Peace

The Light in A Winter Solstice World

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tealight candle lit up
Photo by Mohammad reza Fathian on Pexels.com

As a pastor, I knew that the Christmas Eve candle-lighting service was probably the most important religious experience many congregation members would have all year. One proof was a bride who insisted she wanted a candlelighting service at her wedding. I explained to her that it would have a different impact on a July afternoon than on Christmas Eve. She insisted. I could tell by the look on her face, as the candles were barely visible in the sunlight, that I had been right.

But, on one of the longest, darkest nights of the year, lighting those candles does pack an emotional and, yes, spiritual wallop. It still moved me, as tired and frazzled as I usually was by the time the organist began to play “Silent Night” around 11:40 PM.

The symbolism is obvious: a single candle lights another candle and those two candles light two more and the four light four more, and by the time we were singing:

Radiant beams from Thy holy face

With the dawn of redeeming grace

Jesus, Lord at they birth!

the dark sanctuary was bathed in a beautiful warm light. Yes, once again, we see that “The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it.” (John 1:5)

I got up early this Christmas morning and reread a journal entry from a few years ago in which I recorded the words of St. Symeon the New Theologian (if you can call someone who lived 1,000 years ago “new”), who had another perspective on the lighting of one candle by another:

Just as if you lit a flame from a flame,

it is the whole flame you receive.

It caused me to look at this sad old world differently this Christmas morning, guided by St. Symeon and Fred Rogers, who told parents that when there is news of wars and disasters, they should teach children to “look for the helpers.”

Where are they?

They are the people who, Jesus says, not only do the works that he does but will “do greater things than these.” (John 14:12)

For example, the gospels tell us about the dozens, perhaps hundreds, of people that Jesus healed. Every day, millions of people heal millions more in our world because the healers believe in life, which I believe is the same as believing in the One who called himself “Life” (John 14:6).

Jesus is said to have fed “five thousand, not counting women and children.” Yesterday, our pastor said that our church’s hunger program serves almost that many meals weekly, and we are just one of hundreds of programs in New York City. There must be millions around the world, from the small churches that serve a meal once a month to the UN trucks trying to get into Gaza. It is still not enough, but the number grows every year.

Jesus welcomed into his fellowship people that others rejected. I understood early that every church, no matter how small, always has at least one person whom one of my colleagues called a “humdinger” — someone who was difficult to love. Yet, the congregation did, in fact, love that person. If you go to church, you can name that humdinger. And even if you don’t, I am sure that someone in your circle of friends and family is difficult to love, but you include that person anyway. And, if you are like me, there are days when you are the humdinger. And I believe that anyone who welcomes a humdinger welcomes Christ. As Mother Teresa used to say, “Jesus wears distressing disguises.”

I know that our world is torn apart by war. Millions are being forced out of their homelands by hunger, violence, and extreme poverty only to be met by walls built by people who have not yet been forced out of their homes. I know (too well) that cancer still kills people before their time, and new diseases appear without warning. I believe my own eyes, so I see the climate changing in real time. There is so much to be discouraged about.

But, if I look for the helpers, the people who have caught fire from Jesus — or have the same fire that Jesus had whether they call themselves Christians or not, I do not despair. They are not “little Christ,” which is what the word “Christian” means. They burn with the whole flame and fill this world with a soft, warm light if only we would look for it today.

When Churches Split

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In 1996, Bob Dole was running for President against the incumbent, Bill Clinton. It was, like all presidential campaigns, hard fought and, at times, nasty. I mentioned in a sermon that both attended the same church in Washington, D.C. — Foundry United Methodist. I said I thought that was remarkable until I realized that our own congregation included both Frank, whose liberal views were well-known, and Roy, who everyone knew was pretty conservative. That got a big laugh from the congregation, especially from Frank and Roy, who embraced each other and joked about it for years afterward.

This kind of connection across a lot of social, political, and economic barriers was something that made me proud of the church that formed my faith and that I served as a pastor for forty-five years.

But, something has changed. In the past three years, the United Methodist Church, once the largest Protestant denomination in America, has been shrinking like Greenland’s glaciers as congregations break off and, in many cases, join newly-forming Methodist denominations.

The presenting issue is the church’s stance on homosexuality.

As a world-wide denomination, our official rules prohibit ordaining “practicing” homosexuals and marrying same-sex couples. An increasing number of clergy and congregations in the U.S. are critical of, and even defying, these regulations. They argue for an open and affirming acceptance of people in the LGBTQ+ spectrum. This has, of course, led the other side to demand compliance.

Both sides accuse the other of being captured by the culture: 

Conservatives see Liberals are replacing scripture with  "Woke" ideology.

Liberals say conservatives are ignoring the core command to love God and to love our neighbor by joining in the political Right's scapegoating of LGBTQ+ folks.

Both sides are right, but not for the reasons they think.

The culture we have been captured by is the Culture of the False Binary. It is the culture that believes:

  • “If I am right. You must be wrong.”
  • ”If I am right about one thing, I must be right about everything.
  • And, if you are wrong about one thing, you must be wrong about everything.”

This is not a new phenomenon. The world in which Jesus lived was split between Pharisees, Sadducees, Zealots, and other religious-political groups that believed they were right and everyone else was wrong. They sorted the world into “good people” and “bad people,” Jews and Gentiles, clean and unclean.

The dominant culture has almost always encouraged people to split into these kinds of binaries: heretics and believers, solid citizens and welfare cheats, native born and immigrants, white and not-white, traditionalists and progressives, “Men” and “Women.” It is always easier to win an election or get people to fall in line by pitting “us” against “them.”

In contrast, Jesus gathered people from all those groups into his band of followers. Two of them, Simon the Zealot and Matthew the tax collector, would have made Joe Biden and Donald Trump look like best friends.

The church, at its best, is Roy’s and Frank’s church. It counters fearful division by creating a community that brings “us” and “them” together at the communion table and in service to the world. Now, however, “Traditionalists” want to create a “pure” church and “Progressives” want to be free to welcome everyone.

The split has become personal for me as the first church I was appointed to after I graduated from seminary is going through a process to discern whether they want to stay in the denomination or leave it.

Even after almost fifty years, I still know members of that church. A couple of them have asked if I would write about it. I haven’t wanted to. It breaks my heart. And, I have nothing new to say about the issues that divide us than has already been said.

But, I guess I could share the most important lesson that church taught me in those early years of ministry:

I am not always right.

It was a hard lesson to learn. I had, after all, spent seven years in college and seminary learning to become a pastor by studying psychology, Hebrew, Greek, theology and other subjects that I thought would help. Furthermore, the church I served part-time when I was in seminary had grown big enough to support the full-time pastor that followed me. I was hot stuff.

When I arrived, I could see the things that needed to change, and I began to institute them. Some of them worked. But, to my surprise, not everyone agreed with everything I said or did.

At first, I took this personally. But, over time (perhaps longer than it should have taken) I began to understand that none of us is as wise as all of us. My beautiful ideas got mashed up in Administrative Board meetings and produced solutions that weren’t as elegant, but worked in the real world.

This did not mean that I gave up producing ideas and proposals that I really believed in. It did not mean that I had no convictions. It meant that I learned to hold them with the kind of humility that John Wesley exhibited when he prefaced many of the things he said with the words, “Until I am better instructed, I will believe . . .” These are not words we hear when Republicans and Democrats debate each other, but they are words that I think Methodists should use when we make our assertions.

Back then, I had many of the same convictions about human sexuality that the most conservative Methodists hold today. But, in that church and the five that followed, I met people who did not fit my theological cookie cutter. Their experiences, their love for Jesus, the faithfulness of their commitments, and their spiritual maturity convinced me to reread my Bible and change my mind. That is why I am on the “progressive” side in this argument.

However, I have friends on the other side who have parishioners who were chewed up by a permissive and promiscuous culture. These people found healing in churches that gave them structure and guidelines for their lives.

I do not think my friends have to be wrong for me to be right.

I think it would be more helpful for all of us to first of all ask:

How well do I understand my own sexuality?

How well do I understand my partner’s sexuality?

. . . before we make dogmatic pronouncements about the sexuality of people we have never even met.

We would be much more helpful to each other and to the world around us if we approached this particular subject with humility and compassion instead of self-righteousness.

Right now, that kind of respectful dialogue may be beyond the capabilities of a small-town congregation. It is certainly beyond the capabilities of the larger denomination. So, ultimately it will come down to a vote: “Yes?” Or “No?”

That reminds me of the another lesson I learned in that particular church.

When I was there, the congregation made a huge decision that involved a large amount of money and some big changes. One of the “pillars” of the church was particularly opposed to it. I was firmly on the other side. When the vote came, most people voted for the proposal.

Afterward, that man came to me and said, “You know that I was against this. But, I believe that the majority should rule. My wife and I will support the decision and give to it.” And, they did.

In the next four decades, I lost a lot of votes in the churches I served and on the floor of my denomination’s ruling bodies. Sometimes, those loses were pretty tough, but I remembered his words and I moved on.

I suspect that, in the end, that little church will not go the way I want it to go. But, whatever it decides, I will love it and pray for it.

Guest Blog: Everything I Needed to Know for the Pandemic I Learned in Kindergarten — Creativity

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As I ask friends how they are getting through this strange time, a lot of them talk about going back to things we did in Kindergarten: drawing, painting, making things out of clay or wood — the stuff we often call “art.” (Soon, I’ll share something for those of you who, like me, don’t turn to these practices.)

Recently the Rev. Nancy Talbott wrote a letter to her congregation about how to take these practices deeper.

Nancy is pastor of The Congregational Church of North Barnstead in New Hampshire. She is also my sister. (Yes, it’s probably genetic.) Nancy not only writes, she makes music, draws, bakes, and builds congregations. She and her husband, Steve, have put two families together to create an amazing three-generational tribe. 

Nancy gave me permission to republish her letter here: 

Dear Friends,
The other day I was in a conversation with friends about how they are using their time during this Covid-19 summer.

One shared she was crafting and the other shared they have been doodling and coloring as a way to relieve stress and anxiety.

The coloring craze has been around for a number years now, and we can find adult coloring books everywhere, however, this conversation reminded me of a prayer practice I took on a number of years ago, after reading a book called, Praying in Color: Drawing a New Pathway to God, by Sybill Macbeth.


This practice is meditative, creative, and opens our communication with God. You can practice this anytime, however, it is an intentional practice, so turn off the 24-hour news cycle and find a comfortable, quiet place, a cup of tea or coffee, and begin!


All you need is a pencil or pen, and piece of paper. You can get fancy and pick up some colored pencils and a special pad of paper or a journal, however, the point is not to do too much planning…just begin.

Start with a name of someone you want to include in prayer, or maybe your own name. Draw a shape in the middle of the page, and write the name inside it, then draw another shape, and connect the two with a line. Or place God, Jesus, or Christ in the center and expand out with names or feelings, from there. There are no rules, the point is to relax with yourself and God for whatever time you want to spend.


You can also do this with a short piece of scripture as a Lectio Divina meditation. Here is a link for instructions on how to do this: Praying Scripture – click here


I have included some images at the end of this reflection for ideas. I have also included a link where you can find templates to print, however, I think the circles and curly-q’s you draw yourself will be better than any template.


This Covid-19 world is stressful and brings on so much fear and worry about things we cannot control. Praying in color, or just in black and white, can activate our right brains where compassion and creativity wait for us to participate, relax and grow.


When our hearts and minds are praying about ourselves and others, the perfect love of God enters our space and casts out our anxiety and our fear.
See you in worship!

Your pastor,
Rev. Nancy
Praying in color templates click here

The Sufferings of the Jewish People

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Almost two decades ago, Jacquie and I attended the ceremony in which our son, Jim, converted to Judaism. In fact, we stood on each side of him as he spoke the words that moved him from the Christianity in which he was raised, to the Judaism to which his heart and his God had led him.

Considering the fact that I am a United Methodist minister, some people wonder how his mother and I could do that.

Jacquie puts it better than I can, “I don’t believe God would want me to stop loving my son because he converted to Judaism. Besides, She would not do that, anyway.”

That is not to say that his conversion did not affect us. There  is a moment in the ceremony in which the convert takes on the sufferings of the Jewish people. Jacquie and I gulped at that. I gulped even more on Saturday when news of a shooting at the Tree of Life synagogue in Pittsburgh began to come in. By evening, we would know that 11 people were murdered.  The largest single attack on Jewish people in US history.

Before the shootings happened, I had invited Jim’s family for dinner. As we sat together around the table, I felt that Jim’s decision to take on the sufferings of the Jewish people now weighs on our hearts even more, because now I care not just about him, but our beloved daughter-in-law and two grandchildren, and their extended family, including their other grandparents.

Our conversation at  the table revolved, in part, around a service that our daughter-in-law, Rabbi Rachel Goldenberg, had  hastily planned through the afternoon. She had sent out word through email and social media, but by dinner had only received one response from someone who said she planned to attend. Rachel said, that at least with the five of us, there would be a half dozen people there.

In fact, 29 people came.  Since Rachel’s congregation has no building, we met in a Sunday School classroom of Community United Methodist Church.  Rachel held back tears as she read an email from a colleague in Pittsburgh. She then gave us some time to sit and meditate in silence. Then, she and Jim led those who knew the words in singing the evening prayer for the end of the Sabbath.

I sat in the back, watching and praying, too. I prayed for a world where people were not hated because they  were different. I prayed in my own way and my own words to a God who, I believe, also had a son who took on the sufferings of the Jewish people.