Adventure Yourselves With Him

 

On this, the last day of what has been the longest year in our lives, our thoughts turn towards the future in hopes that 2021 will see an end to the ravages of coronavirus, the beginning of less political squabbling and ill will, and the dawn of more just treatment of those on the margins.  2020 has brought heartbreak and illness and sorrow and loss to nearly everyone, but we are still people of hope and trust in the God who is with us through it all.

The above picture is of the convergence of Saturn and Jupiter as seen from my front yard a few days ago, a sight that calls to mind the Star of Bethlehem which led the Magi to the Christ Child. As we recall their journey at Epiphany and prepare for the new year, it is also a time for many Methodists to celebrate a covenant service just as the Wesleys and other early Methodists did. Whether we are able to participate in one or not, it is helpful to reflect upon Wesley’s words of instruction for the covenant service, making them a mandate for our travels into the next year.

Adventure yourselves with him; cast yourselves upon his Righteousness, as that which shall bring you to God: as a poor captive exile, that is cast upon a strange land, a land of robbers and murderers, where he is ready to perish, and having no hope, either of abiding there, or escaping home with life: and meeting at length with a pilot, who offers to transport him safely home, he embarks with him and ventures himself, and all that he hath in his vessel: do you likewise; you are exiles from the presence of God, and  fallen into a land of robbers and murderers: your sins are robbers, your pleasures are robbers, your companions in sin are robbers and thieves; if you stay where you are, you perish, and escape home of yourselves you cannot: Christ offers, if you will venture forth with him, and then he will bring you home, and he will bring you to God... ~ John Wesley (Directions for Renewing our Covenant with God)

Not knowing what lies ahead but hoping for a much better year, let us nevertheless go forth with holy boldness to adventure ourselves with Christ, remembering always that he is Immanuel, God with us.

There Are No Perfect Marriages, But There Are Perfect Moments

 

Marrying relatively late in life, Mary Bosanquet and John Fletcher were only together for a few years before his death, but their mutual love and respect and their shared ministry in and around Madeley fueled one of early Methodism's most successful partnerships.  She nursed him devotedly and after his death often dreamed of him advising and supporting her in the same gentle way he had done in life. When he died, she mournfully wrote that the sun of all her earthly joys had set, but she faithfully kept preaching and teaching, inspiring countless women and men in their Christian journeys into the nineteenth century.

Our 31st wedding anniversary is later this month, and I'll be officiating at the backyard wedding of our next-door neighbor in less than a week. It's going to be small and Covid-19 safe with me and the couple and about 8 mask-wearing guests, so not much like ours with its 150 or so guests and several attendants.  Weddings can be stressful events, but fortunately this one promises to be pretty laid back.  

I'm working on the service and plan to make some remarks though not to deliver an actual homily. Naturally my mind is focused on scripture and the Church's understanding of matrimony, but I'm also influenced by the years of wedlock I've shared with my husband. The picture above is of our hands just minutes after we became a married couple, when we were so young, so much in love, so clueless of what might lie ahead.  

And there has been plenty of stuff in the past three decades! We've moved several times, been through seminary and seminary and yet more seminary, adopted and reared two children, survived his one job and my several churches, traveled and sheltered at home, laughed, cried, argued, read and watched television, cooked and cleaned and painted and built a life together.  He's still my favorite person in the world, and there's nobody who makes me laugh or smile more. 

When I was in Divinity School, I apparently told an unmarried friend who really wanted to be married that there are no perfect marriages but that there are perfect moments. Thank you, God, for the sun of my earthly joys, with whom I've shared many a perfect moment. 💟

God hears even when we hardly hear ourselves

As Scott and I continue to wait for more information about his diagnosis, seeking clarity for our next steps, we’ve been binge-watching The Crown and various travel shows set in Scotland, even though we’ve seen all the episodes multiple times, and I am somewhat mindlessly re-reading Agatha Christie mysteries. Sometimes it’s a relief to escape into some other world instead of dwelling on our current situation, so I don’t feel too bad about this coping mechanism.

 My other main activity has been an additional devotional practice that I would have done for Advent anyway, and it has proven to be invaluable during these anxious days. I’m reading Frequencies of God by Carys Walsh, an Advent journey through poems of R.S. Thomas. His raw honesty about the silence of God and the difficulty of perceiving God’s presence resonates with my experience, and his insight into the reality that God is always with us reminds me that we are held by the very One whose presence we seek. That’s very good news indeed!

On my Facebook page, former Bishop Charlene Kammerer reminded me that not only are we held by God but that we are held by all of you who are praying for us and lifting us up before God when we can’t quite do it ourselves, and that, too is very good news. Sometimes it feels too overwhelming to form words or shape sentences, and resting in the care of those who love us is all we can do.  

I am also encouraged by remembering John Wesley’s gentle, reassuring lines to Mary Bosanquet when she was struggling with her spiritual journey and was apparently finding it hard to pray.  He wrote:

It is certainly right to pray whether we can or no.  God hears even when we hardly hear ourselves.  ~ John Wesley (letter to Mary Bosanquet, March 26, 1770)

What a practical and deeply scriptural word of encouragement! I’m reminded of chapter 8 of the letter the Apostle Paul wrote to the Romans in which he confidently attested to the intercession of the Spirit on our behalf in sighs too deep for words, and for a moment my sorrowful soul is able to rest.  It doesn’t matter if I fumble with trying to tell God how I feel or what I want because the One who created, gifted, called, and sustains me hears the cries of my heart even when I scarcely know what I am saying. While that doesn’t make our uncertainty and grief go away, it does remind me that we are constantly in the loving presence of Immanuel, God-with-us, and that truly is the best of all. 

You are Held

The last few weeks have been something of a blur as our plans for Scott to visit me in England had to be canceled in order for him to undergo various medical tests, and the anxiety of awaiting results from those tests was nightmarish.  Upon receiving the unwelcome diagnosis of cancer, we immediately made plans for me to return home to be with him as he undergoes further tests, has meetings with the oncologist and medical team, and waits to learn more about where we go from here.  We know more than we did, which is helpful, and the news that this particular cancer is slow-growing was better than we had feared, but we still have the next couple of weeks of testing and consulting with the medical team ahead of us as we begin to come to terms with this new and unwelcome visitor in our lives.  We thought 2020 had brought quite enough grief into our lives, thank you very much, but hey, presto! there's this to contend with now.

As I write this, it is the Thanksgiving holiday in the US, and if this were a tear-jerking Hallmark movie, this would be the cue for me to be writing about the overflow of thanks we are giving because of the better-than-feared news.  I'd be waxing lyrical about God's grace in the midst of our fear and our sense of the presence of the Spirit even as the storm rages.  Well, this isn't a movie, and I certainly don't feel sentimental about the fact that it's Thanksgiving and almost Advent, but I do indeed feel a deep sense of gratitude.  I am grateful that the doctor who was checking something completely different decided that Scott needed a biopsy.  I am grateful that it was scheduled quickly and that we got the results relatively soon.  I am grateful that it is not the kind of swift killer that takes one's life almost before the diagnosis is made.  I am grateful that the people at American Airlines went out of their way to be kind and compassionate in their efficiency of getting me home quickly so I could be with him.  I am grateful for the outpouring of prayers and the dozens of cards, social media messages, emails, texts, and calls that we have received.  I am grateful that I have been able to look my beloved in the eye and tell him that we are not alone, that God in fact IS with us.  I am grateful beyond words, beyond measure, beyond belief. 

But.  I'm still scared.  We're still anxious.  Incurable cancer, no matter how slow-growing, alters everything.  We are still trying to assimilate the knowledge that this unwelcome visitor has shown up, still trying to figure out how to balance that awareness with a desire to live as normally as possible, still trying to neither ignore nor deny the reality but also not giving into the fear and obsession of thinking of nothing else. And it's hard, friends, it's really stinking hard.  

It's hard.

But.  I am grateful that all the years of praying, of reading scripture, of singing hymns, and of trying to follow Jesus have given me a vocabulary and a foundation for gratitude and for hope even as the waiting continues.  And yes, we're almost into Advent, that season of waiting with intensity, that time of yearning and desiring the active in-breaking of God into human life more than anything else.  With the prophet Isaiah and the children of Israel, I have been crying out for the heavens to be rent open, the skies to be ripped apart, the veil between heaven and earth to be torn to shreds and for God to be right here, right now.  With Charles Wesley, I am prayerfully singing as I beg for the long-expected Jesus to come, to release us from all fears and sins, to be strength and consolation, to bring rest and joy to our longing hearts.  And with John Wesley, I find myself affirming dozens of times a day the glad tidings that lie at the heart of Christmas, the Incarnation, which means we can confidently trust that the best of all really is that God is with us.  

Affirming those things does not banish the dark clouds, nor does it bring immediate calm and peace to our anxious spirits.  Affirming those things does not act like some kind of magical incantation that hypnotizes one into denying the reality of the hurt and the fear and the uncertainty.  But affirming those things does reassure us that we're not in this alone, that the same God who entered human history as an infant some 2000 years ago is the same God in whose loving arms we are held, and that the words I wrote weeks before any of this happened are true --

You are held fast by the One whose steadfast love endures forever. You are held by the God who is always with us. You are held by the One who has been in the deepest pit and emerged victorious. You are held.

Yeah, right, Jesus

This coming Sunday is All Saints,  a holiday that is sometimes ignored, overlooked, or misunderstood among Methodists (and others).  In his journal on November 1, 1767, John Wesley called it "a festival I truly love." Elsewhere he called it "a day that I peculiarly love" and a "comfortable day."  There is a fairly predictable lectionary reading for Sunday from Revelation, but perhaps not so obvious is the inclusion of Matthew's version of the Beatitudes, verses we've all heard, read, said, and sung until we don't perhaps grasp their radical message anymore, but it makes sense that we read them for All Saints because they serve as a sort of "job description" for everyone striving to be a saint.

I just participated in an online lectio divina in which these verses were read three times, once from the NRSV, once from the NIV, and once from The Message, and the leader prompted us with various questions.  In lectio divina, the first thing you do is listen for a word or phrase that jumps out at you and ponder it in various ways with successive readings/ hearings of the passage.  

I kept circling around the idea of "blessed are the meek, for they shall inherit the earth," partly because Charles Wesley's hymn "Gentle Jesus, Meek and Mild" got stuck in my head and partly because that word "meek" is understood so pejoratively in our time.  It's become identified with the idea of being taken advantage of while gamely smiling all the time or of being humiliated or abused but taking it on the chin because of some great future reward being dangled in front of you.  The leader of our meditative reflection suggested we think of a sermon title or a heading we would give the Beatitudes, and when she said it need not be a "religious" or "pious-sounding" title, my immediate thought was, "Yeah, right, Jesus!" 

I wonder if the anonymous saints (or the famous ones, for that matter) that we will remember this coming Sunday felt blessed when they were faced with day after day of being ignored, being underpaid, being persecuted, being discriminated against, being humiliated, being denied justice, etc., or did they think, "Yeah, right, Jesus?!"  What about that descriptor, "meek?"  How might they have understood it? How has the word's meaning changed throughout the ages?

I looked at John Wesley's commentary on the passage, and I discovered that he rendered that verse as "Happy are the meek: for they shall inherit the earth."  He called the meek the ones "that hold all their passions and affections evenly balanced," and defined inheriting the earth as having "all things really necessary for life and godliness."  He went on to say that they would enjoy whatever portion they received from God here and now and that they would "hereafter possess the new earth, wherein dwelleth righteousness."

Reading that changed my view of the idea of meekness.  The prospect of having all my passions and affections evenly balanced is pretty appealing, particularly since I struggle with both depression and anxiety.  I quite like the thought of being on an even keel despite whatever circumstances I find myself in.  That would be reward enough, especially with the promise of having everything that is really needed for life and godliness right here but of course, there is also the hope of a future in which to enjoy a new and righteous earth as my home.  

So maybe I won't be calling the Beatitudes "Yeah, right, Jesus" after all.  Perhaps I will instead see these verses as a description of the way in which God redeems and reclaims all things, even challenges like anxiety and depression. They offer hope to all of us ordinary saints, toiling away in our hidden little lives, not because we seek recognition or honor but simply because we really do want to be like the gentle Jesus, meek and mild, who looked upon a little child and saw in that little one a symbol of the kingdom of heaven itself.

Insiders/Outsiders: Reflections on a Few Days in Oxford

 

The British Methodist Church suggests that ministers take three days off each quarter in addition to the usual weekly day off, and I just took advantage of my first "quarter days" by spending a few days in Oxford.  The idea is that we take a real break from the pressures and stresses of ministry in order to relax, renew, and restore so that we can return  to our circuits rested and ready to be more effective leaders and pastors.  I didn't realize how much I needed this until I hopped aboard a bus to leave town, but the feeling of relief I experienced after just a few hours in Oxford was palpable.

When I travel, I always enjoy glimpses into ways of living that are different from my own, and I sometimes let my imagination run wild as I consider what it would be like to inhabit a particular house, follow a different profession, or even live during another era altogether.  Rambling around the canals and streets while staring up at the "dreaming spires," it was easy to give free rein to all sorts of thoughts and impressions.  Spending four days there in no way makes me an expert, but I was struck by a feeling of being a definite outsider in what appears to be a very charmed and charming world of academic privilege, one limited to those with membership in an exclusive club. Many popular sites were either off-limits to tourists or had extremely limited access because of coronavirus, so there were literally closed doors everywhere I looked.  I felt like a stranger in a strange land.  I am a graduate of some fine institutions of higher learning, though not in the same league as Oxford or Cambridge, and I can also remember moments of looking around those campuses and wondering what I was doing there, and when I might be unmasked as an interloper who clearly didn't belong there.

If I were to list all the famous leaders and brilliant minds who boast the colleges of Oxford on their resumes, that alone would take up this blog post, but it won't surprise you that my interest was mainly on two particular graduates of Christ Church.  Even though the college is  currently closed to tourists, people desiring to worship are welcome to the cathedral, and I attended Evensong one night.  For a cathedral, it is a curiously intimate space, and it wasn't hard to imagine the large numbers of people who have worshiped there down the centuries sitting shoulder to shoulder with the rest of us.  As I listened to the glorious music, bowed my head in prayer, and discreetly looked at the beautiful interior, I began to feel that sense of being an outsider ebbing away.  Here in this sacred space, my nationality and status didn't matter.  Here in this place, I was as much an insider as anyone else who has ever stepped through those heavy wooden doors because we were all the same in our need of spiritual solace and comfort.  

That would have been gift enough for a lifetime, but to my surprise and delight, when they discovered that I'm a Methodist minister, I was led to the stone in the floor that honors John and Charles Wesley, graduates of Christ Church and leaders in the Methodist revival.  Because I was carrying my knitted John Wesley, I took a picture of him on the spot, and then I was invited to stand in the lofty pulpit in whose shadow that stone memorial lies, and one of the officials took the picture of me and Mr. Wesley that appears above.  You can easily imagine how excited I was about this wholly unexpected turn of events!  I am sure they don't just allow any and everybody to do that, so that made me feel pretty special, like a real insider.  

But to dwell on that is to miss the real point which is that ALL are welcome in the house of God, no matter what their earthly qualifications or privileges are.  ALL people are God's beloved, and ALL are invited to pull up a chair at the Lord's table.  In the light of the ways that the most vulnerable (the elderly, children, and the poor) are suffering from the economic impact of the coronavirus pandemic, it makes me reflect on the responsibility we all bear in making sure that they do not remain outsiders but that they have access to economic support, health care, and most essentially, to their daily bread.  The current upheaval has revealed gaps and cracks in the systems many of us have taken for granted or ignored, and we must open our eyes, our mouths, and our hands in order to see, speak, and serve those most in need.   

Arising from his deeply-held Christian faith, John Wesley spoke firmly, even harshly about those who ignore the plight of the poor and who plead ignorance of their needs because of their deliberate avoidance of them, and he poured his energy, time, and resources into relieving their poverty and desperate circumstances.  He did so because Jesus spent his earthly life seeking out and drawing in the outsiders, turning the order of things upside down, lifting the downtrodden and broken and honoring them as children of God, as inheritors of the kingdom, as those whose deepest hunger and thirst will be satisfied by God.  We are called to do the very same, and shame on us when we do not.

An unexpected takeaway from my "quarter days" spent amongst the dreaming spires, and one I shall not quickly forget ...

18th Century and 21st Century Laptops

As we all continue to adapt, pivot, change, whatever you want to call it, because of coronavirus, it's amazing how creative some people, churches, and other organizations have been in coping and carrying on.  I must confess to an unholy envy of some of the imaginative solutions some of my colleagues and friends have come up with.  I'm not nearly as good at lateral thinking or seeing things from a different angle as some people, which is frustrating, but at least we're sharing our ideas and talking about how things have worked (or not, as the case may be). 

If alive today, John Wesley would likely have been on the cutting edge of figuring out how to carry on the task of sharing the gospel with the maximum number of people safely.  After all, he was almost infamous for the ways he pushed the boundaries, bent and even broke some of the accepted rules, and boldly tried and/or adapted new methods in the 18th century evangelistic revival.  He made use of the best tech of his day in order to preach, teach, provide medical care, offer spiritual counsel, and live out his call as a minister of the gospel, calling people to experience the gift of salvation.

Wesley broadly defined salvation as far more than going to heaven or eternal happiness.  Rather, he understood it as a present blessing, insisting that the words "You are saved" could properly also be translated as "You have been saved."  He beautifully writes, "So that the salvation which is here spoken of might be extended to the entire work of God, from the first dawning of grace in the soul till it is consummated in glory."  

The people behind the scenes at the Museum of Methodism and John Wesley's House in London have been doing their own version of pivoting, utilizing the power of YouTube in order to share the wealth of artefacts with the wider world during this time of restriction due to the pandemic.  They recently showcased a fascinating little lantern belonging to Wesley and the lovely travel writing table pictured above, featuring all sorts of 18th century state-of-the-art compartments for his quill pen, ink, and paper.  It's made of oak but stained to look like mahogany, and it would have been a rare and possibly expensive piece even when new, which probably indicates that it was a gift from someone to Mr. Wesley.  

In many ways unlike today's laptops which have the ability to do everything except make you a cup of tea, this humble but ingenious bit of wooden technology was nevertheless a powerful tool in the hands of a committed Christian who lived his life to do the most good to the most people every day of his long and fruitful ministry. With that kind of example before me, even though I'm not the most creative person around, I hope that, with my modern laptop and along with the members of the churches in my charge, I can find some effective and innovative ways to connect people and invite them to experience the joys of salvation, reminding them that, even in the pandemic, the best of all is that God is with us. 

Circuit Riding and the Incarnation, 2020 style

When I first became a Methodist minister (in the United Methodist Church), I had a two-point charge, so I was technically a circuit rider.  For three years, I rode down highway 701 in Johnston County at least twice a week between Corinth and Antioch (such Pauline names for churches) to preach, teach, baptize, celebrate communion, marry, and bury.  All the appointments I had after that were in station churches, and I suppose I thought my circuit riding days were over, especially since my most recent stint in parish ministry was at a Presbyterian church.  But the Spirit was nudging me in another direction, very subtly at first and then with something more like a shove than a nudge, and I find myself part of a circuit again, with primary pastoral charge of three churches in that circuit. 

I have to admit that moving across the Atlantic during a pandemic isn't exactly the sanest action I've ever taken, and since I don't have a car and actually haven't ever driven in the UK, my circuit riding looks a bit different.  If I have to be somewhere in person, I take a bus or take an Uber to my destination.  That's the exception more than the rule, however.  More often than not, my interactions with my parishioners take place over Zoom or via email and occasionally, even by using that archaic form of technology known as a telephone.  Two of my three churches have decided not to return to in-person worship for a while; the other will be discussing that at length next week.  There are so many things to take into consideration, but above all, we are seeking to love our neighbor as we love ourselves and to follow the first of Wesley's General Rules, to do no harm.

Each of these churches is  quite different from the others.  It's like having three children who have their own personalities, their own preferences, their own way of doing things, and their own creative ideas about how best to worship God.  It's exciting, it's challenging, and it's especially interesting in these corona-times.  I am learning new things every single day about what it is to be a Christian in three very different communities in a country very different from my own.  It can be a bit overwhelming, and sometimes I visualize myself as a dog paddling madly with its nose just inches above the water.  Some things will settle down as I get to know people and understand how the churches operate, but the weirdness of the pandemic means that we are still in for quite a wild ride for some time to come.  

We can't predict when we will be able to safely gather for worship in ways that include singing our favorite hymns and drinking tea and coffee afterwards, and with Advent and Christmas on the horizon, we are going to have to be really creative in figuring out how to preserve beloved traditions along with finding new ways to celebrate the Incarnation.  It's enough to make my head spin, but I take comfort in remembering our legacy as the people called Methodists, which by definition means that we seek to bring the gospel to as many people as we can in as many ways as we can.  

As I reflect on the difficulties that lie ahead as we contemplate the holidays, a thought floated into my mind and firmly lodged there -- Christmas isn't canceled.  Yes, it will be different.  No, it won't include many of the things we've grown to treasure.  But no matter how many things we can't do, there is so much that we can do if we aren't afraid to be innovative in how we live out and share our faith.  The first Christmas didn't exactly go according to plan -- what pregnant woman envisions giving birth surrounded by farm animals? and the beloved carol "Silent Night" has its origins in the breakdown of an organ and the substitution of a guitar, or so the story goes, so maybe this is just par for the course.  Circuit riding during the pandemic and Christmas in the corona-times may strain our imaginations to the breaking point, but at the heart of the Christian faith is the conviction that our loving and gracious God is with us, and as Mr. Wesley reminds us with his deathbed words, that is the best of all, whether one is circuit riding using a horse or an unstable internet connection or celebrating a picture-perfect candlelit communion surrounded by family and friends.  And that is good news of great joy that is for all the people!

 (Each church building is represented in these three pictures)

More and more dead to sin; more and more alive to God

 

For several years, my daily devotions, morning and evening, have been guided by a wonderful resource compiled by a friend and colleague, the Rev. Dr. Steve Manskar.  His book, A Disciple's Journal, combines lectionary scripture readings with a relevant "word" from John Wesley, portions of a hymn from Charles Wesley, and a pattern for charting one's acts of compassion, justice, devotion, and worship -- works of mercy and works of piety.  For at least six years, this has been my primary, though not my only daily companion for prayer and reflection.

This week's "word" from John Wesley comes from his sermon entitled "The Scripture Way of Salvation," one of the most succinct expositions of his theology and thought, particularly with regard to his understanding of justifying and sanctifying grace and the assurance that we receive when the Spirit witnesses with our spirit that we are children of God.  It's one that seminary students tend to be somewhat familiar with for that very reason.  

I have read it many times, but I have found with Wesley's writings and with Charles Wesley's hymns that, just as with scripture, we find new insights and new treasures every single time we turn to them.  Like that old saying that one never steps in the same river twice, we never hear the same message in quite the same way when we immerse ourselves in the richness of Wesley's sermons.  If you are familiar with lectio divina, the meditative way of feasting on a few verses of scripture that invites you to let the Holy Spirit guide you to a particular word or phrase, you may not be surprised to find that reading the Wesleys can function much the same way.  

This week, as I read the following passage from "The Scripture Way of Salvation," I found myself returning again and again to one sentence, the one from which this post takes its title.

From the time of our being "born again" the gradual work of sanctification takes place. We are enabled "by the Spirit" to "mortify the deeds of the body," of our evil nature. And as we are more and more dead to sin, we are more and more alive to God. We go on from grace to grace, while we are careful to "abstain from all appearance of evil," and are "zealous of good works," "as we have opportunity doing good to all men;" while we walk in all his ordinances blameless, therein worshiping him in spirit and in truth; while we take up our cross and deny ourselves every pleasure that does not lead us to God.

That sentence leapt out at me every single time I read this excerpt -- And as we are more and more dead to sin, we are more and more alive to God.  I love the parallelism of it, the balancing of our increasing death to the forces of sin and evil with the increase of our "aliveness" to God and subsequent growth in grace.  It's a satisfying way of expressing a profound truth, for we cannot wallow in sin and increase in grace.  It's simply not possible.  We must crucify the passions of the flesh in order to receive new and abundant life in and through Christ.  As we leave behind our old ways of thinking and behaving and being, we are drawn ever closer to becoming the people we were intended to be, created in the divine image, only a little lower than the angels.  Being alive to God implies a real change within, a change that is reflected without.  If we are born anew, born again, born from above, it will inevitably show in the lives we lead through the words we speak, the ways in which we interact with other people, and the expressions of love and service that we joyfully offer in obedience to Jesus's command that we love one another.  We will consecrate the work of our hands in gratitude and love to the One who creates, redeems, sustains, and cares for us even before we know anything of it.

I fall short of this life of holiness every day, and yet I cling to that promise inherent in the words of Christ in the Sermon on the Mount -- "be perfect as your Father in heaven is perfect."  Jesus wouldn't have said for us to do it if it weren't possible, and so every day, I rededicate myself to the goal of becoming more and more dead to sin and therefore more and more alive to God.  I know I won't be able to do it on my own, but as I live a life filled with those works of mercy and piety, I believe that I will indeed go on from grace to grace, as the divine potter continues to shape and mold me into a holy vessel.  

My new life and ministry in England is teaching me new things every single day, and it's a little overwhelming sometimes.  I don't always know what I don't know, if you see what I mean.  I'm afraid that I will forget or that I will get it wrong or that I will somehow not be the minister I want to be, yet I am assured of that wonderful reality of dying to sin and living to God.  I hope that you can examine your life and say the same, and if not, what might you do to enable yourself to die more and more to sin in order to live more and more to God?  None of us does it alone, so surround yourself with good influences, with companions who will encourage and support you even as you support them in their Christian journey.  That is my hope and my prayer for myself, for you, and for all who are called by Christ's name.  May it be so!   

On Pleasing All Men (and Presumably Women)

Well, as the corona-times drag on, we are facing a second wave here in the UK, and new restrictions are coming back into play.  People are trying to stay positive, but the numbers of the jobless are increasing, the sight of disheartened workers is pervasive, the loneliness and fear of the elderly and vulnerable is palpable, and the pressure on healthcare workers as well as food banks and other safety nets is apparent. The toll the pandemic is taking on people's mental health is evident, even though most people understand that the preventive measures are still necessary in the face of so much illness and so many deaths. Those of us who are clergy are seeking ways of nurturing connection, especially for those without expertise in current technology like Zoom, and we are trying to be encouraging, to help people remain hopeful even when there seems to be no end in sight.  It's not easy. In fact, it's possibly the toughest season of ministry many of us have ever faced.  The pressure is immense.

Of course, disease and death and fear are nothing new. Scripture recounts stories of famine, of loss, of oppression, and of despair. But it also tells of a God whose love is wider and whose grace is deeper than we can even imagine.  It lifts up the broken-hearted, brings comfort to the despairing, and transforms the grimness of death itself into life abundant and free.

John Wesley lived in the turbulent 18th century, a time when scientific knowledge was increasing, intellectual curiosity was sparking, and religious revival was sweeping the length and breadth of Great Britain. At the same time, war and poverty and disease and social ills like alcoholism were ever present threats.  The early Methodists lived cheek and jowl with all that misery and desperation, and the preachers sought to bring strength and encouragement to people by helping them learn to trust in God's goodness and the unconditional love of Christ. 

Wesley knew that sometimes, there just were no words that could make things better, and he counseled his Methodists to take the following practical yet loving approach: 

Weep with them that weep. If you can do no more, at least mix your tears with theirs; and give them healing words, such as may calm their minds, and mitigate their sorrows. But if you can, if you are able to give them actual assistance, let it not be wanting. Be as eyes to the blind, as feet to the lame, a husband to the widow, and a father to the fatherless. This will greatly tend to conciliate the affection, and to give a profitable pleasure, not only to those who are immediate objects of your compassion, but to others likewise that 'see your good works, and glorify your Father which is in heaven'.  (On Pleasing All Men)

If we are struggling to minister to people in their need because we feel we have nothing to offer, we would do well to take those words to heart and put them into practice as we incarnate the love of Christ to our neighbours.  In ourselves we may have nothing to offer, but we don't come trusting in our own abilities but instead, we offer them Christ, who knows our sorrows and carries them as he walks alongside us.  Listening to their griefs, weeping with them as they mourn, and speaking to them with compassion -- these are acts of love that promote the dignity and worth of everyone, and they are gifts we can joyfully share.  In these uncertain days, how will you and I commit to do this? What can we do to bring light into someone's darkness? It might even be as simple as sharing a cup of tea...

Unspeakable

 

John Wesley's commentary on Exodus 34:6 is positively lyrical.  He wrote:  "The springs of mercy are always full, the streams of mercy always flowing; there is mercy enough in God, enough for all, enough for each, enough for ever."  The first time I read those words, I was deeply moved, and they still make me catch my breath.  I didn't grow up being afraid of God, but I didn't start to realize the depth of God's grace and the wideness of divine mercy until I began to really delve into Wesley's theology when I was at Duke Divinity School.  There is something immensely appealing about the belief that grace surrounds us every moment of our lives, even before we know anything about it and that it continues throughout, as the nudges of the Holy Spirit lead us beyond justification into sanctification and finally towards Christian perfection.

Not quite a month ago, I fulfilled a long-time dream and moved to England to serve in the British Methodist Church.  I spent the first two weeks (or fortnight, as they usually say here), in quarantine, and it was an interesting experience. I devoted myself to winnowing out the books that had been left by the former minister, learning to cook on a gas stove, figuring out the dishwasher and other appliances, and starting to get to know the people of the three churches that are my primary pastoral charges, of necessity mainly via telephone and Zoom.  I have been greeted with excitement, with curiosity, and with great hospitality, and the collegiality of the other ministers in the circuit along with the help and encouragement of the superintendents and circuit officers have made this first part of the transition an occasion of grace even as I miss my husband and the familiar things of home.  Someone asked me what I expected to find or experience coming here, and without even thinking, I responded, "Grace.  I expect to find grace as we learn to be church together in a time of pandemic and with all the changes that the corona-times have brought to every aspect of life."  

Today as I joined my clergy colleagues of the North Carolina Annual Conference for the Clergy Session via Zoom, I didn't expect the surge of emotion that engulfed me as I saw familiar faces and heard voices of people I have known and loved for years.  I mourned the loss of being able to be physically present with each other, and I felt the thousands of miles between us in a particularly sharp way.  Unable to talk with my usual support network, I was surprised by grace as new colleagues here in England surrounded me with kindness, understanding, and support. Person after person offered me encouragement, phone calls, and face-to-face tea dates.  I am filled with such gratitude for the beauty of the Wesleyan Connexion that binds all of us together, British Methodists and United Methodists, and all the other branches of the family, the heirs of the revival that emphasized the flowing streams of God's mercy and what Charles Wesley called the "unspeakable gift," the grace that is beyond the power of  human words to describe.  I don't know where this adventure will take me next, but I rejoice in the springs of mercy that are refreshing my soul each and every day.

     

Poems on Subjects Never Before Handled

 

If you have been following this blog or my Travels With Wesley Facebook page, you already know that I recently finished writing a book called Mothers in Israel:  Methodist Beginnings Through the Eyes of Women and that it's due to be published in December and will be available through Cokesbury, the Upper Room bookstores, Amazon, and Barnes and Noble.  In it, Susanna Wesley gets an entire chapter to herself as the Mother of Methodism because of her lasting theological and devotional influence on her sons and because she was a powerful example of a faithful and bold Christian woman and leader.  She is an interesting, complex person, and I love to talk about her and to share some of her writings with people who have only a nodding acquaintance with her.  I am, however, far less likely to talk about her husband, the father of the Wesleys, the Rev. Samuel Wesley.

Samuel Wesley was devout, intelligent, conscientious, and loving, but he was also stubborn, easily angered, autocratic, and moody.  Reading some of the letters between him and his children as well as letters written to and from Susanna reveal a man who was slow to forgive and quick to take offense, though he was affectionate, honest, and sincere.  He, too, is an interesting, complex person.  His climb up the ministerial ladder stalled early on, and though he considered himself an excellent scholar and poet who deserved a plum position in the Church of England, he lived out most of his life and ministry in the market town of Epworth and even smaller village of Wroot.  

Interestingly, he wrote a collection of poems in 1685 entitled Maggots, or Poems on Subjects Never Before Handled.  Supposedly, he wrote this poetry in order to demonstrate that poetic language could transform even the most revolting subject into a thing of beauty.  Well, I must confess that I haven't read any of the poems, but after witnessing a squirming mass of the title creatures in my rubbish bin (Hey, I'm living in England now, so I'm going to inevitably use some of their expressions), I'm not convinced that lofty words and flamboyant expressions can ever transform wiggly little nasties into something sublime.  

What I have read of Samuel Wesley's poetry has done nothing to change my mind.  Daughter Hetty and son Charles were the gifted poets in that family, though some of John Wesley's hymns are lovely, too.  But it got me thinking, seeing the icky maggots nibbling their way through the oh, so fragrant trash.  Maybe Samuel was onto something deeper than he himself even intended.  Maybe his musings on the grunting of a hog and the aforementioned insect larvae provide a metaphor from the natural world that has application to our spiritual lives.  The Apostle Paul called his own attempts at righteousness "dung and dross," which is hardly any more appetizing than maggots, and he did so in order to point to the unspeakable gift of grace that is poured out on us even before we know anything of it.  He considered himself the chief of sinners, a phrase not unfamiliar to the Brothers Wesley, and after his Damascus Road experience, he became the apostle to the Gentiles, joyfully and obediently spending and being spent in the work of the gospel.  Those rags of his former attempts at living a holy life became the wedding garment, if you will, as he allowed himself to be an instrument of God, led and guided by the Spirit.

The challenge you and I face during these corona-times is how best to offer our gifts of time, talent, and treasure in a landscape that has so suddenly become alien and downright weird.  The same old, same old simply doesn't work in this new and strange land of Covid-19, and many (most?) of us don't feel quite adequate for the task, yet the same God who can make human beings from the dust of the earth, forming them into the divine image, is the One who is with us in our stumbling attempts to pivot and be creative in the ways in which we glorify Christ and love our neighbors.  Maybe Samuel was onto something after all.  Maybe the 2020 maggots we have been given can be turned to good use, leading us towards a new way of being the Church and of sharing the beauty of our God with the world.  Are you willing to trust the Spirit's nudging?  Will you come along and see?

Field Preaching, Then and Now

 

When John Wesley followed George Whitefield's lead in 1739 and "submitted to be more vile" by preaching in the open air, he was being faithful to a call from God that stretched him far outside his comfort zone.  He felt it to be an act that went beyond the bounds of things done decently and in order, and he was not alone in this opinion, yet he was committed to the practice, defending it against all opponents. 

On August 28, 1748, he wrote:

I wonder at those who still talk so loud of the indecency of field-preaching.  The highest indecency is in St Paul's Church, when a considerable part of the congregation are asleep, or talking, or looking about, not minding a word the preacher says. 

Nevertheless, although he continued the practice throughout the rest of his life, he never enjoyed it, considering it a cross he must bear in obedience to Christ and the best available means for sharing the gospel with the most people, particularly those who rarely entered a church building. 

In a later entry in his journal, he reflected:

On Monday and Tuesday evening I preached abroad, near the  Keelman's hospital, to twice the people we should have had at the house. What marvel the devil does not love field preaching? Neither do I. I love a commodious room, a soft cushion, a handsome pulpit. But where is my zeal if I do not trample all these under foot in order to save one more soul? (June 23, 1759)

And so I wonder. What might our "field-preaching" look like today? Covid-19 has turned everything upside down, including the Church. Though we might prefer to do church business as usual, that is impossible. Gathering close together, singing lustily (as Wesley instructed), and enjoying tea or coffee afterwards are all off-limits, so we will have to be more creative and forward-thinking than we've ever been before.  

In order to be faithful witnesses to the gospel in new ways, we may well have to consider trying methods we regard as vile as field-preaching was to Wesley. Are we as willing and as flexible as he was? How will clergy and laity open themselves to a new way forward? Our response must be thoughtful and bold, lovingly honoring our tradition while courageously seeking contemporary ways to proclaim the love of God in Christ. What forms might that take where you are? I'd love to hear.

Travels with Wesley Comes to England

 

In 1738, John Wesley returned home to England after a frustrating experience of ministry and an unhappy love affair with Sophy Hopkey in Georgia. He had set out with his brother Charles with high hopes of converting the Native Americans and of securing his own soul, but things didn’t quite work out the way he expected. 

Though his time there wasn’t a complete failure, and it taught him some valuable lessons about following rules too rigidly, his American adventure was anything but idyllic. Dejected and confused, he came back without a real plan and with no idea what shape his ministry would take.  And Christ led him into being part of a revival that is still vital and life-changing all around the world!

Well, I am now in England after leaving my home in the US, but thankfully not because of a broken heart or disappointment in ministry. There are some similarities, however. Though I did not have to sneak out of the country to avoid the long arm of the law, I too left Sophy Hopkey back in America, the difference being that my Sophy Hopkey is a cat, and my husband is taking excellent care of her.

Like Wesley, I’m embarking on a ministry adventure in a place far from home, and like Wesley, I have hopes and dreams of what may come of it, for myself and for others. It’s utter madness, leaving home and husband for a few years to serve churches so far from home, especially during a pandemic, but there’s been such confirmation of the decision and such grace extended by so many people that I believe it truly is of God. 

While I don’t pretend to think that I will be instrumental in leading an international revival, I do believe that there is work for me here. For example, one of my new churches is an ecumenical partnership of Methodists and members of the United Reformed Church, a close relative of the Presbyterians I served for eight years. That background is surely going to be helpful as we work together. I hope you will continue traveling with Wesley and me as we all watch and wait and pray for the Spirit to lead, guide, and direct us all in these new days of ministry and mission. 

“Tempered With Reverence and Godly Fear”

Wesley and the early Methodists were often accused of being “enthusiasts,” oe what we’d today call fanatics, and not without reason. In Wesley’s own journal and letters we read of people falling down or crying out as if they were having fits while he was preaching and of people claiming to have been divinely bestowed with special gifts or insights. 

In an attempt to refute allegations that he and the people called Methodists were enthusiasts, he wrote “The Nature of Enthusiasm,” arguing that neither extraordinary gifts nor fantastic visions were the measure of one’s faith, nor that they could in and of themselves reveal the will of God. Instead, he pointed to the usual ways in which God chooses to be made known: by scripture, experience, reason, and the ongoing assistance of the Holy Spirit. Wesley also cautioned against speaking too glibly of God’s will and urged his readers/listeners to guard their tongues as well as their actions, making sure that both were seasoned with the proper sense of respect and awe due to the most Holy God.  

Beware you do not fall into the second sort of enthusiasm -- fancying you have those gifts from God which you have not. Trust not in visions or dreams; in sudden impressions, or strong impulses of any kind. Remember, it is not by these you are to know what is the will of God on any particular occasion, but by applying the plain Scripture rule, with the help of experience and reason, and the ordinary assistance of the Spirit of God. Do not lightly take the name of God in your mouth; do not talk of the will of God on every trifling occasion: but let your words, as well as your actions, be all tempered with reverence and godly fear.

I can’t help thinking of this contentious election season and the endless bile and invective already being poured out from the mouths of political opponents and flowing from the keyboards of trolls and mischief-makers.  Even more disturbing is the willingness on the part of some high profile religious leaders to baptize hate speech and even engage in it themselves.  It’s a brutal day in which to attempt to follow Jesus instead of Caesar, and Wesley’s admonition against too lightly carrying the name of God in our mouths is timely. I wish I could say we’d heed it. Wouldn't it be great if Mr. Wesley's spiritual descendants would set the world a good example?

Lord, have mercy. Christ, have mercy. Lord, have mercy.

Where Prayer Has Been Valid

John Wesley surveys the interior of the Isle of Tiree church

What a difference a year makes! This time last year, I was preaching in the Isle of Tiree's Heylipol parish church (Church of Scotland) where I spent five wonderful weeks. This year, I'm on transition leave, floating in the liminal space between writing a book while living in NC and moving to England where I'll be serving three churches.  Since I'm not preaching and preparing worship services right now, I've mostly been worshiping online with Hanscom Park UMC and their pastor, my friend Chris, and their summer intern, Peter. It's been remarkably soothing to fall into a rhythm of watching and commenting on Facebook Live along with the regular congregants as well as with others joining from afar. The sermons have been well-exegeted and delivered, the worshipers engaged, and the music beautiful. I've felt welcomed and included, and it's been a time of spiritual nourishment.

But I miss being physically in church. I miss the smell of old wood, the stifled giggles of children, the heft of the hymnal in my hand, the flicker of candles, the rustle of bulletins, the smiles during the passing of the peace, the solidity of the pews. I miss standing before the congregation in my robe with my stole slightly swaying, my sermon spilling out of a manila folder, my fingers lightly curled on the pulpit or Bible. I miss the expectant hush before the choir sings the anthem, the squeak of the ushers' shoes as they take the offering plates from my hands, the harmonies arising from the throats of the congregation as we join in the strains of "Love Divine, All Loves Excelling." I miss the knees bent on soft velvet, the bowed heads and the hands lifted and cupped to receive the bread. I miss speaking the words, "The body of Christ, broken for you. The blood of Christ, shed for you" as we share the sacrament. I miss the multi-sensory experience of "church."

We've gone out of our way during this pandemic to remind ourselves that the Church is not confined to bricks and mortar, that its reach extends into the highways and byways, that the Body of Christ is composed of our flesh and blood. And rightfully so. The Church gathered must also be the Church scattered, sharing the good news in concrete ways, especially among the least, the last, and the lost.

And yet. 

Though God is present everywhere and we can pray anywhere we are, there's no denying the importance of having a physical gathering place, a space to play instruments and sing, a shelter from which to share fellowship, communion, and other more earthly resources.  John Wesley was quick to realize the value of having dedicated spaces for Methodists to gather together, establishing the New Room in Bristol early in the revival. He would, I think, have understood the feeling expressed by T.S. Eliot --

You are not here to verify, 

Instruct yourself, or inform curiosity 

Or carry report. You are here to kneel 

Where prayer has been valid. And prayer is more 

Than an order of words, the conscious occupation 

Of the praying mind, or the sound of the voice praying. 

And what the dead had no speech for, when living, 

They can tell you, being dead: the communication 

Of the dead is tongued with fire beyond the language of the living. ~ (from "Little Gidding)

Understanding the current need for distancing and taking careful risk assessments, the necessity of masks and for now, no singing, I still feel a pang of loss, a yearning to be able to kneel with others once again in those hallowed places where prayer has been valid. Hopefully within a few days I will receive word about my visa and can travel to Watford to begin to serve three very different churches. May we together discern how and when to reopen the church buildings, carefully and cautiously, yet joyfully anticipating being able to physically kneel together where prayer has been valid. May we always be alert to the leading of the Holy Spirit as Christ calls us to be the Church within and beyond the four walls of our buildings. O, Lord, may it be so!

Impudent, or Just Obedient?

Mary Bosanquet Fletcher was one of early Methodism's earliest women preachers, exercising a profound influence on many of the women and men of her acquaintance who came to her or wrote to her for spiritual counsel, advice, prayer, and support.  Her ministry was "owned" by God and bore much fruit and indeed, still bears much fruit in the lives of her spiritual descendants.

How wonderful, we say!  What an example, we exclaim! But it wasn't easy for her, answering God's call in a time when women's voices were generally kept out of the public sphere. Her journal records ongoing struggles, particularly noting her diffidence at speaking publicly and moments of wishing God did not require her to do it. 

Time and again, she was affirmed in her ministry.  When she visited the sick and met with the children in the places to which she traveled, people often told her that her presence and her words had blessed them. Yet despite affirmations that God indeed owned her work, for many years, Mary felt herself “held in bondage about speaking in public.” She was sometimes publicly criticized as an “impudent woman” and threatened with violence by men who wanted to intimidate her into shutting her mouth and retreating into a role that they deemed appropriate. 

Being a woman of deep faith and devotion, she set aside May 28, 1775 for prayer and discernment, listing various reasons why preaching publicly was such a cross to her, exclaiming, “Ah, how glad would nature be to find out,—Thou, Lord, dost not require it.” (Notice that her words echo John Wesley’s journal entry of September 6, 1772: “To this day, field preaching is a cross to me. But I know my commission and see no other way of ‘preaching the gospel to every creature.’”) Just as Wesley did, she pressed on, obedient to her call, persistently enduring and exhorting.

She met each challenge with prayer and often with fasting, always seeking to remain in tune with the leading of the Spirit, and she found strength and sustenance for each encounter.  At a society meeting in September 1775,  she realized that she was going to have to exercise her leadership to reprove some of the members for the “little touches of enthusiasm” that had crept in, and initially she felt unworthy of fulfilling such a role.  Praying for strength and recognizing that it would take much wisdom and love to extinguish false fire and to rekindle the true flame of faith, she did speak words of rebuke and challenge to them, trusting in the power and presence of Christ to be with her.

On another occasion, as Mary traveled through Huddersfield en route to a meeting elsewhere, a friend invited her to hold a meeting there upon her return, and Mary agreed. The day was extremely hot, and some two or three thousand people attended the meeting that was held in a quarry. Violence was threatened as some mischievous individuals rolled stones towards the gathered Methodists, but no one was injured, and she found that people were hungry for more and more of her words of life and grace. 

Afterwards, exhausted and weak, she headed back towards Huddersfield but was warned that she was almost certain to encounter even more opponents to women’s preaching, intent on causing more trouble. Weary but undaunted, with typical reliance on guidance from God, Mary boldly responded, “If I have a word to speak from Him, He will make my way. If not, the door will be shut. I am only to show the meekness of wisdom and leave all to God.” Drained of strength by the heat and the press of bodies, even when the meeting moved outside, Mary stood up on a horseblock to preach to the gathered crowd, and her voice was clear enough to be heard by all, and at the conclusion, she “felt stronger than when we began.”

Reflecting on the myriad ways the hand of the Lord was at work, she later recollected the power of God she had experienced while preaching from the horseblock, while also acknowledging that she must appear ridiculous in the eyes of many people for acting in such an unusual way. In her journal she mused: “Therefore, if some persons consider me as an impudent woman, and represent me as such, I cannot blame them.” When accosted by people who told her she should be a Quaker if she thinks she is supposed to preach, she affirmed that while the Quakers indeed have “a good deal of God among them,” she believed that

"The Lord is more at work among the Methodists; and while I see this, though they were to toss me about as a football, I would stick to them like a leech. Besides, I do nothing but what Mr. Wesley approves; and as to reproach thrown by some on me, what have I to do with it, but quietly go forward, saying I will be still more vile, if my Lord requires it? Indeed for none but thee, my Lord, would I take up this sore cross. But Thou hast done more for me... Only make me holy, and then lead me as thou wilt." 

Mary's story is shockingly relevant and as fresh as the daily news in 2020. Earlier this week, another woman, though not a preacher, stood in a place traditionally reserved for men and spoke passionately about the people she is called to represent in the halls of power.  When an angry colleague, a man of shockingly limited vocabulary shook his finger in her face, called her names, and then referred to her in front of a reporter in language I will not repeat here, she responded powerfully, passionately, and with calm reason. 

While I don't know anything about her religious beliefs,  I know that Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez, like Mary, like me, like every woman who has ever breathed, is a human being created in the divine image, a person bearing the stamp of God's grace on her forehead, a woman worthy of respect and honor simply because she is one of God's beloved. And being called impudent or being threatened or being addressed by rude, crude, and socially unacceptable epithets cannot and will not demean us, nor will it stop us from being the people that the God of heaven and earth intends us to be.  Every single one of us will continue to submit to be more vile if the Lord requires it, gladly sacrificing reputation and friends, obediently forsaking praise and comfort, all for the sake of the One who took up his cross and asks that we do the same, daily.  May the Spirit be at work in all our hearts, making us holy, and leading us to do the will of God, loving our neighbor as ourselves and loving God above all, through Christ our Lord!  Amen.

Mothers in Israel: Methodist Beginnings through the Eyes of Women

Some of you may be aware that I have been writing a book over the past several months. In some ways, this began four years ago when I traveled with a group of pilgrims to England as part of Discipleship Ministries' Wesley pilgrimage, aided by my sabbatical research the following year and all the voracious reading I've done since. Thankfully, the pandemic allowed me space and time to really work on it, and I'm pleased to announce that the General Board of Higher Education and Ministry of the United Methodist Church will be publishing Mothers in Israel: Methodist Beginnings through the Eyes of Women in December 2020.

I recently had the opportunity to lead a webinar based on some of my research for the book. Sponsored by the Center for Leadership Excellence of the North Carolina Annual Conference, this gave me a chance to share some of the stories I encountered along the way, accounts of women who preached the gospel and exercised leadership within Methodism from the very beginning. If you'd like to know more, you can watch the webinar by clicking the link below.  I hope it will whet your appetite to learn some of the stories of women like Susanna Wesley, Mary Bosanquet, Sarah Crosby, and Sarah Ryan as we gain a deeper understanding of their legacy and a fuller picture of the story of the people called Methodists.

https://nccumc.org/leadership/webinars/mothers-in-israel/

"Ground of our communion this"

Three years ago, I started this blog as a way of communicating with my congregation while I was on sabbatical, and since I was heading to England to "wallow in Wesley," I gave it the unimaginative name "Travels With Wesley." The picture here is of the tree-lined walkway to St. Andrew's parish church in Epworth where Samuel Wesley was the rector for nearly four decades and where most of the Wesley children, including John and Charles were baptized and received their first communion. Here in Epworth, Susanna prayerfully educated her children in the things of God, and here the seeds that grew into Wesleyan Methodism were sown. How grateful I am for that!

Sometimes I find great comfort in the words of a letter or sermon or hymn from the pen of one of the Wesleys, and sometimes I am challenged, provoked, awakened.  I recently ran across a VERY long hymn in six parts written by Charles Wesley in 1740, a hymn that made me think and ponder the changes taking place in the Church as a result of Covid-19. I won't reproduce the entire thing here, but let me share a few key stanzas.

During the pandemic, every aspect of life has changed, including the ways the Church operates. Ministers have scrambled to provide leadership using technology for preaching, carrying out administrative tasks, and providing pastoral care. Many of us grieve the necessity of fasting from the sacrament of the Lord's Supper, feeling that online communion is not theologically sound, while others feel it a necessity in these corona-times. Without engaging in an argument, I want to point out some words that spoke to my heart today as I meditated on this hymn and especially as it relates to the sacrament.

Father, Son, and Spirit hear

Faith's effectual, fervent prayer,

Hear, and our petitions seal,

Let us now the answer feel.

Mystically one with thee,

Transcript of the Trinity,

Thee let all our nature own,

One in three and three in one.

If we now begin to be

Partners with thy saints and thee,

If we have our sins forgiven,

Fellow-citizens of heaven,

Still the fellowship increase,

Knit us in the bond of peace,

Join, our newborn spirits join

Each to each, and all to thine.

Build us in one body up,

Called in one high calling's hope;

One the Spirit whom we claim,

One the pure baptismal flame,

One the faith, and common Lord,

One the Father lives, adored,

Over, through, and in us all,

God incomprehensible!

One with God, the Source of bliss,

Ground of our communion this;

Life of all that live below,

Let thine emanations flow.

These are words of communion, of relationship, of togetherness. Just as God is mysteriously three in one and one in three, bound together as Father, Son, and Spirit, so are we, the baptized, bound together in one body, one Spirit, one faith, and one Lord.  Charles boldly declares that we are "One with God, the Source of bliss, Ground of our communion this"-- words that resonate with me in their insistence that it is the communal oneness of God with us that is the ground and source and root of our communion. It is precisely that fellowship, that union, that is the proper setting and locus for the sacrament. What will that look like when we are able to gather but must observe stricter hygiene and health regulations? I don't know, but I deeply long for us to be physically present with each other to share the bread and cup in community, looking at our neighbors, bending our hearts and knees towards the table of our Lord. Then we will feel that "life of all that live below" flowing in and through us, binding us into oneness with God and with each other in a way that simply isn't possible online. 

John Wesley spoke of communion as the "grand channel" of God's grace and urged Methodists to participate frequently, receiving it himself on average every 2-3 days as an adult. This sacrament was so important to him that it led him to the audacious step of ordaining in order to provide persons authorized to celebrate communion in America. But he insisted that though God usually chose to act through these means, God was not restricted to them and could choose to bestow grace in other ways. Perhaps that will prove to be one of the lessons of the pandemic, the discovery that grace flows as God wills and that the Spirit is still in the business of making Christ known to us, even without the breaking of bread, continuing to join each to each and each to God. 

Let it be so! Amen!