31 People Were Killed in Iraq Today

At some point, one should go to bed. But somebody attacked my favorite city on one of its favorite days. Three dead and 140 wounded. It's hard to go to sleep.

For now, I offer the below prayer written by Stanley Hauerwas in the aftermath of 9-11. It has come to mind several times in the last several hours, perhaps because of the line regarding Iraq. Reports are that 31 people were killed in Iraq today. Thirty-one. It's a regular, common occurrence. No, "we" didn't do it. But depending on who "we" is, we kinda did. And so we ache and cry out for peace.

I hate that three people were killed in my city today. What a heartless, senseless act of violence. It shouldn't happen.

Anywhere.

God help us.

------------------------------------

Vulnerable.
We feel vulnerable, God, and we are not used to feeling vulnerable.
We are Americans.

Nor are we used to anyone hating us this much. 

Such terrible acts. 

Killing civilians. 

We are dumbfounded. 

Lost.

We are good people. 

We are a nation of peace. 

We do not seek war. 

We do not seek violence.

Try to help us remember that how we feel may be how the people of Iraq felt when we bombed them. 

It is hard for us to acknowledge that “we” in “we bombed them.”

What are we to do? 

We not only feel vulnerable but helpless. 

We are not sure what to feel except shock, 

which will quickly turn to anger and even more suddenly to vengeance.

We are Christians. 

What are we to do as Christians? 

We know that anger will come to us. 

It does no good to tell ourselves not to be angry. 

To try not to be angry just makes us more furious.

You, however, have given us something to do. 

We can pray, but we wonder for what we can pray. 

To pray for peace, to pray for the end of hate, 

to pray for the end of war seems platitudinous at such a time.

Yet when we pray you make us your prayer for the world. 

So, Lord of peace, make us what you will. 

This may be one of the first times we have prayed a prayer for peace with an inkling of how frightening it would be for you to grant our prayer. 

Help us.

Debbie Downer, Jesus, & Sabbaticals: A Response to What Ryan Said

My college roommate posted this: Searching for What Comes Next

This post isn't so much to respond to what he said as it is to say: "Yeah...what Ryan said." Ryan speaks my own heart here.

It's easy to be cynical.

I've been really "good" at pointing out what's wrong in various arenas: political, social, but most importantly to me: in the Church. And by "good," I mean that I've done it often, not necessarily that I'm always right.

But this is my point at the moment: Notions of rightness seem so futile to me these days (at least in the objective and formulaic when universally prescribed). You may label me a heretical product of a relativistic generation, but it seems more and more true to me that what's right in one situation is drastically wrong in another. This is different than saying that "anything goes" or "everyone can believe what they want to." Instead, I am calling for acknowledgement that withholding judgment firstly is the path to righteousness.

I tend to think Ryan's right: Patience is very important. Dealing with the situations and people right in front of me and in my little circle of influence is really all we can do. I've got all sorts of great ideas for how Barack Obama should rule the world. But that's neither my call nor my actual opportunity.
_______

Great comedians know that what makes good comedy is the ability to take what is true in actuality (=lived life) and make light of it. Saturday Night Live gives us a great example of this in the character of Debbie Downer. Debbie Downer is hilarious in great part because we all know her. Even more so, it's because many of us are her.

It's one thing to ignorantly ride in the clouds all day long, and another to drag one's head through the mud all the time. Both are unrealistic. The first is dangerous in that things such as pain and grief exist. The second is because it offers no hope, grace, or love (which also exist).

The gospel reading for this coming third week of Easter gives us Jesus' conversation with Peter in John 21. I can be Peter in this situation so very often: finding the counter-example, pointing out what's wrong, straining gnats, plucking specks, or judging my situation based upon my neighbor's.

But Jesus' response should continue to shape and form me: "What's that to you? You follow me."

If Jesus were a blood-thirsty totalitarian dictator, this would be a problematic. But his example of grace, forgiveness, and love should be attractive enough to want to follow this command.

I know, I know: "The Church can be and so often is a hypocrite, a stumbling block, a whore, and looks nothing like Jesus. Institutions suck. Christians are mean. There are better ways."

I know. I really do. And I too have desired to leave for whatever I think is best. And methods, words, and vessels should indeed change. Wineskins need replacing. But the problem is just that: I think I know best. And I don't. If nothing else, what this ever-changing and fickle world greatly needs is some consistent loving, some stick-it-through determination, and unwavering, unchanging love.

The greatest problems with marriage that exist these days aren't those of sexual identity, but of fidelity. And these marital problems are a microcosm of the whole: we're horrible at sticking things through.

"I don't like this situation. See ya. I'm going to another."
"This isn't working. Something must change."
"This isn't right. That over there must be."

Are there times to chop down the tree and plant an new one? Of course, but by our standards, Jesus had every right to leave the institutional "Church" of his time. And yes, he certainly had words and protests to demonstrate how disgusted he was with these things. But he continued to practice the faith of his people. Indeed: he got away from them to be alone (and often!). But he always returned to his people, his "family," and his tribe, ultimately giving all that he had that they just might see who they should actually be.

Jesus spoke critically. But in the end, his greatest examples were those of loving devotion and self-emptying action.
_______

I'm greatly looking forward my sabbatical period this summer. The practice of sabbath is one prescription by which I think our brokenness can be healed. To take the time-out to celebrate, to enjoy, to break from the listlessness of our cynicism is to practice the divine creative love.

A lot of people don't get it (I might explode if I get one more comment about my "extended vacation" or underhanded comments about how there are more righteous things to do than take a sabbatical like ridding the world of poverty). Heck...I don't completely get it. But I think that it's because our heads and hearts can be so very muddled by the clouds of cynicism that we need such times.

When our six days of working with the dirt turns into perpetual mud-flinging, we'd do well to stand up and go for a walk for a day amongst the flowers that such dirt can and should produce.
_______

Jars of Clay ended their first studio album with a song that is probably the least well-known of the whole thing (particularly because it's followed by a more upbeat "hidden" song). It's not chart-topper, but it sure does speak of what I'm trying to say here, I think:

Cynical. It's just your way.

You play the doubting Thomas, Feel the scars and wipe the stains

So you fight, and retreat, 

And talk yourself out of believing in any peace that you can't see.

Blind words you call

Blind words will fall

You're logical. 

You can't find any reason to believe in love.

You are blind.

Crucify, and deny. 

Pass the blame and burn the mission until dust remains and wash your hands.

Blind words you call

Blind words will fall

Life Transitions: Boston University, Coffee, and a Chihuahua

A number of things have caused me to think about transitions in life as of late. 2013 has already been a big year for my family and I, and it will continue to be from here on. I'll go in order with some of the bigger things:

1. We got a dog for Christmas. Pardon me: we got a Chihuahua for Christmas. Just this morning little Mocha - and I do mean little: he weighed in at a whopping four pounds today - had a little bit of life transition of his own. He shall not procure any pups on this side of the eternal Kingdom. Poor guy. But he sure has changed our household. He's awesome.

2. I stopped drinking soda. Other than one forgetful half cup of orange soda at my brother's place for one of the Patriots play-off game, I've not had even my ever-favorite Diet Coke. I didn't really plan this and I'm not sure how long it'll go, but for now, it's good that all the sugar and fake-sugar isn't in my system (not to mention that I don't mind not paying for it).

3. Speaking of beverages, I am now caffeinated coffee-free. Didn't really plan on this one either, but Meghan had us on a three day cleanse several weeks ago, and after 72 hours of incredible headaches, I just couldn't figure out why I'd go back on coffee. It took several more days to get over the headaches. I sure do miss it (way more than soda), but I can't stand depending on it. So I'm drinking one cup of green tea in the morning and a cup of decaf tea in the afternoon. We'll see how long this lasts.

4. Our afore-mentioned sabbatical is well into its planning (but I have much to do!). More on this at other points.

5. I quit teaching for the Adult Studies program at Eastern Nazarene College. I loved what I did, though I couldn't stand the distance traveled and the elimination of one night a week (teaching usually took up from 2:00-11:30 PM on Tuesdays, not including correcting time, email, etc.). It was a wonderful experience: I learned a lot about teaching the scriptures and a lot about teaching the scriptures to completely biblical-illiterate adults. Even more enjoyable to me than teaching the Bible was teaching church history. I will not forget most of the people I met and their stories of joy and heartache come to my mind often. I loved the experience, but the time spent teaching is shifting to...

6. I'm going back to school in the fall.

I applied and was accepted to study at Boston University's School of Theology to study for a Master of Sacred Theology degree. While I have an M.Div., I have been longing for the seminary classroom since a few minutes after I crossed the platform to receive that M.Div. from Nazarene Theological Seminary.

Why am I going back to school? Good question. Here are some thoughts from my application:

I began college with the intent of being a high school history teacher, hoping to stay single at least through my early 30s while free to travel and thrill-seek during the summer. Today I am 32, pastoring an evangelical church, approaching my 10th wedding anniversary, and have four children. My path has taken unexpected turns and sometimes unwelcomed ones. But I would not trade what I am doing today for any other path. While the surprising turns and delights of the past caution me to be wary of making predictions about future vocational endeavors, I will at least offer the following.

I absolutely love serving as pastor of the North Street Community Church of the Nazarene in Hingham, MA. Despite not being in front of a high school classroom, teaching and teaching via preaching have brought at least portions of the spirit of my early vocational desires to fruition. Having the opportunity and responsibility of forming people to a specific end is incredible. The subject has shifted and the end has become less trivial and more spiritual. I wouldn’t have it any other way. My own faith and life, surely deeply affected by marriage and child-rearing, has become more about the subject as impactive of the object. As my father often reminds me, “Education is one’s journey from dogmatic ignorance to thoughtful uncertainty.”

When I mention to people that I may be headed back to school, their first question is most often whether or not I hope to be a professor. While I would not say that I have never considered or aspired to such a thought, at the moment my desire and intent is both personally- and pastorally-driven. (This is not to mention the fact that there seem to be about a million of my peers seeking such things and I just don't see much of a market for it. The local parish seems to be my place, station, and call.)

The community and the structure of the classroom has been a means of grace for me and I look forward to her challenge. And I believe that the specific subjects into which I hope to dive (postliberalism, ethics, and practical ecclesiology, amongst others) are important both in my setting on the south shore of Boston and in the changing face of the Church in the coming years.

However, I have indeed enjoyed teaching undergraduate classes alongside pastoring. Teaching in the adult learners classroom has been rewarding both personally and in shaping who I am as a pastor in a nonreligious society.

More specifically in terms of study:
Since being exposed to postliberalism during my first graduate work, I have been unable to escape the notion that the nonviolent nature of Jesus Christ in the story of the New Testament is normative for his followers. This journey through peaceableness has not been easy in the parish setting, perhaps particularly in a wealthy suburb. Despite efforts to preach and teach that nonviolence has daily implications in our relationships with others, most talk of nonviolence brings to the minds of most the likes of conscientious objection, Vietnam, or John Lennon and not any ecclesiology or discipleship in Christ.  

I hope to do better.

So this quest is both of my own theological formation and in the hopes of effecting a local ecclesiology of peaceableness.

When I return home in the late summer from sabbatical, I'll be jumping into this degree (part-time). There are still a few things to work out (including how to pay for this), but I'm hopeful and greatly looking forward to it.

My kids think it's funny that Daddy's going back to school.

Praying for those in Rome

Today, I am praying for my brothers and sisters in the Roman Catholic Church as the College of Cardinals selects a new pope.

It's been no secret that my tradition and Protestants in general have much in difference with Rome. But in many great things - namely...Jesus - we have much in common. I find much beauty in the Roman Catholic Church. The Roman Catholics with which I associate here in my town are wonderful people of grace and hospitality, both at the parish just down the street and the Abbey here in town where I love to go for prayer sometimes.

And so this is my prayer:

God of all People:

As your servants in Rome seek your will today for the leadership of the Roman Catholic Church, would you speak loudly and clearly. I pray for the 1.2 billion people who are led to you through her ministry. I pray for healing and for unity, but most of all: that Christ would become and continue to be at the center as well as through and through his whole Church in the variety of forms and shapes into which she has morphed.

Forgive us for not settling our differences. Even still, help us to see our commonality, namely: in the love of you, the Father, the person of Jesus Christ, and the unity of the Holy Spirit.

I pray for the College of Cardinals.

...for your wisdom, discernment, power, and peace.

...in that all they do and decide together,

...Your will be done.

I pray for the new leader:

May he reflect Christ.

By your Holy Spirit, 

and in Christ, 

Amen.

David Hardy Nease

I got my middle name from my dead uncle. 

I'm not sure where my grandparents got his name, but I like to think how it came all the way back from the greatest king of the nation of Israel, "a man after God's own heart," a guy who quite literally screwed up royally and yet came to be the name that would set the pattern for the Messiah. 

David: man after God's own heart. 

Jesus: man after God's own heart.

My uncle died two months short of turning ten years old in 1970. When I was younger I used to think it funny that I had an uncle younger who never surpassed me in age. Of course, I never met him because he died over 10 years before I was born. It's also funny to think that he would be be almost 53 years old today. That's a difficult thought even more than it is a funny one, because we think of years lost, memories never made, and people never met.

Though the drowning of a ten year old boy who was trying to help his dog out of a frozen pond is particularly perplexing, the wake of death at any age brings a surge of questions: 

Why? Why him (her)? How could there be a loving God? What in God's name does this serve? 

I didn't really see the explicit resulting markings of my uncle's death upon my grandparents, though I've often wondered if I could see them implicitly in moments of silence or when catching them staring off into the air, particularly for my grandmother.

My wife's uncle was a long-time friend of my grandparents. I've heard him tell the story often of the time when my grandparents were sent away by those who loved them to have opportunity to grieve. One of their take aways from that time was a shared song. 

No limits, no measure, no boundary, indeed.

I preached on resurrection in light of the Sabbath this past Sunday. It's notable to me that Jesus was dead for the whole of the Sabbath; that on the day of not-work, after a life of (quite literally) giving his all, Jesus' dead body was in the ground. We so often assume that the best results come out of an activity that produces. But there's apparently something very worthwhile about what "happens" in times of sabbath. And despite the lingering of death, pain, grief, missed opportunities, and regretful (in-)action, something can yet be resurrected out of the death-full grave nonetheless.

Uncle David's grave marker says simply, "Dear Jesus I love you. Amen." I'm told that this was his prayer most nights. My seminary-trained, perpetually-theologically-thinking heart-brain couldn't have come up with a better prayer.