I Love My G-Man

We recently learned that our son Gabriel has a chromosomal deletion that will make it difficult for him to learn the same way other kids do. It will present itself in behaviors that are typically associated with autism. It can be hard for him to focus on a given task. It affects his balance and coordination and vision and muscle tone.

He’s going to struggle with a lot of life.

Recently Gabe told us that sometimes he sits by himself at recess because nobody at school wants to play with him. “On the outside always looking in, will I ever be more than I’ve always been?”

But here’s the thing - also recently, Gabe sang “No One Is Alone” from Into the Woods, perfectly on pitch and able to recall almost all of the words.

His mind is beautiful. He is always creating, or watching videos about people creating. He likes to cook, and to prepare his meal with as many condiments as we will allow. No Lego brick is safe from his imagination; his constructions are legendary. To be outside under a tree digging in the dirt for hours would be his idea of the perfect afternoon. He does not like to throw things away, since they could be building materials for the fabulous machines he invents on a regular basis.

Gabe’s creativity helps him cope with his social anxiety. Kitty is Gabe’s constant companion, his very best friend. Sometimes when somebody asks him something, Gabe answers with a “Meow” that is so soft and subtle that it is really hard to hear. When Kitty gets lost, the world comes to a screeching halt until he is located. As Hobbes is to Calvin, Kitty is to Gabriel.

And he sings. His pitch memory is remarkable, his tone is angelic. Gabriel can hear a song one time, and then twenty minutes later we overhear him humming the tune to himself while he plays Legos. His best singing is done this way, when he is by himself, busy with some other task. There is music within him that bubbles up in not quite random ways.

Last week I saw this video, and it captivated me. Please give it a quick watch…

Our Gabe is the little mountain, gazing up at the strength and confidence of the big mountains, wanting what they have, not realizing that he has so much of his own beauty to offer.

Every kid has something to offer. Every kid matters. The ones who learn and think and see the world a bit differently than most of us have gifts that are beautiful and unique. It may not be strength or wealth or power as the word defines those things, nevertheless each and every kid needs to understand their inherent worth.

Please be careful, grown-ups. Just because a child isn’t acting like you think they should act, basically being smaller versions of you, doesn’t mean that they are being “bad” or that something is “wrong” with them. They don’t need to be fixed; they need to be seen, to be heard.

They need encouragement, enrichment, and support. They need patient teachers and compassionate friends. They need families who love them unconditionally.

They need to know that they matter.

He Has Seen Monsters

At breakfast this morning our three year old foster son and I had a conversation in which I attempted to convince him that monsters are not real. I could tell by the look in his eyes that he did not believe me, and considering his life experiences, how could I expect him to?

He knows there are monsters; he has seen them.

We don’t know all the details of what our two boys went through prior to being taken into care. We probably never will. But we do know some things.

We know that the four year old flinches almost every time I walk by him, even if I am not approaching him directly.

We know that the three year old’s temper tantrums come out of nowhere and are uncontrollable; last week in the middle of one he said, “I can’t hold it!”

We know that they have somehow learned words and phrases that we never taught them, that they never heard in our home, and they repeat them at times designed to create mass reaction.

We know that they are happiest when we are angry. Angry adults are “normal” in their world.

So even without knowing the details, we know enough. We’ve been parents for twenty years, foster parents for twelve, so we’ve been at this for a while. We know enough.

Yes, there are monsters, and our boys have seen them.

“There can be no keener revelation of a society’s soul than how it treats its children.” That’s how Nelson Mandela began his remarks at the launch of the Nelson Mandela Children’s Fund in May of 1995.

He continued, “We come from a past in which the lives of our children were assaulted and devastated in countless ways. It would be no exaggeration to speak of a national abuse of a generation by a society which it should have been able to trust.”

I fear that we are living in such a time in our nation. In my work I have seen children being “assaulted and devastated in countless ways,” and my spirit is burdened with a call to heal the brokenness I see within and among so, so many. To let them know that they matter, they have inherent sacred worth, just for being who they are, a beloved child of God.

Fred Rogers wrote, “One of the universal fears of childhood is the fear of not having value in the eyes of the people whom we admire so much.” The overwhelming majority of child abuse is perpetrated by people that kids admire, that they love, that they trust. And neglect by definition happens when a grown-up who is expected to be caring for a child, doesn’t.

If we as individuals, as families, as churches, as communities, as a nation, as a global village … if we do not take into consideration the long-term consequences of our words and actions on the children around us, we are failing. Children will listen.

Because our three year old believes that monsters are real, and I really can’t say he’s wrong.

"The Pick Up" - Thoughts on Removing Kids from Parents

I drove up to the house that New Year’s Day morning, not knowing what to expect. I had been given the address by the caseworker, and was told they would be waiting for me. It had all been arranged. But still, this was the first time I had done anything like this, and I don’t mind saying, I was scared.

We had gotten the call the day before: two boys, ages five and two, dad was unable to care for them any more because of his developmental disability. Could we take them?

Yes. We have room, we’ll be more than happy to take them.

There were no workers available to get them. Could we do the pick up?

Wait. “Do the pick up?” You mean go over and remove them from their dad’s home? Us? Sure, we had plenty of experience receiving kids into our home who had been removed, but no one had ever asked us to be the actual ones to go and get them.

Yes please, if you could. It would be very helpful.

So we said we would. We’re foster parents; it’s what we do. We take care of kids who need taken care of for a little while. This was a part of the deal. So we said we would.

I drove up to the house, pulled into the driveway, and turned off the engine. I saw a face at the front window, small, pale, eyes wide. With a flick, it vanished, and the curtain swayed shut.

I got out of the van and zipped up my coat against the cold before I walked to the porch. The door opened as I approached. A woman, about 30 years old, eyes red from crying, trying bravely to smile. “Hello,” she said.

“Hello. I’m Andy.”

“Come on in,” she replied.

There was a pile of boxes, suitcases, and backpacks just inside the door. “Here’s their stuff,” she said.

From the back of the house, I heard a child’s voice. “No!”

A man walked into the room, carrying a boy. He didn’t look at me. The boy was struggling in his arms, pushing against his dad’s chest, trying to get down. The man had him in that firm yet gentle grip that one only learns from plenty of experience with wiggly boys.

Another, smaller boy trailed behind.

“Let’s get your stuff, boys,” he said.

The woman started picking up bags, I grabbed a couple of suitcases, and we went outside. The man held on to the squirming boy, and followed. The little one was a shadow.

We put our load of luggage in the back, and then the woman said to the man, “Why don’t you go ahead and put the boys in the car?” This was a really good idea, and I opened the side doors for him. He began to buckle the boys into the car seats while we went back into the house to get the rest of the stuff.

When we got back out to the van, he had calmed the bigger boy down enough to buckle him in, and he was working on the little one, who was quite a bit easier to manage. When he had him secured, he walked back around to the other side of the van.

I watched as he put his hand gently on the boy’s small head, bent over close, and rested his forehead against his son’s. I did not hear what he said; his voice was low and it wasn’t my place to invade that moment. When he stood up, his son again offered a weak, confused, “No!” and began a litany, “Daddy! Daddy! Daddy!” that was spoken slowly, through the tears that were streaming down his face.

When he heard his big brother start up, the two year old joined him, but with less intensity, more like he was sad that his brother was sad than the bitter grief of being separated from his home. He knew, yet he didn’t know.

The man closed the van door and walked quickly back into the house, head down, never once meeting my eyes.

I looked at the woman, who had fresh tears overflowing her eyes. I tried to smile, and said, “I promise you we will take good care of them.” I closed the two year old’s door.

She just nodded at me, unable to say anything.

So I got into the van, started the engine, and drove home.

They cried the entire trip.

Granted, just because I have physically removed children from their parent does not make me an expert on immigration policy. But in light of our work as foster parents, the stories coming from our nation’s southern border are particularly disturbing.

Families seeking refuge in our country are, by many accounts, being forcibly separated from one another and the children are being placed in the care of the state. A high-ranking member of the current administration has referred to this policy as “a tough deterrent.” Another said that if parents don’t want their children taken away, they shouldn’t bring them along.

I find that the arguments in favor of the policy are not even slightly compelling, and in fact are abhorrent to me. To argue that a parent has violated a law and therefore anything that happens to them or to their family is justified is not only a profound oversimplification of the situation, it is flat-out evil. Official U.S. immigration policy now feels like the kind of thing the “bad guy” would do in a movie, and not a very good movie at that.

And yet …  how can I think this when I myself have been the “bad guy?” I am a part of a system that removes children from their homes when it is deemed necessary. In fact, I have been the one doing the actual separating! Can I with clean conscience say that what’s happening is wrong unless it’s happening within the system I’m a part of? What is the distinction?

Whatever is happening at the policy level, real people have been given the task of taking real kids from real parents. Whatever is said at a press conference in front of an audience, a person goes up to another person and takes their child away from them. Whatever may be true at the “macro” level in terms of law or economics or politics, someone has to “do the pick up.”

And it is awful. It hurts. Trust me, I know.

For me, the most important questions to ask have to do with the children. Are they safe? Do they have food, clothing, and shelter? Are they being cared for? Is someone there with them, telling them not to be afraid? Do they know that they matter to someone? Do they realize they are somebody who is worth something?

And is everything being done, with as much urgency as possible, to get them back home again?

The Kids are Going Off Script

“The people in the government who were voted into power are lying to us. And us kids seem to be the only ones who notice.” – Emma Gonzalez, Marjory Stoneman Douglas High School Student & Self-proclaimed Kid

 “There isn't any tragedy that justifies taking away the rights of innocent people.” – Austin Peterson, Candidate for Missouri Senate & Definitely a Grown-Up

Mr. Peterson apparently believes that the right to own a piece of property, namely an assault rifle, is more important than the right of a person to be alive.

Ms. Gonzalez apparently sees things differently.

I’m with her.

One week after the latest mass shooting in America, the script is changing. At this point we are in the scene in which we all are supposed to be reacting to the reactions of the people around us, telling them how their reaction is ridiculous and won’t work and how they are so naïve to think it ever would and how our reaction is obviously the more correct and reasonable one. 

This is the scene in which we forget that our neighbor's reaction isn't actually the problem, that the problem is that 17 people went to school last Wednesday and were shot and killed while they were there. But, you know, projection.

This scene is supposed to transition into the next, in which the conversation devolves into mindless yelling and nothing changes. Which brings us inexorably back to scene one again, and I think we all know what happens in scene one.

But this time, some really brave people are going off script. They are ad-libbing this scene, and it is glorious and terrifying and wonderful to see.

The actors who are going off script are mostly students, high school students. Led by people like Emma Gonzalez, high schoolers around the country are lifting their voices in smart, articulate, and courageous opposition to the status quo. With laser beam focus they are staying on message, and are showing a relentless determination that ought to have NRA politicians sweating bullets.

People kill people, the grown-ups say, not guns. Yes. Right. You did a logic thing. Groovy.

See here’s another logic thing: People with guns kill a lot more people than people without guns.

Also, people with semi-automatic guns kill a lot more people than people without those kinds of weapons. If we’re going to use logic here, let’s really use it. Assault weapons are designed for one purpose – assault. Not hunting, not home security … assault.

No one needs an assault weapon. And no, your right to own one is not more important than someone else’s right to be alive. The right to be alive supersedes the right to own property. I feel like that truth should be self-evident, or maybe even that right should be … oh what’s the word I’m looking for … ? Oh yeah – Inalienable.

So maybe the script is being rewritten this time. These kids certainly aren’t behaving in the way they are expected to. And already it is making the grown-ups nervous. Already the reactions are getting ugly. The latest is the right-wing idea that the students are being “used” by bigger political organizations as tools to advance some scary left-wing agenda.

Right, because seventeen year olds couldn’t possibly have come up with this stuff themselves, huh? Surely someone MUST be pulling their strings from behind the scenes. (Read that with a sarcastic tone of voice, by the way.)

The truth is, these student leaders are making sense. They are saying rational, reasonable things that the majority of Americans agree with, and it is making the grown-ups in places of power very nervous. And it’s fabulous!

Kids these days! Thank God for kids these days.

My One Idea - What's Yours?

A long time ago in a galaxy far, far away … let’s just say for the sake of the story …

There was this technology that, when applied, would remove everything that a person believed, except for one single idea. All the complications and clutter of belief and dogma and doctrine and feelings and thoughts … just *poof* … gone. And only one idea would remain.

That solitary idea would be the center, the core, the pillar on which all the rest were constructed. The remaining idea would be the idea that served as the foundation of the house. It would be the heart of hearts of everything you believe to be true.

Got it? Do you see the concept? (Never mind how would it work, just play the game, okay?)

What would yours be?

What is your core idea? What is your single central belief on which all the rest are built? What’s the one idea that, if everything else were wiped away, you would hold on to with all your strength?

(Yes, just one. Again, just play the game!)

Please post your answer in the comment section, on Facebook, or on Twitter. I’m curious to read the responses.

Mine would be: Everybody matters. That would be My One Idea.

If everything else were taken away, I would cling to the idea that every single person is worth something. Not because of what they do or might do in the future, but simply because they exist. They matter because they are.

No matter your age or gender or wealth or health or race or religion or language or culture or nationality or anything else … YOU ARE IMPORTANT. For me, everything else builds upon that idea.

And that means that whenever that idea is challenged, I rise to defend it. Providing foster care, working for marriage equality, helping someone pay for a motel room, confronting racism, or just being nice to someone – it all comes back to believing that people matter. It shapes what I believe about God, who I believe Jesus is, how I identify the Holy Spirit, how I read scripture, what I think the church is about, and just about everything else.

So, I hope you’ll engage this little thought experiment with me. Here come the aliens with their belief-erasing devices! They have you in their sights! And … ZAP. All but one of your beliefs has just been eradicated.

What’s left?

Kids Are Church, Too

One of the foundational principles by which I live is that each person matters. Every single individual is worth something, just because they are. People are of inherent value, not because of utility or potential or who they might become; but simply because they are somebody - right here and now.

As such I devote much of my energy to counteracting anything that says otherwise, and affirming those who seem to be especially diminished in the eyes of the world.

Children, for example.

Is there any group of human beings more soundly devalued than children? Even when we try to affirm their worth, we usually do so by saying that they are “our future.” That happens in the church all the time. “Those kids are the future of the church,” we say with a condescending smile, usually while also noting how “cute” they are.

Please stop. Children are not objects for you to ogle. Children are not of value only in the future. Children are human beings, with thoughts and feelings and ideas and opinions of their own. They matter right now, because they are here right now, and we need to stop treating them like they WILL matter in a few years, but acknowledge that they are worth something for this present time.

Sunday is “Children’s Sunday” at Campbell, and we will celebrate the children of the church, not as the “future of the church,” but as the vital and vibrant present.

I hope you grown-ups will be there to worship with your youngest sisters and brothers in Christ!

I Know Who Teaches the Kids!

This week I wrote and sent the following letter to the editor of the Springfield News-Leader:

I am inspired almost every day by the people I work with. I am the pastor of Campbell United Methodist Church, and one of our most vibrant and fruitful ministries is our Small Wonders Child Development Center. Recently this ministry was featured prominently in an article focusing on unlicensed preschools (Who teaches the kids? 10/7/13).

The article’s implication that a lack of licensing results in an inferior program has compelled me to respond. Our Small Wonders teachers and staff are amazing, and their dedication to our kids is unmatched.

Colorful, creative craft projects hang on the walls of the hallways. The classrooms are filled with bright, colorful decorations, furniture, and educational tools. Kids and teachers share healthy meals together. Magnetic locks, a fingerprint scanner, and security cameras keep our kids secure, in addition to our “Safe Sanctuary” policies and procedures to keep everyone safe. Except for nap time, the kids are always actively engaged, either in learning or play, and our teachers work hard to make sure that every single kid is ready for what comes next.

The laughter and love that fills the hallways of the building are contagious. Every time I stop by for a visit, the kids call out happily, “HI, Pastor Andy!” and run up to me for high fives and knuckle bumps. When there are tears, Small Wonders teachers and staff respond with compassion and grace, and diligently work with parents to address issues that arise.

Academically, emotionally, and spiritually, kids who graduate from Small Wonders leave here ready for Kindergarten. I am happy and humbled by the amazing work that I get to witness each and every day.

Sincerely,

Rev. Andy Bryan, Pastor

Campbell United Methodist Church

Every Means Every

In order to be ordained Elder in the United Methodist Church, I had to answer “Yes” to Bishop Schnase when he asked, “Will you diligently instruct the children in every place?” Needless to say, I answered in the affirmative.

(There were a few other things I had to do, as well, but for now let’s focus on this one.)

I think the intention of the historic question is to ask about the children “in every place you are appointed, wherever that might be.” But I tend to take it further than that, and just let it mean exactly what it says - the children “in every place.”

The children in one place are just as important as the children in another.

As I write this, a friend is preparing to come home from China with a new son. A team from Campbell is returning from a heart-wrenching visit to an orphanage in Haiti. Schools for poor children in Pakistan are being named “Malala Schools” after a fifteen year old hero. And in Springfield, Missouri my family has just received a newborn infant in order to provide foster care for a time.

Every place.

Matthew 18 includes one of my favorite Jesus quotes: “Whoever welcomes one such child in my name welcomes me.” Could it be any clearer? Welcoming a child is welcoming Christ. (The Greek word translated “welcome” in the NRSV means “to take by the hand” or “to take hold of” or “to receive.”)

Children are more than ornaments to the congregation’s life, they are our brothers and sisters in Christ. Do we welcome them as if we were welcoming Christ? Do we take them by the hand and value them for who they are or do we try to mold them into smaller versions of ourselves?

My prayer, this week and always, is that the church embraces God’s children of all ages, in every place.

Every. Means. Every.

Who Teaches Whom?

This morning started with “Character Education” at Cherokee Middle School. Once a month, people of the community (including 4 from Campbell UMC!) come to Cherokee to lead a half-hour character lesson in a classroom.

I have a clever and insightful group of sixth graders this year. I also have some fairly substantial mutton chop sideburns at the moment, because I am in Springfield Little Theater’s production of Les Miserables. Needless to say, mutton chop sideburns elicit a reaction from sixth graders. It was definitely an “ice-breaker.”

At the end of our lesson, a boy named Tristan asked me if I was going to keep the sideburns after the show. I told him that I would if it catches on as a fashion trend.

“NO!” he said, “If it catches on, that’s when you DON’T want to do it because then you’re just doing what everyone else is. You want to be doing your own thing.”

Yeah, there’s your character education, right there!

My second meeting of the day took me to Room 123, where I met with our three three-year-old classes from our congregation's daycare/preschool. It is “Community Helper” week for them, and I had been invited to share with the littles about what I do to help people.

I told them my name and what I do, and told them that I help people by helping them think about God and learn about God and know that God loves us and is with us all the time. I put on my robe and let them look at the symbols on my stole. I showed them a Bible and told them that we use it to learn about God and read stories about God and so forth.

I also brought a hymnal to show them, and told them that one of the things we do when we are with God is to sing. So then we sang “Jesus Loves Me” and “This Little Light of Mine.”

When our time was up, I asked who remembered my name. Most of them did, which was fun. Then I asked, “And who can remember what I do to help people?”

A little girl raised her hand. When I called on her, she paused kind of shy like three-year-olds do sometimes, then she said very softly, “You help us sing.”

And I thought, “I’m good with that.”

When I was ordained, I promised to “diligently instruct the children in every place.” But even better is when the children instruct me.

A Bully-free School Year?

Teachers and students and staff are heading back to school for another academic year. It can be an exciting time full of possibility and energy. But for some who are the targets of bullying, it can be a time of fear and hopelessness.

What if this school year was declared “bully-free?” How would hallways and playgrounds and locker rooms and lunchrooms be different if each and every kid felt confident enough to just be themselves without fear of being picked on, laughed at, manipulated, or minimized? Wouldn’t that be great?

This would be the time to start, you know, right at the beginning. (A very good place to start.) If the bullies in our schools were never allowed to get traction in the first place, it would go a long way toward making this a bully-free school year. Stop them before they even start.

How? Most of the time, bullies do what they do because it draws a peer group tighter to them by ostracizing another. It is a power play that feeds off of attention. Whether the peers draw closer to the bully out of fear or genuine admiration or some other factor varies. But the end result is the same; the bully has a posse, an entourage. Not necessarily “friends,” but definitely relationships that are intense and fraught with emotion. These relationships feed the bully’s self-esteem, which may or may not be low to begin with.

So there seem to be two streams by which kids could approach the elimination of bullying. First, diffuse the posse. Second, attach to the target.

Diffuse the Posse
Diffusing the posse means ignoring the bully and giving positive attention to the individuals in the bully’s crew. This may be tricky, since they are probably bully wanna-be’s themselves. Nonetheless, connecting to the people in the bully’s posse pulls them away, and denies the bully the attention they are seeking. Actually, the kids in the bully’s entourage may be secretly eager to disconnect from the bully, and (maybe subconsciously) looking for an out.

A group of kids can diffuse the posse more easily than a single kid, so a coordinated effort would work well. A bully usually has a pretty small posse, and kids who are outside the posse greatly outnumber them. If two or three kids will intentionally befriend a posse member (invite them to play, sit with them at lunch, ask them to be on the same team playing basketball or whatever), how in the world will that posse member ever be able to stay attached to the bully? The healthy pull of two or three kids in a positive direction will be stronger than the unhealthy pull of the bully. And if two or three kids do that for each posse member, pretty soon the bully is left without an entourage, and finds him- or herself to be the one ostracized, with no more attention and therefore no more power.

Attach to the Target
The second approach is to attach to the target. I know, “target” is an impersonal word that objectifies the person, but that is exactly why I chose it. The bully does not see a person, but a target. The target might be selected because they are bad at sports, or they are gay, or they do not wear fashionable clothing, or they have a quirky personality - some characteristic that places them outside of the “norm” as the bully defines it. To the bully, they are not a person at all, and that makes it easier to bully them.

“Attaching to the target” is to personalize them, affirm their identity, embrace the very characteristics the bully rejects. This approach requires kids to first of all NOTICE when other kids are targets, and then risk making themselves targets also in order to make a friend. This can be very, very difficult to do. It is much easier to coast through school not noticing the problem than to keep your eyes open to it. And also bullies can be subtle about it, wielding their manipulative influence in ways that may be very difficult to detect.

And once a kid notices that another kid is a target, it is a risk to befriend them. After all, you might become a target yourself. Again, if there is a group of kids who will make a point to work together, the risk is lessened. The key is to give attention to the kid who was the bully’s target, rather than the bully, which derails the power trip the bully might have taken.

Teachers
Notice that these two approaches involve other kids. Teachers, it seems to me, have a very limited role to play in the elimination of bullying. Any discipline they enforce in response to bullying only serves to draw more attention to the bully. When a teacher has to react to a bully, that means the bully has power over them. No amount of scolding or detention or sending off to the principal’s office is going to lessen bullying. In fact, it may encourage it by validating the behavior in the eyes of the posse. “Ooh, he IS bad. He got sent to the principal’s office!”

What a teacher can do is limit the bully’s opportunity for an audience. Figure out who the bully is, and who is in the entourage, and intentionally keep the bully separate from the entourage members. Seat the bully in the back of the room, not the front. Nobody can see them in the back but you. Remember that the bully is not just “being bad,” she or he is seeking attention. Eliminating the attention might escalate the behavior for a short time as the bully tries to figure out where the new boundary is, but if it holds consistently, ultimately the lack of attention will erode the bully’s power and eliminate the bullying.

Bully-free
I’m not naïve enough to think that there will be no bullying at all this year, but I am hopeful enough to think that if a few kids make a few changes, take a few risks, and start to “diffuse the bully’s posse” and “attach to the bully’s targets,” it could make a big difference. And this is the perfect time to start, right at the beginning of the year, before it really has a chance to begin.

Children's Church?

How many times has someone said, “I am so glad to see all of these children, because they are the future of the church”? I know I have. And on the surface, that is an accurate statement. I am indeed hopeful that the children in our congregation today will still be the church in the future.

But with that said, it must also be noted that children are more than just the future of the church, they are also the PRESENT of the church. They are here now, and are vital and vibrant members of the congregation in the present moment. We have to be careful not to relegate children to the future alone, for to do so denies their sacred worth in the here and now.

What would happen if we all decided to honor the inherent worth of children, instead of trying to mold them into smaller versions of ourselves? What would happen if we began to value children for who they really are, instead of considering them to be charming accessories to our community? Would we perhaps take more notice of, and work harder to alleviate their suffering?

The prophet Jeremiah has written, “In those days they shall no longer say, ‘The parents have eaten sour grapes, and the children’s teeth are set on edge.’” (31:29) Although it is no longer a common theological perspective that believes God punishes children for parental sins (see John 9), it is hard to deny that children often suffer for bad decisions that adults make.

The United States of America ranks #1 in the world in the number of billionaires.
In the United States of America a child is born into poverty every 32 seconds.

The words of the prophet announce with boldness that this is not God’s desire. “In those days” is a phrase that points us toward the fulfillment of the reign of God, at which moment children will be released from suffering the consequences of their parents’ (and other adults’) decisions.

For the next two weeks in our worship services, we will celebrate children – not as the future of the church, but as the here and now. “…For it is to such as these that the kingdom of heaven belongs.”

"What's a Emeny?"

One preschool chapel, I was telling the story of the Good Samaritan. When I got to the part about the Samaritan seeing the guy in the ditch, I explained that Samaritans were enemies of people from Jerusalem. One adorable little girl raised her hand with a question. “What’s a emeny?” she asked, just as sweet as you could ever be.

How beautiful is it to not know what the definition of “enemy” is? I mean, she didn’t even know how to pronounce the word, since she had never used it in her entire life! I didn’t know whether or not I should define it for her, like I was crushing a new rose bud just beginning to open. As nearly as I can remember it, I went with something like, “They weren’t really friends” or “They didn’t know each other,” something along those lines.

What if the guy who asked Jesus “And who is my neighbor?” in Luke 10 had asked instead “Who is my enemy?” After all, one of the things he asks his followers to do is “love your enemies.” What about a follow-up parable, Jesus? “And who is my enemy?” What kind of parable would he have told?

People have a propensity toward love, I believe. I see it in kids. They are so, so much more ready to love than us grown-ups are. For example, foster kids come to our home having been horribly neglected or abused by their parents, and yet by some unfathomable mystery, the kids still seem to love them. Kids love their parents, no matter how crappy the parents may be. Kinda sucks sometimes, but there it is.

As we age, something seems to kind of grind the love right out of us. Over time, we are systematically and carefully taught who, exactly, our enemies are. The result is a slew of artificial enemies, people who aren’t really our enemies but we think they are because we have been taught as much. I wish Jesus had said to us, “Love the people you think are your enemies because you have been taught as much, but they’re really not they’re actually your neighbors so saying ‘love your enemies’ is in point of fact just the same as saying ‘love your neighbor’.” But Jesus wasn’t that wordy.

Of course, what I am NOT saying is that we should be naïvely trusting of every single person we meet. That could be dangerous. Teaching kids about “enemies” can be a safety thing. But I also notice a confusing double standard parents routinely teach kids. We warn kids about “stranger danger” but at the same time insist that they “be polite” when someone talks to them. That’s got to be a bit bewildering, don’t you think? When equal parts “Don’t talk to strangers” and “Can you say hi?” come out of our mouths, we are sending mixed messages, at best.

The truth is, a stranger is not automatically an enemy, and an acquaintance (even a family member), is not automatically a friend. 80% of child maltreatment perpetrators are parents, another 6.5% are other relatives, another 4.4% are unmarried partners of parents, according to the US Department of Health and Human Services. For many kids, when your parents warn you not to talk to strangers, it’s because they don’t want to get arrested.

We have fostered kids who never should have had the experiences in their lives that they had, kids whose eyes look a lot older than the rest of them. Their propensity to love is out of whack because of the tendency toward violence that their lives have been, BUT it is STILL THERE. Sometimes the mixture of love and hurt is just too much, and it overflows in terrible, heart breaking ways.

They know exactly what an enemy is, and you had better believe they love them.

Reflections After Church Camp: *Smile*

Amazing things happen at church camp.

I remember a meeting once in which a colleague said, “All I ever hear about church camp is sort of emotional, sentimental reactions to it. But what actual good is it doing? What does the church get out of it? Why is it worth putting so many resources into?” I think I understand where he is coming from, and I honestly do not believe he was trying to make my stomach turn over and my jaw drop open with shock, even though that was my reaction.

He’s coming from a place where bigger, slicker programs with well-known presenters giving workshops in air-conditioned meeting rooms are more important, more effective, or more meaningful than spending a week in a hot, dirty, tick-ridden forest slathering sunscreen on top of bug spray. I get it. I’ve even been there.

But I’ll tell you, if you have experiences like my family and I had this week, you just don’t even think to ask questions like that. You don’t need to, because you know.

You know as you watch fifty-plus people from 10 families grow closer to God and one another as they stroll through a series of spiritual stations set up in the woods.

You know as you listen to a second grader singing softly to herself, “God is amazing!” as she colors a picture of a joyful moment.

You know as you catch the energy of a dining hall filled with more than sixty 3rd and 4th graders who are learning that God loves them no matter what, and having a great time doing it.

You know as you see the love of grandparents who desire to share their faith with their grandchildren so deeply, wanting the kids to grow and learn and feel God’s grace like they have.

I knew this week as I watched my wife Erin lead the singing for worship and saw the unmitigated joy on her face as she did so, knowing others were sensing that joy, too.

I knew as I embraced people whom I had not even met three days prior, feeling the connection of the Holy Spirit among and around and within us, strangers who had become friends.

These experiences and a thousand-thousand others, this week, all summer long, and all year-round, no way to account for each of them, no tally sheet that could ever possibly convey what they all mean, all of them happening because the United Methodist Church in Missouri believes that amazing things happen at church camp.

Sentimental? Emotional? Yes! No doubt about it.

“Worth” it? Absolutely! Every penny.

It was a great week at church camp – I experienced growth personally, Erin and I grew as a couple, we grew as a family, and as a larger community of faith. If what the Missouri Annual Conference is supposed to be doing is “leading congregations to lead people to actively follow Jesus Christ,” then supporting church camp is one of the most powerful and effective ways to do that. People come home from church camp with energy, focus, momentum, renewal, and they bring life and joy into their congregations in powerful ways, in addition to energizing their own active discipleship.

It sometimes feels like church camp is in the ongoing position of having to stick up for itself, and I can’t figure out exactly why that is. Here in Missouri, our United Methodist campgrounds are Camp Galilee, Camp Jo-Ota, Blue Mountain Center, and Wilderness Retreat & Development Center. At each of these four wonderful places, hundreds and hundreds of lives are changed, relationships deepened, spirits lifted, disciples formed, and commitments to Christ strengthened every year.

Church camp is truly an amazing time, where transformation is happening on a regular basis, and the church of Jesus Christ is strengthened in deep and abiding ways. I thank God for church camp, and for the people who make it happen. And I wish everyone would go so they might have the kind of experience we have every single time we’re there!

The "Here I Am Lord" Story

A couple of years into my time as a Director of Music Ministry at First Presbyterian Church of Galesburg, Illinois, I began to feel restless. I loved what I was doing with all of my heart and had a deep commitment to the people of that congregation, but I sensed an unknown nudging.

I know now that the nudging was God’s call into ordained ministry. In my experience, I did not encounter a burning bush, that solitary moment of call. Hindsight has revealed more like a series of mini-calls over the course of two years, little whispers here and there. One of those whispers was “Here I Am, Lord.” So here is the “Here I Am, Lord” story…

(By the way, I mentioned this story way back when, when I wrote a two-part post about being called to ministry. Click this and then this to read it.)

For some, “Here I Am, Lord” is an overdone, trite, and rather cheesy hymn. I agree with that in part, on the surface level, but honestly it is a song with a deeper resonance in my life. It truly stirs my spirit when a congregation joins together in robust voice and belts out the refrain with a full organ and piano accompaniment. Often, people who would never ever otherwise do so close their eyes, tilt their heads back, and lift up their hands in the moment. It’s great!

To tell you the truth, I cannot remember if the “Here I Am, Lord” story took place before or after I had announced to the Galesburg congregation my intention to go to seminary and become an ordained pastor. My memory is telling me that it was after I had made the announcement. Either way, it was another nudge in the direction God wanted me to go with my life.

We had a great kids’ choir program at First Presby, from the preschoolers on up. In the upper elementary choir were two Melissas, who also happened to have last names that started with “B.” So we called them “Bucky” and “Missy B” in order to distinguish them from one another. They were wonderful girls from wonderful families, fourth graders probably, very active and involved in the church.

One afternoon, at the end of rehearsal, the two girls lingered for a little while in the choir room as the other kids went down to their next activity. They wanted to ask me a question, they said.

“What’s your favorite hymn?” Missy B asked.

It is a hard question for me to answer, since I love so many. But the one that came to mind most readily was “Here I Am, Lord.” When I told them, they just sort of nodded and smiled and said they were just wondering. We went downstairs, and I really didn’t think very much more of it at the time.

Well, the next week after rehearsal, they hung back again as the rest of the kids left the room. They held hymnals in their hands. They caught me in the hallway just outside the choir area. “Wait,” said Missy B., “We have something we want to do.” She glanced over at Bucky, who kind of nodded and grinned at her.

They opened the hymnals to the page they had marked with their fingers. Bucky nodded and said, “One, two, three, four,” and they began to sing to me. You guessed it - “Here I Am, Lord.” All of the verses.

We just stood there in that hallway as I listened to them sing. They had worked all week, practicing the song so they could sing it their very best. No congregation, no huge pipe organ, no elaborate praise band. It was just two ten-year-old girls singing with the most sincerity and sweetness that I had ever experienced. I was indescribably moved.

The moment they were done was a holy moment. I didn’t want to say anything that might interrupt it. They closed the books and looked at me with shy but satisfied smiles. Missy B’s face was turning as red as her hair, and Bucky breathed out a small giggle.

I was eventually able to say, “Thank you. That was really great.” I smiled at them and bent down for a big hug.

Nudge.

I have wept for love of them…
…I will hold your people in my heart.

A Ten Year Old Mission Statement

Sunday morning was incredible. There was such a good vibe in the worship services, and so many people told me that they felt it, too.

One of the coolest things happened during the sermon. I was preaching on God's mission, specifically as Jesus describes it in Luke 4:18-19. I had talked about the feeling of being sent by God to make the world a better place, and how when we are younger we feel like we can change the world but as we age we gradually lose that feeling. I was trying to say that the church needs to reclaim that idea, that we can make the world a better place, more like the way God wants it to be.

Well, I moved on to a more specific focus, talking about how the church is the body of Christ in the world today, sent on the same mission Jesus Christ was sent on. And how when we lose sight of that mission and start focusing on other things, we lose our connection to God and become just another social organization among many.

I then put it to the congregation like this. "If you wore a nametag that said 'I go to Campbell United Methodist Church' and someone came up to you this week and asked you, 'Why does Campbell United Methodist Church exist,' what would you say?" I then asked for people to call out their responses.

I clarified that the question wasn't "Why do YOU go to Campbell," but rather "Why does Campbell exist." The responses were slow to start off, but they began to come after a while. "To connect people together." "To share the love of God with others." "To offer Christ to people."

And then, in a quiet but confident ten-year-old voice from the middle of the room - "To change the world."

There it is. There's a mission statement for ya! Why does the church exist? To change the world. And who says it out loud better than anyone else? A ten-year-old.

The Holy Spirit was thick in the room at that moment. I had to repeat what he had said so that everyone could hear it. People craned their necks to try to see who it was, and whispers could be heard as the grown-ups asked one another who had brought the sermon to a halt with a burst of Holy Spirit-inspired truth. Because for a few moments there I literally could not go on. The sermon was irrelevant, insignificant fluff. Power had been spoken aloud, and I did not know how to procede.

So I didn't - for a while. I had to let the moment expand and wash over people. My mind, my heart, and my voice were all caught up in what had just happened.

What more needs to be said when a ten-year-old believes that his church exists to change the world?

The Preschool Presentation

Friday I went over to the preschool where Erin teaches to talk with the pre-K classes about being a pastor. They are having a series of these presentations about “Community Helpers” in which various moms and dads come in and talk about their jobs. I felt no small level of competition with the doctor and firefighter who had come before me!

I brought a bible, my robe, and some stoles with me, so that I’d have some “props” to show off and the kids would hopefully not be bored to tears. I started out by asking if anyone knew what a pastor did. “Help people,” said a girl. Which is actually a great answer, but it was also the whole premise of the “Community Helpers” thing – i.e. everyone coming to visit them helps people in some way and “Help people” is how they answered that question every time, no matter whom it was asked about.

So I said, “Yes, pastors help people. We help people learn about God and also about what God wants them to do. One way we do that by teaching them stories that are in a special book. (go to prop!) Does anyone know what book I’m talking about?”

“The BIBLE!” said more than a few of the kids. And after the first wave, the rest of the kids said “Bible” so as not to be left out of the fun.

So we talked about some stories out of the Bible and they told me some of the ones they knew and that was pretty fun for a few minutes.

Then, sensing attention spans drifting, I went for the next level and picked up my robe. Putting it on and zipping it up, I told them that I wear a robe to remind myself that the things I say are not supposed to be about me, but about God. Then I got to the stoles. I have a bunch of stoles, and a lot of them are pretty cool. I have never purchased a stole for myself; all have been given to me by others.

Putting on a stole with the faces of children from around the world, I told the kids that I wear a stole to remind myself that God is with me when I talk. I said it’s like God’s arm is around my shoulders. (Cheesy, huh? But they got it, I think.) I then took the children around the world stole off and asked a kid to hold it for me while I got another one out.

My plan was to let them hold the stoles so they would feel connected to what I was saying, and it worked out pretty well. However, as I put on another and then another, who would get to hold the stole quickly became a point of contention amongst my little 4 year old audience.

“But I want a scarf!” said one little girl. I made sure that she got to hold the next one. Since the “scarves” are long, three or four kids could hold one together. At least two of my stoles have now been the primary tool in a preschool tug of war match. (How many preachers can say that?)

Erin asked if any kids had any questions for Pastor Andy. I am happy to say I was able to clear up a couple of misperceptions. I was asked what I did on the “other days.” “Other days?” I replied. “Like what do you do when it’s not church day?” “Yes, I work more than just on church days. I help people during the week, too.”

“Do you live in the church?” was another excellent question. And with regard to this one, I was able to astound them on two levels. One, I live in an actual house in Springfield. (“Hey! I live in Springfield, too!”) And two, I live in the same house as Mrs. Erin, because she is my wife. This remark elicited a moment of silent puzzlement, then a burst of giggles as realization bloomed. I’m not sure if the giggles were more about Pastor Andy having a wife or Mrs. Erin having a husband, however.

I could tell things were coming to a close, mainly because the wiggly factor in the room was beginning to rise noticeably. So I told them that the best part of what I get to do as a pastor is tell people that God loves them, “just like God loves all of you” which was going to be my big ending! But I’m not sure how many of them actually heard it because they were bringing back up all my stoles and fighting over who got to carry it and someone had to go to the bathroom which of course meant that everyone else did, too.

But before I left several of the kids came up and gave me hugs, which was really nice. Except for I guess I may have hugged one little boy a bit awkwardly. As I was packing up my robe and stoles, he began to cry. His teacher asked him what was wrong. “Pastor Andy hurt me,” he whimpered.

I rushed over to him and told him how sorry I was, and kneeling down, gave him a much gentler hug. I guess that in the press of kids coming up to me I must have reached out to him and kind of lifted him up in a way that hurt his neck. I felt terrible.

I’m pretty sure the doctor and the firefighter didn’t injure anyone during their presentations.

The Significance of the Nativity: The Preschool Perspective

There’s not much in this world better than telling the Christmas story to a group of preschoolers. They are so eager and excited by the mysteries and the simple strangeness of the Nativity. Hearing it as they do always refreshes my own love for the story, and I always hear it in a new way.

They are always appalled that there wasn’t any place for Mary and Joseph to stay, and someone often asks why they didn’t just go to the hops-pistal, and you have to explain about Bethlehem being so crowded and that there weren’t really any hops-pistals, anyway, so they just had to try the best they could, and they understand about that.

Then there’s the part about putting the newborn baby Jesus in a manger, and then you’ve got to explain to the kids that it was a box that animals ate out of, and then you reassure them that no, the animals did not eat the baby, but they were probably close by, wondering what was going on.

And when you get to the part about the angels appearing like magic in the shepherds’ field, you can see in their faces the way they are imagining it, because their eyes kind of twinkle and they get a small, vague smile on their lips, and you are suddenly sure that the choir of angels must have looked very much like the group right in front of you right at this moment.

And then the shepherds go and visit the barn and if you forget to include the sheep they will always ask about them, so you have got to be ready with a satisfactory answer or the next several minutes will be spent debating the question, since for some it is an issue of basic sanitation for the baby and for others it is a matter of justice for the sheep, who after all, would want to go visit baby Jesus, too.

When the magi arrive they get to say the word “magi” out loud which is always giggly, but then when you get to “frankincense” and “myrrh” it escalates a bit until someone raises their hand and very sincerely challenges, “But I tought dey were de tree kings,” and so you assure her that they were very, very important people, whether they are kings or magi or wise men, and they came to worship Jesus.

And this year, when we got to that part in the story, one of my little angels raised her hand to say, “Even if they were kings, Jesus was the boss of them, too,” which is a very significant statement for a preschooler who spends a great deal of time worrying about who is and isn’t the boss of them, and at that moment I knew that the story was over because that was pretty much the point, wasn’t it. Because there it is, in the most eloquent 4-year-old-ese, “Jesus was the boss of them, too.”

And so, this time, the story ends that way. Mary, Joseph - angels, children - shepherds, sheep - magi, kings - you, and me - Jesus is the boss of us, too.

The Guy in the Park, or, The Random Diatribe

I was at the park this morning; the two bigs were off playing and I was standing watch over the two littles, who were just piddling around in the picnic shelter (in spite of the very appealing playground a few yards away, I might add).

A man strolled over, walking his black poodle around the park perimeter. He told me the dog's name. "He likes kids," he declared as the two littles came over and started petting him. "I like the logo on your shirt," he added.

I was wearing an old Saint Paul School of Theology Shirt which has a logo on it that uses the shape of the cross perched atop Kresge Chapel on the campus in Kansas City. So I explained to him that I am a pastor and this is a t-shirt from my seminary.

"What church do you pastor?" he asked. And I told him, "Campbell United Methodist, right up the road."

It was then that I noticed his cap, which identified him as an Ozark Minuteman, which served as a precursor to what he started into next.

What followed was probably a 5 -10 minute diatribe about how pastors of the past would never have stood by and watched while "all of this stuff" is happening to our country, but how fear of losing the tax-exempt status for our congregation prevents us from doing so. "All of this stuff" happening to our country consisted, for him, of pretty much every talking point of the political far right, including the one about Obama forming a kind of private army of some sort which he said that he saw a video of on the internet.

I tried to deflect to more superficial topics, like kids and the dog and the weather - to no avail. My new friend pit bulled the conversation, latching on to his tirade and refusing to let go, following me around the picnic shelter as I chased toddlers in two directions.

And so, what strikes me about the incident is not so much what the guy was saying. Nothing new there. What made an impression on me was how quickly and in what tone of voice he began sharing it with me. It was as if seeing the cross on my shirt indicated to him that I would be in sympathy with his rather grumpy viewpoint automatically. I'm not, but that's not really the point. The point is that he assumed I was.

The things the guy in the park was saying would have been better left to a time when a relationship is established and the conversation partners know each other well. And it would have been more appropriate in a calm, reasonable tone of voice. Rapport like that is what allows for respectful, grace-filled dialogue to happen. The guy in the park took a huge risk, and assumed I was going to agree with everything he had to say - and he thought it was okay to take that risk because I had a cross on my shirt and had told him I am a pastor.

And ironically, it WAS safe for him to take that risk, but not because of the reason he thought. He assumed it was safe for him because I was just as mad as him about "all this stuff" the President is doing. Rather, it was safe because I'm not going to pass judgement on him in any way for what he believes one way or the other. I allowed him to express himself as I would any random stranger. Having no relationship with him, my role was simply to smile and nod. Which I did. A lot.

Of course, I am fully equipped with the knowledge needed to go point-by-point with everything this guy was saying. I've done my reading and I could have responded to him if I had chosen to. And of course, if I knew the guy well and felt comfortable offering my contrasting opinion and could do so in a respectful and calm way, I would absolutely have pushed back a bit. But a random stranger, in the park, me trying to keep track of four kids? I don't think that was the time or place, to say the least.

So I smiled, nodded, and chased the kids around until he felt like he had said what he needed to. Then he walked on and we went over to the slide. And that was that.

"Become Like Children"

Seems to me there's three parts ...

"Unless you change"

"Become like children"

"Enter the kingdom of heaven"

... of Matthew 18:3, the scripture I'm preaching about this Sunday. But it also seems to me that there is a whole boatload to say about each of those three parts. Like it could be a series of three sermons.

So I'm going with that middle part this week - "Become like children." In response to the disciples' question, "Who is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven," Jesus tells them that they're not even going to GET IN if they don't become like children. And as for being the "greatest"? Forget about it.

I read in a couple commentaries this week that in the time of Jesus, a child was most definitely not in a position of earthly greatness. Children were not valued intrinsically, they were considered property, they had neither power nor control. And yet in order to enter the kingdom of heaven, according to Jesus, this is the position that we must assume.

Now some people think "become like children" means be all innocent and pure. (Obviously these are people who do not have much experience with real live children.) I don't think so. That just wouldn't follow from the literary context. That interpretation doesn't make sense in response to the disciples' provoking question.

To yield all power and control of your life, to confess your utter dependence upon God, to become like children in not conforming to earthly definitions of power and success - these are the characteristics I believe Jesus was referring to in this passage. That matches up with other places where Jesus is teaching about the "greatest." The greatest is the least, the servant of all, the humble one.

I'm preparing this sermon in the middle of Vacation Bible School week, with 250 kids running all over the building. There has been all of the energy, excitement, and barely controlled chaos that usually accompanies VBS, and I am loving it. I have been reminded numerous times that I am not really in control of things!

I feel like when I am talking with the kids, I am definitely entering the kingdom of heaven.

Away in a Manger Update

Recently, I wrote about the preschoolers here knowing all the words to "Santa Claus is Coming to Town" but none of the words to "Away in a Manger." (click here to read it)

Well, here is a happy update:

Last week, one of our preschool classes went "Christmas Caroling" to the offices around the church building. When they got to my office and kind of clumped around my door, their teacher said, "Are you ready to sing the special song we learned for Pastor Andy?"

"Ye-e-e-e-s," they said in that drawn-out way that little kids do when they are saying something all together. They were very excited. Some of them were actually hopping up and down!

And then they sang for me ... you guessed it ... the first verse of "Away in a Manger."

It was wonderful. I was very moved, both by the kids singing and by the thoughtfulness of the teachers, Liza and Debbie, who had heard my comment the week before and made it a point to take the time to teach their kids Away in a Manger. It was such a beautiful gesture, not soon forgotten.