Thanksgiving. We immediately imagine pilgrims and natives gathered for a harvest festival following a difficult first year (1621) at Plymouth Colony. Is there more to the story?
Thanksgiving became a traditional celebration in the Massachusetts Bay Colony shortly after 1630. As other colonies were formed, they too would often share in a celebration as the harvest was brought to storeroom.
As the colonies engaged in a war of independence, it was the Continental Congress in 1777 that urged the various governors of these United States to set aside a Day of Thanksgiving on Thursday, November 28th respecting the divine mercy God has shown to the people of this nation. Then in 1789 as the House of Representatives passed the First Amendment to the Constitution, they urged President Washington to proclaim a Day of Thanksgiving for 'the many signal favors of Almighty God.' Washington did issue such a proclamation setting aside Thursday, November 26th as such a day of giving thanks.
Most of us, however, are likely most familiar with the Proclamation of Thanksgiving signed by our 16th President in the midst of the American Civil War. The last Thursday of November 1863 was designated as a Day of Thanksgiving. His Secretary of State, William Seward, drafted the document that closed with the following sentiment:
I recommend to them that while offering up the ascriptions justly due to Him for such singular deliverances and blessings, they do also, with humble penitence for our national perverseness and disobedience, commend to his tender care all those who have become widows, orphans, mourners or sufferers in the lamentable civil strife in which we are unavoidably engaged, and fervently implore the interposition of the Almighty Hand to heal the wounds of the nation and to restore it as soon as may be consistent with the Divine purposes to the full enjoyment of peace, harmony, tranquility and Union.
Maybe this is a side of Thanksgiving we need to remember. While giving thanks for the blessings that are ours, may it be a reminder as well that gratitude is intended to lead to generosity. May this indeed be a season where we are generous with our assistance to those who are in need knowing that none of us is deserving but all are blessed. May this be a time when we might be generous in the gift of forgiveness, healing the wounds that divide us and reconciling with others knowing that all will benefit from this choice. May this be a time when we are generous with our hearts as we minister to those who are suffering, knowing that one day it will be our hope someone will do the same for us.
As we see throughout the history of this land; these holidays are intended to be a gateway into a deeper understanding of who we are and what we are called to be. May we be a people who do more than celebrate Thanksgiving, but may we be a people who are engaged in Thanks-Living.
Peace,
Pal
Monday, November 25, 2013
Monday, November 18, 2013
Treasure Hunt
Stewardship is not much in vogue today. Rarely does the concept creep into people's consciousness. In the church, the mere mention of the word can cause a roll of the eyes and the blockage of one's ears.
The word, however, has a rich and meaningful pedigree. Stewards begin by recognizing we are not the ones in charge. We are responsible as caretakers of another's capital. It is not ours to do as we like, because we are simply managing a resource for the sake of those who are following in our footsteps.
Stewardship in the church has certainly changed over the years. In the 'good old days' as harvest time approached the church would remind the people of the need to give from our abundance to support those who were in need. The church would then distribute the funds through a network of agencies who had a track record of serving the community in need. It was an effective as well as an efficient way to spread the wealth as far as it would go.
Today, every week new nonprofits are formed and they are all engaged in mass mailing campaigns. They tell heart-wrenching stories and through direct mail and phone solicitation they meet their goals. The church, no longer serves as the middle man making sure that those who receive the funds are held accountable. As the campaigns become more sophisticated (and more is spent to convince the individual to give), the church receives less and less in support of its work both locally and globally.
Over the past 50 years the church which had been an effective manager of the gifts has slowly been starved by the expensive ad campaigns of well-funded nonprofits. As a result, individuals who give continue to receive more and more solicitations by phone and mail (something we all complain about), while the church limps along struggling to convince people that it is justifiable to give on a regular basis so as to pass on this legacy to the next generation.
As for myself, I am convinced that there is a value to being a steward of this treasure that resides in clay pots. Yes, the horrors of the church are well chronicled, but let's not forget all that has been accomplished through these communities of faith. From the hospital to hospice, from the shelter to the soup kitchen, from education to emancipation, the church has been at the center of all this and more. Yes, the church is filled with hypocrites because like the rest of society we struggle trying to live up to our ideal, but the church is also comprised of the saints who sacrificially give of themselves for the sake of those who can never repay them.
So I do not apologize when the church makes known its need for support. We are stewards of a legacy that goes back in time and ultimately points to our future hope. The church may not be as sophisticated in its attempt to gain the support of our people, but that may simply be because the church is far more busy engaged in mission and ministry than trying to constantly raise money for this ministry.
I'm glad to be a steward of this treasure, and I hope you are too.
Peace,
Pal
The word, however, has a rich and meaningful pedigree. Stewards begin by recognizing we are not the ones in charge. We are responsible as caretakers of another's capital. It is not ours to do as we like, because we are simply managing a resource for the sake of those who are following in our footsteps.
Stewardship in the church has certainly changed over the years. In the 'good old days' as harvest time approached the church would remind the people of the need to give from our abundance to support those who were in need. The church would then distribute the funds through a network of agencies who had a track record of serving the community in need. It was an effective as well as an efficient way to spread the wealth as far as it would go.
Today, every week new nonprofits are formed and they are all engaged in mass mailing campaigns. They tell heart-wrenching stories and through direct mail and phone solicitation they meet their goals. The church, no longer serves as the middle man making sure that those who receive the funds are held accountable. As the campaigns become more sophisticated (and more is spent to convince the individual to give), the church receives less and less in support of its work both locally and globally.
Over the past 50 years the church which had been an effective manager of the gifts has slowly been starved by the expensive ad campaigns of well-funded nonprofits. As a result, individuals who give continue to receive more and more solicitations by phone and mail (something we all complain about), while the church limps along struggling to convince people that it is justifiable to give on a regular basis so as to pass on this legacy to the next generation.
As for myself, I am convinced that there is a value to being a steward of this treasure that resides in clay pots. Yes, the horrors of the church are well chronicled, but let's not forget all that has been accomplished through these communities of faith. From the hospital to hospice, from the shelter to the soup kitchen, from education to emancipation, the church has been at the center of all this and more. Yes, the church is filled with hypocrites because like the rest of society we struggle trying to live up to our ideal, but the church is also comprised of the saints who sacrificially give of themselves for the sake of those who can never repay them.
So I do not apologize when the church makes known its need for support. We are stewards of a legacy that goes back in time and ultimately points to our future hope. The church may not be as sophisticated in its attempt to gain the support of our people, but that may simply be because the church is far more busy engaged in mission and ministry than trying to constantly raise money for this ministry.
I'm glad to be a steward of this treasure, and I hope you are too.
Peace,
Pal
Thursday, November 7, 2013
Falling Into God
A couple of weekends ago I hit the deck. I was riding my bike, must have hit some road shrapnel, and I went down hard. I was knocked out for a few moments, and have no memory of events for nearly 15 minutes. Even after my memory started to reboot, it took me quite awhile to start thinking clearly. Only later was I able to acknowledge that I was in a state of shock. Fortunately for me, I had a helmet on and friends around or otherwise I'd likely still be in a hospital today.
Each of us has times in our lives where we get knocked down, hard! Maybe its the loss of a job, or the end of a marriage. Perhaps we just came back from the Oncologist with a diagnosis of cancer. We never know when these moments will arise and our vertical clearance will be lessened, but we can prepare for the inevitable eventuality.
Friends have been suggesting to me that I take up a less dangerous hobby. I understand the desire to make things 'safe,' but life is not safe. Preparedness for difficult times, does not mean that we live in fear of every possible danger. If I was to give up riding, perhaps I could avoid such a danger, but I'd lose out on the opportunity to 'fly on two wheels.' That is an exchange I'm unwilling to broker.
May I suggest that we cannot avoid all dangers, nor can we protect ourselves from all eventualities. What we can do, however, is exercise our intelligence to minimize the harm if not the risks. Wearing a helmet is one way to protect a cyclist from the most dangerous threat while not impeding the joy of riding.
I believe the same can be said about our experience of the Christian faith. While some would prefer to practice a faith of do and don't as a means by which to avoid dangerous risks, I myself would rather enter into the adventure of unchartered territories armed with the tools that will minimize the harm if 'all hell breaks loose.' That is why I choose to be a part of a faith community. They are there to assist when trouble strikes. They are there to offer a listening ear when my doubts nag at me. They are the ones who are there as the surrogate wombs of faith when my faith seems lacking and nearly hollow.
I understand the people who say they don't need a church. I get it when they say they'd prefer to worship God in some grassy field or mountaintop. I, however, have never seen a tree nor rock embrace another when up a tree or under a rock. The Body of Christ, on the other hand, despite it's failings, is able to do this time and time again with grace and generosity. The church is where I hear the sweet refrain of 'Amazing Grace.' The church, while not always true to this motif, nonetheless, it is the one who picks me up when I am down… when I have gone down hard!
While gravity has this nagging way of making itself known to all of us, I pray that you too have a community that will enter into the risk of a real relationship with one another as with God.
Peace,
Pal
Each of us has times in our lives where we get knocked down, hard! Maybe its the loss of a job, or the end of a marriage. Perhaps we just came back from the Oncologist with a diagnosis of cancer. We never know when these moments will arise and our vertical clearance will be lessened, but we can prepare for the inevitable eventuality.
Friends have been suggesting to me that I take up a less dangerous hobby. I understand the desire to make things 'safe,' but life is not safe. Preparedness for difficult times, does not mean that we live in fear of every possible danger. If I was to give up riding, perhaps I could avoid such a danger, but I'd lose out on the opportunity to 'fly on two wheels.' That is an exchange I'm unwilling to broker.
May I suggest that we cannot avoid all dangers, nor can we protect ourselves from all eventualities. What we can do, however, is exercise our intelligence to minimize the harm if not the risks. Wearing a helmet is one way to protect a cyclist from the most dangerous threat while not impeding the joy of riding.
I believe the same can be said about our experience of the Christian faith. While some would prefer to practice a faith of do and don't as a means by which to avoid dangerous risks, I myself would rather enter into the adventure of unchartered territories armed with the tools that will minimize the harm if 'all hell breaks loose.' That is why I choose to be a part of a faith community. They are there to assist when trouble strikes. They are there to offer a listening ear when my doubts nag at me. They are the ones who are there as the surrogate wombs of faith when my faith seems lacking and nearly hollow.
I understand the people who say they don't need a church. I get it when they say they'd prefer to worship God in some grassy field or mountaintop. I, however, have never seen a tree nor rock embrace another when up a tree or under a rock. The Body of Christ, on the other hand, despite it's failings, is able to do this time and time again with grace and generosity. The church is where I hear the sweet refrain of 'Amazing Grace.' The church, while not always true to this motif, nonetheless, it is the one who picks me up when I am down… when I have gone down hard!
While gravity has this nagging way of making itself known to all of us, I pray that you too have a community that will enter into the risk of a real relationship with one another as with God.
Peace,
Pal
Monday, November 4, 2013
Saint Charles
November begins for me with the remembrance of All Saints Day. This year my father would have turned 100 on November 15th. My dad never thought of himself as a saint, but I would beg to differ.
Now my dad was a good German, which meant that he was quick to express his anger but slow to show affection. It was, not only his pedigree, but his generation. He grew up during hard times. Life was not easy for him. Men of his generation were taught not to reveal weakness and the expression of affection was a signal of a serious character flaw.
As a small child, my dad was this huge man who lived a Big life. I loved to hear his stories of the day when he had the world by the tail. He was a champion golfer (a compatriot of Ben Hogan and Sam Snead), an avid outdoorsmen (hunting and fishing), and a hard working paperhanger. As a teen, my father didn't seem so worldly nor so interesting. He wasn't up on the latest fad, and his memory of past events was not in accord with what I was learning in school. I went through that typical teenage rebellion, thinking I knew more than my old man.
Despite my father's training and temperament, somehow he put up with this snot-nosed kid who never openly defied him (knowing the consequence of such a stupid act), but whose rebellion smoldered within. Somehow my father never stopped loving me the best way he knew how. Amazingly, my father was even able to learn some new behaviors (you can teach an old dog new tricks!), and during my college years my eyes were opened to the compassion and kindness that was always lying underneath the surface of this man's gruff exterior.
The older I get, the more appreciation I have for that stubborn old German (perhaps because I can be one too!). The older I get the more I see how God worked through him (although this was never his vocabulary) to raise a son who came to trust in a heavenly Father because he could trust his earthly father even when the two of us disagreed. I came to appreciate the gift I was given, rather than lament the fact that my father wasn't everything I hoped him to be.
As a father myself, I'm hopeful that I can apply the same lessons with my son (and daughter). I hope my son might know that even when we disagree (openly or not) that he is still loved. I hope my son will know that even when I am not as affectionate as he might hope, that my heart bleeds for him. And I hope that even when I cannot articulate it well, he will know that he is not alone in this universe, for there is a God who cares, even when it seems he doesn't.
My dad never believed he was good enough to be loved by God. On that point I disagreed mightily with the man; and I did not hesitate to say again and again, that our heavenly Father doesn't wait for us to prove ourselves worthy of being loved, he just loves us! I hope that my son will know that his dad doesn't' wait for him to prove himself but just loves him, because that is something I learned from Saint Charlie who would have been 100 in 10 days.
Peace,
Pal
Now my dad was a good German, which meant that he was quick to express his anger but slow to show affection. It was, not only his pedigree, but his generation. He grew up during hard times. Life was not easy for him. Men of his generation were taught not to reveal weakness and the expression of affection was a signal of a serious character flaw.
As a small child, my dad was this huge man who lived a Big life. I loved to hear his stories of the day when he had the world by the tail. He was a champion golfer (a compatriot of Ben Hogan and Sam Snead), an avid outdoorsmen (hunting and fishing), and a hard working paperhanger. As a teen, my father didn't seem so worldly nor so interesting. He wasn't up on the latest fad, and his memory of past events was not in accord with what I was learning in school. I went through that typical teenage rebellion, thinking I knew more than my old man.
Despite my father's training and temperament, somehow he put up with this snot-nosed kid who never openly defied him (knowing the consequence of such a stupid act), but whose rebellion smoldered within. Somehow my father never stopped loving me the best way he knew how. Amazingly, my father was even able to learn some new behaviors (you can teach an old dog new tricks!), and during my college years my eyes were opened to the compassion and kindness that was always lying underneath the surface of this man's gruff exterior.
The older I get, the more appreciation I have for that stubborn old German (perhaps because I can be one too!). The older I get the more I see how God worked through him (although this was never his vocabulary) to raise a son who came to trust in a heavenly Father because he could trust his earthly father even when the two of us disagreed. I came to appreciate the gift I was given, rather than lament the fact that my father wasn't everything I hoped him to be.
As a father myself, I'm hopeful that I can apply the same lessons with my son (and daughter). I hope my son might know that even when we disagree (openly or not) that he is still loved. I hope my son will know that even when I am not as affectionate as he might hope, that my heart bleeds for him. And I hope that even when I cannot articulate it well, he will know that he is not alone in this universe, for there is a God who cares, even when it seems he doesn't.
My dad never believed he was good enough to be loved by God. On that point I disagreed mightily with the man; and I did not hesitate to say again and again, that our heavenly Father doesn't wait for us to prove ourselves worthy of being loved, he just loves us! I hope that my son will know that his dad doesn't' wait for him to prove himself but just loves him, because that is something I learned from Saint Charlie who would have been 100 in 10 days.
Peace,
Pal
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