the Outlook Blog

it's good to get reconnected with the outlook!  i have subscribed from time to time over the last few years, but it takes so long for the hard copy to arrive at my p.o. box here in guatemala city that i let myself get discouraged.  too much of a news junkie, i guess.  so, here we go with this cyber version. . .

Where better to turn for a source of New Year’s resolutions than the Ten Commandments? Martin Luther’s exposition of the Eighth Commandment* contains a bit of practical Christian wisdom that one could hope would find wide observance in the life of the Presbyterian Church (USA) in the coming year.

Explaining what it means to refrain from bearing false witness against our neighbors, Luther in his Small Catechism says this means “we are to come to their defense, speak well of them, and interpret everything they do in the best possible light.” Luther’s Large Catechism expands this last point further:

“It is a particularly fine, noble virtue to put the best construction on all that we may hear about our neighbors…, and to defend them against the poisonous tongues of those who are busily trying to pry out and pounce on something to criticize in their neighbor, misconstruing and twisting things in the worst way.”

Luther recognizes it as a violation of the commandment against false witness when we make straw men out of our neighbors’ positions, or interpret their actions and motivations in anything but the best possible light.

As one who has had the great privilege of circulating among different political and ideological subcultures within the PC(USA), I have been struck at how very much damage is done to the life of our church by the stories that circulate among groups of like-minded Presbyterians about what makes the “other side” tick:  We all know of course that “those liberals” have renounced the Lordship of Christ and the authority of Scripture in order to embrace a different gospel that is subservient to the demands of personal experience and Hollywood culture. And in a similar vein, isn’t it obvious to all right-thinking people that “those conservatives” have elevated hate to the status of a Christian virtue, sold their souls to fundamentalism, and replaced the Gospel of Christ with pharisaic legalism?

Very few of these charges are accurate in my experience, but even in those isolated instances where such unflattering portraits might gain a little traction, Luther’s interpretation of the commandment would seem to require us to preserve our neighbors’ honor and reputation by helping both them and others view their positions in the best and strongest possible light. Doing otherwise would constitute false witness by conveying the impression that the only possible basis for such a stance would be the stuff of our unflattering caricatures of each other.

At the very least, dealing with the best and strongest arguments for positions we disagree with should help all of us find a surer footing in our joint efforts to convert ourselves and others more fully to the truth. And in those cases where we cannot come up with a reasonable accounting of our neighbors’ positions, perhaps this commandment might help prevent us from jumping immediately to the conclusion that our fellow Christians are godless, hateful or irrational… and instead lead us to consider the possibility that we may not have understood their actions and positions as fully as we might.

I am going to try to do a better job observing this commandment in the coming year. Will you join me?

 

Dr. Mark Achtemeier teaches theology and ethics at Dubuque Theological Seminary

_____

*Because of the different ways that Lutheran and Reformed Christians number the commandments, corresponding discussions in Reformed sources will identify the prohibition of false witness as the ninth rather than the eighth commandment.

Quotes from Luther’s Small and Large Catechisms are taken from The Book of Concord, ed. Robert Kolb and Timothy Wengert (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 2000).

I am indebted to Eugene Rogers for directing my attention to this passage in Luther’s Small Catechism.

 

 

“Behold! The angels said: ‘O Mary! God giveth thee glad tidings of a Word from Him. His name will be Jesus Christ, the son of Mary, held in honor in this world and the Hereafter and in (the company of) those nearest to God.’”

Before searching for this quote in the New Testament, you might first ask your Muslim co-worker, friend or neighbor for a copy of the Quran, Islam’s revealed text. The quote is from verse 45 of chapter 3 in the Quran.

It is well known, particularly in this holiday season, that Christians follow the teachings of Jesus. What is less well understood is that Muslims also love and revere Jesus as one of God's greatest messengers to mankind.

Other verses in the Quran, regarded by Muslims as the direct word of God, state that Jesus was strengthened with the “Holy Spirit” (2:87) and is a "sign for the whole world.” (21:91) His virgin birth was confirmed when Mary is quoted as asking: “How can I have a son when no man has ever touched me?” (3:47)

The Quran shows Jesus speaking from the cradle and, with God’s permission, curing lepers and the blind. (5:110) God also states in the Quran: “We gave (Jesus) the Gospel (Injeel) and put compassion and mercy into the hearts of his followers.” (57:27)

As forces of hate in this country and worldwide try to pull Muslims and Christians apart, we are in desperate need of a unifying force that can bridge the widening gap of interfaith misunderstanding and mistrust. That force could be the message of love, peace and forgiveness taught by Jesus and accepted by followers of both faiths.

Christians and Muslims would do well to consider another verse in the Quran reaffirming God’s eternal message of spiritual unity: “Say ye: ‘We believe in God and the revelation given to us and to Abraham, Ismail, Isaac, Jacob, and the Tribes, and that given to Moses and Jesus, and that given to (all) Prophets from their Lord. We make no distinction between any of them, and it is unto Him that we surrender ourselves.’” (2:136)

The Prophet Muhammad himself sought to erase any distinctions between the message he taught and that taught by Jesus, who he called God’s “spirit and word.” Prophet Muhammad said: “Both in this world and in the Hereafter, I am the nearest of all people to Jesus, the son of Mary. The prophets are paternal brothers; their mothers are different, but their religion is one.”

When Muslims mention the Prophet Muhammad, they always add the phrase “peace be upon him.” Christians may be surprised to learn that the same phrase always follows a Muslim’s mention of Jesus or that we believe Jesus will return to earth in the last days before the final judgment. Disrespect toward Jesus, as we have seen all too often in our society, is very offensive to Muslims.

Unfortunately, violent events and hate-filled rhetoric around the world provide ample opportunity for promoting religious hostility. And yes, Muslims and Christians do have some differing perspectives on Jesus’ life and teachings. But his spiritual legacy offers an alternative opportunity for people of faith to recognize their shared religious heritage.

America’s Muslim community stands ready to honor that legacy by building bridges of interfaith understanding and challenging those who would divide our nation along religious or ethnic lines.

We have more in common than we think.

Ibrahim Hooper is National Communications Director for the Washington-based Council on American-Islamic Relations (CAIR), the nation’s largest Muslim civil liberties group. He may be contacted at: ihooper@cair.com

Last weekend I delivered the installation charge of my old friend Scott Black Johnston as he officially assumed the position of senior pastor of Fifth Avenue Presbyterian Church in New York City. A minister and member of the Presbytery of New York in the congregation that day suggested I share it with other colleagues so I decided to make it this week’s BLOG.

Scott, your charge started with the death of John Leonard, the critic and former editor of The New York Times Book Review. While I was reading Leonard’s obituary in The Times, it occurred to me that his collection of essays, Private Lives in the Imperial City, might make a suitable gift for you on this occasion. New York is, after all, the most imperial of imperial cities. When I ordered your copy, I ordered one for me too. I’d never read this collection, and as soon as my copy arrived, I started in on it. That’s when it started.

At first I was just charmed and fascinated by Leonard’s wit and humanity. Then I grew envious, to paraphrase Shakespeare, “of this man’s art and this man’s scope.” Gradually, however, I became aware of a more focused, charred irritation rising within me, a feeling of fury and lamentation combined, not at John Leonard, but at those of us who preach and on behalf of those who mostly sit and wait for our sermons to end.

I am astonished, Scott, at the faith of those people who continue to come to church. Dr. Samuel Johnson once marveled that second marriages are “the triumph of hope over experience.” His observation could apply equally to those who keep coming to church. Their willingness to forgive us our digressions amazes me.

And this is where John Leonard and other astute observers of life come in. Lots of Sundays, I feel that I am entering into a battle with my own will, to make myself leave the comforts of my home, a large leather chair, dark, rich hot tea with milk, the consolations of Maureen Dowd, Thomas Friedman, and (for a long time) John Leonard, to make my way to church where – well, to be frank – I am seldom surprised, seldom deeply engaged, seldom delighted or brought to a state of wonder. And I confess, many Sundays, I do not win this battle of will, but run up the white flag to the forces of Dowd, Friedman, et al, and enjoy a third cup of tea.

I had already (weeks ago) written your charge, and it was serviceable. But when I read John Leonard’s Private Lives in the Imperial City, and came upon an essay titled simply, “Good News,” I felt compelled to charge you on behalf of those who make their way to the doors of this church hoping to hear Good News. I know that charging you with these words is an exercise in preaching to the choir, but even the best choirs can be reminded from time to time of what’s at stake when they sing.

Leonard tells the story of receiving from a friend this friend’s contemporary translation of The Gospel According to St. Mark, and how the translation arrived at just the right moment, with Christmas around the corner, and Leonard’s fourteen-year old son having just declared his atheism.

Leonard confessed that their home is a pretty secular household guided by the precept, “What Would George Orwell Do?” At the edges of this rational, fragile world, original sin gnaws unnoticed, and his child mercifully has not yet had occasion to be confronted by “the irrational that, with a bloody claw, scatters all axioms.” In fact, Leonard realizes that it is his and his child’s thin rationality that renders them defenseless in the face of the dangers of this world. Church is a place you go for funerals, he notes; but, he asks, “in forgetting how to worship, have we forgotten [even] how to grieve?”

Then Leonard makes his grand admission. He writes of himself in the third person:

“He has neglected to talk to his son about final things…. [he] hasn’t dared admit that the standardized ethics of his household have a history; that the cross in his imagination might be a growing tree; that sacrifice and reciprocity, grace and mercy, love and justice, are more than just ideas or deductions or theories waiting for proofs. They are dreams that have survived our knowledge of ourselves. They are scales on which we measure our worth. They have even outlasted a church of inquisitors and clerks…. Just as there are tools that we trust, that are true, so there are symbols that are sacred, in which our hopes repose, true, too, and enduring…. How does one begin a conversation with one’s [child about the things that matter most in life]? The Good News According to Mark is a start…. And one’s [child], a cat among proofs, knows suddenly that there is a document … and [this document reports] ‘a great thing happened in the presence of human witnesses who, however slow to comprehend, eventually did so and survived to tell the tale.’ And one’s [child] wonders too.”

Here is my charge to you, Scott. It is a charge I know you will keep because I know you: Preach the Good News with as much wit and style, pathos and gravity, wisdom and love and humor as you can muster, so that your people can put flesh on the hopes that get them out of bed on a Sunday morning, and come here with the experience of having heard the Good News in this place and the expectation to hear it again.

Scott, take your people, all these children of God, to a place of wonder; by hook and crook, metaphor and story, take them to a place of wonder where witnesses still speak, and symbols still signify, and truth still matters, so they will know that they live every moment of their lives in the presence of God. Sanctify their lives with laughter and wisdom and the Word of God. The Good News has taken hold of you, you are its herald in this place, that it might illuminate them.

 

 

Amen.

As I have gotten older, I have shifted one hundred eighty degrees in my attitude toward the penitential seasons of Advent and Lent. For many years the prospect of several weeks spent dwelling on matters of sin and repentance struck me as akin to taking very bad-tasting medicine as a child: necessary perhaps for spiritual health, but not the kind of thing one looks forward to.

These days however I find myself grateful that my home congregation is willing to linger over the Advent texts and disciplines and not rush too quickly into Christmas. The turnaround for me has come about as I have been struck with a common but under-appreciated feature of the Christmas message: God sent to us a Savior.

I think about all the different ways God could have reached out to our world: God could have sent someone whose primary mission was to be a teacher to offer us guidance and instruction. God could have sent a life-coach to inspire and direct us, or a sage to provide spiritual wisdom and insight, or a counselor to help us distinguish clearly the times we've gotten things right from those episodes when we have strayed from the path. Jesus helps us with all those things, of course, but they are not what the angels proclaim. The emphasis of the Christmas message lies elsewhere.

God sends us a Savior...why? Evidently because we needed saving. The implications of that run deeper than we're comfortable with sometimes. Admitting that we are the sort of people who need saving is a radical step.

People who need the occasional mid-course correction might benefit from an instructor or a coach, but they surely don't need a Savior. Neither do people who simply require the occasional reminder to live the way they should, or those whose lives get a little ragged around the edges and need to be re-centered.

No, one sends a Savior to people who are without hope. Saviors are for the really unfortunate persons who face challenges and difficulties that are simply too big for them to deal with on their own. Saviors are needed for people who completely lack the resources to meet the challenges at hand, the hopeless cases who would be completely lost if left to their own devices.  Could God really be thinking of us in that way, even now, after all these years of trying so hard to be good disciples?

For me Advent has become, along with Lent, a time for reflecting on why I would need a Savior. This spiritual discipline collides head-on with my own pretensions: I have the sense of having done a pretty fair job of being a Christian and a decent human being, though like everyone I’ve experienced the occasional slip-up around the margins, which I will address in the coming year by buckling down and trying harder. In the face of my spiritual complacency, Advent comes like a bucket of ice water to the face, reminding me that God still considers me a hopeless case—someone who needs a Savior! It’s jarring to contemplate.

Surprisingly, though, I find this reminder, as unsettling as it is, can also become the occasion of joy. The assertion that I am one who needs saving leads me to reflect on all those aspects of my life and world that really are beyond my capacity to deal with. This Advent I have been thinking about the disruptive economic forces that have sent nations and families and businesses careening like tiny boats on a storm-tossed sea, and that so far seem resistant to anyone’s efforts to tame them. The anxiety which follows close on the heels of these reflections provides an unsettling insight into how much my own sense of confidence and hope for the future is tied up with financial security and material prosperity.

I have also found myself thinking about mortality. Though blessed with relatively good health, at age 53 I find the sense of life’s finite limits becoming increasingly vivid. There just isn’t the sense anymore of a limitless expanse of time stretching out before me for the embracing what life has to offer. An end is coming, bringing with it heaven knows what in the way of grief and suffering, and while a healthy lifestyle can perhaps postpone it for awhile, in the end there’s nothing I or anyone can do to keep it from coming.

Such reflections by themselves would be terribly depressing, but in the context of Advent they serve to highlight the stunning import of the Christmas message: God sent a Savior. All the situations we identify as hopeless are not so. He came as light in the darkness, and he is coming again in glory to make all things new. None of the forces bigger than ourselves has ultimate power over us.

What would it look like for us to start living more from the truth of that? I think the repentance to which Advent calls us is first and foremost about learning to live fully in the light of what God has done, allowing God’s gift to banish our hopelessness and the destructive anxiety which follows so closely on its heels. What does it feel like when God’s gift of a Savior starts to overcome our fear of all the earthly powers and forces and situations we assumed had control over us? Such liberation, I suspect, may have us singing along with the angels before we know it!

“For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Savior, which is Christ the Lord.”  May God grant all of us grace this Advent to enter more deeply into this astonishing news!

 

Mark Achtemeier teaches Theology and Ethics at Dubuque Theological Seminary.

The recent three-part series of Outlook articles by Erwin Barron has generated a number of letters to the editor and lit up the Presbyterian blogosphere unlike any we have published in a long time. Both his articles and many of those letters have showcased a depth of theological reflection that can make any Presbyterian proud.

            These articles, a distillation of a 300-page Ph.D. dissertation, provide an insightful glimpse into two Presbyterian congregations who hold opposing positions on same-sex relationships. Barron’s analysis of the progressive More Light congregation and the conservative Confessing church dismantles many caricatures often foisted upon each group.  While reporting the genuine differences he observed, he also lifts up commonalities the churches share. 

            Most responses to these articles raise questions about 1) the importance of personal experience and Biblical exegesis in forming Christian moral decisions; and, 2) whether or not, considering the subject matter of his articles, the Outlook should have let readers know of the writer’s own gay orientation and lifestyle.

            The articles focus our attention on the role of context/experience and Biblical study in forming our theological and ideological convictions — and in what order they are pursued. The fresh water trout and the sea bass both may think “Water is water,” but little do they know that their perception is shaped by their own experienced environment.  We humans are able to cross from our environment into others and thereby be invited to critique our own assumptions, even our prejudices. However, as Barron would suggest, we do that too seldom.  We don’t listen well to others’ perspective, and in the process we leave ourselves to be subjected to our own subjectivism.  He urges us to take our experience seriously, even to unashamedly begin with such perspective before tackling Scripture in such study, and he urges us to learn from each others’ perspectives, too.

            Barron has been criticized for elevating experience above Scripture. In a rejoinder letter to the editor he responds that “Scripture is still important. It must be a part of all Christian moral discussion.” He adds, “I do not propose that we stop listening to God's word, I only argue that the only way to hear God's word is through the lens of our experience. We cannot avoid that, and we cannot discount it. Experience is a BEGINNING point for discussing Scripture and other sources of authority.”

            At this point, I would want to tweak his comments by adding that, after acknowledging our own experiences, and learning from the experiences of conversation partners, and learning from the experience-shaped insights of others around the world and through history, and now looking afresh at Biblical texts with the help of such cross-cultural, cross-contextual, cross-experiential insights, our goal should be to hear holy Scripture without it being clouded by our subjectivism, so that Scripture can be decisive, the final word.  If we instinctively and unavoidably begin our theology from below – our own experience – we do need to conclude it from above – God’s word.  We do not so much assess Scripture from our perspective; Scripture assesses our perspective, and corrects it. 

            For this reason, we categorized these articles as “op-ed”, i.e., reflecting the convictions of the writer, not necessarily the opinions of the editor or The Presbyterian Outlook Foundation.

            On the question of disclosure, the Outlook has not made a practice of presenting the resume of its writers’ personal and family lives, any more than we do so for those who submit letters to the editor. Mr. Barron knew that, so he felt no need to disclose his to us when proposing these articles for publication. However, when not stated in an article, we do try to disclose if we believe a writer has a stake in the point being made — whether due to affiliation with an advocacy organization or due to a history of supporting legislation that challenges existing church policy. In all candor, Mr. Barron apparently does wish to see our denomination’s policy prohibiting same-sex marriages to change – and some of the arguments in his research seem to lean toward such a conclusion.

            At the same time, I agree with Barron’s note to us that his research and writing represent work “… done fairly, supervised by very strict standards and very meticulous academic scholars.”

            In the light of all this, I encourage you to re-read these articles, to assess your points of agreement and disagreement with the respective congregations — recognizing the writer’s genuine efforts to report about them fairly — to ponder the process we engage when discussing our Christian values, and in the process, to learn from the research Mr. Barron has offered us.

-JHH

Recently a colleague responded to a comment I made about the current economic situation by asking, “So, you’re saying that this economic crisis could be a blessing in disguise.” To which I answered, “Well, sort of. Granted, it’s a really good disguise, but there’s also a real blessing here.”

 This doesn’t mean that the economic curse is not real also.

 There’s plenty of hardship and heartbreak to go around these days, and the human costs of the financial crisis we’re facing globally have only begun to be felt.

 But there are aspects of the present economic situation that are blessings, and one of these blessings has to do with the clarification of mission that becomes necessary in tough times. I think this holds true for churches as well as seminaries.

 After listening to several of my students present case studies on congregational leadership during the past few weeks, I’ve come to realize that many church leaders operate with a faulty understanding of basic, practical economics.

 We tend to view the fat years as normative; and in fat years we often expand programs and hire new staff, not recognizing that fat years are relatively rare, nor anticipating how to respond when the gravy train is derailed.

 We also tend to think of flat years as unusual; and in flat years some church leaders spend principal rather than interest (literally and metaphorically) in order to prop up the programming and personnel expansions of the fat years.

 Then when we hit genuine lean years (like recessions) we can be utterly unprepared to weather the difficulties, with endowments already raided and real estate assets mortgaged or sold.

 In fact, historically speaking, flat years are more common than fat years; and it is an unwise steward who does not prepare for lean years (See the story of Joseph, Genesis 41:17-42:17).

 So, where’s the blessing?

 Flat years provide the opportunity and lean years the necessity for reassessing a church’s or a school’s mission. Pruning, as every good steward knows, is crucial to making a garden grow.

 For a theological school, tough times allow seminary leadership to reflect seriously on the question: “What is so essential to our mission that if we stopped doing it, we would no longer be the seminary we are called to be?”

 For a church, tough times allow sessions and pastors to ask: “What is so essential to our mission that if we stopped doing it, we would no longer be the church God calls us to be in this community?”

 Colleagues in leadership often complain about mission creep, the kudzu-like overgrowth of good ideas, programs and schemes that can choke the life from the essential mission of a church or a school. There’s no better cure for mission creep than economic tough times. There’s also no better time for reflecting on how a church or a school should change to meet new challenges than lean years.

 I often hear it said that pastors should know something about reading a balance sheet in addition to knowing the Bible and theology. I agree. But just being able to read financial statements does not guarantee the kind of economic wisdom that is inseparable from good stewardship. We also need to be able to read the seasons, and know how to respond to them appropriately.

 If this is the economic “winter of our discontent,” perhaps we should remember that smart farmers use the winter to study their seed catalogues and plan for the next spring. And if the best leadership is leadership by adventure (as someone has suggested) there’s no better time to dream up the next adventure than in an off-season, even if the season is protracted.

 This certainly is not all we should be doing in tough economic times, especially in view of the human dimensions to this crisis, but it represents a start.

 

Michael Jinkins is Academic Dean and Professor of Pastoral Theology at Austin Presbyterian Theological Seminary. mjinkins@austinseminary.edu

A friend and colleague in ministry with whom I share a number of theological and cultural differences recently commented that I was most surely a “liberal” and that we would never agree on certain things that he held of deep value as a “conservative.” He went on to argue that the divisions within the Presbyterian Church (U.S.A.) seemed beyond bridging the gap from his perspective, and perhaps the best we could do was to acknowledge how we disagree and live as peacefully with one another as possible. He would go so far as to say that this was possible between two friends, but he didn’t see how it was possible with a denomination that has made him more and more cynical.

As I am prone to do at times, I decided to play the part of devil’s advocate and I made a very simple statement. It was this: “I guess I am a ‘liberal,’ but I’m an ‘evangelical liberal.’”

He quickly replied, “That’s an oxymoron if I’ve ever heard one.”

“I don’t think so, “I said. “I believe in telling the Good News of Jesus Christ just as much as you do in both my words and actions. I’m not afraid of using the ‘E’ word at all.”

“But you must mean,“ he insisted, “that you are a ‘liberal evangelical’.”

“No,” I said. “I meant exactly what I said in describing myself.”

He shook his head and sighed. “I guess I just don’t get it.”

For me that says it all. None of us “get it” when we feel we are compelled to use old, outdated, culturally freighted, politically captive, relatively meaningless labels. Setting us up as a nation, or as a denomination of people who are on the “left” or the “right,” or God forbid some of those fence sitters in the middle who can fall either way on a particular issue, only compounds our focusing on single issues that tend to divide us rather than to unite us in the love of Christ.

Now I know this is no new news for any of us Presbyterians. We’ve been tearing ourselves apart piece by piece for over thirty years on the gay and lesbian ordination issue. Underlying that issue though, is a far greater divide that predates the anxious hearts we carry within us as the people of God. It’s a fear lodged in how to agree to disagree in love, not in anger. Our sinful inflexibility seems most obvious when we single out a specific concern on which we passionately disagree. Our basic instinct is to assume that we will not like people with whom we disagree, even if we do not know them well, or for that matter, actually know them at all. The true worry for some of us who have weathered the storms of our church fights over the last several decades is how to learn a new way of falling in love with one another as the church all over again. The times in our history may not reflect many periods of when we have accomplished such a miracle, but there are a few. Certainly the Apostle Paul understood how difficult it is to truly love one another, stay united, still disagree, but to share in common our conviction to follow the Christ who even challenged us to love our enemies.

I believe that one of the ways of following the mandate of Christ’s commandment to love as we have been loved may be found in dispensing with the labels. What would it be like if we suspended looking to the left or right and looked straight forward into God’s future? What would it be like if we trashed all of the labels like “liberal” and “conservative,” and started thinking of ourselves as “disciples”? What would it be like if we suspended our arguments, our amendments, our votes, and simply lived together in peace and harmony?

Yeah. . . yeah. . .I know I sound like a “60’s liberal,” a fool, or an idealist who has his head in the clouds. I get accused of that regularly by my more pragmatic friends, but I can’t quite let it go because I believe the Gospel is about living our way as flawed human creatures into a more ideal world. Heaven come to earth? Realized eschatology? Things here on earth as they are in heaven?

Yes. Glimpsing heaven in our midst with something like the ideals that Calvin must have yearned for in Geneva. No utopia, for Calvin was a realist, but a more perfect world that is modeled on a more perfect community of people joined together in Christ that we call “the Church.”

What purpose do our labels serve? They do not seem to bring us together, but to divide us. They certainly aren’t usually very clear as my discussion with my dear friend indicates. I was not simply playing with words in our conversation, but trying to make a point about how confusing and distorting labeling one another can be. Admittedly it feels nice to us human beings to nest together as “birds of a feather” do. It’s usually more comfortable, less stressful, and even more fun to agree. But is that our calling in a divided world and a divided church to have to agree with one another? Are we not called to bear the burdens of the Gospel that Jesus warned would not be easy? If our labeling serves no good purpose under the mandates of the Gospel, then why do we persist in doing so?

What would it be like if during this season of Advent we tried on some new behaviors and ways of thinking? I am suggesting that every time we catch ourselves thinking,   I really don’t want to be around him or her; I don’t like how they feel and how they think, that we stopped dead in our tracks and said, “Maybe I should get to know them better.” I am also suggesting that every time we mentally feel the restless urge to stick a label on someone that we resist it and don’t make assumptions which we all know “make an ass out of you and me.” I am suggesting that we practice the power of positive thinking, live the adage that if we don’t have something good to say about someone else that we don’t say anything at all, and that we look hard at ourselves in that foggy mirror in which Paul said we could only see dimly. Maybe. . . just maybe. . . as we journey through this holy season we might catch a fainting glimpse of God in a manger stall as clearly as those first shepherds and as wisely as those later visitors, the wise men. Maybe with God’s help we can let the labels go once and for all!

Phil Leftwich

Executive Presbyter

Presbytery of Middle Tennessee

One church in our presbytery has left the denomination and another is threatening to do so.  The bitterness, the suspicion, the anger that often accompanies such a divorce (on both sides) can cause one to wonder how the good news of grace can be preached or heard from Sunday to Sunday in the midst of such rancor and discord. 
            After delivering some lectures at a church this past summer on the fundamentalist-modernist controversy of the early 20th century, someone asked, given the issues over the years of race, ordination of women, divorce, and now the ordination of gays and lesbians, if Presbyterians just liked to fight.  It’s hard to answer that with a no.

            It seems that we have assumed a mindset of argument and suspicion.  At presbytery meetings it’s difficult to look at anyone without wondering where he or she stands, ideologically.  Whose side is she on?  I wonder how he’s a liberal or a conservative.  Our guard is always up.  Some have even said that they intend to stay in the denomination – not out of some commitment to the larger church, but so that their side can win.

            It seems that we can no longer look at someone as a devoted elder, deacon, minister, or member of the church of Jesus Christ.  We have to wonder about what one’s intentions are when a question is asked.  What did he or she really mean by that? 

            Doris Kearns Goodwin did us a wonderful favor by writing her book Team of Rivals which describes Lincoln’s ability to draw into his cabinet the very persons who had opposed his candidacy for president.  Lincoln didn’t let their opposition to him stand in the way of seeing the gifts they might bring to his administration.  It was also an astute political move to have them inside working for him and not outside working against him.

            The choice is whether we will work towards having a big tent in which everyone has a say, but not everyone will get their way, or we will have a small tent in which everyone always agrees.  I vote for the big tent in which it is assumed that everyone’s motives are based on a devotion to Jesus Christ and that we are all involved in the common enterprise of laboring in his kingdom.  If some feel led to become part of another tradition or organization, they are free to go.  But we surely don’t insist that everyone conform to uniformity.  We do assume a commitment to Jesus Christ and the themes of the Reformed tradition.

            Even though some of us may espouse the big tent view, our tent is becoming smaller.  I regret that because grace is getting squeezed out.  Pain and bitterness remain. Those who want their side to win remain.  It doesn’t have to be that way.  It is a sad time when genuine grace and forgiveness no longer have a place.  How strange for the church to find itself in that position!

            National Geographic photographer Dewitt Jones has said that it doesn’t do much good to walk to preach somewhere if our preaching isn’t in our walking.  No one has a corner on the market of righteousness, let alone grace and mercy.  All of us stand in need of the grace and mercy of Jesus Christ.  The sooner all of us remember that, the sooner all of us remember that our preaching needs to be in our walking, the sooner we might resemble the people God intends us to be.  By the way, that last statement is intended as much for me as for anyone.

Jim Currie, Houston, TX (Associate Dean and Director, Austin Seminary’s Houston Extension Program)

I'm stunned by news of the death of reporter Evan Silverstein, a friend and colleague from Presbyterian News Service whom I've known for eight years. Evan died at age 42 at his home in Louisville on Sunday of natural causes, the news service reported today.

We often covered the same events involving the Louisville-based Presbyterian Church (U.S.A.). While our employers were different -- his a denominational news service, mine the secular hometown paper -- we shared the goal of reporting thoroughly and fairly about of all sides of the issues.

Less than two weeks ago, I saw him at the ceremony marking the 20th anniversary of the headquarters in Louisville. We talked about the challenges facing our vocation -- the financial struggles of both newspapers and Protestant denominational news services, and the current repercussions for both my employer and his.

Evan told me of how his goal was never to quit in spite of the pressures, and instead to keep doing his job as well as he could as long as he could. And he did -- part of the two-person crew that set a standard for excellence among denominational news services. He won numerous awards. It's fitting that a memorial fund established in his name honors the work he did in helping publicize the struggles of migrant farm workers in Florida for better conditions -- including a boycott of Louisville-based Yum! Brands. His obit notes that Silverstein, although himself Jewish, "displayed a far better understanding of and appreciation for the mission and ministry of the PC(USA) than many Presbyterians."

Now his comments, and that chance encounter, take on deeper meaning. Evan held up his end of the bargain. How tragic that it ended so soon.

(Photo of Evan on assignment in Egypt is from Presbyterian News Service.)

http://www.courier-journal.com/blogs/faith/2008/11/reporters-tragic-death.html