Cruxifusion 2015: Revive

On the shelves of my upstairs library, there sits a seven volume set, "A History of the 1859 Ulster Revival." Within its pages are descriptions of the revival itself, the theology of revival and the effects of the revival in Ireland, England and throughout the world. These volumes bring out two real truths about revival. Revivals happen, and revivals cannot be contained.

I think of these books as I contemplate the third part of the Crux 2015 theme: revive. Each Wednesday morning when our Hartland area pastors gather to pray, one of the things we pray for is revival. True, Holy Ghost Revival. And when we pray, one thing we understand is that revival has to start with us, the pastors, the shepherds of the flock. Regaining that sense of passion for the lost and the hurting. Not getting caught up in denominational politics and the overwhelming dark cloud of demographic and statistical hopelessness. The 1859 revival started with 4 young men and a weekly prayer meeting. And God was mightier than their numbers. God was mightier than the doubters. God was mightier than the spiritual deadness and apathy that had set into the church culture of 1850s Ireland.

Each period of spiritual deadness must lead us back to the foundations of our faith, the Triune God, the cross of Christ and the words of Scripture. And there our own personal revival must start: Bible study, prayer, devotion to God and to his people. That is the only sort of spiritual first aid that is able to breath new life into the church of God. I cannot predict a revival of the sort future generations will write about. But after being in Burlington with so many brothers and sisters that have a heart for the Lord, I cannot count anything out. As we all sang in our worship, "Our God is mighty to save..."

Cruxifusion 2015: Reconcile

A continuing series of reflections on Cruxifusion's 2015 gathering in Burlington, Ontario.

RECONCILE

We all need to be reconciled. I need to be reconciled. It is part of our identity as Christian that we are a redeemed people, reconciled to God by the blood of Jesus Christ.

At this gathering I made a conscious effort at reconciliation. The overarching theme for me was being reconciled with this denomination I call my home. I have had a roller coaster relationship with the United Church of Canada. Someday I may write about why I stay within its ministry. Upholding traditional orthodoxy and traditional morality seems at times a fool's errand, a voice crying in the wilderness, or more likely a voice too timid to say anything at all.

I found reconciliation as I looked around the sanctuary and saw my brothers and sisters in Christ. I realized my denomination was not political statements, or bureaucracy, or mandated training sessions. This was the home I had searched for in the United Church of Canada for twenty years. And as I listened to Richard Bott, with whom I probably disagree more than agree theologically and ethically, I saw a fellow servant of the Risen Christ, even if we need to discuss who that Risen Christ is.

Reconciliation is a tricky business. It involves giving of self in ways that demand vulnerability. My persistent sins of cynicism and indifference needed to be named, lifted up and confessed. At the Tuesday Prayer Summit, that happened. I confessed, accepted God's forgiveness and tried to muster up my own forgiveness. It hit hard. But it opened up a way back to the fellowship of believers.

On the last day we sang "It is well with my soul." And as we sang I thought of all those behind me in that sanctuary...

• broken by their congregations
• broken by the denomination
• broken by grief
• broken by sin
• broken by illness
• broken by process
• broken by uncertainty
• broken by fear
• broken by exclusion
• broken by darkness
• broken by selfishness
• broken by doubt
• broken in ways beyond measure
• broken in ways they cannot yet see

and we sang "It is well with my soul." And these broken people, redeemed sinners, sang it as if they meant it. IT IS WELL WITH MY SOUL... And a lump came to my throat. And a tear came to my eye...and I could sing it too.

Reconciled....

Cruxifusion 2015: Rest

It has been about a week since I attended Cruxifusion's annual conference at Wellington Square United Church in Burlington, Ontario. It was a time to re-connect with friends and colleagues from across the country. I have been trying to process some of my thoughts about the conference, and will do so over the next few days using the conference theme: Rest, Reconcile, Revive.

REST

As our closing preacher said, "I needed this." This time together. This time of worship and rejuvenation. This time of safety and friendship. This time of rest.

Being a pastor is a lonely profession. I do not say that to garner pity. I knew this before answering God's call to ministry. And I have been blessed with the ministerial prayer group in Hartland that I meet with each week. But even with that, I still feel isolation. Partly it could be my introvert personality, partly it is the nature of the job to be "on" all the time.

At Cruxifusion 2015, the masks fell away. I did not have to play a role. I could worship and sing. I could be fed, as well as feed. I could laugh and cry without self-awareness. I could be the object of my friends' jokes.

The Bible gives us an example of rest. God places it right in the fabric of creation with his Sabbath day. Pastors so rarely find an opportunity for true rest. At the conference, outside forces can intrude, but the fellowship of our time together is very powerful. We lift each other up, pray for each other, know the struggles and victories of ministry.

I do not have very many friends. I count these blessed Cruxers, who I see but once a year, as some of my dearest friends in the faith.

I needed that!

The Greatest Sermon I Ever Heard

In April 2005, my friend John and I spent around a week in London for some musical theater. We saw several different musicals that week, and toured museums and churches. I got to stand in Wesley’s pulpit in the basement of Wesley’s Chapel.  Well I knelt in it, to avoid hitting my head on the ceiling. It was a great trip and I carry the memories with me.

Kneeling in Wesley's pulpit

Sunday was a day without theater, so John and I decided to attend church services that morning and evening. In the morning we attended St. Mary-le-Strand church within walking distance of our hotel. It was a high Anglican service, with incense and robes and a quartet of paid soloists to lead the music. It was sparsely attended, and mostly what I remember was the incense was really strong, and for some reason they censed the statute of the Virgin Mary at the entrance of the church. That left this Protestant a touch bewildered.

In the evening John and I took a cab to All Souls, Langham Place to hear John Stott. Stott was in his early 80s by this point, but I had great respect for all the work Stott had done, and had read many of his books. The atmosphere was so much different than the morning service. The church was full, of energetic young people and visible minorities. The music was led by an orchestra, the ministers were dressed in suits and the church pulsed with a life and spirit that I had never felt before. We were ushered to some of the few remaining chairs on the left side of the church, and waited for the service to begin.

Then Stott preached. On 1 Corinthians 15, one in a series of Eastertide sermons.  And I sat enraptured by this man. Part of it could have been the English accent, which gives a sense of gravitas to almost anything.  But mostly it was that God was using this saint, this pillar of 20^th century evangelicalism to speak his message to me and the hundreds who had gathered that night. 

But beyond the experience of hearing one of my heroes, that sermon taught me one very valuable lesson that I have struggled to incorporate into my own preaching. The gospel message speaks for itself. It does not need to be dressed up with personal anecdotes, memorable illustrations and trendy pop-culture references. The gospel message that Stott gave that night spoke of the glory of the resurrection, both in Jesus and in us, shone through loud and clear. 

That lesson still convicts me. I sometimes try too hard to be funny. I tell stories that are peripheral to the message. I leave the congregation remembering me, and not the message. And I try to be better. More of a preacher, less of a speaker.  Stott’s words that night told me that Christ’s message of redemption is greater than any man. It is a message worth telling, and a message worth repeating. So, I will try again, this week. And next week, and every week after that, to proclaim the message that saved me.

Thank you, John Stott!

Baseball begins again

This week has seen the opening of baseball season. And that always brings back fond memories. I never played baseball, but I loved to watch it, read about it, learn about it. Starting in 1982, I remember watching Montreal Expos games on CBC, blurry and snowy because of the antenna that brought the signal into the house. I remember Dad often having to move the antenna to get a better picture. There was only one game a week usually, so we treasured that time. I still have dozens of mid 1980s baseball cards, and I remember fondly the stars, and even the also-rans of those days.  My brother loved the Expos. My favourite team was the New York Yankees, which in the late 1980s was in its darkest period, firing managers every year. (Sports dysfunction seems to follow me, as I cheer for the NFL’s Washington Redskins!) We bought baseball books and guides to the upcoming year, read books on scouting reports and statistics. We learnt baseball history. It is still something my brother and I can share fond memories about.  Just bring up the name Doug Flynn or Tom Foley, and see that moment of recognition.

Later, in high school and university, I spent my summers umpiring different baseball leagues and levels. It was great to be out on the field, even in that challenging position. Umpiring was fun one moment, stressful the next, dreadful the one after that. I don’t think I was particularly great at it, but I wasn’t terrible either. And then there was the bizarre thrill of throwing someone out of a game. So many times I have wanted that skill to translate to life off the baseball field. For one summer I helped my brother-in-law coach a group of beginner kids in a mosquito house league, basically teaching some to hit and catch. It was rewarding to see the improvement in those kids. 

But my love for baseball waned in the mid-1990s. I don’t fully blame the work stoppage that cancelled the 1994 World Series. I remember watching excitedly as the Toronto Blue Jays won back to back Series victories in 1992-1993. (My Yankee fandom was over by then.) But as life grew busier, and I ventured off to seminary, my interests changed and baseball watching drifted to the bottom.

The last couple of years, however, have seen a steady growth in my interest in baseball. I don’t have a favourite team anymore, although my satellite provider means that I watch a lot of Toronto Blue Jay games. But baseball has changed in the 15-plus years since I watched it regularly. The broadcasts are too flashy, but then I find that true in other sports as well. Pitching changes happen a lot more frequently. The new advanced statistics are a lot of numbers and letters with no real meaning to me. And I am still learning who all the best players are. 

I am also remembering, though, what I loved about baseball growing up. The strategy. The slow pace that gives you time to think. The fact that success in hitting means failure 7 out of 10 times. And the rules are easy to explain, for the most part. Rookies still have trouble laying off good breaking balls, so if you want to hang around this league you better learn how. The deep sacrifice fly is still the most boring run-scoring play in sports. And best of all, you can never tell which game is going to be the slugfest or the pitchers’ duel.

I am glad I have re-discovered baseball. Now my summer nights may include a good book, a good scotch and any old ball game.

Lent is done, now what?

My Lenten blogging project is done. I have delivered a piece on 37 of the forty days of Lent. It has been a challenging and rewarding experience. I trust those who have read my posts have enjoyed what I have had to say. I have enjoyed writing each day, getting my mind to open up

Now that Lent is done, I am not going to post every day. But I will produce longer blog pieces one or two days a week about issues that are important to me. Some days I will review the theology and church history books I am reading. Some days I will revel in baroque music. Some days I will complain about the state of my favorite NFL team, the Washington Redskins. Some days will be about living a pious Christian life in a fast-paced 2015 world. And I might write about single-malt scotch. And if there is anything you want to hear, let me know.

Good Friday

On today's blog, two pieces of my morning Good Friday service.
Sarah and I sang a duet for Good Friday.

My sermon on Gethsemane and the Cross.

May the blessings of Good FRiday be yours.