“The end of conventional church isn’t necessarily a bad thing. Christianity after religion, a faith renewed by the experience of God’s spirit, is closer to what Jesus hoped for his followers than the scandalous division, politics, and enmity we have now. Will there still be Christianity after the end of institutional religion? Yes, there will be. But it is going to be different than what Americans have known, a faith responsive to the longings of those who are expecting more spiritual depth and greater ethical integrity rather than more conventional church. Indeed, I suspect that the end of church is only the beginning of a new Great Awakening.”

I thoroughly enjoyed this article from the Huffington Post; and I am also looking forward to reading Butler Bass’s latest book, “Christianity After Religion: The End of Church and the Birth of a New Spiritual Awakening.” As much as I agree with her points, however, I would like to speak from the perspective of someone who has had several conversations over the years with people who have those “longings” Butler Bass mentions in her article.

For these folks, a question I often ask is, “OK. If you aren’t getting what you need here, what are you looking for?”

Most often the responses to my question are not so much about seeking a depth of spiritual growth, integrity and service they see lacking in institutional religion, as much as it is about personal preferences regarding things like music, the order of worship, social activities, and the like. And believe it or not, even a few liberal religious people really do want to be given the “bottom line;” that is, they want to be told the path of least resistance that leads to sweet seats in the afterlife.

There are, however, people who really are longing for a depth of spiritual growth, integrity and service in their lives; and unfortunately what they experience are communities of faith that are–as Butler Bass says–”caught up in political intrigue, rigid rules and prohibitions, institutional maintenance, unresponsive authorities, and inflexible dogma.” Still, when I ask these folks what they are looking for, most often the silence is deafening, or I hear a quiet, “I really don’t know.”

This statement is an honest response; and I think it is one church leaders should honor and simply let be while gathering other such seekers for some intentional, honest conversations about not only institutional religion, denominations and associations, but also about what it means for their particular groups to ”offer pathways of life-giving spiritual experience, connection, meaning, vocation, and doing justice in the world” as Butler Bass mentions in her article.

Now, here’s a question to ponder: “Do we really want to have these conversations?” What if those conversations led to a decision to eliminate Sunday morning worship in favor of feeding hungry people, working at the local homeless shelter, or performing some other act of service and social justice? What if worship meant gathering in small groups for discussion, socializing, prayer, meditation and communion, rather than coming together once a week to pay our respects to an empty cross hanging on the wall, drop a few bucks in the offering plate to pay the bills and catch up with our friends’ lives?

I’m not saying traditional/contemporary/mixed–whatever–Sunday morning worship is wrong, either. Good things happen in worship services every week all over the planet. And as someone who is a church leader (and pastor), I’m all in favor of paying the bills. What I am saying, however, is if we are serious about spiritual transformation, if we are serious about following Jesus (or the other prophets of our faith(s) of choice), we must be willing to put everything out on the table for honest and respectful discussion.

So, do we really want to be transformed?

Just something to think about…

In the area of transportation, many of us started with a tricycle, moved to training wheels on a bigger bicycle, and then it was a HUGE day when we lost the training wheels. From bikes we moved to motorcycles and/or cars. Remember not being able to wait until you got your driver’s license?

And then there was the magical age of 18 when we became REAL adults and our parents could no longer tell us what to do; that is, if we could afford to move out of their house. Because I don’t know about you, but in my family the mantra was “Our house, our rules—regardless.” Shortly after 18 came 21 when we could go to clubs and drink alcohol—only legally this time. I personally loved turning 25 because my car insurance dropped by over half.

When it came to education some of us couldn’t wait to get out of kindergarten and into big boy and big girl school—1^st grade! Middle school kids can’t wait until junior high; junior high kids can’t wait until high school; high school kids either want to finish school and be done with it, or join the military or head to college for freedom.

All these behaviors are normal. They are all part of our drive to become adults—to somehow succeed in life. And people define success differently, too. For some folks, it isn’t enough to have a roof over their heads; it has to be a particular kind of roof in a particular location. For some people, being at a healthy weight isn’t enough; they want six-pack abs, tight glutes, and a chest that turns heads. Other people don’t stop until they have the corner office or top position in their chosen profession–a view of life from the top, if you will.

One word for this type of behavior is “ladder climbing,” and it can apply to every area of our lives. There is nothing inherently wrong with wanting these and other markers of success. As one writer says, however, “the problem with finally getting what we want is that then we’ve got it!” That is, the longed-for prize can become just another new responsibility, another step on the ladder. REAL success is still somewhere else. Or as an old French proverb puts it: “You not only have to want what you want, but you have to want what your want leads to.”

History is full of ladder climbers, even in the Bible.  Take Peter, James and John, for example. In one gospel, James and John ask Jesus for the best seats in the afterlife—one to sit at Jesus’ left and the other at his right—and in another gospel it’s James and John’s mother who is said to have asked for this favor for her sons. And Peter? Well, Peter—the one Jesus called “Rock”–was always putting his foot in his mouth. Most people believe Jesus called Peter “Rock” because of the words attributed to Jesus about Peter, “Upon this rock I will build my church.” Who knows? Maybe Jesus called Peter “Rock” because he was so hard-headed. But, that’s just me.

So considering the personalities of these guys, you can imagine what a feather in their caps it was for them to be invited by Jesus to spend some quality alone time with him away from everyone else. Imagine a supervisor you really admire inviting you to join a hand-picked small group of people to go on a mountain retreat—all expenses paid. And what’s more, everyone in your immediate group of colleagues knows about the invitation because the supervisor offered it to you right in front of them! We might think to ourselves, “Yes! Finally I’m starting to move up and be recognized.” We might even start humming the theme song from that old sitcom “The Jeffersons,” “Movin’ On Up.” Do you remember the words? “Well, we’re movin’ on up to the East Side, to a deeeluxe apartment in the sky!” Only in Mark’s gospel (9:2-9) it’s to the top of a mountain—a place where the ancients believed God’s presence could be found.

So Jesus, Peter, James, and John head up the mountain to pray. While there, Jesus’ clothes begin to glow brighter than bright. Now that would be strange enough, but the situation gets even stranger when Moses and Elijah show up and start talking with Jesus.

Peter, James and John are understandably quite frightened. After all, it isn’t every day your rabbi’s clothes suddenly begin to glow and two of your tradition’s greatest—and long dead—prophets also show up and start carrying on a conversation with your rabbi.

I’ve always thought it somewhat strange that the first words out of Peter’s mouth weren’t something like, “Jesus, with all due respect, this is all just a bit weird, OK? I mean, why are your clothes glowing, and just how is it that Moses and Elijah are here? After all, our scriptures DO tell us there was never a body found after these guys died.”

No, Peter speaks up and says, “Hey, Jesus! This is great! Let’s build a memorial for each of you!” Of course he was probably shaking in his sandals; but, hey! Never let ‘em see you sweat, right?

Now there has been all kinds of speculation as to why Peter would say such a thing. Maybe he just couldn’t handle the silence and awe of the situation and spoke out of pure fear. Perhaps he wanted to honor these great prophets.

There is, however, at least one other possibility…

Have you ever considered Peter’s idea might have been another step up on the ladder of respectability for the Jesus Movement? Remember, in Mark’s Gospel, Jesus tries to fly under the radar sometimes, telling people to keep quiet about what they’ve seen or experienced. In fact, he does it again in today’s story.

Not Peter—noooo! Peter wants to burn down the Jesus Closet. And what better way to do that than to commemorate this experience by building three memorials on the top of a mountain—a place where God’s presence is revealed? What an attraction! What a way to fund their movement! Of course, repeating the whole glowing clothes and dead prophet moment might be a little tricky. And who was there to witness it all? Peter, James and John—Jesus’ own inner circle! Yeah, finally some concrete evidence to back their claims about the unique and superior nature of the Jesus Movement!

Peter’s vision for a mountaintop Jesus attraction, however, was not to be. At the same time, note how Peter was not rebuked for this idea. God doesn’t say, “Seriously, Peter? Three memorials? How lame is that?” More importantly, Jesus says nothing at all about the idea. No, Mark’s version of the story records God saying, “This is my dearly loved Son. Listen to him,” followed by the disappearance of Moses and Elijah. Then they head back down the mountain, but not before Jesus tells the guys to keep quiet—for now.

Strange little story, isn’t it? It’s called “The Transfiguration.” I don’t see the Transfiguration as literal history, but as a story about focusing on what is important. See, Peter, James and John—while faithful in their own ways—were also easily distracted by a multitude of things—most often their desires for position, authority and success.

In this story we also see the validity of past tradition and other prophets represented by Moses and Elijah. They, too, however, can become distractions. Who knows? Maybe that’s the reason for their disappearance in the story. Like Peter, we, too, can be distracted by the desire to build memorials to traditions and past prophets, rather than truly honoring them by focusing on what they taught and doing our best to follow those teachings in our own ever-evolving contexts.

And once again we have that annoying directive from Jesus to remain quiet—at least for now. Why? Well, I think it’s possible Jesus knew what would probably happen if Peter, James and John were allowed to build those memorials and start claiming their versions of the experience as authoritative for everyone—and you know all three of them would probably have different versions of the same story, right?

And then what would happen? That’s right! People would start investing their time and money honoring and maintaining those memorials—those institutions—and only listening  to a select few “apostles,” seeing them and their descendants as the only way to experience God’s grace, rather than focusing on following the teachings of Jesus by putting those teachings into action and experiencing the presence of God already within them for themselves.

My point here isn’t that respecting institutions and their leaders is wrong. It isn’t. Yet, for followers of Jesus, these institutions, leaders, and traditions were never meant to be the primary focus of our attention. In fact, I don’t think these things and people were ever meant to be the focus of any faith tradition. For followers of Jesus, actively following his teachings was—and still should be, in my opinion—our focus. And why is that focus so important?

Well, like James, John, Peter and yes, even Jesus, we can’t indefinitely stay on the mountain top. The view from the top might be fabulous; but we can’t live there forever. From the top, however, we can obtain a clearer view—a clearer focus–of what it means to be successful in life in new, exciting, and challenging ways–ways that focus on service, peace, grace and justice. And trust me, when we come down from the mountain and mix it up in the joys and challenges of everyday life. we’re going to need all the strength and focus we can get. Amen?

So let’s focus, and in so doing, may we perhaps experience a whole new and much less stressful way of being successful on our life journeys.

Blessings to all!

John spoke up, “Teacher, we saw a man using your name to expel demons and we stopped him because he wasn’t in our group.”

Jesus wasn’t pleased. “Don’t stop him. No one can use my name to do something good and powerful, and in the next breath cut me down. If he’s not an enemy, he’s an ally. Why, anyone by just giving you a cup of water in my name is on our side. Count on it that God will notice.”

My first pastorate was in Corpus Christi, Texas. At that time, MCC of Corpus Christi was one of three churches that openly welcomed LGBT people into full participation in our community life. The other churches were affiliated with the Unitarian Universalist Association and the United Church of Christ. Please note I said, “openly welcomed.” There were a few other groups who had no real issues with LGBT folk; it was just their denominations didn’t officially sanction the openness of these groups.

Early in my pastorate, I learned from one of our UCC friends that shortly before I arrived there was interest in forming a local interfaith group who would focus on poverty issues in South Texas. I asked how we could learn more about how our church could be part of this group. See, our church was located in the second poorest neighborhood in Corpus Christi. Daily we saw first-hand the impact of poverty and an immigration system that didn’t–and still doesn’t–work.

My friend grew quiet then said, “Well, in one of our organizational meetings I said this was a social justice issue and MCC would be a natural ally. The leader of the group (the leader of a very influential conservative group) said, “Anyone but them.”

I could just imagine Jesus shaking his head and saying, “Seriously?!?”

Isn’t it amazing sometimes how the bible imitates life–or how life imitates the bible?

To me, these two stories are examples of what I call “religious territorialism.” That is, “You aren’t part of our group; and since we own a copyright on the the truth, you aren’t welcome in our club. Oh, and by the way, no good works you do count anyway. So cut it out!”

Have you ever wondered what the disciples in Mark’s story were afraid of? Maybe they were afraid of losing their influence. After all, if just anyone could bring healing and hope to the world by simply accessing the power of all that is just, holy, and peaceful, what makes them so special? How would they be able to build a huge following? Perhaps more to the point, how would they be able to cash in on that following? And if you think I’m too far off track, just pick up a bible and read in the gospels how many times Jesus provided attitude checks to his closest followers.

Now, here’s a potentially disturbing thought: “Are some of us afraid of losing our influence?”

By that comment I mean, “Are some people of all faith traditions so wrapped up in protecting the truth claims of our various traditions that we’re missing the big picture?” While we argue about who we believe is a real Christian/Muslim/Jew/Buddhist/Humanist, etc.–who is part of our groups and who is not–people who need healing, hope, justice and mercy–people who need a cup of cold water in the name of all that is holy–continue to go thirsty.

And Jesus, Buddha, Moses, Mohammed, Krishna and all that is holy said…

“Seriously?!?”

Until this week…

A Facebook friend I’ll call “John” (not his real name) pastors an independent Pentecostal church whose members are primarily lgbt. Theologically, he is very conservative, and many of his posts remind me of the theology I grew up with in the Pentecostal church of my youth. At the same time, while I strongly disagree with much of his theology, I respect his path and search for truth.

This week he posted an entry calling for the lgbt community to work with churches rather than against them, stating that there are many churches who are open and affirming. He asserted the community’s wholesale dismissal of Christianity can lead people to fall into doctrinal errors like Universalism. His disapproval of belief systems that do not agree with his was made apparent when he placed the word “Christians” in quotes; as in, so-called “Christians.” He closed the post by stating we should be about love and inclusion—period.

Unless you happen to be a Universalist, I guess.

So I respectfully replied that true inclusion should include Unitarian Universalist Christians like myself. My reply was not well-received, to say the least. By the tone of his reply, I sensed ”John” felt threatened. He asserted UU-ism is not Christian, Jesus is the ONLY way to heaven, and so on. I replied again, stating that I respect his chosen path, and that UU-ism was actually born of Protestant Christianity. I went on to say I was raised in the Pentecostal church, and my experience was that it is not inclusive. I wished him well and thought that would be that. I thought we would simply agree to disagree.

Boy was I wrong…

One exchange later I received a terse note stating that I did not get to define “inclusion,” how dare I say he isn’t inclusive, and obviously I knew nothing about the Pentecostal church, because it was far more inclusive than many of the mainline churches today. He closed by saying I was “talking a lot of bologna, he was tired of it,” and then in all caps GOOD-BYE.

I honestly wasn’t sure what I said to cause that level of anger; so I clicked on the “See Comment Thread” button on my computer screen to review my comments. Apparently I had unintentionally offended him, and I wanted to apologize. Lo and behold, I no longer had access to his page.

Yep, my ”affirming” and “inclusive” Facebook friend had “unfriended” me.

Some people might say I’m fortunate to have lost this “friend.” After all, lgbt people of faith have enough trouble dealing with angry religious fundamentalists without experiencing the same behavior wrapped in a rainbow flag. Besides, we never met or talked other than this one encounter on Facebook. So why should I care?

I care because whenever people of faith cannot at least reach a point of agreeing to disagree on a variety of issues–especially in public forums–we only perpetuate the negative perceptions some folks have of those of us who claim to be open-minded people of faith. And we really don’t need more bad press, now do we?

In the meantime, wherever my former Facebook friend may be–and on the very remote chance he reads this post…

Blessed be, my brother.

Some of you already know where I’m heading, don’t you?

Yes, some religions/churches/denominations/associations/movements–pick your favorite term or add one of your own–tend to treat membership in their communities much like American Express. “If you want to go to heaven–and avoid hell–we’ve got what you need.” “If you want freedom of religion, we’ve got what you need.” “If you want freedom from religion, we’ve got what you need.” “If you want rockin’ music, we’ve got what you need.” “If you want that “old-time religion” complete with the “smells and bells,” we’ve got what you need.” “Heck, we’ve got both rockin’ music and smells and bells in the same service.” “If you want the most intelligent/thoughtful/caring/entertaining pastoral staff around, we’ve got what you need!” Then based on these and other considerations, people make their decisions as to whether or not to join these communities.

And then we wonder why many of these folks act like consumers once they “join the club.”

What I mean by that last comment is that in a desperate attempt to increase our numbers and cash flow, some churches don’t share–as Paul Harvey used to say–”the rest of the story.” For me, the rest of the story is simply the privilege of being a member of any community of faith is the responsibility which comes with learning how to live, love, learn, and “be” together, as well as do our part to transform our communities and world as part of that particular community of faith. For it is through those very processes that we, too, are transformed.

That’s right; the privilege of membership in any community of faith–”official” or not–has nothing to do with reserving our sweet seats in the afterlife by saying the “right” words about God and Jesus, baptismal vows, confessions, having voice and vote in congregational matters, dropping a few–or several thousand–dollars in the offering plate, or even holding elected offices in the church. Now, there is nothing inherently wrong with holding beliefs about God, Jesus, an afterlife, baptism, or confessions. And Goddess knows we need spiritually and emotionally mature people to help fund, guide and make decisions in our communities of faith.

At the same time, being part of a community–any community–is not a spectator sport. There are times when we need rest, support and healing, and there are times when we provide opportunities for rest, support and healing for others who need it. There are times when we are fed, and there are times when we do the feeding. There are times when we need to be held in our pain, and there are times when we hold others in theirs’. There are times when we want to share our successes with others, and there are times when we celebrate the successes of others.

To me, this type of giving and receiving is what it means to live authentically in community, and it has the power to transform not only us, but the world as well. And the privileges of membership don’t get much better than that, now do they?

Besides, if there is an afterlife, something tells me God doesn’t take American Express…

These are just a few of the phrases communities of faith use in their (mostly) sincere attempts to welcome diverse groups of people to their communities. I say “mostly” because I think it is fair to say some congregations use these phrases primarily as marketing tools. That is, facing declining numbers, some conservative and liberal religious groups are tweaking not only their orders of worship, music, “clerical drag” and programming; they are also tweaking their advertising techniques to boost attendance numbers and financial support. I understand this desire for survival. Still, the challenge is, after people arrive–if they haven’t given up on religion altogether already–they eventually learn there is often some “fine print” attached to those messages. In other words, there are some exclusions in the inclusive message.

For example, one friend of mine started attending a large non-denominational Christian church that proclaimed everyone without exception was welcome there. This group had amazing music and programming as well as positive and uplifting messages. There was a lot of Jesus–just without all that annoying discipleship business–well, with perhaps the exception of financial discipleship, that is. He attended a membership class and liked what he heard. Then my friend spoke with the facilitator after the class. He told the facilitator he is gay and asked if that would be a problem.

The facilitator of the class was obviously flustered and said, “Well, yes. I mean, you can come here and all, but you would have to commit to celibacy or repent and convert to heterosexuality before you could be a member.” Then, to add insult to injury, he placed his hand on my friend’s shoulder and said, “I don’t have a problem with homosexuals personally. See? If I did, I wouldn’t be touching you like this.” I’ve lost touch with this friend over the past few years; so I don’t know if he ever darkened the door of any church ever again. I can’t say I would blame him if he didn’t.

Now, not all churches that claim to be inclusive and welcoming are like the one I’ve described here. And sexual orientation is just one example of the “fine print” in some welcoming congregations. Another example is women (“Of course you can serve–just not in leadership that includes supervising or teaching men.”).  I’m sure you can think of other examples, too. At the same time, there are many, many communities of faith that strive to be as welcoming and inclusive as possible. I know because I am honored to be the pastor of one such group.

The challenge remains, however, that there is always fine print–either spoken or implied. You could call this fine print “boundaries,” too. Some are healthy; some are not.

I’ll use the congregation I serve as an example. In our Inquirer’s classes I now identify as a Unitarian Universalist Christian at this point in my life journey. I go on to explain that while this is how I identify, no one is required to share that identification in order to be a member of our church. People can be as creedal, conservative, born again, “washed in the blood of the Lamb” as they choose–or not. At the same time, they aren’t going to hear creedal, conservative, born again, “washed in the blood of the Lamb” music in our worship services or that theology in my reflections. So, if they absolutely need to hear affirmations of things like virgin birth, bodily resurrection, Jesus as God, blood atonement, hell, the bible as literal word of God and the like, they may not be comfortable at our church.

Again, I emphasize everyone is welcome at Holy Covenant and–like our Unitarian Universalist sisters and brothers–we affirm every person’s free and responsible search for truth. Yet I can see how a moderate to conservative Trinitarian Christian (straight or gay) could feel excluded at our church. And people who aren’t “Jesus-centric” probably wouldn’t be too comfortable with our focus on the teachings of Jesus and other biblical teachings, either. In other words, our church has “fine print,” too. And while I believe our fine print represents some healthy boundaries for what people can expect to see and hear at our church, others might see us as “exclusive.”

So the more I consider what I call “the illusion of inclusion,” the more I think some of us in “church world” stress out far too much over who we’re not, rather than celebrating–and not just affirming–the wonderful parts of who we are. Every religious community has a culture of its own; and while every community of faith has room for healthy growth, challenge and change, rarely does everything about those communities need an overhaul. Besides, when we try too hard to be something we’re not in any area of our lives, we can cause more hurt and pain to others and ourselves than any good we hoped to accomplish.

In the end, perhaps the best we can do is take the advice of St. Francis de Sales who was quoted as saying, “Be who you are and be that well.” That “who” may very well evolve and change over time, too. Besides, organisms (including churches and religions) that don’t evolve usually die anyway. Still, healthy change (boundary shifting)–either individual or communal–cannot be forced, even with the best of intentions and advertising campaigns. Healthy change takes time, ”prodding” from the Divine within each of us, and our willingness to listen to and act upon that prodding.

After all, we cannot be all things to all people. So, “be who you are and be that well.”

And be at peace.

Then came the strokes. Not many, but enough to affect her ability to properly care for and express herself. The strokes led to a few falls–no serious injuries, just a few stitches here and there–but naturally a cause of concern for my stepfather, sister and I. Mom’s temperament makes caring for her challenging at times, too–even at her diminutive size. At the same time, given the deterioration of her health and loss of independence, I can understand the frustration and anger she probably feels. After all, I don’t know of anyone who looks forward to spending most of their retirement years not being able to care for and express themselves.

Our stepfather has been absolutely amazing through all of Mom’s health challenges–caring for her every need, listening to her angry outbursts, everything. If anyone deserves sainthood, my sister and I agree its him. At the same time, we could tell caring for Mom 24-7 was wearing him down. Different people offered to help; but he always said they would be fine and not to worry. If they needed anything, he would call.

That call came in December a few days before Christmas.

Our stepfather had a heart attack in the middle of the night. Fortunately he was able to call a relative to come take him to the hospital. My sister came and took Mom into her home. Richard and I traveled from Illinois for our stepfather’s open heart surgery and to help with Mom for a couple of days. Richard returned to my sister’s the following week to help for a few days while she went back to work and I returned to Chicago to work.

The good news is our stepfather is doing great. He is now recovering at my sister’s; he walks daily, cares for himself with almost no assistance and is following doctor’s orders. We’re amazed and thankful for how well his recovery is going.

Mom, on the other hand, continues to deteriorate. As hard as it is to witness, we accept this deterioration as part of her disease process. No one is blaming God for what is happening; and fortunately no one has said they believe this is all somehow part of God’s plan for my parents’ lives–at least not within earshot of me.  I know this part of her journey has to be hardest on Mom; still, our stepfather watches helplessly and does what he can to make sure she is comfortable–which at this point in his recovery is very little.

This past week I made another trip home to help my sister and to sit with her and my stepfather to have what I call “the nursing home discussion.” The harsh reality is our mother is not able to care for herself, and we believe our stepfather risks her safety and his health if he tries to take her home and care for her. While he is now willing to accept help from family members, another harsh reality is none of us can quit our jobs and provide the care Mom needs–especially at night when she decides she wants to get out of bed and watch television–and lifting her when she falls is definitely not something our stepfather will be able to do again.

My sister and I thought we were doing our best to honor our parents’ wishes for us to care for them. My sister had already completed research on local nursing homes; and as a medical professional she has excellent contacts in the area. She had called our parents’ primary physician who agreed it was time–actually past time–for us to make this decision. We had worked together to determine our parents had the finances necessary to fund this option as well as support our stepfather. Mom would receive the 24-7 care she needs, and our stepfather could continue his recovery while visiting her as often and as long as he chose. Family members would also visit and check on both of them on a regular basis.

The conversation went well–or so we thought. Our stepfather agreed our proposal made sense. At the same time, he hated the thought of placing Mom in a nursing home. “I promised to take care of her and not do this unless I absolutely had to,” he said. I told him we knew that and were grateful for all he had done for our mother; still it was time. It was absolutely necessary now. He said, “You don’t have to thank me for taking care of your Mom; I love her.” By the end of the conversation we had all agreed on a plan as to how to proceed once our stepfather was cleared to drive by his doctor.

The following afternoon I left to return home. 20 minutes into my drive my sister called to let me know our stepfather was reconsidering our plan. The next day he had decided to take Mom home once the doctor cleared him to drive. My sister reminded him of our conversation as well as of the risks involved with his decision. He understands everything, and still wants to move forward with his decision and–as frustrating as it is for the family–it is his decision to make.

So next week my sister and I will honor our stepfather and mother by helping them move back into their home in the country. My sister and other family members will visit regularly and check on them. I will visit and help them financially as I am able.

I will be honest and say I don’t like this idea at all. I think my parents are taking some very dangerous risks. Then again, maybe my stepfather is risking everything out of love for our mother. I have to say, too, that I understand my parents’ tenacity for independence and a semblance of control over the direction of their lives. After all, the apple doesn’t fall too far from the tree.  So perhaps–just perhaps–the best way my sister and I can honor our stepfather and mother is to allow them as much independence and control over the direction of their lives as possible.

Who knows? Maybe they will prove us wrong and be able to live out the rest of their lives in their cozy little home in the country.

It’s a nice thought isn’t it? Risking everything for love.

The discussion then turned to what we would do if our jobs became obsolete. How would we “re-tool” to adjust to our new realities?

This is a question that has been on my mind a lot in the past year or so. On one hand, I’m blessed to be a fairly compensated full-time pastor; on the other hand, I know that reality can change in a very short time. No, I don’t sit around worrying that the next phone call I receive will be from the Vice-Moderator of our board, notifying me the congregation is calling for my resignation for one reason or another.  And although we don’t have an endowment, and our board does have to watch our finances very carefully, I also don’t worry that next week’s paycheck is fully dependent on this coming Sunday’s offering.

No, the re-tooling question comes from what I see as the new realities of organized religion. And if what I am reading on various blogs, in books and magazines, and hearing in my discussions with colleagues across denominational lines are any indication, I am not the only one thinking about the issue of what I call “re-tooling the church.”

Like so many other professions these days, there are multitudes of talented and dedicated clergy who cannot find equally dedicated and caring congregations who are able to pay their clergy a living wage. Younger clergy cannot find positions because older clergy who should be retired are staying put in their churches and denominational leadership positions. And you can’t really blame all the older clergy, because–like everyone else–what little retirement and pension funding many of them had has taken a beating. So, they continue to work and serve as long as their health allows–or their congregations or denominational leaders “encourage” them to retire.

Like some other institutions, many of our administrative structures–especially at the national leadership levels–are sorely outdated and too expensive to maintain. I am not saying these structures are all bad, either. They worked at one time when going to church, synagogue, temple, or mosque was just “what people did.” That is simply no longer the case. People are learning they can be–as the title of Humanist Chaplain Gregory Epstein’s book reminds us–”Good Without God”–at least when it comes to being part of a church, mosque, temple, or synagogue. That is, people who believe in God–however they define that word–are learning that their eternal destinations aren’t tied to the support of any religious institution.

All these realities are just that–realities. The challenges I’ve mentioned are faced by religious groups across the theological/spiritual board. I don’t believe they are signs of an external God’s displeasure with us for being too “this or that” (pick your favorite label and insert it here). We may (and do) tweak our worship words and wardrobes. We add and subtract drums, keyboards, and organs. We add and subtract programs as people come and go. Trust me, I’ve done all these things at one time or another in my pastoral life; and I support mixing, matching, and trying new ideas. Still, regardless of what we try, it doesn’t change my core belief that these realities I’ve mentioned may point to yet another evolution in religion and religious expression.

And once again the church is being left behind redecorating our exteriors without doing the hard work of examining our interiors. When I say “examining our interiors,” I’m not talking about making sure we have all the “right” words and beliefs about our  faith to ensure our sweet seats in the afterlife, either. I mean asking questions like, “Why are we even doing this thing called “church” anyway?”

“Why are we even doing this thing called “church” anyway?” Let that question sink in for a moment. If we can’t answer it, we should be concerned.

For me, church isn’t about worshipping an external Deity, or for feeling better about myself after beating myself up during silent confession. As much as I love good music, church isn’t all about the music or the liturgy. And especially as a pastor, I seriously dislike the whole idea of “church as entertainment.” Yes, I strive to make my reflections relevant and I love to use humor. Still, as that great theologian Pink reminds us in one of her songs, “I’m not here for your entertainment.”

Church isn’t about escaping the reality of life that waits for us outside our pretty little white building, either. For me, church at its best is about learning how to support, love, and appropriately challenge one another as we face life–both as individuals and as a community of faith.

So what is it going to take to re-tool the church to not only face, but also embrace this evolution and revolution? I have a few ideas; one thing for sure, however, is professional religious people like me had best be prepared to adjust to our new realities. For our roles–and those of our denominational leaders–will have to evolve for religious communities to continue being relevant pathways to growth and positive living in our world.

Now I think I understand why there are so many “fear nots” in the bible…

It really wasn’t his fault. According to the story, the Wizard arrived in Oz quite by accident–literally dropping from the sky as the result of a balloon trip from Kansas gone awry. Still, his unusual arrival amazed the people, and apparently they gave him absolute authority over their lives and practically worshipped–and sometimes feared–him. We could say the whole situation took on a life of its own.

As strange as it sounds, I sometimes think the institution of church came from Oz–at least from the first part of the movie, that is. And that thought scares me because–let’s face it–I’m considered by at least a few people to be one of the multitude of leaders in that institution.

I’m not saying the institutional church itself is all bad. I just think that sometimes–like the story of the Wizard–things have gotten out of hand. Jesus came teaching people a way of peace, love and inclusion that was, in large part, very different from both the government and religious policies and practices of their time. Jesus did not start a church. Jesus did not start a religion. Scripture records that Jesus came so we might have abundant life.

And we’ve settled for an institution.

It wasn’t always that way. Christianity started as a small, marginalized movement. I believe it was probably when Constantine “legalized” Christian worship in 313 of the Common Era with the Edict of Milan that things began to change. Depending on which scholars you read, this move was more political than spiritual, as Constantine was working to consolidate his power. If I understand the edict correctly, however, its purpose was to legalize the practice of all religions in the Roman Empire. Still, Christianity eventually became the religion of choice in the Roman Empire–especially if you wanted to be part of the favored power structure. In Christian history, we might even say that that is when the balloonist from Kansas became the Wizard behind the curtain.

History records church leaders (the Wizard) sending thousands of people (the Dorothys, Scarecrows, Tin Men, and Cowardly Lions) out to earn their salvation by killing the various enemies of the church (the Wicked Witches of the West); only to be told on their return that there were more “tasks” yet to do (those who were lucky enough to make it back alive, that is). Some church leaders held the power to read and interpret scripture for everyone else; others sold sweet seats to the afterlife (or at least took money to pray souls out of Purgatory).

Some people might read this information and say, “Yeah, but that was then and this is now.” True. At the same time, some groups–including some Christian groups–still have “crusades” against ideas and people who do not measure up to their expectations and definitions of “truth.” Some still claim to know THE way to eternal happiness and peace; and yes, you can have it too. If, that is, you are part of their group and follow their doctrines and dogma. And let’s face it, some members of the Institutional Church are still sleeping with the Empire.

In my opinion, what started out as a movement with amazing potential to change the world, over time became an institution mired in struggles for power and wealth. And like the Empire (and the Wizard), it has played on people’s fears of the unknown to maintain that power and wealth.

Just like in the story of the Wizard of Oz, however, I believe the curtain is being pulled back, and people are learning a few things about the church–and themselves.

Hopefully we’re learning that behind the big, booming voices, education and pageantry are at best imperfect human beings who do not hold the keys to our final destinations. And while church folk are definitely not perfect, I believe most of us are well-meaning, loving, and caring human beings. And as there were good things happening in “the merry old land of Oz,” there are good things happening in churches all over the world, too–even with all the big, booming voices hiding behind the curtains.

People are also learning that they don’t necessarily have to attend a church, synagogue, temple, mosque or any other building to be moral, ethical people who can make positive impacts in this world. As the Wizard eventually told Dorothy and her friends, they’re learning they’ve had the power within them to face their challenges the whole time. They just had to learn that lesson.

Who knows? Maybe that is what the church should be about–encouraging and teaching people that we already have the power within us to face the challenges of life, as well as to bring peace and justice to the planet. And since people have different names for that power, we should celebrate our different understandings of that power rather than try to establish our understanding as the Truth.

Yes, people are learning that sometimes the church isn’t always as it appears from the outside. And that knowledge is painful at times, too. At the same time, I believe some of what we’re learning is potentially life-giving and freeing. Who knows? Maybe some of what we’re learning is even salvific.

If we’re willing to keep pulling back the curtains, that is.

First, I thoroughly enjoy Rasor’s definitions of religion and theology. He states: “The term theology is often associated with arcane and academic or technical concepts that focus on abstract doctrines. But the purpose of theology is really quite simple. If religion is about the large-scale world pictures that orient us in the universe and help give our lives meaning and purpose, then theology is about examining those worldviews and the assumptions that go into them.”

What I like most about these definitions is they recognize the fact that everyone is a theologian at one time or another–including people who either question–or who do not believe in the existence of–any representation of the divine. That is, we all have questions about things like how life works, why life isn’t always fair, the ultimate meaning of life, and if there is anything beyond our current existence. One way of looking at religion then is our viewpoints represent those large-scale world pictures; and when we examine those pictures, we are doing theology. As Rasor reminds us, “our struggle and our outrage are always grounded somewhere.” And I would add, whether that grounding is in what some of us call “God” or not. So for me, identifying that grounding is “doing theology.”

Another quote from Rasor I like is: “Theology is not something we do just with our heads. We must also use our hearts and guts, as well as our hands and feet.” To me, that means theology is something we think about, feel, and is reflected in the words and actions of our lives.

Now, an integrity (or wholeness) of thought, feeling, and action is a “trinity” in which I can believe.

So how does my appreciation of Rasor’s viewpoints regarding religion and theology relate to the title of this post, “Breaking Up is Hard to Do?”

Well, if–as Rasor asserts–”liberal theology is characterized by the belief that human religiousness should be understood from the perspective of modern knowledge and experience”–and if we acknowledge that our knowledge and experiences evolve and change over time, it follows that many of us are going face the prospect of “breaking up” with some of our most cherished and deeply-held beliefs at one time or another in our lives.

And as Neil Sedaka reminds us, “Breaking Up is Hard to Do.”

For some, these changes involve breaking up with the idea of a supernatural being who controls every detail of our existence and has a specific plan for every person who ever has, and who ever will, live. Some  have broken up with the ideas of Jesus being literally God Incarnate, as well as literal intepretations of heaven, hell, virgin birth, miracles, resurrection, the rapture and second coming of Jesus, and an inerrant bible.

Some people are even breaking up with the idea of worshipping God as we often do now. By that comment, I mean there are people who are questioning not so much the existence of mystery that is beyond our comprehension, but why we continue to relate to that mystery much like our ancient ancestors did: offering thanks often out of fear of punishment or to gain favor not only in this life, but hopefully in the afterlife as well. I mean, we may not actually believe a lot of what we’re saying in these worship services; but hey, it can’t hurt to hedge our bets, can it?

Now before anyone thinks I am poking fun at certain beliefs, let me be clear that I respect all peaceful paths to truth and understanding. So if the beliefs I mentioned above are part of your path, blessed be–seriously. At the same time, these same beliefs are no longer useful for many people–including me. Rasor points out that “what we long for is a theology that both makes sense and feels right. Until we find this, we haven’t finished our naming process. And when we do finally get the intellectual and spiritual dimensions in sync, our theology becomes not just a label but a resource, a grounding for spiritual practice, for social critique, even for healing.”

So know that if you are in the process of a religious/theological break up, you are not alone. And while break ups are often a painful process, there is often hope somewhere deep in the midst of that pain just waiting to be born. Finally, if you will allow me one more musical reference, from the group “Shinedown:”

“Sometimes good-bye is a second chance.”