Needing Church on a Bad Day

Between the hurricanes, the earthquake, the fires out west, the announcement of the end of DACA, and all of the programming we were starting at church, I felt like I had so many balls in the air on Sunday morning, that I really needed church. I needed the music, the prayer, and the company. Church happens when we get together to sing, to pray, to laugh, to catch up with each other, and to lift ourselves up with the good news that God’s love is bigger than whatever burdens we’re carrying. That’s what I needed on Sunday, and I got it. So thank you church! 

Some folks think coming to church means showing your best to the world. We get dressed up, put on our smiling faces, try to keep our kids on their best behavior, and come to Sunday morning worship, because that’s what “good” people do. We greet each other with cheerfulness, and when someone asked how we were, we’d say, “Fine! How’re you?”   

But what if you’re really not fine? What if you can’t even fake it? Should you stay home those days? 

Nope. In fact, those are the days you need church the most. 

Church is not a museum for priceless masterpieces, sculpted for perfection, curated so that the experience as you pass through is sophisticated and perfect. On the contrary, church is gathering of real human beings, imperfect people, who don’t have everything figured out. They may be struggling with depression, angry with their family members, or feeling a little lost or hopeless. 

Church is a hospital for those who have been through some stuff. 

When someone at church asks you how you are, you should be able to tell the truth. If you’re feeling lousy, say, “you know what? I’m pretty awful, to be honest.” And if someone says that to you when you ask them how they are, say back to them, “Well thank God you’re here. Come sit with me, and let’s and do church together today.”

Don’t get me wrong—it’s great to have happy, well organized people in church! In fact, we should feel joy and gratitude for our blessings. More to the point, if you’re in a good place on any given Sunday, you can be that person who says, “Well thank God you’re here!” 

Someday in the future, when you’re having a bad Sunday, the person you sat with when they were a wreck, they will have your back. They will sit with you and do church with you when you really need a reminder that we’re in it together, and God’s got our back. 

Life is not a cake walk my friends. It’s more like musical chairs—a bit of a scramble, and sometimes there aren’t enough seats. But we’ve got a place for everyone, and when the music stops, God will meet us in church.

Hate Speech?

On the afternoon of June 19th, I read a Facebook message from Schmaltz Deli, saying they’d been the victims of a hate crime. Someone had painted an antisemitic message on the restaurant in front of their store at Ogden and Naper Blvd. I was upset, and shared my love and support for them in the comment thread. I want Naperville to be a diverse community that affirms people of all faiths and no faith.

And then I found out the text of the alleged hate speech: “Free Gaza.”

To be sure, I don’t know everything about the Israel/Palestine conflict. I know enough to be careful in what can be a volatile, emotional conversation, one in which other people have a much larger stake than I do. However, when I read that, I felt like I had been manipulated, like my goodwill and interfaith commitments had been taken for granted. Is a legitimate political statement, “hate speech”? Would “Free Ireland” spray painted on a British pub be “hate speech”?

Then this weekend, there was a protest at the pride march in Chicago by activists. They were protesting a number of things, but one thing they did was ask those with Israeli pride flags to leave. One of the protesters’ concerns is the “pinkwashing” of Israel’s violations against Palestinians. (They don’t want folks to forget Israel’s occupation and mistreatment of Palestinians because Israel happens to be good with LGBTQ rights.) Opponents of these critics quickly called them anti-semitic for dismissing the Israeli pride flags.

Some people I love might strongly disagree with me. But there has to be a difference between political speech, legitimate political disagreement, and hate speech. 

Spray painting a sidewalk in front of a Jewish deli in Naperville is silly. It’s like spray painting, “No DAPL” on a gas station in Finland. A Finish gas station has as much to do with the Dakota Access Pipeline as a Naperville deli has to do with how the state of Israel treats Palestinians. Protesting the pride march is just as silly. It attacks those most likely to be allies of other oppressed people, when the real people who need to hear the protest are thousands of miles away. But referring to legitimate political expression, albeit out of place or poorly timed, as “hate”, that just raises everyone’s anxiety. It makes genuine dialogue harder, and decreases the chance to build understanding. 

Peacebuilding is hard. It’s the work of a lifetime. So let’s not shoot ourselves in the foot by overreacting to some individuals’ silly choices. 

Ash Wednesday Moment

I have never really figured out Ash Wednesday. As a west coast kid, the only people who did the ash-on-their-foreheads were Catholic, so it wasn't really much of a thing for me. We didn't even have church that day. Now that I'm serving a congregation in the midwest, we participate in an ecumenical evening service with our Methodist neighbors, where we do the traditional ashes-on-the-forehead for everyone at the end of the service. I've come to appreciate consecrating ourselves as fragile and fallible at the beginning of Lent.  

But being Facebook friends with clergy all over the country, my Ash Wednesday is filled with people offering "ashes to go", offering ashes on folks' foreheads in a public place, e.g. as they board the train for work. Colleagues I know and love do it every year, but I confess, I really don't like this practice. It smacks of Christian hegemony and privilege in a pluralistic world--an assumption that people would appreciate such a display of one particular religion's penitential practice. 

Every Wednesday for most of the year, we host homeless guests in our church building for meals and for shelter overnight. As I was leaving after last night's service, still grumbling to myself about spectacle and practice of the whole Ash Wednesday thing, one of our guests, who was having a cigarette outside, stopped me, and asked if I had ashes. I had some in my office, so I went back, got them, got my thumb dirty again, and said to her, "Remember you are as fragile as ashes, and as precious as stardust*," as I made the sign of the cross on her forehead. 

Here I am, a west-cost-raised, rationalistic pastor, who still doesn't totally get Ash Wednesday, let alone why total strangers would appreciate getting ashes from me, and in the last two minutes of my day, a woman who slept on our church floor last night came to me seeking a blessing on her forehead. 

For as much as I sometimes feel like I've got something powerful or witty or thoughtful to say about complex and deep issues, there are so many more times like this in my life--times when I'm left speechless at the wonder and beauty of the mystery in front of me; times when Jesus shows up and keeps me humble.

And all I have to say, is "Wow." Thanks be to God. 



*The traditional words are, "remember you are dust, and to dust you shall return." That's too foreboding for me, so I change it, inspired in part by one of my wonderful mentors, the Rev. Dr. JoAnne Terrell.