Break Thou The Bread Of Life
Having the conviction they were called to restore the New Testament faith and practice of the church, the early leaders of the movement that became the Christian Church (Disciples of Christ) discerned that the Lord’s Supper, or communion, should be central to every worship service. So, we in the Disciples tradition have communion on a weekly basis.

Some of our sisters and brothers from other churches who do not observe such a rigorous discipline often suggest that the repetition would lessen the significance of the sacrament. Disciples never say that. In fact, if Disciples happen to attend worship at another church, and communion is not part of the service on that particular Sunday, they commonly say, “It was a nice service, and I liked this or that, but I missed having communion.”

As a worship leader, I can attest to the fact that Disciples embrace the regularity of communion, and that it holds great meaning for them. I know this because during the service I am in position to look out at their faces. Not that everyone approaches communion in the same manner.

I remember someone talking about the method of sharing in communion from a common loaf, noting that often folks pinched off a tiny, tiny smidgen of the bread. She remarked, “This is my Lord’s body, given for me, and I want a big piece!” Churches use loaves, wafers, little flat circles that have the consistency of Styrofoam and stick to the roof of your mouth, crackers, matzos, and other representations of bread.

One pastor I know is a bit of a germaphobe, and I’m told that each Sunday he has a separate pre-packaged, sealed unit of a wafer and cup of grape juice, while the congregation passes the trays. There may still be some churches that pass the cup around from which everyone drinks.

There was a woman in one of my congregations that attended the church’s early service at which people came forward to get a piece of pre-cut bread to dip in the cup, then eat. Every single time, she very carefully took the bread morsel and barely touched the surface of the juice in the chalice I held for her. After eating it, she looked at me and gave me a huge grin. It got so I looked forward to her coming forward each Sunday.

However it’s done, and whether folks gulp it down, take their time, eat large portions or small, the Lord’s Supper – communion – shows our kinship with one another, under the authority and grace of the one who grants us new life, and who said, “When you do this, remember me.”

Sign This!
In one of his many books, Frederick Buechner mentioned that his father, who was a young man in the early part of the 20th Century, bore a striking resemblance to a British actor. On numerous occasions, strangers approached the elder Buechner, thinking he was the actor, and asked for his autograph. According to Frederick, his father always happily complied – except he signed his own name.

Once, on a family summer vacation at Chautauqua, New York, when I was maybe 17 years old, my brother and I were throwing a baseball back and forth. He had a catcher’s mitt, and I wound up like a pitcher when I made my throws. I guess I was popping it pretty good, because after a while, some kids gathered to watch.

My brother told them I was Jay Franklin, a pitcher from our home area who was drafted number two in the country the prior summer and signed a big contract with the San Diego Padres. They got all excited, and when I ran into some of them later they asked their father for a pen so they could get my autograph. I heard the father ask, “What’s he doing here?” Indeed. When they came to me, I told them I wasn’t Jay Franklin and refused to sign their paper. They acted as if they didn’t believe me.

A case of mistaken identity can lead to misunderstandings. I’m sure the people who obtained the autograph of Frederick Buechner’s father were confused when they read what he wrote for them. Those kids at Chautauqua seemed to think I just was being uncooperative and unfriendly when I denied being the person my brother told them I was.

People sometimes are not able to correctly identify church folks, based on our words and behaviors. It turns out our witness to the depth and nature of our faith is made daily, whether or not that is our intention.

Consider The Source
During my tenure as Executive Director of William Penn House in Washington, Civil Rights was a popular seminar subject. A time or two, I took visiting groups to visit Rep. John Lewis (D-GA) in his office. I read a lot about John Lewis over the years in numerous accounts of the Civil Rights Movement, as he was a significant leader. His courage was unquestioned during those very tense days in our nation’s history.

He was the leader of SNCC, the Student Non-violent Coordinating Committee, spoke at the 1963 March on Washington, made famous by Martin Luther King’s “I Have A Dream” speech, played a huge role in the Freedom Rides, and was front and center during the 1965 march from Selma to Montgomery that became known as “Bloody Sunday.” He suffered incredible, life-threatening violence that day and others, was arrested more times than I can count, and in my mind, is a true American hero. Probably no one imagined that this “dangerous person” one day would become one of the most-respected members of the House of Representatives, referred to by some as the “conscience of Congress.”

A memorable visit to his office occurred when a dozen or so high-schoolers from across the U.S., attending the annual WPH-sponsored Quaker Youth Seminar, were treated to Lewis’ personal recollections from Bloody Sunday. He displayed enlarged photos showing the Alabama state troopers on horses running through the peaceful marchers. One picture showed Lewis himself being beaten senseless by a law enforcement officer. Lewis, of course, carried no weapon and made no threats against the officer. He was leading a march.

Congressman Lewis betrayed no bitterness or anger at the memory. Granted, it was nearly thirty years after the attack occurred, but he and others I met who experienced so much hatred directed against them during those nightmarish years didn’t have time for negativity. Their purpose was not to divide, but to unite, and unity doesn’t happen through anger, hatred or bitterness.

At some point along the way, I read John Lewis’ memoir, Walking With The Wind, and as I said before, I found his story inspirational. Surely, it seemed, his sense of faith and the related connectedness to others who shared that faith fed and sustained him through the many challenges, difficulties, dangers and violent times he knew. It’s a message for the ages and applicable to anyone who hears it, even though most never face the severity of trouble with which he contended.

Since, as a member of Congress he was nearby, I decided to seek his personal inscription on my copy of his book. So, one day there I was, bouncing up the Metro escalator on my way to Lewis’s office, having dropped off the book a couple of weeks before.

The receptionist went through the door behind her and retrieved my book. As I turned to the title page and read what John Lewis wrote, the door opened again and Lewis himself emerged.

I waved the book as I said, “Thanks for signing it.” He came to me and shook my hand. Unlike so many politicians I have met and observed, Congressman Lewis looked directly into my eyes as he said a word of greeting, and once again I was in awe of this small man who continues to contribute in large ways to the greater good of our society and the world.

I keep John Lewis’s book on my desk at work, and sometimes when I feel discouraged or frustrated by the church, or when I question my calling and my commitment to it, I’ll pick it up and read what he wrote “To Greg Howell” on the title page.

Above his signature, along with his “Best Wishes,” John Lewis wrote, “Keep the faith.”

Go Jump In The Lake!
A memorable person in my life was my college roommate at East Carolina University. Jeff was from Raleigh, a year behind me in school, and had an infectious laugh. He also had cerebral palsy. The effect of CP on him was forming his legs into a pronounced “lock-kneed” position, affecting his walking. Even though Jeff wasn’t a tall or large person, he was very strong and walked without benefit of leg braces or other apparatus. He was an adventurous fellow, always wanting to test the range of his physical ability.

Jeff and I had a lot of laughs during our two years as roommates. One evening there was a heavy downpour, and we, like many others in our dorm stood in the walkway outside our room and watched it for a bit. Our room was on the first floor of the dorm, which had four-room suites, each with a door opening to the outside. As we stood watching the rain, I noticed a huge puddle forming in the middle of the courtyard.

Taking note of the widening pool and of all the people looking down on it, I said to Jeff, “I’ll give you five bucks if you go jump in that puddle.” Much to my surprise, he immediately went into our room and soon returned barefoot, wearing a white t-shirt and white boxer shorts. Without a word he handed me his glasses and headed for the stairs at the end of the walkway.

As I watched in disbelief, Jeff shuffled out into the courtyard and the watery torrent. Four floors of college students anticipated what they were about to witness, and a roar started to build. Jeff paused momentarily at the end of the courtyard, and then took off in a rush. As he reached the edge of the puddle he hurtled himself face-first and did a belly flop into the water. The noise from above was deafening. When Jeff hit the ground and slid forward, two splashing walls engulfed him, completely hiding him from view. It looked like a 1950’s Hollywood version of the parting of the Red Sea. As they say, the crowd went nuts!

I stood there astounded. Jeff was soaked almost beyond recognition, covered with mud, small twigs and pieces of leaves plastered to his skin and clothes. He calmly, amid great acclaim, walked back to me and held out his hand, palm upward. I gave him a five-dollar bill and his glasses. He once again had successfully stretched his physical abilities, and we both were proud, although five dollars was a lot for a college student to hand over in those days.

A Haunting Question
I once knew a minister who retired in the 1960’s, but who then served as the pastor of a Disciples church for 20-some years. By the time I knew him, a few years following his second retirement, he was pretty long in the tooth.

The old man soon became severely debilitated, and on the days when I went and sat with him in his bedroom as he wavered between awareness and something else, he sometimes suddenly looked at me and asked, “What is grace?”

It was a haunting question, I thought, because I never once assumed he wanted my definition. Rather, it seemed to me he was trying to sort it out for himself after more than 90 years of life, mostly spent mediating grace to others. I don’t know whether he ever found peace about that. But, up to the end of his life it was on his mind, even when it was difficult to decipher his other thoughts.

We easily get caught up in acting as if God’s love for us were dependent upon our doing something to earn it, measuring up to a standard of acceptability. We can forget that right now. We never will succeed.

I think what God wants most from us is a relationship. The grace comes in God’s willingness to embrace us as we turn to God, admitting our weakness, confessing our dependence on God for all things, and trying to understand how our lives might reflect God’s love as we relate to others.

God’s grace is an on-going reality and blessing, leaving us room even to make mistakes and fail as we try faithfully to grow spiritually, opening our hearts to God’s presence in our lives.

It’s something that blossoms through our entire lives.

What's On Your List?
One time a man asked me to visit his pre-teen son who was recovering from an illness. I arrived at their home and was introduced to the son for the first time. As we began to talk, Brian asked, “What do you believe?” I thought it was kind of an odd question from a twelve year old, but my response was, “Well, I believe Jesus is God’s son and is the savior of the world.” Brian said, “No; I mean do you believe you can smoke or drink?”

Another time I spoke on the telephone with a man who was the chair of a search committee that was considering me as a candidate to be the pastor of their church. Even though we simply were talking about plans for my visiting the church, he said, “I have a question I always like to ask the ministers we interview: Do you believe in the Virgin Birth?”

“Do you believe the Bible is inerrant?” That one comes up, too, in some interviews. “What is the Disciples’ stand on homosexuals,” I have been asked by folks thinking of attending the church. On it goes. Doctrinal issues, moral or behavioral questions, thorny social concerns – it seems everyone has their laundry list of what is important concerning a church or a minister.

So many churches are bogged down in managing the business of the organization, they long ago forgot why they formed as a congregation. Patterns of behaviors are learned and ingrained, and newcomers can’t figure out what’s going on, or why. Some congregations defiantly promote "values" that must be embraced lest the flames of hell begin their devastating consumption.

It seems to me the love of God, as revealed and expressed in Jesus Christ is the foundation of Christian fellowship. Worshiping God, living with thankful hearts for the blessings God so abundantly bestows upon humanity, responding to the call of Jesus to share those blessings and that love with others all link us together with fellow believers and inspire our ministry to people around us.

To me, this encourages freedom from all that separates people, instead drawing us together, as I believe, God intends.

I Was Glad When They Said Unto Me
People walk into churches with all manner of thoughts and ideas in their minds. I remember as a young child, I was apprehensive about going into the sanctuary at church, because I was told in Sunday school the church was the House of God. That seemed somewhat intimidating to my young mind.

One Sunday decades later, as I was standing at the communion table during worship, I picked up the chalice to say the words of institution for the cup. As I looked out at the congregation, I saw a young man walking toward me down the center aisle. He started shouting, “Shut up (expletives deleted)!” When he got near the table, I said, “Do you have a problem?” He replied, “Yes,” and started on some rant about parking (this was an urban church). Before he could move any closer, several men grabbed this person and carried him out a side door. The police already were on their way, as a few folks in the pews put their cell phones to use.

On another day in another church, my wife was rehearsing with a gospel choir. A street person wandered in, sat down in a pew, and listened. During a break in the rehearsal, the street person got up and walked down the aisle. Mary said that a number of the choir members later expressed their thoughts at that moment, “Here it comes. He wants money.” When the street person reached the front of the sanctuary, he took a few coins from his pocket, laid them on the communion table and said, “Your music has been a blessing to me.” Then, he turned and walked out of the church, his spirits lifted.

What’s on your mind when you step into a church building, either the sanctuary on Sunday morning, a meeting room on another day, or the church office? Are you looking for a blessing? Are you copping an attitude? Are you in awe of the mighty presence and power of God?

Or is it something else?

Heading For The Hills
OK, these are the rules:

1. Try to appear as large as possible.
2. Don't try to take anything back from them.
3. Never get between a mother and her cub.
4. Bang on pots and pans and otherwise make a lot of noise.
5. If you're scared, don't run, just back away slowly.

If you're scared??

We drove into the mountains of California yesterday, first going though the Sequoia National Forest, ending up in King's Canyon National Park, in the High Sierras. We are booked into a lodge for two nights.

The rules above are some of what to do if you have an encounter with a bear. If it's a cougar you meet up with, do virtually the same, except there's an additional rule: If attacked, fight back!

I'm not making that up!

So far, the only wildlife we've run into are several chipmunks and a beautiful bird, new to us, the Steller's Jay. One had his eye on some cashews I was munching as I sat on the porch of the lodge. Sorry, pal. I'm not supposed to feed the wildlife.

Mountain driving is not something I'm fond of, especially the way back down. Fortunately, every time I've done it I was using a rental car, rather than taxing the transmission and brakes of my own vehicle. (Hey, wait a minute! My car was a rental before I bought it!)

In any case, the splendor of God's creation, in all of it's diversity, can take your breath away if you stop to appreciate it.

It helps, also, to follow the rules, treating it with respect and gentleness.

Faith and Reason?
The president of a Southern Baptist seminary has reassured the world that homosexuality is “still a sin,” but he allowed that there is some chance homosexuality has a “biological causation.”

According to an interview with Reuters during the recent Southern Baptist Convention in San Antonio, Albert Mohler “said his view on the possible biological basis for homosexuality was based on the notion that ‘... all creation has fallen and bears the marks of sin and that would certainly include the genetic code.’”

“‘If there are causal factors we shouldn't be shaken by that. That doesn't change our understanding of the sinfulness of homosexuality because that is not established by biology but rather by the Bible,’ Mohler said, adding that Christians needed to show compassion to sinners.”

Who are the “Christians” referred to by this man? Are they people who embrace Southern Baptist doctrines? Are they biblical literalists the world over? Are they believers who understand that the worldviews presented in scripture, by the various writers giving expression to their faith over a span of hundreds of years, are different from how we understand the world today? Are they people without sin, as he seems to imply?

I am mystified by Mohler’s opinions on this subject. He says that homosexuality may actually be an orientation rather than a life-style choice; that God’s Creation “bears the marks of sin;” and, that “Christians (need) to show compassion to sinners.”

He advocates banning same-sex marriage, presumably because he somehow sees it as a “threat” to heterosexual marriage (I still can’t figure out THAT one). His church, the Southern Baptist Convention, adopted a resolution calling on Congress to do away with pending Hate Crimes legislation because it would add a “layer of protection to homosexuals.”

It’s like he’s saying, “Even though this is how these people were created, and they had no choice in the matter, there is something inherently wrong and unworthy about them. They don’t deserve to have the same rights and freedoms as folks like me who obviously are superior to them.”

This suggests that homosexuals simply are born with some unique variation, like a different skin color, for instance, and because of that are deemed as unacceptable by those holding political and economic power. This position is justified by quoting a few verses of scripture.

Haven’t we been through this already?

A Clean Slate?
Even though I have a break from preaching next Sunday, I know the lessons from the Revised Common Lectionary touch on the theme of forgiveness. Forgiveness is a basic aspect of the Christian faith. One could make the case that forgiveness is THE basic aspect of the Christian faith.

Yet, it’s very difficult to deal with.

On the one hand, many of us have a real struggle believing we can be forgiven the things we do that offend or hurt someone, or that run counter to God’s will. Counselors spend a lot of time working with people who won’t forgive themselves and who can’t conceive of anyone else forgiving them, either. It all seems rather selfish, really, as if the things we do are so monumentally important that they matter to the point no one can get over them. “How can you ever forgive me??”

Jesus encouraged forgiveness and granted forgiveness. His death on the cross, we say, somehow assured God’s forgiveness of human sin. He also said, “Follow me,” and part of following Jesus entails forgiving others.

Several times in my career I have succeeded individuals who were fired from their positions. In one case, a couple of years after the fact, the fired individual sent a letter to the church asking their forgiveness for certain behaviors during his tenure as pastor. When I showed the letter to the woman who was chair of the Board, the color drained from her face. At the next meeting, as she tried to read the letter to the rest of the board members, she couldn’t get through it. She began to cry. I finished reading the letter to the group.

One of the members gathered his papers and brief case and stormed out of the meeting. I followed him into the church narthex. He kept saying, “No. No. No. I will never forgive him! No!” After we talked for a while he finally calmed down and I got him back into the meeting room.

There was a lot of suspicion of the person’s motives in asking for forgiveness. The outcome, as I recall it, was the writing of a vaguely-worded letter, basically acknowledging the man’s request, but tap-dancing around the matter of forgiveness. It was very disappointing.

The Power of Forgiveness is a film by Martin Doblmeier of Journey Films. Martin has traveled the country screening his film and holding discussions with diverse groups of folks. The film likely will be broadcast in some form on PBS in a few months.

One vignette in the film is especially haunting. Three women who lost sons (policemen and firefighters) in the 9/11 attacks honestly describe their struggles around the issue of forgiveness; not only of those who attacked the World Trade Center, but also the city of New York. Debris from Ground Zero containing unaccounted-for remains of victims, including the sons of these women, was trucked out and placed in a landfill. “They just put our sons out there with the garbage,” one of the women tearfully complains.

All of that was awful enough, but the real kicker comes when another mother finally admits that she and her firefighter son were not on speaking terms at the time of the attack. There was some disagreement over the son’s wedding plans. The son died without ever reconciling with his mother. In watching the film, it was clear that the hardest part of it all for her was the unresolved poor state of their relationship.

The power of forgiveness was unused.