Discipleship and Mission

As I transition out of sabbatical and back to the parish, I am focusing on where we are going as a congregation, and the way we are planning to get there. This spring we completed a long range plan, which is built primarily around two concepts: Discipleship and Mission. This contrasts with what has tended to shape congregations the past few decades: Membership and Maintenance. (For example, see Michael Foss, Power Surge). The latter begins inside the church and stays there. Membership means I get certain benefits, and the task of the congregation is to maintain and improve those benefits. The former looks inward toward a deepening spirituality, but then goes outwards as one follows Christ in a life of discipleship geared to mission in the world.

Perhaps no one has written more profoundly about the call to discipleship than Dietrich Bonhoeffer, the German Lutheran theologian and pastor who, because he believed following Jesus meant opposing Hitler, lost his life in 1945 in a German concentration camp at the age of 39.

In his book, The Cost of Discipleship, Bonhoeffer distinguishes between what he calls “cheap grace” and “costly grace.” Cheap grace is “the justification of sin without the justification of the repentant sinner who departs from sin. . . . . Cheap grace is grace without discipleship, grace without the cross, grace without Jesus Christ, living and incarnate.” [p. 36]

In contrast, of “costly grace” he writes: “Happy are they who, knowing that grace, can live in the world without being of it, who, by following Jesus Christ, are so assured of their heavenly citizenship that they are truly free to live their lives in this world. Happy are they who know that discipleship simply means the life which springs from grace, and that grace simply means discipleship.” [p. 47]

Bonhoeffer then goes on to talk of the relationship of faith and belief to following and discipleship. He writes, in reference to Jesus calling Matthew in Mark 2:14:

“The call goes forth, and is at once followed by the response of obedience. The response of the disciples is an act of obedience, not a confession of faith in Jesus.” [p. 48] Faith and obedience must always be kept together. “Only the obedient believe. Without this preliminary step of obedience, our faith will only be pious humbug, and lead us to the grace which is not costly. Everything depends on the first step. . . . . . Only this new existence, created through obedience, can make faith possible.” [P. 55]

Years ago I read a fascinating article by Earnest T. Campbell, former Senior Minister at Riverside Church in New York City, entitled “Do You Believe in Christ or Are You Following Jesus?” He points out that over the decades of his life in the church he had often been asked if be believed in Christ, but never if he was following Jesus. At the end of the article he states that the two do need to be kept together, but that it is possible to believe without following, but not possible to follow without believing.

This is the theological goal of the Discipleship University that I am in the process of creating for Shepherd of the Valley. This university will include both study and action as we attempt to hold faith and following together, but move the stress toward what it means to be a disciple in the world today as that dimension has often been neglected. Stressing discipleship will not only greatly enrich our lives and strengthen our faith, but it will lead to a life-giving mission to the world and our communities sorely needed. Once again ethics will become paramount as we precede action by first asking what God is calling us to do.

An Inner Desert (Being Open to God’s Will)

Desert of the Navajo Nation in Arizona


One of the things I learned from Juan Luis Segundo, in his book The Liberation of Theology, is that one of the great difficulties of living an authentic and meaningful life is that we are never able to bring pure questions about our lives to God, to Scripture, to others.
From the time we are born we are constantly being fed “ideology,” which is defined by Mirriam-Webster as “a systematic body of concepts especially about human life or culture.” Thus we never are able to raise our questions in a “pure” form, because we already come with our various ideologies, which, as Segundo points out, have a way of “hiding reality.”

The summer after my freshman year in college I spent a month hitch-hiking around Europe. Like nearly all Americans I had been raised to believe we were the greatest nation made up of the most knowledgeable and intelligent people. I soon found that many Europeans knew a lot more about the world than I did, and they didn’t think our nation was doing the right thing by fighting the war in Vietnam.

By the time we are able to vote we have already been exposed to countless political ideologies from our parents, community, and the media. By the time we are able to read the Bible we have already been told hundreds of things we are supposed to believe about God, life, and the world. By the time we are old enough to try to decide what we should do with our lives vocationally, we have already been told thousands of times what we are good at and what we aren’t, what jobs make money and which ones don’t, what kinds of work are prestigious and which aren’t, and, more than likely, exactly what others close to us think we should do.

The same applies to the two most meaningful questions a human being can ask. First, who is God, what is God like, and what is my relationship to God to be? Secondly, how should I live my life in terms of what I do, what I support, what I work for, what I give myself to?

This is why apophatic spirituality is so important. The first step of it is emptying, of entering the desert by relinquishing as much as we humanly can all our images and concepts of God, all of the ideology we carry within us about the meaning of life. In the words of Lane, we try to become an “inner desert.” “To become an inner desert is to abandon the rampant race of thoughts, feelings, and worries that continually distract the soul from attentiveness to God.” [p. 12] The Scriptures talk about “kenosis,” which comes from the Greek and means “self-emptying” or “purging,” as Jesus emptied himself of the attributes of God in becoming human. [Philippians 2:5-11]

What is it about our human nature that leads us to think everything is set? Most people, if asked, would say, this is what God is like, this is what my relationship to God is like, and this is what I am doing with my life. But that is not what relationships are like. It is not what life is like.

My wife is different now than she was 10 years ago, let alone the nearly 25 years ago when we were married. My children are changing all the time. I could not have a meaningful relationship with my kids or wife if I assumed they were never going to change. For that matter, I am changing all the time myself, which only complicates matters even more.

To have a meaningful and dynamic relationship with God means to be constantly emptying ourselves so that God can speak to us anew. The same goes for our vocations and what we choose to do with our lives. If we are able to empty ourselves and open ourselves to God, we may just find that God has all kinds of exciting things for us to do in the world, and we may even find that God can open us to see the world in news ways. More than likely there are real faults with the ideologies with which we were raised, and the ideologies we have clung to since.

Lane talks about the difference between our jobs and our vocation. [pp. 80-81] Our jobs are what we are paid to do. Our vocation is what God is calling us to do. If we are fortunate, the two may overlap, but they will never be identical, and, for many people, they are far apart. The spiritual question tries to go deeper, and constantly wants to know what God might be calling us to do in the present. This will have to do with not only how we spend our time and exert our energy and love, but also with what causes we support in the social, political, and economic world. If we remain open to God, even out politics may change, hard as that may be to believe. The quest for truth should never be abandoned, and will not be by the one able to become an inner desert as one opens oneself up to the mountaintop revelations God seeks to give us.

God and Golf

My son, Brian, at Blueberry Pines Golf Course


People like to make fun of golf. You know, chasing a little white ball around a pasture. Or, as Mark Twain once said, “a good walk spoiled.” Or, like my stepmother used to say (and, by the way, this is more or less true), golfers spend an hour talking about the round they plan to play, four and half hours playing it, and then two hours talking about it afterwards and planning for the next round.
One of my favorite comments came from a friend, an avid fisherman, who, when asked why he doesn’t golf anymore, said, “It takes too much time.”

So the idea that golf and one’s spiritual journey would have anything to do with each other, well . . . . I am sure that would seem a bit far-fetched to many. And yet, on my sabbatical, I brought along three books on the topic: M. Scott Peck’s (the psychiatrist who wrote the best-selling psychological book of all time, The Road Less Traveled) Golf and the Spirit, Michael Murphy’s Golf in the Kingdom, and Roland Merullo’s Golfing with God.

Peck, who took up golf as an adult, and came to love it more than any other sport, writes:

"Sooner or later golfers who stick with the game long enough
will almost always come to see it as a metaphor for life. . . .
I would go even further and say that, in its own way, golf is
life, and not only that, but “life condensed.” If we choose to
use it as such, I believe that golf, next to marriage and parent-
hood, can routinely be the greatest of life’s learning oppor-
tunities." [p. 61]

Peck designs an imaginary 18 hole golf course, each of which is a chapter in the book. His purpose, as he states on p. 311, is not to worship golf, but to use it as a way to talk about both our psychological growth and our spiritual journey. In the “course” of the book he deals with anger, fear, hazards in life, luck, humiliation, mentoring, character flaws, honesty, self-confidence, perfection, human nature, paradox, civility, competition, power, freedom, beauty, gratitude, grace and many other themes.

Murphy, in his novel set in Scotland, the home of golf, takes on many of the same themes. For example, one of his characters states,

"Gowf is a way o’ makin’ a man naked. . . . . Ye talk about yer
body language, yer style o’ projectin’, yer rationalizashin’, yer
excuses, lies, cheatin’ roonds, incredible stories, failures of
character---why, there’s no place to match it." [p. 45]

Having played golf since I was a child, along with just about every other sport, all of which can teach us about life, I have come to see the unique ways in which golf is a teacher, for better or worse. Every course is different, which brings both beauty and challenges.
In the course of a round you will likely deal with so many of the emotions of life. You will fail, and feel anger and frustration. You will hit a nearly perfect shot, and feel on top of the world. You will be challenged to find joy no matter what the result.

I learned golf from my father, and I taught it to my son when he was five. My wedding gift to my wife was a set of golf clubs, and that seems to have done the trick. She took a hiatus when our children were young, but she is now back at it full steam. I have tried over the years to interest my daughter, but have not been successful, probably because she is so sick of hearing the rest of us talk about golf.

Two years after we bought our cabin a beautiful and challenging golf course was built five miles from our place, called Blueberry Pines. When we lived in Fargo we joined each summer and played most of our golf there. It has truly been a joy to be able to play there again this summer with my son and wife, although she has now returned to her work teaching.

We all continue to learn about life, and each other, as we play.
Most painful of all is learning about yourself. There is no more humiliating teacher, and no more ecstatic athletic experience than those perfect shots we each sometimes hit.

But, best of all, is walking down the 18th fairway with my son, along the Blueberry Creek, among the beautiful Norway pines, with the sun setting orange and red behind us, making the green of the fairways and greens even deeper in hue. I love the game, but I love even more playing it with those I love.

Sacred Place: Steele, N.D.

On the last day of my sabbatical journey north, as I drove across my home state of North Dakota, I drove by Driscoll and Steele, which are located about 35 miles west of Bismarck. These were the home towns of my father and mother, respectively, at the time they were dating each other. About all I can remember about Driscoll is a couple of family gatherings when I was very young, and going to the funerals of my Grandfather and Grandmother in the early 50’s when I was a small boy.

I stopped for gas on the interstate just outside of Steele. After having filled up, I was drawn to drive into this little town of some 700 people. Last year Steele celebrated its 125th Anniversary. The community had been begun by Wilbur F. Steele who had purchased land from the Northern Pacific Railroad for the community. He had hoped his namesake town would become the North Dakota state capitol, and to that end he built a building to house the legislature. When the capitol ended up being located in Bismarck, Steele sold the building to Kidder County in 1885 to serve as its courthouse, which it still is to this day.

As I drove into Steele everything became black and white. It was the late 1930’s, and there was lots of dust in the air. My mother, Ruth, was the daughter of the local Methodist pastor, Herbert Brown, who died before I was born. I found the church he served. My father, Edrei, used to drive over from Driscoll, just 10 miles west, to court my mother. I remember him telling stories about driving around and around the block of the parsonage, hoping to get up enough courage to knock on the door.

I found the post office where Mom used to go to send letters to Dad when he was away at college, and where she would pick up his love letters to her. And yes, I found the Kidder County Courthouse, where they secured their marriage license.

The past is sacred. It carries the stories and events that are a large part of who we are. Towns like Steele are sacred to those who have roots there, stopping by for a few moments to view the places and spaces where events occurred that were seminal to who they are today.

Back on the interstate, I felt a little bit closer to Mom and Dad, and gratitude for the places and people who made them who they were.

Becoming an Auntie

11 days ago my nephew Erik was born - my younger sister's first child and the first grandchild on our side of the family. I can hardly believe that my "little sis" is a parent. I am alternately overjoyed and slightly horrified.
Of course this means a change in my status as well - I am officially an aunt, and not just by marriage. There's no getting around that I am one of the people this adorable new person will count on in life - for hugs and encouragement, birthday presents and at least a little dirt on his mother.
Our Gospel passage for this Sunday is the story of the Good Samaritan - I think most folks know the story, or at least the part about the "good" Samaritan who stopped to help someone in need. Two lines always stick with me after reading this passage from Luke (chapter 10:25-37). The first is the lawyer's right answer about the law: "You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your strength, and with all your mind; and your neighbor as yourself." - It is so all-encompassing this law of love. The other line that always gets me is the last in the passage. The lawyer has correctly identified the Samaritan who showed mercy as the one who was a neighbor to the beaten man in the road. And Jesus' response is: "Go and do likewise." Go and show mercy whenever and wherever it is needed.
I haven't even seen Erik in person yet, and already I love him. My sister and her husband are loving him like they've never loved anybody - the lack of sleep that goes with early parenting proves it.
I wonder if we can let our love for Erik teach us how to "go and do likewise" for any of God's children in need.

To the Dogs

Three years ago, on vacation here at our cabin in Minnesota, Jessi and I stopped by to visit Ike, the local man who watches our cabin when we are gone. It just so happened that his dog, Molly, a pure bred yellow Labrador Retriever, had given birth to several pups.
Do I really need to tell you the rest of the story? Even I wanted one of those pups. Especially one that could be trained to hunt quail in Arizona and pheasants in North Dakota.

Now, I still find it hard to believe that I was the one who decided not only that Kira should be trained, but that I would be the one to do it. I got a few books from a friend, enrolled her in a several- week class, and took her there with treats in my pocket on Monday nights, sacrificing my Monday Night Football.

I guess I am truly the Alpha, because Kira knows better than to mess around with me. But you should see her with the kids. And anyone else who wants to play with her. Jump and roll and tumble they go.

But what I appreciate most about Kira is that she is an example of pure grace. By that I mean she is totally accepting, and filled with love and fun at all times. Never once, when I have told her to “come,” does she not come. In fact, she comes running full speed and jumps into your arms if you want her to. Never have I suggested we play, or go for a walk, and she has refused. Even if no one else in the house wants to play, I know Kira will.

She is always ready to sit at my feet, lick my face, snuggle on the couch. In October of 2005, when I stepped into a hole while quail hunting and broke my leg, guess who was there licking my face as I lay on a bed of cactus needles. Not that it was a pleasant experience, given it was 107 degrees out, my left knee tendon was nearly torn through, and—then those cactus needles. But there she was, “man’s best friend,” licking me and encouraging me to get up, which, of course, I couldn’t.

We have so much fun at the cabin. All I have to say is, “Kira, let’s go,” and off she and I go on our long walks, down the gravel roads, or in the back meadow.

I have come to understand over the years why humans love dogs. It may be a pejorative expression to say everything is going “to the dogs,” but if all dogs were like Kira, it could only be a good thing.

Sacred Place: Our Cabin

Belden Lane quotes Lawrence Kushner (p. 37):

"The memories of a place become a part of it. Places and things
never forget what they have been witnesses to and vehicles of
and entrances for. What has happened there happened nowhere else. Like ghosts who can neither forget what they have seen nor leave where they saw it, such are the memories tied to places of ascent."

When Mary and I were first married, I read an article by a pastor that fascinated me. He and his family had bought a cabin in Minnesota, and that became their focal point, their holy ground, as they moved many places over the years, living mostly in parsonages.

That made sense to Mary and me. Unlike most cabin people, we were not interested in living on a lake. We wanted a cabin in the country, on a fair amount of land that would give us privacy, places to hike, and a place that could serve as a refuge for all kinds of wildlife.

The first day of searching we found the place of our dreams, a once Finnish farmstread on forty acres near Menahga, Mn. On October 2, 1986, while we were in St. Luke’s Hospital in Fargo, preparing to give birth to our first child, we received a call notifying us that our offer had been accepted. We named our place Blueberry River Farm, because “a river runs through it.”

Like that other pastor family, this cabin truly has become a holy place for us, on sacred ground. It is has been the place to which we have always returned, whether living in Mexico, Dunseith, N.D., Grand Forks, Fargo, or, now, Phoenix. It has been the place where our children have grown up, loving and growing to know nature. They have had about every kind of pet imaginable: turtles, frogs, toads, birds, wild cats. Thanks to a neighbor in the early years who had his own more-or-less zoo across the road from us, they also had pet geese and rabbits.

What is it that is sacred about certain places, certain spaces? Kushner says it is the memories of events that occurred in those places, and the sense in which we know that those places have witnessed and remember those events. Anthropomorphic as that is literally, it expresses the spirit of what we feel.

I have nearly countless memories of our children growing up here, of long discussions Mary and I have had in front of the fireplace as we contemplated decisions about the future, of the many friends and family who have passed through.

I feel different here. I am so much more aware of the past, of the unbelievable grace and love that have been a part of my life. I am more sensitive to the present, realizing intensely what a blessing it to be here together as a family for such an extended period of time. I feel more existentially aware of the uncertainly of life, knowing that when I leave here and return in a year many things could be much different in my life or for my family. Yet I feel also a sense of peace and submission to the future, trusting that as God has blessed and protected us in the past, God will do so in the future.

I hope to return to this holy and sacred place many times in the future, and yet I know, someday, it will be somebody else who comes here to remember, and to give thanks. I hope it will be my children, but it is not for me to decide that.

When Kushner speaks of “memories tied to places of ascent,” I see this cabin. This has been a mountaintop place for me. A place of insight and revelation. God has been in this place. God has blessed this place. God has blessed my life through this place.

What and where have been the sacred places and spaces in your life?