Civic Religion

How much attention in the worship service should you give to civic occasions, such as Veterans Day? It's a small issue that floats on top of the church/state cauldron. Jesus neatly side-stepped the issue in his day with his well-known "give Caesar's stuff to him, and God's stuff to God" response. But he was an itinerant preacher who moved right on, whereas we are in the midst of our people, answering to them, at least until the Bishop deems otherwise.

So, do you observe closely the divide Jesus delineated? Do you give only God's stuff to God in church, and keep the state's stuff out? If so, you might be like my friend, Rev. Clayton Childers, who says we shouldn't even display the US flag in the church - its presence gives the appearance that the church condones American policies that are in opposition to the values Jesus taught. That's probably an expected stance for someone like Clayton who works for the Board of Church and Society.

Do you cringe when everyone stands for a prayer before a football game? Do you look for a calendar conflict when asked to give the invocation at a political gathering? Do you agree with a Bishop we once had who said the church should not observe Mother's Day? Do you eschew singing "My Country Tis of Thee" or "America" in a worship service? Then you might just be a Methodist of the reformed tradition - in everything be clear that our allegiance is to God alone. Disavow the public prayers that give a "nod to god" while basically ignoring his commandments. Keep alert to sniff out such occasions of civic religion, and lead your flock in devotion to the God who stands above all kingdoms and powers and rulers.

And yet, we are pressed upon as pastors to fulfill the role of civic clerics. We are asked to bring a divine blessing to events that have little or nothing to do with the God we serve. We straddle the awkwardness of honoring the veterans who have served us, while not glorifying war. We field the sincere pleas of church members who want a good 'ole flag waving patriotic worship service like the Baptists down the street. What to do?

I think we all have to find a level of compromise we can live with. I'm most comfortable expressing my patriotism outside of church, but like my people, I am thankful, thankful to God, for my country and the liberties I enjoy. I am indebted to those who have sacrificed on behalf of our country's call to duty - whether or not in the long run we learn those who issued the call were correct. Taking some time to acknowledge those feelings is to me, an appropriate attention to the needs of the people. Praying at civic events may not adequately reflect the God we serve, but it may, in a prevenient grace manner, remind those present of the God who stands behind all gifts we receive.

As odd as it may seem, it is the story of Jesus' first miracle (according to the gospel of John) that helps me with this. Now I know that John reports the turning of water into wine as a way for Jesus to "reveal his glory" - a radical impinging of the kingdom on common life. But, as John Pilch indicates in his commentaries on the "honor and shame" society of the East, Jesus could have been motivated simply to alleviate the potential shaming of the wedding host. In other words, Jesus meet the need of the people where they were, not where they should have been.

When I fulfill roles that to me are more of a civic religion nature than Christian, or when I have the veterans stand and be honored by their friends and neighbors, or when the Boy Scout color guard brings the flags into the sanctuary and we sing with zest the patriotic hymns, I just remind myself that hardly anyone who drank the best wine at that wedding understood who Jesus was or what he was about, and yet there was wine sufficient for all.

So tomorrow, on Veteran's Day, we will honor our vets, and I will preach on the Jeremiah 29 text, "seek the welfare of the city where I have sent you into exile, and pray to the LORD on its behalf, for in its welfare you will find your welfare." However, instead of singing "America, the Beautiful" we will sing that wonderful Georgia Harkness hymn, "This is My Song."

This is my song, O God of all the nations,
a song of peace for lands afar and mine....

This is my prayer, O Lord of all earth's kingdoms:
Thy kingdom come; on earth thy will be done.
Let Christ be lifted up till all shall serve him,
and hearts united learn to live as one.

O hear my prayer, thou God of all the nations;
Myself I give thee, let thy will be done.

Do Not Be Afraid

Thought a lot about fear this week. It began with an evening conversation with my daughter. We were talking about her Spanish classes and she said she also needed to learn Arabic and Mandarin Chinese. I asked why. She's 16. She said those are the four basic languages, with a bit of French, that will be used when she is older. Here's her future world view: The Americas will all be Spanglish, Europe and the Middle East will be Muslim, Asia will be dominated by China, and I suppose Africa still won't be a player.

Then she said, I hate the way Europe is becoming Muslim, and the countries will gradually lose their identities and there's nothing you can do about it. While Kelsey is an independent thinker, I sensed in the talk that she'd had similar talks with her peers, and so was expressing more broadly held assumptions.

I didn't argue that such radical cultural acquiescence is highly improbable (note the Palestinian-Israeli conflict). Neither did we venture into cultural protectionism (as occurring in France - e.g. with laws limiting cultural dress in public, or the ghettoising of Muslim communities) or the effects of American interventions. What intrigued me was the latent fear expressed, that her world will be a global divide between the Americas and Arabic-Europe.

It immediately reminded me of the fear from the era of my youth, of a world embroiled in a global conflict between the Communist block and Democratic countries. I remembered the absurdity of nuclear fallout drills - an elementary class learning to wrap coats over their heads and huddling under tables and desktops! Flashbacks of fallout shelters, draft cards, and the arms race flooded my memories. Behaviors and national policies were shaped by our shared fears. Turning and turning in the widening gyre; here the fear comes around again, and yet the center continues somehow to hold.

Next I finished Michael Crichton's novel, State of Fear. I actually don't care that much for Crichton's writing style, overloaded with techno-jargon, and reviews have shown the book is riddled with errors about global warming. But this novel about ecological terrorism did have an interesting speech that essentially said: Nations need a pervasive fear of something, anything, throughout the populace in order to keep us all in line, paying our taxes, and supporting the global industrial-military complex.

A pervasive fear. We all have an assortment to choose from - fear of crime, of incurable diseases, of stocks tumbling, of running out of money in retirement, of ecological disasters, of nations rising up against nations and consuming our youth, and for some, a loss of morality in public behavior. We may not run around crying that the sky is falling, but we absorb the fears and they shape our lives, usually without our even noticing it. Why else at age 16 would you consider learning Arabic and Mandarin Chinese?

And then the words resound in my head, "I have said this to you, so that in me you may have peace. In the world you face persecution. But take courage; I have conquered the world!" (Jesus, per John 17) I wonder what latent, pervasive fears are shaping me. How would it feel to so trust in Christ's victory, that you can glow through the day like the lilies of the field, or sing like the birds of the air, that do not fret? We might make some of the same life choices (and still learn hard languages), but I think it would all be quite different. The beginning of peace is the death of fear.

Happy 60th Anniversary Mom and Dad!

You showed us love before we understood words.
Instilled in us God's grace, and the desire to sing,
Taught us responsibility, integrity and compassion,
And joined us in laughter, and wonder at all things.

You held to each other in times good and bad,
Penny pinched daily, then to colleges paid;
Kept us in prayer, and taught us each to pray,
And believed in us as we went our own ways.

You've led by example to serve others in this life,
An unassuming pair of the greatest generation.
And so we give thanks to our Lord, Jesus Christ,
For you, Mom and Dad, on this 60th celebration.


Houston and
Joclair Taylor

7 children
12 grandchildren
7 great grands


You did not choose me, but I chose you, and appointed you, that you should go and bring forth fruit, and that your fruit should remain. John 15:16

Tombstone Maker

Meet George. George makes tombstones. I drove by and saw them in the back. He was working in his yard. I asked if he had his own cemetery. Then he told be about the stones. People in his community can't afford grave markers, he said. Marble stones and brass markers are too costly. But the dead need something, he said.

So he bought some concrete molds. He pours the headstones. Paints them. Then he letters the vital information. George says he doesn't make much off them, but he enjoys doing it. Niche market, good guy, and the dead are remembered.

Chapel Update

For All Saint's Observance, Nov. 4, the Chapel was set up in formal style with our new chairs, with a Sunday School historical display in the back. It was the first time members had seen the chapel in this configuration since the pews had been removed this summer.












One of our members, after seeing it, told me, "It looks nice, I might be able to forgive you." Grace. :)

Demolition Dogs

Well, I am back to writing. Want to tell about my chance to be a demolition dog on our mission trip this past weekend. We had 12 go to the United Methodist Relief Center in Mt. Pleasant. I didn't know they had such a great group house as a base for teams.

Friday half our team was assigned to dig out a foundation for an ET House. Elderly Transportable (ET) Houses are one person homes built on a trailer chassis. It is provided free of charge to elderly persons who qualify, but remains the property of the UMRC. When it is no longer needed by the person, it is refurbished and moved to the property of who ever needs it next. Trinity built an ET in 2003 and it is being used by a lady outside Sumter.

The rest of our team took apart the treated wood stairs and landings at another ET. This home was never lived in. Just as it was made ready, the man had to go into the hospital, and would not be able to live independently again. We joked about whatever mission team this past summer that built the stairs coming back to see their handiwork and being unable to find it.

Can't you just see some teenager standing there on Clement's Ferry Road, exclaiming to his parents, "Honestly, we did do mission work down here - I don't know what happened to the house, it was right here!"

Saturday, we all worked together on a house out toward Wando on Hwy 41. We tore out the kitchen and the bathroom, and took off the roof. Demolition dogs. Someone else will have the fun of building back.

It was good to get out and do some physical work. For some reason, I especially enjoyed busting out the tile bathroom walls with a hammer. And it was nice working with a group of people who understood we were just playing a small role in a big relief effort.

No one complained about moving about to different sites, or lamented that we didn't get to build anything, or griped about what they had to do. They signed up to serve and that's what they did. And we enjoyed working together. Our efforts will contribute to others having decent housing somewhere down the line, and that's what it's all about.

Not Even a Rejection Letter

A couple of weeks I got a message that our Conference monthly newspaper was doing an article on the trip to Scotland by the History and Archives group. They wanted to know if I'd like to write something about my trip.

Well, that night I wrote a 500 word reflection on my stay at Iona in May and emailed it to them the next morning. Got my copy of the November Advocate yesterday and it has the article about the History and Archives trip, but not mine. I am so crushed. O.K., so maybe it was more like 550 words I send in, and the style is different than what they normally publish, and there probably was a lot more current church news to report. But, not even a "Thanks but no thanks?"

I have decided to stop writing altogether. No more articles, no more sermons, no more blog posts. In fact, you aren't even reading this. However, if you'd like to read "the article with no rejection slip," I posted it on my Checked Luggage blog. Let me know what you think. The future of my laptop is at stake.

Surrounded by so Great a Chatter

I did not grow up with All Saint's. Like everyone else, it was Halloween I looked forward to. Getting pumpkins carved, making our own costumes, and overdosing on candy were perfect for me as a child with a short attention span. And while we knew ghosts and goblins weren't real, there was just enough uncertainty to keep us watching in the dark.

As parents of young children, Cynthia and I continued these basic traditions, as the rest of America became fascinated with Halloween. Now we've just become "old foggies" and hardly note its occurance. This year small packs of popcorn and pretzels replaced the sugary treats we handed out at the door, and there wasn't a pumpkin anywhere near. I googled "Halloween sales" and learned that the National Retail Federation predicted we'd spend over $5 billion on Halloween this year, with the average customer spending $64.82. Guess we let them down.

But today is All Saint's, a day of cosmic warping. Heaven bends near and all the earth becomes a thin place, for those with ears to hear. I awakened this morning at 5 to the laughter of the apostles, somewhere in the distance. Came to my study chair to read and write and realized the desert mothers and fathers considered my arrival to silent prayer to be tardy, and possibly disrupting. Saints and theologians, some ancient, but many not, peer out at me from the line of bookshelves in our study. We are not alone on the spiritual journey, and today is the day the faithful witnesses delight in reminding us of this.

I prepare myself for the rabble of the day, the kind of hub-bub that greets you when you enter a party late, and so many people are engaged in conversation. The writer of Hebrews called it a "cloud of witnesses surrounding us" but he (she?) could just as easily have said "chatter of witnesses," for it seems they each have a word of encouragement. It would be uncomfortable to be gazed upon and commented about by all these saints, except I recognize some of the voices, and the smiles here and there are from those I have known and loved.

As a child I was mildly concerned about the spirits out on Halloween night, for fear of what they might do. As a grown child, I now am concerned about the spirits out on All Saints, not for fear of what they might do, but for fear of my behavior. They look to me, to you, for us to be faithful, to run our laps with patience, looking to Christ, the pioneer and perfector of our faith, until the time comes for us to pass the baton on. Today heaven comes near, and the whispers become cheers, and I do not want to disappoint those who would not fail me.

Harold's Country Club

Last Saturday, Lauren and I went to Varnville, SC, for the celebration of Bess Ware's 90th Birthday. Amazing lady (looks like she's ready to dance for another 30 more years) and great family. On the way back to civilization, however, we detoured to Yemassee, S.C. (right off interstate 95) to eat at Harold's CC, a first for both of us.


A friend had told us to call ahead and order your steaks. So we did that. And we got directions: "Come to the stop sign, turn right and you can't miss the large green roof over the gas pumps."

Harold's has a personality disorder. It doesn't know if it is a country store, flea market, pool hall, gas station or diner. Every shelf and corner is stacked with something that should have been tossed out a long time ago. We got there ahead of the 6:30 serving, so we played pool, until the manager called out "Steaks are on!" We assumed that was the equivalent of "Come and git it!" I was grateful since Lauren was cleaning my plate at pool.

Actually, the inch thick steaks were delicious, as well as the spicy onions, with plenty of sweet tea. Not a bad meal at all at $16 a plate. Most of the patrons were Citadel fans on their way back to Charleston. But they were a friendly bunch in spite of the defeat at Georgia Southern.

Harold's has its own character, a rare commodity in restaurants, and is worth a stop. Just call ahead and tell them how you like your steaks.

I have called you by name.

It is amazing how a human face changes things. Take an issue, any issue, and speak of it in generalities and, especially if it is a controversial issue, people will quickly become adamant about the correctness of their position, whatever side of the issue they happen to be on. But speak of a mutual friend dealing with the same issue and the conversation changes. In the abstract, stem cell research may be wonderful or murder in your opinion. But when a neighbor with a rare cancer pins her hopes on such research, all you can do is feel the pain and longing.

In a similar way, when we hear a news report of a tragedy and we feel regret or some sadness for the pain and loss. But put a human face with it, and it changes for us. We are connected, and one persons' loss is a loss to us all.

The fire tragedy at Ocean Isle Beach, NC this past weekend that claimed the lives of seven college students hit me with these thoughts. We have watched the news of the horrible fires raging in southern California for weeks, which included loss of life. Those fires were horrible, and we prayed for the victims and the fire fighters. But that was far away and we did not know them.

This loss, closer to home, with names we unfortunately can connect with, becomes an ache we carry for those in shock and grief. Names and faces of people we know, or who know the people we know. And so we pray anew.

My point is, I do not believe God sees in generalities. God sees and knows each face. Maybe another way to say it is, God does not see us a people, but as persons. That probably says more about our faith than I can comprehend, but for today, it is both a comfort, and a calling.