The Mainline Minister

Lent is a great time to practice the spiritual discipline of prayer. Today, I offer a challenge (one I'm planning on taking up): at that moment when the day seems like it might be spiraling out of control, getting away from you, take a moment to pray for calm, for a sense of being grounded in God's love. Or, at that moment when everything seems perfect, when all is as it should be, pray for illumination, for the ability to see what you're missing.

Timing, we are told, is everything. The early bird catches the worm. A stitch in time saves nine. These hoary maxims all share the the idea that we're in control of the clock. Yet you and I know that, though we do are best, there are events that are often beyond our control. An earlier bird might find the worm first. The worm may decide to go elsewhere. The bird might not even like worms! All of which invites us into the realm of humility, something we need if we're to truly repent and renew ourselves. We need to admit that we're not in charge, that even if we believe we're in control, we're often actually succumbing to an illusion. I think of those times when a great coach like Bill Belichek, expert at running out the clock at the end of the game, watches his carefully crafted game plan, the jealously protected lead, come undone because of an offside player or a fumble. All of a sudden, everything is up in the air. The playbook has to be tos

Yesterday, the Gospel lesson told of Jesus' sojourn in the wilderness. During this time, he prayed, fought off temptation, and prepared himself for doing the work God called him to do. If you were driven into the wilderness, what would you do? Now, I can't speak for you, but I wonder whether I'd have the presence of mind, the focus to concentrate on my spiritual life. Given that I've never really been the outdoors type, I suspect that I'd be preoccupied with my discomfort, wondering where my next meal was coming from, annoyed by the lack of creature comforts, and, more than ready to get back to civilization. Yet, despite all this, I also suspect that God would be working creatively to get my attention, ready to help me overcome distractions, committed to my renewal. I'd just need to start paying attention to the things that truly mattered. These forty days of Lent are our time to test drive living in the wilderness; they afford us a chance to

No sooner has Jesus received heavenly approbation in this morning's lectionary reading (Mark 1:9-15) than he's sent out -- "driven" according to the NRSV -- into the wilderness. What gives? Why is Jesus sent out to the middle of nowhere to be tempted? He's God's beloved, the one with whom God's well pleased. Why not treat him a little more, well, gently? Let him bask in the approval, perhaps? Because being chosen by God isn't meant to be a free pass. It means being invested with the confidence of the Creator, of knowing that God believes one is able to serve God's people. And that takes preparation. And alertness. And prayer. Jesus, like Israel before him, reminds us that being God's chosen can be a call to sacrifice, to setting aside our needs for those of others, to surrendering our priorities for those of God. Doing that isn't always easy. It requires time, it requires patience, it requires prayer -- sometimes 40

7:59 pm: I'd really planned to write and distribute a message early this morning. But then I biked. And we had breakfast. And I went to the Prepared to Serve conference and gave a presentation. Then we ran errands. And went to dinner. And did this, that, and the other thing. But here I am, finally, writing something. Better late than never, right? Well, if the topic is repentance, the answer is definitely yes. God intentionally gives us lots of time to reform and amend our behavior because God knows we are good -- very, very good -- at deviating from the plan, falling behind schedule, getting distracted, forgetting what it was we were doing, finding a reason to do anything other than what we need to do. This gift is a grace note, an accommodation, a sign of just how much God wants us to get things right with God and one another. So, let's give thanks for the time God gives us, as symbolized by the forty days and forty nights of Lent, to look inward, take

An alert reader informed me that I'd thrown her for a little bit of a loop by dating yesterday's email post 2/27. The 27th, of course, is this coming Monday. Beyond my ever present need to pay more attention to detail, this faux pas offers another lesson: the need for humility as we enter into Lent. It's easy to feel good about our practices and disciplines, to feel, dare I say it, holier than thou. But the whole purpose of these exercises is to recognize we're far from holier than thou - or as holy as we might be. While we aren't seeking to tear ourselves down, we should seek to acknowledge our finitude and limitations. And, having done that, rejoice that the One who created the universe desires to be in relationship with us, despite our shortcomings, our failings, our crankiness, even our trouble keeping straight the date.

This morning the parsonage was preternaturally quiet as the human alarm clock known as Chip is away on a trip with his grandparents. While the silence and calm were welcome, as was the ability to sleep past 6 am, it was jarring, unusual, disorienting. So, too, the absence of my morning cup of Joe, which, as is my custom, I've given up for Lent. Which means my Lent is getting off to a good start. This is supposed to be a time of reflection and penitence. The routines we adopt, the patterns we fall into, make it difficult to do this. When we're comfortable, able to operate on auto-pilot, take things for granted, we're unable to step back and take stock of what's going on in our faith lives. Disruptions to the familiar ease our entry into Lent (and help us prepare for the Great Disruption known as the Resurrection). So, as odd as it may sounds, I hope something throws you off your stride today, that you experience a little bit of spiritual disorientation,

A confession: I'm not ready for Lent, not in the slightest. Don't get me wrong. My message for tonight's service is done, the bulletins have been printed, the ashes are ready to be mixed. All manner of activities have been planned and scheduled for the weeks to come. Spiritually, though, I'm not there yet. I feel like I've shown up at the train station just in time to watch the 5:25 pull away (I've done this. More than once. Talk about deflating.) I should have ended that last meeting sooner; I should have left a few minutes earlier; I should have ... You get the picture. Fortunately, whenever I found myself stewing as I watched the commuter rail pull out of Porter Square Station, I was able to remind myself that in ten minutes or so another train would come along. The same is true of Lent. Yes, today's Ash Wednesday, and, yes, the season of Lent begins today, ready or not. But this is a season of preparation, one that lasts forty da

Earlier this week Facebook filed for a $5 billion IPO. That's a lot of money, but Facebook and its money people believe there's a boat load of money - multiples of $5 billion to be exact - to be made through social media. Given the number of people who use Facebook and the time spent there, I suspect they're right. Like hundreds of millions of others, I've got an FB account. It's been a nice way to stay in touch with some old friends who live far away. It's also been useful to me in my ministry. But something about this week's IPO has me on edge. Relationships are fundamental to who we are as humans; for Christians, relationship is at the heart of the Trinity. Facebook, and the web in general, are supposed to help us come together yet all too often they do the opposite. Who amongst us hasn't experienced all the glories of passive aggression via Email? On social media sites, people can and do post comments they'd never share face to face. And