The rock is cumbersome. And I keep taking it out of my pocket and leaving it places. In the car. On my desk. At the office.
It was my friend’s idea to ritualize my surrender of resentments for Lent. Carry a stone around with me to live into the weight of resentment. It’s been helpful as a reminder that I really want to let go. And the taking it out and leaving it reminds me that the things we carry around with us, the grudges, the bitterness, don’t just stay in one place, one relationship. Rather, we take them into other places, other relationships, other parts of our lives.
It is my intention to think of a different resentment each week, write a letter to the thing I resent, the person I have not yet been reconciled with and finally, let the rock go.
Then pick up another and start again.
It’s interesting to consider how the antagonistic feelings, the negative emotions take up so much room in my spirit, interesting to consider the ways stones block the flow of grace. I am now more aware than ever that unhealed wounds harden, what has been left unforgiven takes up soul space.
I’ve picked up my third rock this third week of Lent, working on an old resentment, one I thought I had made peace with. But the stone is sharp and clumsy in my pocket, reminding me that the old pain is still there and still in need of resolution. I take it out, turn it over in my hands and recall how it felt when the incident first happened, how raw and sore I was for a while, how I thought I was well past it.
I return the rock to my pocket and head out for a meeting, the weight of the suffering still present, still felt.
One by one, I pray to let go. One by one I ask for the burden to be lightened. One by one I know I stand in the need of grace in this work of forgiveness and surrender.
Lent has become important to me this year serving as the reminder that so often what I had imagined was over and done is still, sometimes, present and sometimes still weighing me down. And like Lazarus called forth from the grave by the Living Christ, I am invited to be unbound and set free.
“We have renounced the shameful, underhanded ways; we refuse to practice cunning or to falsify God’s word, but by the open statement of the truth we commend ourselves to the conscience of everyone in the sight of God.” (2 Corinthians 4:2)
That verse is the last one in the chosen lectionary passage for March 2, from Paul’s Second Letter to the Corinthians (2 Corinthians 3:12-4:2). The last—and as far as I’m concerned, in this moment, the most important.
We renounce the shameful ways. We renounce the underhanded ways.
We refuse to practice cunning. We refuse to falsify God’s word.
We commend ourselves by the truth of our claims.
We commend ourselves for each in their own conscience to judge.
We commend ourselves…with God looking on.
If only those declarations were undeniably the way of the Church. If only those assertions were what people unequivocally experienced when they interacted with the people of the Church. If only those articulations were unquestionably what came to mind when people thought about Christians.
But too often the way of the Church is to deliberately induce shame. And guilt. And fear. Not in the service of truth but in the service of manipulation.
And too often the people of the Church intentionally employ cunning and the falsification of God’s word. Again, not in the service of truth but in the service of control.
And too often people who self-identify as Christian commend themselves, yes, but in arrogance and self-righteousness, not inviting others to judge the truth of their claims, each within their own conscience, but rather doling out judgment to any who question their “truth.”
The Church is not meant to dispense shame and guilt; we humans do just fine creating more than enough of that on our own. Rather, the Church is meant to hold us, with tenderness and compassion, when we see those things within ourselves…and offer us acceptance, and forgiveness, and freedom from shame and guilt!
The people of the Church are not called to deceive and manipulate, using God’s word as a weapon and a tool for bullying. Rather, the people of the Church are called to live and love with integrity, using God’s word to express truth with kindness and courage.
People who self-identify as Christian are not called to commend themselves by their certainty and unwavering trust in themselves, unwilling to be examined or questioned. Rather, they are to commend themselves by their humility and their unshakeable trust in God, inviting all others into their own examination of God’s truth.
“We have renounced the shameful, underhanded ways; we refuse to practice cunning or to falsify God’s word, but by the open statement of the truth we commend ourselves to the conscience of everyone in the sight of God.” (2 Corinthians 4:2)
I claim to be part of the Church. I count myself among the people of the Church. I self-identify as a Christian…
This past Sunday that was the title of my sermon. It was a response to the question, “What do I do now?”
I realize that many of my congregation are completely off balance because of the rapid societal/political changes.
They feel like deer in the headlights and feel sad and ashamed that they don’t know what to do.
I offered this to them, and I offer it to you.
Please pray with me: God of mercy, God of grace, We come hungry for peace and hungry for justice. Help us to not turn away from the suffering around us, And give us places of unexpected joy. Be healing, God. Be nurture, God. Be love, we pray. May the words of my mouth and the meditations of our hearts Fall on your ears, as pleasing. You are our rock, our refuge, our guide, and our glory. Amen.
The assignment. What is the assignment? What is our assignment, individually and collectively? How do we get from here to there?
Listen Listen to voices outside of your experience. Listen to hear. Ask thoughtful questions.
Learn Ingest what you’ve heard. Look up names, circumstances that you didn’t know of. Learn of the histories of the people you want to support.
Consider Deepen your learning by being prayerful. Imagine you experiencing life through their eyes.
Repent Ask for forgiveness for any part that your ancestors and/or you played in the oppression of people, even when you didn’t know you were benefitting from or sustaining inequities.
Amend Change something for the betterment of those you seek to help. You’ll only know what needs changing by asking them. Do not assume you know better than they what they need.
Heal Give yourself space to grieve the old you. Learning that you have been part of the problem is hard and tender work. Align with others on this path for care and healing.
Stretch Stretch your awareness even more. Find ways to seek relationship. Move from paternalism to partnership.
Reach It will take some courage, patience, and thoughtfulness to forge these relationships that will be built on generations of broken trust, broken promises and smiling but lying eyes. This will not be a “microwave” experience.
Love Figure out what love looks like in each situation. Lean in, ask, listen.
Serve Do something to repair the harm done. Small things, big things, some thing.
If we can do these things, the assignments will place themselves right in front of us. Some of us will move from good allyship to being accomplices. Some of us will learn things that hurt our feelings and upset our sensibilities. Some of us will learn that everything we’ve been taught hasn’t always been right.
And it’ll be okay. Not comfortable or easy and not without joy, love, and laughter. But the time has come. It is not too late. And lives are literally depending on us to be faithful followers of Jesus.
May the God of peace engulf creation. And our deeds make differences in the world. Go with peace and go with purpose. Amen.
by Gordon Street III, SWC Commissioned Minister for Reimagining and Connecting with the God of One’s Own Understanding
In these challenging times, why is FAITH significant and meaningful to you?
To address this question, let’s ensure we all understand the essence of the word FAITH. Technically, it’s a noun, but it truly functions as a verb. It entails acting as if something is true even when there’s no concrete evidence of its existence. How do we “prove” the existence of God? St. Thomas Aquinas dedicated his entire life to attempting to prove God’s existence, and he concluded that FAITH itself serves as the proof. Paul, in Hebrews, proclaims, “Now faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen.”
Amidst the uncertainty, fear, and doubt that plague us during this pandemic, I find solace and strength in my faith. It provides me with a roadmap for navigating each day. For instance, I commence my day with a prayer for wisdom, fortitude, the willingness, and the courage to confront the challenges that lie ahead. I also extend my prayers to the world, my family, my church/ conference , and my friends, seeking their well-being and guidance in all their endeavors. Above all, I pray that God’s will be done in their lives as well as mine.
Furthermore, I make it a daily practice to reach out to others and offer my words of hope and encouragement.
In essence, I pray for my own faith, and the rest of my prayers encompass the needs and aspirations of everyone else. I shift the focus away from myself.
Faith serves as a guiding principle, guiding me through each day, each hour, and each minute. It commences with prayer.
I leave you with this thought:
Faith doesn’t guarantee that everything will be alright, nor does it guarantee that we’ll win the lottery. God doesn’t necessarily make everything better. However, God grants us the willingness, strength, and courage to confront whatever we are facing. God is with us, embracing us through it all, especially during challenging times. We can find comfort in knowing that we are not alone in our struggles.
When my two boys were little, they often got into disagreements when they played games together. It seemed they had very different understandings of how the rules worked.
One of them always followed the rules, regardless of how they affected his likelihood of winning. The other—well, he would say he followed the rules, too…with the caveat that if the established rules weren’t working in his favor, he would try to change them so that they would!
He wasn’t trying to play without any rules; he was just trying to make rules that would let him win!
It seems to me that that’s not just a strategy of willful children…
I can pretty easily think of examples of adults who seem to function from within that same mindset. “If the current ‘rules of the game’ aren’t going to let me ‘win,’ I’ll just change the rules.” Or perhaps more accurately: I’ll just pretend there are no rules and do whatever the hell I want.
To be fair(?),I can imagine that someone reading the lectionary passage from 2 Corinthians for February 18 (2 Corinthians 1:12-19), might say, “That’s what Paul said Jesus did! Paul said, ‘In [Jesus Christ] it is always yes.’” (2 Corinthians 1:19)
Jesus, can I do this thing that I want? Yes!
Jesus, can I have this thing that I want? Yes!
Cool! Thanks, Jesus!
That person might also, justifiably, say that Jesus changed the rules, even broke the established rules. They might possibly even point to things he did in his moments of teaching and healing where it appeared that he was pretending there weren’t any rules and he was doing whatever the hell he wanted!
Jesus, can I break the rules if necessary—like you did—to do or get this thing that I want? Yes!
Awesome! I love you, Jesus!
“‘In [Jesus Christ] it is always yes.”
In some ways, that person would be right–in Jesus it was, and is, always yes!
The difference, however, can be found in the verse that comes next: “All of God’s promises have their yes in him.” (2 Cor. 1:20)
Through his preaching and teaching and feeding and healing and speaking truth to power, Jesus was, and is, saying, yes! God’s promises are true! Yes! God’s promises are real! Yes! God’s promises are present! Yes. God’s promises can be trusted. In this place and in this moment.
God’s promises–of forgiveness and reconciliation and wholeness and abundance and grace and mercy and truth and belonging and love–found, and find, their YES in Jesus.
The changing of rules wasn’t about making it so that Jesus would win. It was, and is, about the fulfillment of God’s Law, grounded solely and wholly in Divine Love.
The breaking of rules wasn’t about doing whatever the hell Jesus wanted. It was, and is, about doing what was needed to manifest the Reality of God in each moment, in each encounter.
The ceaseless and relentless YES of Jesus wasn’t about Jesus. It was, and is, about God and God’s promises.
As we encounter those who seem to change, break, and ignore whatever rules strike their fancy, in the hopes that they will “win,” may the rules we follow as people of faith—as well as the rules we break—be guided by Jesus and his orientation to following God and fulfilling God’s promises.
“God’s Son, Jesus Christ, is the one who was preached among you by us—through me, Silvanus, and Timothy—he wasn’t yes and no. In him it is always yes. All of God’s promises have their yes in him.” (2 Cor. 1:19-20)
by Christopher Schouten, Chairperson, SWC Decentering Whiteness Task Force
The recent Super Bowl halftime show, featuring Kendrick Lamar and other prominent Black artists, ignited a firestorm of debate. Many, across racial lines, celebrated the performance as a powerful moment of representation and artistic expression. Yet, some white viewers expressed disappointment, confusion, or resentment, feeling the show wasn’t “for them.” This reaction highlights a critical issue, especially within the church: the need to decenter whiteness. It moves beyond basic racial justice (“Please don’t kill, jail, and discriminate against us”) to address the ingrained habit of placing whiteness at the center of everything. It calls for grace, understanding, and a willingness to step outside our comfort zones, recognizing the vast diversity of God’s creation reflected in the body of Christ.
These reactions—both positive and negative—are a microcosm of our societal struggle with race and representation. Some criticisms, perhaps well-intentioned, revealed an underlying assumption that major cultural events should primarily cater to a white, mainstream audience. This often unconscious assumption is a manifestation of white-centeredness: the perspective that positions whiteness as the norm, the default, the standard.
This white-centeredness is particularly problematic within the church. We profess equality, bound by shared faith and love for God. Galatians 3:28 reminds us, “There is neither Jew nor Gentile, neither slave nor free, nor is there male and female, for you are all one in Christ Jesus.” Yet, too often, our churches, liturgies, and even interpretations of scripture are filtered through a white lens, marginalizing Black siblings and other people of color.
Decentering whiteness isn’t about demonizing white people or denying historical racial privilege. It’s about acknowledging whiteness as the constructed center, often at others’ expense. It’s about recognizing that Black experiences, perspectives, and voices, and those of other marginalized communities, have been silenced or dismissed, even within the church.
This Super Bowl moment offers valuable introspection. It challenges us: Whose voices are we prioritizing? Whose stories are we telling? Whose experiences are we validating? Are we creating space for the full diversity of God’s children?
Decentering is challenging for those who’ve never questioned their centrality. It requires listening, learning, acknowledging the pain and frustration of marginalized communities, and humility—recognizing our perspectives aren’t the only ones. It requires grace for ourselves and others as we navigate biases and assumptions. We’re all on a journey, and mistakes will happen. But through grace, love, and a commitment to justice, we can dismantle oppressive systems.
Like Bishop Mariann Edgar Budde’s courageous act of speaking truth to power at the Washington National Cathedral, Kendrick Lamar’s performance served as a powerful prophetic witness, addressing systemic racism and police brutality. This “Bishop Budde moment,” this “Kendrick Lamar moment,” isn’t a call for white Christians to be silent. It’s a call to listen, amplify Black voices, stand in solidarity with the marginalized, and examine our own hearts for hidden biases.
Decentering whiteness is ongoing—a continuous journey of learning, reflection, and action. It requires observing our reactions, learning from them, adjusting our behavior, and dismantling oppressive systems within the church and the wider world.
As Micah 6:8 says, “He has shown you, O mortal, what is good. And what does the Lord require of you? To act justly and to love mercy and to walk humbly with your God.” Let us embody these words. Let us act justly, love mercy, and walk humbly, recognizing all are equally beloved children of God. Let us create churches where every voice is heard, every story is valued, and every person is celebrated. Let us, with grace and humility, decenter whiteness and embrace the fullness of God’s diverse creation.
White people need to let Black America have this moment and be graceful about decentering themselves, saying, “Yeah, maybe this wasn’t for us. And that’s perfectly OK. Maybe it’s more than OK… maybe it’s amazing and brave, especially now, that a people would liberate and empower themselves this way and speak truth directly to power! Maybe this was Black America’s Bishop Budde moment.”
On December 4th, I joined many others from across the country at the Freedom to be Ourselves Rally, that took place outside of the United States Supreme Court Building. That day the court heard arguments in the case of US v Skrmetti. This case challenged the constitutionality of Tennessee’s ban on life saving gender affirming care for transgender youth.
My years of political activism taught me not to expect that our presence outside for a few hours in the brisk December cold would have any real impact on the proceedings inside the Supreme Court. I went to support the transgender youth, their parents, and the entire LGBT+ community. Siblings just like me, made in God’s image and likeness. That is why I went. As usual, God had other ideas.
I joined a contingent who boarded the ACLU sponsored bus in Wilmington, DE. We gathered that morning at 7:30 and departed at 8:00, then arrived in Washington, DC around 10:00. Our group joined others arriving from different areas. As we walked the few blocks from Union Station to the Supreme Court, we heard the rally had already begun. The energy the participants generated seemed palpable.
Initially, this rally seemed similar to others I had attended. The format included a lineup of speakers and chants between the speakers. The speakers included a member of congress and a US Senator. Both spoke words of support for gender affirming care. Medical professionals shared their experiences and their hope that they could continue to offer lifesaving gender affirming care without governmental interference.
I appreciated the professional speakers’ thoughts and presence, but other speakers touched my soul. The transgender clergy, transgender parents, a transgender teenager, and cisgender parents with transgender children all shared their heartfelt stories. As I listened, I felt privileged to take part in such a gathering of God’s children. A gathering that shared a loving community, despite coming from different areas of our country.
An oppressed and marginalized community to be sure, plagued by uncertainty because of the actions of elected officials and Christian nationalists striving to deny them the right to exist as God made them, but a community none the less. When communities get together, what do they do? They celebrate and show concern for each other, and that made Freedom to be Ourselves different. The loud upbeat music that played in between the speeches, the expressions of care and support from the podium and the conversations among the participants showed me that I witnessed something very special.
During my time in the southwest, I met the mother of a transgender child. I saw her post rally comment on social media, “Today’s rally felt like the biggest family reunion, and all the hugs filled my cup!” I commented that it was nice seeing them, and she replied, “Thanks for being there with us.”
Afterward, someone asked me if I think my being there mattered. I replied that it mattered to the people who allowed me into their community for the day, and clearly, it also mattered to me.
Advent begins. This season of waiting needs not be waited for any longer. It is here. So, now we mark this time. And we wait.
How do you rate your ability to wait? Is the season of anticipation an opportunity for sitting still, for being exactly where you are, noticing what is going on around you? Or can you “wait” as I once watched Pastor TD Jakes demonstrate in a sermon as a servant serves? Tray in hand, one arm behind your back, bowed in submission.
The truth is, we probably don’t do either. We pick another brand of “waiting” altogether. We read a book, or work on a laptop, play games on our phone, using our “wait time” as another opportunity to be distracted from where we are, to be somewhere other than the waiting.
Perhaps we choose a different way of waiting this year. Maybe it would benefit our monkey minds just to sit in what feels like “mindless wander” but might actually be “mindfulness.” Perhaps we ask, ‘what is this place I am waiting? What am I even waiting for? How is it in my heart now that I am still and can listen?’
Or perhaps our waiting could involve serving, to learn a new way of humility, of surrender to someone else’s idea, to let go of our need to be recognized, honored, or served, and instead, “wait” on someone else.
If you’ve been in church for any length of time, you understand Advent as the waiting for Christ’s coming. And we change the liturgical colors and we light candles on a wreath. We sing songs of anticipation, we hear passages of hope; but our waiting gets filled up with new activities, more tasks, more busyness so that we find ourselves neither really serving others or being still. We just simply fill up this season like we do all the others.
You could do it differently, you know. Advent, I mean. You could choose this to be your season to be still, to listen to your heart, your body, to honor what is, not what you expect to come, to accept the liminal space of “not yet.”
I’d like to mark this time as slightly different than how I typically manage the month of December. I’d like this time to be more than writing the Christmas letter, getting all the cards mailed on time, buying gifts because this has become the acceptable way to say I love you.
I’d like to be still, to learn humility. I’d like not to have to distract myself when there are a few minutes before the next thing. I’d like to learn how to wait well.
When I was studying for my D.Min. degree, I was commuting between British Columbia and Minnesota to do my class work, so I pretty much took any class that was compatible with me being away from my responsibilities as the director of a treatment center for addiction.
One summer I signed up for a class on Hans Kung at Luther Theological Seminary, part of the consortium of schools where I was enrolled as a student. Being from out of town, I required student housing, so signed up to live in a dorm for the month I would attend class.
When I arrived at Luther, I was rather shocked and more than a little dismayed to discover that I was going to be housed in the men’s dorm. Alas, in this dark age, there were no dorms for women and virtually no female students attending classes at Luther. I was further mortified to learn that I would have to use the men’s bathroom in the dorm, and I was cavalierly informed by the dorm supervisor that I would be required to hang a sign on the door of the bathroom whenever I was occupying the space.
I gritted my teeth and complied with the bathroom protocol only to discover that my male dorm mates thought it was great fun to bang on the door and yell out obscenities when I was inside the bathroom. I could feel myself sinking into a feeling of depressed anxiety, always wondering who these door bangers were, and wondering if they were the people in the rooms next to mine. I couldn’t think of an appropriate response.
With these unfortunate bathroom experiences under my belt, I shuffled into the first meeting of my class on Hans Kung and discovered that it was being taught by the internationally respected theologian Dr. Warren Quanbeck. Dr. Quanbeck had attended discussions on Vatican II and was well known for his participation in the World Council of Churches. I felt right at home with his teaching style as he appeared in class in well-worn blue jeans and a plaid flannel shirt. Very Minnesota! As the class concluded, he announced, “Campbell, please stay after class.” I found myself wondering what awful experience could be next in my horrifying theological education.
Much to my delight and surprise, Dr. Quanbeck calmly announced to me: “You don’t need to study Hans Kung, but I was wondering if you would like to meet in my study to discuss T.S. Eliot?” This scholar of great grace had apparently heard of some of my work with the marginalized and of my interest in writing. I gratefully, extremely gratefully, accepted his offer.
As the weeks went by, Dr. Quanbeck revealed to me that he was dying, and that he wanted to know more about my work with Native American and Canadian belief systems. We had long discussions about many topics, and didn’t dodge the difficult subject of death. He made my weeks at Luther some of the most meaningful of my life. Dr. Quanbeck died shortly after I returned to Canada.
Sadly, bathrooms are still an issue, and Rep. Nancy Mace of South Carolina is trying to pass legislation that would prevent Sarah McBride, the first openly trans elected member of Congress, from using the women’s bathroom. Really, America, is this how we want to use our valuable time and energy???
Ms. McBride has gracefully stated, “I’m not here to fight about bathrooms,” but we need to take up her fight on behalf of any people who are being bullied for any reason.
In her beautifully poignant memoir, Sarah McBride speaks of the importance of human beings acting out a graceful and loving way of living in order to set an example for others to follow. She wants us to set the tone of how others will live and be. We are challenged to demonstrate our beliefs through our behavior.
In my experience at Luther, I had firsthand experience with this concept. The men who inhabited my dorm set an example of bullying. Dr. Quanbeck, on the other hand, modeled grace, acceptance, calm, and welcome.
We are the United Church of Christ where all are welcome. We will not allow Sarah McBride or any other trans person to be bullied or distracted from their calling. Bathrooms do matter. How we behave matters a great deal. We are challenged to live out the words “no matter who you are or where you are on life’s journey, you are welcome here.”
by SWC Associate Conference Minister Rev. Dr. Derrick Elliott
A letter to the Clergy of the Southwest Conference:
As we approach Veterans Day, we are reminded of the incredible sacrifices made by the men and women who have served in the armed forces. Veterans Day offers us a chance to reflect on the values of courage, commitment, and service that our veterans embody—a reminder of our own call to serve and support one another in faith.
For those in your congregations who have served, or who have loved ones in service, I encourage you to take a moment this weekend to honor and acknowledge their contributions. As a veteran myself, having served in both the Army and Air Force, I hold a deep, personal appreciation for the dedication and resilience required of our service members. I know firsthand the unique challenges and the profound sense of purpose that military service can bring, as well as the need for understanding, healing, and support afterward.
Moreover, this Sunday also holds unique significance as many of you will be preaching in the wake of the recent election. Our communities may be processing a mix of emotions, from hope to concern to uncertainty. As we step into our pulpits, let us strive to offer words that unite, uplift, and encourage healing across differences. The message of Christ’s love, justice, and peace is a powerful balm in times like these, and I trust each of you to bring compassion and wisdom to the task of pastoring those you serve.
I also want to acknowledge those of you who, like me, work outside the church in various fields while balancing ministry within your congregations. Your commitment to serve both the church and the wider community is invaluable, as it extends the reach of the Gospel and reflects Christ’s love in workplaces, schools, hospitals, and beyond. Your work often goes unseen but remains a powerful testament to our faith in action. Know that you are deeply appreciated for your ministry both inside and outside church walls.
As people of God, let us uphold our veterans in prayer, giving thanks for their dedication and asking for peace, healing, and strength in their lives. I also encourage you to consider how we, as a conference, can support veterans in our communities year-round, recognizing the unique needs they may have in the journey toward wholeness and peace.
As we gather for worship this weekend, may our reflections on Veterans Day and the recent election remind us of the strength and resilience found in our communities of faith and service. Together, let us honor the gifts and sacrifices of all who have served, embracing them as we continue our shared mission of love and healing.
