FROM MAJOR TREADWAY
In the Sermon on the Mount, Jesus tells the disciples to “pray like this,” before he offers the most well-known prayer in the world – the Lord’s Prayer. This summer, on Wednesday nights, we looked at this prayer in depth and considered it line by line. Once we were done, we returned to these three preceding words.
One way to read these words is that we are to pray the words of Jesus (translated into a language we understand). Congregations and individuals pray like this every day. Another way to read these words is that we should use our own words to pray in a similar manner to the one which Jesus taught.
This summer, after several weeks of studying Jesus’ prayer, we took a few weeks to consider, converse, and compile the following words as one expression of what it might mean to “pray like this.”
Our omnipresent ideal parent, heavenly father, in your holy place – more vast than we can conceive – may we see you as holy, so holy that we are in awe of even speaking your name.
May your purpose and intention (which we know to be justice, mercy, and humility) and not our own (and not that of any culture or government) be done on earth and match the ideal of heaven.
Help us to depend on you for the sustenance to get through the day, ensuring that everyone has what they need to get through the day, sharing your abundance and remembering that all sustenance is a gift.
May we forgive as we have been forgiven, for it is in our offering of forgiveness that we find your grace.
Grant that we may not fail in times of testing. Open our eyes to and protect us from the evil one, who would lure us away from you toward a way that is not yours – a way of destruction and havoc.
Yours is the kingdom, the power, and the glory, forever. Amen.
When you pray, how do you make the Lord’s Prayer your prayer?
How should we, as Christians, engage politically?
Just over two months remain before our nation’s next presidential election. Throughout those two months, we will be inundated with messages about candidates, voting, politics, and identity.
What is the proper Christian response?
How should we, as Christians, engage politically?
Join us on Wednesday nights at 6 pm in the choir suite between now and the election as we use Eugene Cho’s book Thou Shalt Not Be A Jerk as a jumping off point for considering these important questions.
Reading the book is not required for participating. For those who want to, we will follow a schedule of one chapter per week.
FROM MAJOR TREADWAY
For much of the community around us, August brings a dramatic change. Schools, which have been being prepared by teachers, administrators, maintenance workers, and landscapers will soon be filled with children. Athletes and student leaders have started arriving across the street, joining the faculty and staff preparing for the arrival of new and returning college students. All of these changes point to the end of summer and the beginning of the academic year.
Even with all of these changes in our midst, the work of the church remains the same. We are still called to follow Jesus by loving God with all that is in us and loving our neighbors as we love ourselves. As we continually examine who is to be considered our “neighbor” and measuring that against all whom Jesus considered neighbor, we perpetually extend the bounds of our welcome until it matches the boundless welcome of Jesus.
This work to which we are called does not happen only on Sunday mornings, nor only at 1610 Russell Avenue, nor only at church functions. It is work that we are called to press into all parts of our lives – all of the mornings, all of the places, all of the functions. That, of course, means that as we see and engage in the changes of August, our calling goes with us into those spaces. Whether we are directly engaged with the changes the academic year brings or if we are simply aware that they are happening, Jesus’ calling is the same for each of us.
FROM MAJOR TREADWAY
As the temperatures have been on the rise and I have opportunities to be outside, I have found a renewed appreciation for the shade of tall trees. When in their shade, I find myself reflecting on the origin of that shade. The best shade trees are the ones that have been around for a long time – far longer than I have been alive. They were planted, by intention or accident, long ago. They have weathered many years, droughts and floods, storms and freezes, city planning and neighborhood expansion, etc. And still they stand, giving shade (and oxygen and other nutrients essential for life) to those whose part in their nurture has been minimal when compared to their long life.
These thoughts, of course, make me think about the shade that will offer comfort and relief to my children and theirs. It is possible that the trees whose shade I enjoy will also be around for them, but it is likely, that new trees need to be planted, or younger ones need to be tended. For if they are to enjoy shade, they will no more be the ones who nurture it than I am the one who nurture the tall oaks whose shade I enjoy.
In many ways, First Baptist resembles these old trees. Planted and nurtured for almost two hundred years, this church offers shade and comfort today to folks in need of it. The ministry and identity of FBC has been shaped through the decades. As we imagine what this congregation will offer to our children and grandchildren, we must also imagine what seeds of ministry we might plant, what ministries we might nurture. And we must recognize that, in the end, like with the trees, it is God who gives growth.
As Paul notes in I Corinthians 3, “I planted, Apollos watered, but God gave the growth. So neither the one who plants nor the one who waters is anything, but only God who gives the growth. The one who plants and the one who waters have a common purpose…. For we are God’s servants working together; you are God’s field, God’s building.” As we give thanks for the ministries of our church that enrich our lives and our faith, let us also join in the work of nurturing ministries that might enrich the lives and faith of others.
FROM MAJOR TREADWAY
As we turn the calendar page to June, we enter fully into the church season of Ordinary Time. Marked by the color green, Ordinary Time is, in my mind, symbolized by an old-growth deciduous tree. While the spring and fall bring dramatic changes in color, and the winter brings barren branches, Ordinary Time’s summer branches are filled with the constant green that covers hills and lawns as far as the eyes can see.
In the summertime, when everything seems to be the same shade of green, it is easy to forget that the trees are growing. The leaves are doing their work to gather air and sunlight. The roots, unseen, are doing their work to gather water, and the trees are using that air and water and sunlight to grow a little taller, to send roots out a little deeper, to extend the canopy of shade a little broader.
Ordinary Time is like that for the church, too. While the seasons that come before and after are marked by changing colors and high holy days, Ordinary Time is, well, ordinary. Like the trees, we get to spend this ordinary time together, unhurried by the festivity of holidays, unbothered with the stresses of the schoolyear. Instead, we have the opportunity to be nourished by our being together. During this time of year, our faith has the chance to send its roots deeper and its branches broader, growing a little here and a little there, until one day, we look back, and realize that all the time spent growing in Ordinary Time has made our faith, slowly and deliberately, strong like one of those green old-growth trees, sturdy on the mountainside.