Would you care to dance?

When I was young, I went to dancing school. It was an awkward time each Tuesday afternoon, but my friends and I endured it together. The most uncomfortable moment wasn’t the dancing, it was getting out of my chair and walking over to a girl and asking her to dance. Remembering it all these years later still makes my palms sweat. Who should I ask? How should I ask? What if she refuses?

I’m not sure God gets nervous, but I do think God is continuously asking us to dance. He gets up, comes to each of us, and extends his hand as if to invite us onto the dancefloor. Each sunrise or sunset is a request. Each inspirational song, passage in a book, or poem is a request. Each inner stirring to do or say something to someone in need is a request. I even think each hardship is a request.

Although the requests come in countless ways, the question is, will we extend our hand and accept God’s invitation to dance? When I see children painting rainbows and colorful landscapes, I see that as a “yes.” When I see people awakening to serve meals at the local soup kitchen, I see that as a “yes.” When I see someone transforming into a new creation before my eyes, I know they’ve said Yes.”

This morning I awaken sitting eagerly in my chair hoping God will draw near and ask me to dance. More than that, I hope I say “yes.”

Searching for a Minister

They announced the name of our new minister at Church, this afternoon. It was the culmination of a two-years search which involved many parish meetings to discern the kind of minister we are looking for, and countless hours of work by the search committee. They combed through resumes, held initial interviews, and met with finalists before reaching a decision. They read candidates’ writings, heard their sermons, and talked to people who knew them well. In the end, they found someone, which is a miracle in and of itself.

My experience is that there are as many opinions about what makes a good minister as there are parishioners. Some people carry wounds from their childhood that shape the kind of minister they’d like, and some want to find someone like the minister they had growing up. Some want someone with an engaging personality, while others want a contemplative soul. Many expect a minister with strong pastoral care skills and a sweet bedside manner while also wanting an administrator capable of making tough decisions. Given that most parishes want someone who can walk on water while delivering the sermon on the mount, turn water into wine while feeding 5 thousand, it’s a wonder parishes find anyone to call as their minister.

It’s a good thing Jesus never had to live up to such expectations. Oh wait, yes, he did. That’s why they killed him.

Afterthought:

Although too simplistic, the search could have come down to three questions: Do you know Jesus Christ? Do you follow him? And can you help us do the same?

On the Rocks

“I like my Christianity on the rocks,” said the family matriarch. “Like my bourbon, I want it chilled and slightly watered down.”

It got the desired laughs from those gathered at the dining room table. They were like-minded family members. On her right was the son who complained that the prayers in church sounded like they came from CNN or some radical liberal group. On the left was the daughter who complained the sermons were too focused on current events, and her husband at the far end hadn’t been back to church since the minister said every family should tithe.

As easy as it would be to throw stones at such a gathering, I’m keenly aware how I, too, pick and choose the religion I claim to follow. I believe we’re to serve the poor, but I do little more than nod my head when I hear such things. I give every year to the church and other organizations, but I’m not sure I give 10% of my income. I’ve heard I’m supposed to love my enemies, and yet I can hardly talk to people who interpret the Gospel differently than I. Like the matriarch, I’m just as guilty of liking my gospel watered down.

The problem is, it’s not “my gospel.” It’s not some new wardrobe accessory that comes in different sizes where I find the one that suits me best. It belongs to God and every attempt to mold it to my desires or the whims of society is to pour it over ice to make it taste better.

I need to learn to drink mine straight up.

Espresso Shots:

1.     In what ways do you selectively follow the gospel?

2.     What parts of your faith are hardest to follow, and what parts are the easiest?

3.     What would the implications of your taking the gospel straight up?