Language Lessons

This winter I’m learning a new language. Nope, it’s not Italian, French or Farsi. I’m not listening to some Berlitz instructor parse verbs in German. This one’s more difficult: I’m learning to speak Windows. Now that I’m officially your pastor, I can make this confession: I’m a Mac user. Ever since that memorable day 25 years ago when I first pressed a computer “on” button, it’s been Apple all the way. 

So when D’O Dillard let me know, in the gentlest way possible, that First Baptist DC office operates in a PC world, I’ll admit I was a bit up-ended. “Tim!” I wailed, “I don’t know how to be a pastor on a Dell!” Luckily we figured out a compromise solution: I can keep my Mac and work in Windows—thanks be to God.

Truth is, I’m learning a lot more than Windows these days. After almost nine years of speaking Georgia, Atlanta (or Atlanna) and First Baptist Decatur, I’m learning how to speak “DMV” and The First Baptist Church of the City of Washington, DC.

“Every church is in the befriending business.”

And as anyone knows who’s ever studied a new language, before you speak it you must first listen. I’ve got some listening to do as we walk together. It will take some time to become more proficient. But as I listen for your particular rhythm and meter, and the inflections and intonations of FBC’s unique dialect, God will open my ears. 

In that vein, here is a missional question: What language is our church’s neighborhood speaking, and is First Baptist engaged in language lessons of its own? Parlez-vous Dupont Circle? ¿Habla usted Millennial? Sprechen Sie Embassy Row? Every church is in the befriending business. Learning someone else’s language opens the door to deeper connections and cross-cultural friendships. This is going to be fun.

Listening for the One whose first language is Love…

Beginner’s Mind

Tomorrow morning I’m going to slip a clerical robe over my shoulders and drape a green liturgical stole around my neck. I will line up behind the choir, along with the other pastors and liturgists, process up an impossibly long center aisle in a neo-Gothic sanctuary and take my assigned seat in the divided chancel. Later in worship I’ll climb a circular set of stairs into a pulpit as high as Rapunzel’s tower.

This is new for me.

And I love that.

I’m crazy about this new adventure because, for one thing, it’s grounding me in the reality that the gospel is true and transformative in every culture—including worship cultures. The heart of God beats in country churches and cathedrals, in darkened theaters and beachside pavilions. The Spirit of Christ is at home among hand-clappers and genuflectors; the Good News sings through guitar amps and organ pipes.

I also love this moment because it offers me a chance to experience again the childlike delight and curiosity of a beginner’s mind. Nothing blocks the spiritual path like the assumption that we already know, or that we have nothing more to learn. Yesterday one of the other pastors at our church kindly led me through the considerable choreography of a worship service at First Baptist Church of Washington DC. My awkwardness reminded me of the ballroom dance lessons Tim and I took years ago: “Step here…turn here…cross the floor and pause.” I imagine there’ll be some missteps tomorrow, but what fun it is to learn!

Mostly, by taking a chance on the unfamiliar, I’m invited again to rely on that which is most true—to rest in the essence of faith. I love the way Richard Rohr puts it: “God’s life of love is being lived within you, and you must simply learn how to say yes to that life. If you exist on a level where you can see how ‘everything belongs,’ you can trust the flow and trust the life.”

Good and gracious God, let me find you in all people and things…and be found by you in every moment. That is enough.

The Church is Worth the Effort

After nearly eight months of church-homelessness, I am so looking forward to Sunday and to this new beginning together. It’s hard for me to fully convey my joy at plunging in with this flesh-and-blood expression of the body of Christ at the corner of 16th and O. Perhaps these words from a friend of mine in Georgia, pastor Bill Self, who died this week after a battle with ALS, say it best: 

"I still love the church. I love the church universal, as well as the church local (red brick, white-columned with deacons smoking in the parking lot). With all of its dysfunction and flesh marks, with all of its confusion and humanity, it is still the best thing God has going for Him in this world. We do have a treasure in earthen vessels.

The church is a solid oak tree, not a fragile tea cup. It has withstood Roman Imperialism, Jewish legalism, pagan optimism, medieval institutionalism, the excesses of the reformers, wars and rumors of wars, a youth quake, modern skepticism, southern provincialism, resurgent fundamentalism, and heresies in each generation that seem never to die. 

[The church] can withstand anything our generation can throw at it.
It has been victimized by unprepared and selfish clergy, tone-deaf musicians, manipulative members, argumentative deacons, demanding denominations, unloving reformers, and greedy politicians. Still it continues to provide love, affirmation and community to the fallen in the face of alienation. The church is worth the effort."

~ Bill Self, The Church Is Worth the Effort, preached at First Baptist
   Church of Pensacola, FL, May 4, 2014

The church is a treasure in earthen vessels and your new pastor is as “earthen” as they come. Thanks in advance for your patience with me in the days ahead. Thanks most of all for your commitment to this beautiful, homely, graceful, awkward, inspiring, frustrating, living, breathing embodiment-of-Christ-on-earth. 

Here we go!