#140 Growing

Lately I've been asking church members how they'd like to grow as Christians, if there are any areas where they'd like to improve their spiritual life. As Christians, we always want to be maturing, becoming more and more like Jesus. As pastor, I have the privilege and challenge of encouraging others to grow in their walk with Christ. Hearing what other people have to say about growing in their faith is also really interesting to me.

As I hear from others, I naturally think about myself and my own life. There are quite a few areas where I wish I was better at following Christ, but one that's been on my mind a lot recently is prayer. I'm pretty comfortable praying, both privately and in public. I've made some progress in truly expressing my feelings to God. But I wish I prayed more often and more spontaneously. I wish prayer characterized my whole life instead of feeling like something I remember to do every once in a while. I think part of my struggle is an underlying desire to be self-sufficient. I don't want to pray about some things because I think I should handle them myself. Deep down I know that's silly. God's actions and our actions aren't mutually exclusive, and I really can't do anything without God empowerment.  Yet I still neglect to pray about lots of things.

But as bad as my foolish attempts at independence can be, an even bigger obstacle to my prayer life is my amazing ability to distract myself. Life is filled with little gaps: a couple minutes between arriving at an appointment and the event starting, a few moments spent waiting for someone else to arrive or get ready, that sort of thing. Once in a great while I think that a short space is a great opportunity for prayer. But much more often than I not I pull out my smartphone and read some worthless article that I'm only semi-interested in or I fret about all things I'd like to accomplish yet today or I spend some time rehashing an earlier conversation that didn't go nearly as well as I would've liked. It would be so much better if I could take even some of that time and pray for God's strength as I deal with upcoming challenges or ask for God to make His presence clear in the lives of the people I just spent time with or to thank God for answering some earlier prayers. But I don't work that way, at least not yet. Prayer takes work and commitment, and distractions are so much easier and too often even more appealing to me. It's clear that I could use some growth.

Grace and peace,
BMH

#139 Whose Church?

As the pastor of Kanawha Christian Reformed Church, I live in the parsonage, which is across the street from the church building. Lanie, my two-year-old daughter, has gotten used to going across the street for worship on Sunday mornings. She also sometimes comes with my wife to visit me when I'm working in the study during the week. When Lanie looks out our window at the church building or talks about somebody going there, she refers to it as "Daddy's church." I'm glad that she's making a connection between me and the church. I work for the church and represent it in many ways. But I keep trying to explain to her that it's not just my church; it's her church, too. And it's Mommy's church and Miss Tracy's church and Miss Marilyn's church and Mister Larry's church and so on and so forth. We're all members of this church. I'm the pastor, but that doesn't give me any special claim of ownership. We all make up the congregation; it's our church. However, while I keep gently correcting Lanie, I know she's not the only one who thinks that way. I've heard some church members who've been around here much longer than I have refer to it as "Brian's church." I get it. It's easy to associate me with the church, and that's a nice way to talk about it to people who know me.

But as pastor, I think it's very important for me not to think of the church as my church. I do have quite a bit of authority, but I can't just do whatever I want. (On the flip-side, I have many responsibilities, but there are also a lot of roles that church members need to fill.) The church is a community; we're all in this together. It's our church. Plus, we believe that there truly is a head, a leader, an owner of the church. But that's not me; it's Christ Jesus. Jesus is in charge of the church. Jesus is the one who has saved us and brought us together. I serve the church because I serve Jesus, and the church belongs to Him. Remembering that keeps me humble, and it gives me hope when times are tough. So I'll keep telling Lanie that it's her church, and I'll work on helping understand that it's also really Jesus' church.

Grace and peace,

BMH

#138 B-Dubs

I'm late on the blog this week. Sorry about that. Because I'm late, I'll try to keep this short. Last night Tess and I and Lanie went out for Tess's birthday. We went to Buffalo Wild Wings (from here on, B-Dubs). That may seem like an odd choice to you, dear reader, but that's really not out of the ordinary for Tess and me. If I had to guess, I would say we've eaten at B-Dubs more than any other restaurant in our married life. Part of that is because we enjoy it. Wings or chicken tenders with a whole variety of sauces just hits the spot for us sometimes. But after six years of marriage, there's something almost sentimental about B-Dubs for us. You see, about a month after our wedding we moved to Grand Rapids, MI. There was a B-Dubs basically across the street from where we lived. The night we moved in, we went there after a long day of traveling and unloading. From then on whenever we didn't want to cook, there was B-Dubs. Whenever we planned on going out but didn't really know what we wanted to eat, there was B-Dubs. When we were dead tired and celebrating our first anniversary a few days late, there was B-Dubs. When we were in Washington for the summer and our hiking plans for our second anniversary were ruined by rain and we drove into the nearest city, there was B-Dubs. Nowdays when we have to go to Walmart and decide that we want to go out to eat since we're driving at least an hour and a half round trip, what's basically the first restaurant we see? You got it, B-Dubs. At this point it's tradition. It's our place. Maybe that's unusual, but that's okay. It's us.

Grace and peace,
BMH

#137 Best of Both Worlds

When I have time to myself I really enjoy reading Superman comics. I also really enjoy watching my beloved Milwaukee Brewers. (If you've read my blog in the past, you've likely picked up on those two things.) Doing either of those things makes for a happy Brian. But here's the best thing: I can read comics and watch baseball at the same time. Baseball games have natural lulls between pitches, to say nothing of the commercial breaks at every pitching change and half-inning, so there's lots of little gaps for reading. Most of the comics I read do not have overly complicated plots, so I don't miss much—if anything—by reading in spurts, enabling me to pause to catch all the action in the game. It's beautiful. At the end of the day, it's hard to beat sitting in my La-Z-Boy with a Supes trade paperback in my hands and the Brew Crew on the TV. In those moments I feel that life is good.

Grace and peace,

BMH

#136 The Language of Pharaoh

This post has the potential to get controversial, so I'm going to do my best to handle it well. I just started a new sermon series on Exodus. The beginning of Exodus narrates how Pharaoh and the Egyptians force the Israelites into slavery. Pharaoh goes about this by stirring up fear of the Israelites among the Egyptians. Pharaoh cleverly and subtly points out that the Israelites are non-Egyptians, warning his people that the Israelites are already strong and numerous and only growing stronger and more numerous. Pharaoh insinuates that the Israelites have come to undermine and overthrow Egypt. The idea seems to be that the Israelites could take over, taking what rightfully belongs to the Egyptians.

As I was reading and reflecting and studying last week, I kept thinking that I'd heard speeches like Pharaoh's before. I've heard this kind of language here in the U.S. in the 21st century, both from political leaders and ordinary citizens. I've heard some of my fellow Americans worry about strong young male refugees coming to the U.S. from places like Syria, similar to how Pharaoh worried about a future army of Israelite men rising up against him. I've heard some of my fellow Americans talk about recent immigrants needing to go back to their own countries. I've heard some of my fellow Americans describe other people who speak Spanish as if they can't be truly American. I've heard some of my fellow Americans expressing fear that the people seeking asylum at our southern border are going to overrun or ruin "our" country. When I hear statements like this, I hear the language of Pharaoh.

Now the situation in Exodus is not the same as the situation today. I am well aware of that. Our laws and system of immigration are vastly different than how people moved about over 3000 years ago. We have some specific concerns about illegal immigration in the U.S. today that don't have a direct parallel in ancient Egypt. Pharaoh was concerned about Israelites who were already in Egypt, while some of the examples I gave above were about people who could potentially come to the U.S. We don't see open slavery in the U.S. today like there was in ancient Egypt. Pharaoh was oppressing God's chosen people. Today things are more complicated. God's chosen people is the church, which includes people from every nationality, ethnicity, and language. God's people today are on both sides of the examples I gave above. There are Christians who are already here in the U.S.—including some who are seen as genuinely "American" and some who are seen as "other"—and there are Christians among those trying to come to the U.S.

But in spite of those differences, I feel confident in saying that we Christians cannot justify using the language of Pharaoh, and I don't think we should keep silent when we hear such language. The Bible makes it clear that Christ Jesus brings reconciliation between human beings, gathering all types of people into His church. In Jesus God shows His perfect, gracious, and just love, the kind of love He wants us to live out in our relationships with Him and other people. Love does not stir up fear or hatred; in fact, 1 John says that love drives out fear. What's more, underneath the language of Pharaoh there seems to be this assumption that people of some nationalities or ethnicities are somehow worse or more wicked or less than other people. Why else would we be worried about them "taking over our country"? A few weeks ago, my denomination (the Christian Reformed Church) just reiterated that any teaching that claims that God wants people of different races to be separate or that some are better than others is heresy, incompatible with true Christianity. The language of Pharaoh preys on fear and dehumanizes others. It's wrong.

I'm not saying that the U.S. shouldn't have laws about immigration or seeking asylum. I'm certainly not saying that I have all the answers for those debates. But I am saying that, when we speak about and interact with people who live in our country or who are trying to come to our country, when we contact our elected officials who make our laws, we should talk about and act toward those who live in our country or are trying to enter it the way we'd like others to talk about and act toward us. We should think of the people in and trying to come to the U.S. as if they were our own family, as if there wasn't a "them" and an "us" but just "us." In Christ we see that we are no better, no more deserving of love than anyone else. But God loved us, and He calls us to love. Once we were not a people, but now we are the people of God, and anyone can be part of our family through Christ. With God's help let's not live or act or speak like Pharaoh but like God.

Grace and peace,
BMH

#135 Getting Away from It All

Next to Calvin Theological Seminary is a pretty large pond. There are a lot of weird and wonderful things about the seminary building, but in my opinion, the sem pond is far and away the best part of the seminary's space. You can see a bit of the pond in this picture of Tess and me from my graduation:

Seminary life can often be hectic, stressful, and confusing. The sem pond, however, is usually calm and quiet. I can't say that I frequently visited the sem pond while I was a student at Calvin, but I do have some very good memories of sitting out there on sunny days. On one end of the pond, water gently flows over some rocks and drops into the pool. Near the other end a little green island floats between a couple neat bridges. From time to time ducks rest and swim and play at the pool. As I sit here thinking about the sem pond I can feel myself relaxing. It is a beautiful place.

When I was next door to the seminary at Calvin College for synod (my denomination's annual meeting) a couple weeks ago, I fled to the sem pond for refuge several times during breaks. After hours of meetings and discussion I would feel like my sanity was slipping away. But sitting by the sem pond or strolling back and forth on the island helped me unwind. Here was space away from all the people and busyness. Here I could watch ducklings scurry after their mother and listen to water trickling and babbling down to the pond. Here I could feel the warmth of the sun and breathe deeply as I walked across lush green grass. The sem pond reminded me that life was still going on outside of synod, that the whole world didn't depend on our decisions. By the sem pond God gave me enough peace to get through the week. Just another reason to love the sem pond.

Grace and peace,
BMH

#134 Synod

I didn't blog last week because I was busy serving as a delegate to synod, the Christian Reformed Church's (that's my denomination) annual meeting. Synod was quite the experience. Returning to Grand Rapids, MI, where Tess and I lived for three years while I was in seminary, gave me an opportunity to see several old friends and visit some locations that hold special meaning for me. My plan is to reflect on some of that in future posts.

This week I'd like to reflect on my experience at synod itself. Nearly 200 delegates from all over the U.S. and Canada met for six days—two days while divided into advisory committees and four days while united for plenary sessions. Synod was tough for me. Several times I struggled with knowing and believing that this meeting is important while also feeling like we were wasting our time. Synod is important because ministers, elders, deacons, and commissioned pastors gather from throughout the denomination to make decisions about how we are going to work to follow Christ Jesus together. We listen to each other and together seek to discern how the Holy Spirit is leading us as a group. The goal is not to come in with our minds already made up but to discuss and submit to God together. But sometimes it feels like our discussions are pointless, like none of the speeches change anyone's mind. That's not totally true. There were times when the discussion changed or clarified what I perceived was the best way forward for us. Others confirmed to me that the discussion helped them at times. But sometimes I felt like two sides were simply talking past each other while the atmosphere in the room grew more and more tense. Sometimes it seemed like a small minority was passionately making speeches even though their position was going to get crushed in the vote no matter what. I really think it's important that we listen to each other when we disagree. I really think it's important that we don't silence the opinions of the minority. I really think it's important that every delegate has equal opportunity to speak and to vote. But I know that there were times that it was terribly difficult for me to listen, particularly when the debate grew long or when I'd already heard that specific speaker several times. I feel guilty about that.

Sometimes, too, parts of our meeting felt like simply a formality. We received reports from all the agencies and ministries of our denomination, as well as several related organizations that we support. There's generally nothing to discuss or do with these reports. But I also know that it's important that we receive these reports. We all had material to read, and different committees got to talk with representatives from these various groups. We need that. We need to know how the money we contribute to ministry is being used if we're going to continue to wisely and faithfully support agencies and ministries. It's also a joy to hear stories of how God is at work so that we can celebrate and give thanks. But again I know that there were times that my eyes glazed over. I feel guilty about that, too.

I think one of the biggest struggles—if not the biggest struggle—at a gathering like synod is humility. We need humility to listen to others, even if we disagree or feel like we already know what they're going to say. We need humility to help us weigh whether or not the words we would speak are really important enough for everyone to hear. We need humility to remind ourselves that the church belongs to Jesus Christ, that our decisions are about following Him, not about us winning or being right. And we need humility to trust that God is at work for good through and even in spite of our messy discussions and decisions.

So synod was often tough for me. But it's part of my job, and I was happy to take my turn as a delegate. And for all the difficult times, some really great things happened. We shared wonderful times of worship as well as fellowship over meals. We took a stand against false teaching that twists what we believe. We hopefully took steps to revitalize the way our congregations join togther to fund the work of our denomination. We were encouraged by brothers and sisters who visited from other parts of the church. And most of all, we were reminded that God is at work among and around us all throughout our denomination. And even if I struggled, that makes the whole process worthwhile.

Grace and peace,
BMH