

I do not care because there are far too many victims who are criticized, gaslighted, and face continued abuse, not only at the hands of the original abuser, but also by those who wish to prop up a powerful system, a system that tells and trains its pastors to be bold, prophetic, and speak truth to power … unless that power is theirs, and that truth has to do with an abuser they protected and enabled. I do not care what others thinks because their complicity is their issue and not mine.

It is their sinfulness and not mine.

It is their abuse and not mine.

The church has a credibility problem. Pastors and other leaders within the church system will speak “boldly” against all forms of sexual abuse and other abuses of power when it involves someone famous – someone “out there” – someone distant. But let the abuser be someone who works down the hall, or whose ministry impacts their financial security, well …

Then the church has a theological problem. It has a theological problem because it refuses to address the live oak protruding from their eye while calling into question the splinter found within the eyes of media moguls and politicians.

This means the church has a sin problem, sins of commission and omission. The church has failed to hold accountable one of its own – one who has abused women, congregations, and processes. By doing so, the church has abused those who would dare not keep silent.

So, I really do not think the church gives a damn about sexual abuse, at least when it involves one of their own who has great power and authority. The church only cares when those whose lives are considered celebrity commit it.

But, that is low hanging fruit.

Then again, legend has it, the low hanging fruit has always been there for us to pick.

Preached at St. Peter’s United Church of Christ in Ferguson, Missouri on August 13, this sermon is the 2nd in a 3 part series on “Unexpected Grace.”  The first in the series, “The Struggle is Real” can be heard by clicking HERE.  This sermon on finding God and grace in unexpected and difficult places – in embracing God’s dream for Creation – includes reflection and response to the events in Charlottesville, Virginia on August 11-12, 2017.

“Haters Gonna Hate”

Genesis 37:1-4, 12-28

It all started with a dream. Joseph could not help that he had dreams. He could not help what he dreamt. None of us can. Our dreams tend to reflect our subconscious – connecting people and circumstances, and emotions, sometimes in inexplicable ways.

Sometimes these dreams have a way of moving from our subconscious to our conscious self. The alarm clocks goes off or a loud noise shakes you from your nap – mid dream. A bit later in the day you wonder, “Was that real? Did it really happen or did I dream that?” I guess he did not have to SHARE the dream. He could have kept it to himself.

I am sure there are some who might try to shift responsibility from the brothers back to Joseph. “It’s not that the HAD the dream,” they might suggest, “it is that he had the audacity to SHARE it.” There is no denying that the teenaged Joseph did possess a certain smugness that comes from being coddled and spoiled. After all, his father loved him more than any of his other kids. But, I do not buy that shifting of responsibility.

The other 10 made their own conscious decision to kill him. When you make a decision to respond to something you do not like with such violence … you have crossed the pale – there is no massaging that kind of thing – you can’t “nuance” that, I don’t care how many tweets you send out. It is what it is.

And it started with a dream.

And dreams can be pretty scandalous. Older brothers bowing down, becoming subservient to the younger? No. That is offensive! It goes against the status quo and tradition. “We lord over him, not the other way around!”

But therein lies a problem. Dreams have a way of disturbing status quo and tradition, inverting history. Dreams have a way of disrupting, if not angering those in power.

It all starts with a dream.

54 years this month, a quarter of a million people lined the National Mall in Washington DC to hear Dr. King speak of his dream:

• “A dream that one day this nation will rise up and live out the true meaning of its creed: ‘We hold these truths to be self-evident: that all men are created equal.’”
• A dream that his four children “will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin but by the content of their character.”

That dream caused no less scandal, no less turmoil, no less threat of violence than the dream of Joseph. Two days after MLK’s dream was shared, the FBI widened its investigation into Dr. King, calling him a “major enemy of the United States.” Less than 5 years later, Dr. King would lie dead on the balcony of the Lorraine Motel.

Today, dreams of equality and justice are seen no less a threat. Do not believe me? Ask your neighbor. Ask yourself. Ask the people of Charlottesville.

The bigotry and racism and hatred and violence perpetrated by a group of white-nationalist Nazis stems from their own ignorance and misguided fear. It is because others dared to dream of a place – a world, a country, a community, a society where all people are seen as valued and loved and cherished by God.

Those dreams are powerful. Those dreams are prophetic. Those dreams are threatening.

Abraham dared to dream that one day he should have many descendants. While fleeing from his brother, Jacob dreamed of a ladder reaching to heaven on which angels ascended and descended. In this dream Jacob received God’s promise that Abraham’s blessing would be carried on through him. Mary dared to dream she was with child. Another Joseph dreamed he would be a father. Both scandalous. The time shall come, it says in Acts, when the young shall have visions, and the old shall dream dreams

Joseph dared to dream. He was ridiculed and despised by his brothers; at first they plotted to kill him:

“Here comes the dreamer. Let’s kill him and throw him in one of these pits. We will say an animal devoured him.”

Murder then deception. All because of a dream.

Even his father dismissed him. Chalked it up to immature bravado, most likely. But Jacob never forgot the dream.

Neither did God.

And neither should we. We should not forget the dream, nor the dreamer. In fact, as persons of faith, we are called to embrace both dreamer and dream.

And those who don’t? Well, haters gonna hate.

And while they are hating, we should keep on dreaming. Why? Because as Walter Brueggemann reminds us, the dreams are where we find God.   Throughout the story of Joseph, he is not the main character or catalyst. The dreams are. God is. God’s own dream for humanity is found right there, and in the midst of those dreams, in the midst of God’s presence, we find those moments of unexpected grace.

It is hard to find grace in a story about betrayal, death, and imprisonment. But it is there. Maybe it is in the voice of Reuben:

“Let’s not kill him.”

Maybe it is in the voice of Judah:

“What’s to be gained by killing him and concealing his blood?”

Maybe …

Just maybe …

The grace is just waiting to be revealed. Like the presence of a God who is always there but not always recognized.

It generally starts with a dream … a scandalous dream.

It is scandalous because God is scandalous.

It is scandalous, because grace is scandalous.

Dreams disrupt.

God disrupts.

Grace disrupts.

Dreams can be uncomfortable.

God can be uncomfortable.

Grace can be uncomfortable.

Dreams disrupt the status quo.

God disrupts the status quo.

Grace disrupts the status quo.

That in a nutshell is the Gospel of Jesus Christ.

That in a nutshell is the Kingdom of–

The Kin-Dom of

The Realm of

God.

Jesus dreamed, too. That the first shall be last and the last shall be first. That the lowly shall be exalted and the exalted shall be made low. That’s Jesus dream. The Realm of God. Where grace is found and where grace is abundant.

That’s why Joseph’s dream was so important. It shook the very foundation of understanding and expecting and living. It said, in the ways of God, things are going to be reversed. I do not bow down to you, you bow down to me.

Some people are not comfortable with that. In some people, that discomfort breeds ignorance.

And ignorance breeds bigotry.

Bigotry breeds hatred.

Hatred breeds violence.

That is what we saw in Charlottesville this weekend. It is what we have seen in other parts of our country. It is what we have seen right here.

It all began with a dream.

Not Joseph’s. Not MLK’s.

But God’s dream.

That humanity, created all of us in God’s image and likeness, would find shalom. Peace. Harmony. Justice. Seeing one another as equals.

I will never understand bigots and skinheads and Nazis, new or old. I will never understand the way of thinking that wrongfully suggests that in order for me to be equal to you, you must somehow become less than.

As they say, justice and equal rights are not like pie. This person receiving more now because they have been denied in the past – receiving now what they deserve as Children of God, does not mean less for me.

But if we are going to be faithful to the dreams of God, we must –

WE MUST –

WE MUST

Call out the sin of hatred and bigotry for exactly what it is. We must denounce it. We must condemn it. We must shine light into the darkness and evil that it is. It is not just evil deeds, but evil thoughts and feelings.

We MUST be willing and able to do so.

It is not going to be popular with some folk. But this journey is not about being popular or being liked. But it is going to be faithful. Faithful to God. Faithful to the call of Jesus. The same Jesus who said that some will despise you – some will hate you because you follow me. Because you are faithful.

As for those haters. Let them hate. That is what they do.

As for the rest of us, let US be faithful. Let us claim the identity, “Children of God” for ourselves and for all others.

And let’s be like Joseph. Let’s keep dreaming …

 

(Audio of this sermon can be found by clicking HERE.)

 

The following is a pastoral word offered to the congregation I serve in Ferguson, Missouri, in response to the violence in Charlottesville, Virginia on August 11-12, 2017. The Ferguson community is very familiar with protests, violence, and death. Perhaps your own community is, also.  May there be something in these words for us all.

My beloved faith community:

Nearly every Sunday we gather for worship, we have ended our time with an affirmation of the Divine Presence within ourselves (I am a child of God) or within others (YOU are a child of God). This serves as an important reminder that the Divine transcends all people and circumstances – that indeed all persons are created in Divine image and likeness (Genesis 1:26-27). But what do we do, how do we respond when those among us deny that Sacred and Holy within others and within themselves? How are God’s people called to respond?

What we have witnessed in the barbaric, racist acts of hatred, violence, and death in Charlottesville, Virginia within the context of a white nationalist rally, must be acknowledged and called out for what it truly is. This rally, which began as a march on the University of Virginia campus, is not only contrary to who we claim to be as a nation, but more importantly violates the very nature of our Christian faith, and the teaching of Jesus who proclaimed shalom, justice, love, and hospitality.

The University of Virginia was founded by Thomas Jefferson who famously wrote:

“We hold these truths to be self-evident: that all [people] are created equal; that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable rights …”

The events of last night and today are blasphemy against the very fabric of country and faith. Yet there are in our midst, those who insist upon hatred, bigotry, and violence. In those acts and attitudes, they reject the Divine, even when that Divine is within and among them. So what do we do?

We pray. Please join me in prayer for those who are injured and for the family of the one who was violently killed. Pray that they might know God’s comfort and peace, and healing. Pray for those who have chosen evil over good. Pray that somehow they may be transformed. Pray for those who have remained passive when injustice is around them. Pray for those who are complicit by word, deed, or even inaction.

We repent. We are all a part of God’s Sacred Creation; we are all a part of God’s Sacred Community. In some way, either by action or inaction, we have enabled injustice in some form around us. These are not always intentional acts, yet they can often have deep repercussions. We must confess and turn ourselves back towards that which is good and just and loving and Holy. We must turn ourselves towards God.

We respond. This will look differently for different people. You may feel you are hindered by age or physical limitations. You may feel you do not have time or energy or even “skin in the game.” I can assure you, we all have skin in the game. We all have the same time in each day, the question is one of stewardship. Even small gestures can be transformed and used by God for great things.

We worship. We have such an opportunity tomorrow as we gather at 9am to sing and pray and hear testimony to God’s grace. Tomorrow we shall continue our “Unexpected Grace” mini-series by reading the text of Joseph’s brothers jealousy, their plotting to kill him, and selling him into slavery. As I have wrestled with the events of the day, I have felt this text and these events of Joseph’s life to be pertinent to what we are facing and perhaps feeling as a community of people. You may wonder where grace is to be found in a story of violence, pettiness, and betrayal, just as you may wonder if grace is present in the midst of today’s events. I assure you grace is there, if for no other reason that because God is there. Where there is God, there is grace.

Please join me in prayer. Please join me in repentance. Please join me in discerning a response. Please join me in worship. For these things truly represent who we are: people of faith and children of God.

With love,

Pastor Patrick

Often life is lived in tension.

I don’t mean “tension” as in conflict or physical stress – I mean the tension of being pulled – the tension of the both/and.

In those terms I suppose most, if not all of my life is lived in tension because I am rarely an either/or person; I prefer the both/ands of life. I guess I like to have my cake and eat it, too.

As a person of faith I find that tension ever present, especially during Lent. On one hand, it is a season of setting aside, loss, and death only so that embracing, gain, and life might be revealed. Holy Week is filled with all kinds of tension. As people who have the gift of hindsight, do you ever find yourself almost embracing the events of Good Friday so we can claim the life and love of Easter?

Light AND Dark. Yin AND Yang. Death AND Life.

All are essential.

One cannot exist without the other.

Tension.

For the last 10 years, I have always lived in a very real and present tension. On April 1, 2007 my wife and I experienced the stillborn loss of a son. Three days prior, Courtney’s water broke prematurely and a next day visit to the doctor confirmed there was no longer a heartbeat. On the morning of April 1, we went to the hospital where a few hours later, Courtney gave birth to Payton Darin Chandler.

The loss of life – the loss of expectation – the loss of everything was overwhelming. During this time, we were surrounded by family, friends, and faith community who sat in silence with us, cried with us, and gave us the space needed to go through every stage of grief more than once. As is always the case, we also had good and well-meaning people who said some of the most awful things – things that only served to make them feel better, with little regard to how it sounded or the impact it might have on a grieving family.

Grief has no timetable. It comes and rarely goes, even when it might feel like it has. Grief has a way of lurking and waiting, even in the midst of joy.

A few months after our loss, we held our breath at the news we were expecting a child again. Grief babies are not uncommon, and in March of 2008 (and with much turmoil), our son Liam came into the world – a 9 pound healthy boy who has brought much joy, love, and laughter to our family.

Liam is well aware of Payton and often speaks of his brother. Many times Liam has kept us informed of Payton’s activities in the presence of God, as well as in Liam’s own presence. For Liam, the child he has never known is very much a part of his life and spirit. Just as much as it is Courtney’s, Collin’s, and my own. Just as much as I know he will be a part of his sister Liliann’s life. He often speaks of how he wished Payton had lived.

But, there is tension.

Tension because Liam has not figured out the math. Tension because Liam does not understand the biological concept of pregnancy.

Payton was born on April 1 and had he gone full-term, he would have been born in late summer of 2007. Liam was born in March of 2008.

Had Payton lived, Liam would not been born. With Payton, there simply would be no Liam.

Tension.

Grief is necessary. Anniversaries and remembrances are essential and healing and healthy. Yet, for 10 years now, I have always experienced the tension between grieving one child and celebrating the life of another.

I cannot possibly imagine life without Liam. Does that somehow dishonor the loss or potential of Payton? Does remembering Payton every April 1 for 10 years somehow diminish the very present and vibrant life of Liam?

Tension.

How do you hold both in balance?

I don’t really have an answer.

Other than, “you just do.”

I believe it is possible to do both. To mourn and honor the life lost while embracing and celebrating what you have.

I will not say it is easy. I will not say it has never been done with tinges of guilt and questioning. I will not say it has not felt contradictory and illogical.

But there is tension. Always, there is tension.

Especially on and around April 1.

The Sunday morning Payton was born just happened to be Palm Sunday – the beginning of Holy Week – a week filled with tension and dichotomy.

I skipped the typical ceremony of Holy Week thanks to an understanding congregation and a most valuable colleague and partner in ministry who pastored to my family and the community of faith through his leadership and compassion.

My return to the pulpit was on Easter Sunday, one week after Payton was born.

Tension.

Over the course of one week, I went from personally experience the pain of death, to proclaiming the good news of life and God’s overcoming of death.

It is April 1, ten years later, and Payton is very much a part of our family unit. Every day I am grateful for Collin, Liam, Liliann, and Courtney and their presence in my life. We speak of our family being “complete” with our little surprise, Liliann, coming into our lives unexpectedly in 2014. But is it? Is it really? There is still, it feels, a piece is missing. Yet, if that piece were present, another piece would not be.

Even ten years later, when asked how many children I have, I respond, “Four.” There’s Collin, Liam, and Liliann; and there is Payton – a child, very much of his mother and me – who never lived, but who still does. 10 years later, he still very much lives in each of us. In me. In Courtney. In Collin. In Liam. Even in Liliann.

For that, I give thanks.

For that, I am grateful to live in the tension.