Raspberries and Sowing

This has been a bumper harvest year for my black raspberries! They have done well in our little churchyard space each of the last six years since I planted them but are now finally established in just the right patch. Rooted in well, aided by supportive fencing for their brambles, provided a good amount of sun but not too much they have rewarded me with plump berries for breakfast for weeks now.

It is in the light of a prodigious supply of black raspberries that I ponder and prepare for this coming Sunday’s gospel text in the Revised Common Lectionary which includes the parable of the sower from Matthew 13:

That same day Jesus went out of the house and sat beside the sea. Such great crowds gathered around him that he got into a boat and sat there, while the whole crowd stood on the beach. And he told them many things in parables, saying: “Listen! A sower went out to sow. And as he sowed, some seeds fell on the path, and the birds came and ate them up. Other seeds fell on rocky ground, where they did not have much soil, and they sprang up quickly, since they had no depth of soil. But when the sun rose, they were scorched; and since they had no root, they withered away. Other seeds fell among thorns, and the thorns grew up and choked them. Other seeds fell on good soil and brought forth grain, some a hundredfold, some sixty, some thirty. Let anyone with ears listen!” “Hear then the parable of the sower. When anyone hears the word of the kingdom and does not understand it, the evil one comes and snatches away what is sown in the heart; this is what was sown on the path. As for what was sown on rocky ground, this is the one who hears the word and immediately receives it with joy; yet such a person has no root, but endures only for a while, and when trouble or persecution arises on account of the word, that person immediately falls away. As for what was sown among thorns, this is the one who hears the word, but the cares of the world and the lure of wealth choke the word, and it yields nothing. But as for what was sown on good soil, this is the one who hears the word and understands it, who indeed bears fruit and yields, in one case a hundredfold, in another sixty, and in another thirty.” (Matthew 13:1-9, 18-23)

As is often cited, Jesus used the context of his environment and its agrarian culture to communicate to his people in a way that they could certainly relate: sowers and seeds, sheep and shepherds, figs, wheat, mustard seeds, etc. In our more contemporary season certain details are easily lost, or at the very least, nuances get sorely missed. This is true not simply because the vast majority of the world’s population now live in urban areas, but because even within the rural amongst us, the practices of agriculture itself have developed quite differently. For example I grew up farming and (albeit from a significant distance) still am involved with my family’s operation, but other than reseeding a few patches of lawn grass I can’t recall having ever really sowed as the sower in this passage does, going forth and broadcasting seeds by hand. Obviously, nowadays we have machinery great and small that does that, and it can even tie into global positioning systems and soil analysis to get planting percentages just right.

Which is not to say that people don’t still sow as the sower does, at least generally speaking, in particular wide areas around the globe. They certainly do. But it is not likely that many of the folks in my pews or around you are as intimately familiar with the imagery Jesus is using. Well, duh. Right? This is obvious. But is it? Is it obvious or am I/do we too easily miss what Jesus is getting at? (“Seeing and never perceiving” is left out of the lectionary this week but is located textually in between the parable and it’s explanation.)

On the one hand there is the beautiful absurdity that is so often present in Jesus’ parables. It is absurd that a sower would broadcast precious seeds so widely. That would be an utter waste. Sometimes, this parable is called the parable of the soils, because when it comes down to it in the explanation, it is the contrasting nature of the soil environments that is being noted. Why would a sower waste time and resources upon planting seeds in such harsh environments that they could never take hold? Well, she or he wouldn’t. But also true, the entire environment is rather harsh, or often can be. This is not a rip on the holy land especially, rather an obvious fact of life and farming that the crowds to whom Jesus is speaking would understand. Life can be/is difficult and is often/usually lived out of scarcity and survival. Thus, there is an absurdity interwoven into the story itself, a beautiful absurdity that somehow expresses who God is and God’s reign. It makes me think of the Monty Python line, “blessed are the cheesemakers.” There is truth inside that absurdity. I hope we don’t miss the absurdity.

On the other hand, it seems we also have to be cautious that this agrarian imagery can readily lead to a romanticism that equates much of the message to being quaint, not relatable and easily dismissed or worse, made into something more saccharine than substance, more sentimental than significant. “Oh, the good old days…” Thankful we’re done with them or wanting to return, neither particularly helpful or accurate.

Or I suppose we could also see this all as a Church growth strategy…

I apologize if this may seems more preachy than blogy. I’m wrestling with this for this upcoming Sunday as my congregation and I begin a week of Vacation Bible School, and as I began, in the light of a large harvest of black raspberries. So, what does all this mean?

I’m not entirely sure. But somehow those raspberries are impacting my view of the parable. If you know anything about raspberries, they’re tough. And tenacious. I’ve seen stems that have fallen on concrete root into the cracks. They also excel on the margins of changing environments, picture them for example where a woodlot and meadow meet. They are thorny and delicious. And are often “sown,” at least eventually, but the birds and other critters than eat them. What would Jesus say concerning the raspberry? I’ll continue to ponder. But for now, I’m off to eat them with yogurt.



There was tension in the atmosphere as General Synod approached, figuratively and literally, with a tornado warning during the delegates’ arrival that necessitated a short break in registration so that folks could be safely moved to lower realms within the buildings of Central College in Pella, Iowa. The storms of weather moved pass quickly but other tensions remained in the air as the opening session began the following day. Shortly after the meeting was called to session new business was brought to the floor to disinvite the minister who was selected as that week’s worship leader. The presiding officer ruled that business out of order (as he was the one to have invited her in the first place) and immediately his ruling was challenged, a vote was taken, and the reality of brokenness and disunity was palpably obvious in the nearly equally divided vote tally. Thus began the 201st Meeting of the General Synod of the Reformed Church in America in June of 2007.

Seven years later, once again gathered on the campus of Central College in Pella, Iowa for the meeting of the General Synod of the Reformed Church in America the storms were not present, but a certain tension remains.

There is much that could be shared about Synod and the wider church and the various tensions that enliven us—or sicken us, depending upon one’s view. I choose to see it as enlivening. I want to join Joseph in his account of the workings of God recorded in Genesis 50:20, “Even though you intended to do harm to me, God intended it for good, in order to preserve a numerous people, as God is doing today.” I choose to see the tensions as possibilities to bring about experiences of grace and reconciliation. I haven’t always viewed them as such…

There are particular images that for me have become emblematic of the church and the world in which we dwell. Seven years ago amidst the fraught climate of that particular General Synod meeting I encountered an old college friend and ministerial colleague. We had not kept up in the years following our college days but we were certainly aware of one another’s “presence” in the church. Over the years we had gradually moved in differing directions—in part theologically, more so in how we read scripture and our views social and political. We moved in different “camps” away from one another. (I hate using that word here, but it is accurately descriptive.) We had also grown decidedly discouraged by the direction we saw our beloved church, denomination, going. We were cynical and in good measure untrusting. Still, as is our history in the RCA, we had a relational connection. At one point during that meeting, standing in the back of Kuyper Fieldhouse during a rather dismal plenary session, we found ourselves with an arm around one another’s shoulders—you know, in that side-by-side buddy stance kind-of-way—and chatting about what we should do each believing that the church was apparently going to hell (although in opposite ways). Both being Reformed and having some sort of affection for our polity, we’d become Presbyterian (although obviously, of vastly different denominational affiliation!). It is not the image of this scene, however, of this “unity in our disunity” event that has made a lasting impression on me. Rather, it was the reaction of another friend and colleague walking by, glancing towards us, and reacting almost cartoonishly with a jaw-dropping gasp of surprise. The image of her reaction is what has stayed with me from a very challenging and discouraging synod meeting. And it gives me hope.

My old college friend and I have continued to move in opposite directions. He may just become a Presbyterian yet, or thus is the chatter around the interwebs. But not me. (No offence to the Presbyterians!) Which is not to say I’m no longer discouraged by things that happen in the RCA. I am. Even by our most recent General Synod. But it’s a measured discouragement, no longer brandished with cynicism. I’m also more hopeful. I see God doing something now and over the long haul. So I see my friend who gasped in surprise of two incredibly unlikely characters hanging out as a kind of admonishment on the church. Why should we be so surprised?

There is another image that harkens from the 2007 General Synod that looms largely in my mind. It involves an ecumenical address given to the Reformed Church delegates from a Christian Reformed Church’s representative. 2007 was the actual 150th anniversary of the CRC’s 1857 Secession and the CRC’s representative spoke not a little painfully of the brokenness that imparted to the church. What was plainly obvious however, was that the reason for division 150 years ago were no longer an issue and in hindsight, actually appeared comical. In the same light I wonder about our current tensions, how sadly comical they will appear to those who come after us.

This is not to take away from our current realities, but simply to see them through a different light.

Mary VandenBerg has written earlier on the growing unity between the CRC and RCA here on the Twelve. Wesley Granberg-Michaelson, former RCA General Secretary, has also written about it here.

I don’t mean to come across as Pollyannaish. There are significant issues that certainly divide Christians, both between denominations and within them. And not just issues, but pain that has been experienced and that continues to be inflicted by and among sisters and brothers of one Lord, one faith, one baptism. These are real. But I believe precisely because the grace of Jesus Christ is also real that we can do better.


Carrying to Synod...

The General Synod of the Reformed Church in America (RCA) and the Synod of the Christian Reformed Church in North America (CRCNA) begin meeting today at Central College in Pella, Iowa. It will be an historic event for the church as it is billed as the first since the 1857 division when the Christian Reformed Church split from the RCA. For some this fosters talk (and reaction!) of re-union and merger. (There has been extensive chatter here at the Twelve about this in the past.) Mostly it is an example of the broad reality of collaboration taking place across these two pretty similar denominations.

As a minister within the RCA I find this to be a very good thing, something we ought to celebrate. And as a delegate to General Synod I hope this can be more than inspirational dog and pony show trappings but an actual expression of what we believe and desire to live out.

That said, there will more than likely be ways of speaking about the church in the days ahead that will undoubtedly express our ministry and mission through the language of polarization and division. Partly this is a human tendency certainly, partly an aftereffect of our Reformed heritage, and especially the cultural context of this generation, we will divide ourselves as “us and them.”

We believe in unity and talk about it often enough, but we practice division and polarization.

Obviously for righteous reasons of course!

The “us and them” may sometimes be between the RCA and the CRC, but much more so are the divisions within our respective church bodies.

Therefore, going into this year’s General Synod I would like to lift up from our confessions two themes or attitudes. The first is our oft quoted First Question and Answer from the Heidelberg Confession:

Q. What is your only comfort in life and in death? A. That I am not my own, but belong—body and soul, in life and in death—to my faithful Savior, Jesus Christ. He has fully paid for all my sins with his precious blood, and has set me free from the tyranny of the devil. He also watches over me in such a way that not a hair can fall from my head without the will of my Father in heaven; in fact, all things must work together for my salvation. Because I belong to him, Christ, by his Holy Spirit,
assures me of eternal life and makes me wholeheartedly willing and ready from now on to live for him.

But I will also carry this one with me prominently:

Q&A 54 Q. What do you believe concerning "the holy catholic church"? A. I believe that the Son of God through his Spirit and Word, out of the entire human race, from the beginning of the world to its end, gathers, protects, and preserves for himself a community chosen for eternal life and united in true faith. And of this community I am and always will be a living member.

I want to remember that I and everyone else at synod or in our various churches belong to Jesus and his one holy catholic church. Simple enough, but certainly not easy.

Along with this, I’d like to request that we—myself included—not make everything about two sides. There is so much more.

Finally, I’d like to personally commend to you the following resource from Room for All, the video series entitled BODY AND SOUL: WE BELONG. Because lets face it, one of the elephants in the room that so many people seem so worried about deals with our lesbian, gay, bisexual, and transgender sisters and brothers, so here’s a helpful resource.

Now, I must get on the road. I have about 450 miles to cover before I get to Pella.


Home on Ascension Day

In the book Letter to my Daughter, a collection of 28 short essays, the great poet, activist, and human being Maya Angelou writes in one meditation entitled “Home,”
Thomas Wolfe warned in the title of America’s great novel that ‘You Can’t Go Home Again.’ I enjoyed the book but I never agreed with the title. I believe that one can never leave home. I believe that one carries the shadows, the dreams, the fears and dragons of home under one’s skin, at the extreme corners of one’s eyes and possibly in the gristle of the earlobe.

What Ms. Angelou goes on to share is much more complex than a simple quote communicates, although many a simple quote will be used in the days and weeks ahead. She was extolling a complicated story about identity, life, and meaning. On this day following her passing I grieve the loss that we have experienced and celebrate the amazing woman she was. But her words, especially these about home, are rolling around in my heart this day. Admittedly, taken out of context, but still, “one can never leave home.”

I think about home a lot. Recently, I was asked about what my vision in ministry is. I responded with hospitality and discipleship and missional stuff, etc…but when it comes down to it, I think it’s all about home. The poetry of John’s Gospel prologue says it well, “And the Word became flesh and lived among us, and we have seen his glory, the glory as of a father’s only son, full of grace and truth.” God makes God’s home with us. But this is more than just part of the Christmas story or even the Incarnation.

If you follow along the Revised Common Lectionary then you will be aware that for the last two weeks we’ve been walking with the Gospel text from John 14. It begins with Jesus saying, "Do not let your hearts be troubled. Believe in God, believe also in me. In my Father's house there are many dwelling places. If it were not so, would I have told you that I go to prepare a place for you? And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come again and will take you to myself, so that where I am, there you may be also. And you know the way to the place where I am going." From here we get Thomas’s response, “eh, no?” And Jesus’s great comeback, “"I am the way, and the truth, and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me.” Too often this text is used as a formula for or directions to heaven which seems to entirely miss its greatest thrust. It is about heaven (which I will return to in a moment). But more forcefully, it is about Jesus’s identity and God’s location. He explains, “I am in the Father and the Father is in me.” This is about God’s home, God’s home in the world, God’s home in Christ. Jesus continues to promise the Holy Spirit to his disciples. “And I will ask the Father, and he will give you another Advocate, to be with you forever. This is the Spirit of truth, whom the world cannot receive, because it neither sees him nor knows him. You know him, because he abides with you, and he will be in you.” Again, God makes God’s home with us!

Which brings me to today and why this is particularly on my mind and heart. It’s because of the Ascension. My local congregation annually joins our Lutheran neighbours on the Day of the Ascension of the Lord. We worship together with me preaching and presiding at the Table. I correct them on their theology where they have not been Reformed enough. (No, I don’t really do that. Much.)

But today especially, I’m thinking about home, and why it makes a difference. We confess regularly in the creed,

I believe in Jesus Christ, his only Son, our Lord. He was conceived by the power of the Holy Spirit and born of the Virgin Mary. He suffered under Pontius Pilate, was crucified, died, and was buried. He descended to the dead. On the third day he rose again. He ascended into heaven, and is seated at the right hand of the Father. He will come again to judge the living and the dead.

He ascended into heaven. It’s almost a throwaway line, what with all the emphasis we put on it. But of course not. We the church often see ourselves as sojourners in a strange land that is not our home. And certainly in a way we are. A wandering Aramean was my father… I think often of the words to a rather dated contemporary Christian song,

Nobody tells you when you get born here How much you'll come to love it And how you'll never belong here So I call you my country And I'll be lonely for my home And I wish that I could take you there with me

And I'll sing His song, and I'll sing His song In the land of my sojourn

Sojourn is part of our faith experience. But in the fullness of Christ's experience, it is also part of his. But not in the way we often think of it. Or at least not how I usually thought about it. I have often thought about what it meant for God in Christ to make his home among us, while spiritually real and true, it was nonetheless somehow temporary. Jesus returns to the Father. But I’ve come to think differently about this now. Jesus’s ascension is like a sojourn for him going back to his Father’s home, well and good, for there’s work to be done. But he will come back again, he will come back home, home with us. With the ascension, Jesus brings his entire humanity to God the Father. Joined with Christ, we have access to the the throne. God is with us. We are with God. We are home.

All this to say, home is important. We carry home with in us, God’s home. And as such I agree with Maya Angelou, “I believe that one can never leave home.” God’s home with us.

Happy Ascension Day!


A Slippery Slope


Sin can be a slippery slope.

I can still picture it, the baseboard that ran along the outer side of stairwell. I was a kid on a grade school trip to Philadelphia, birthplace of freedom and all. Along with Independence Hall, the Liberty Bell, I think some shop where Betsy Ross once lived, a post office, and something Benjamin Franklin related, we toured an historic Quaker Meeting House. Really, everything was “historic” here and I don’t actually remember much about the meeting house, what extraordinary exactly had taken place there or who famous had done it. But I do remember that architectural detail of the outer side baseboard that ran along only one of the stairways. Back in the day in this Quaker meeting the congregants sat separate from one another, men on one side, women on the other in the largish assembly room. Kept separate, there were even two stairwells on opposite sides from each other from the interior entrance up to the second floor meeting space. Men were to use one side, women the other. But on the women’s side was that baseboard, rising only a few inches but enough so that while walking up the stairs, and raising their skirts in the process, should any ankle be displayed, it would not be visible from the men’s side. Ankle! It’s a slippery slope from glimpses of ankle to sin, therefore the need for that baseboard.

It seems precious, that building adaptation, to keep folks in line. 

Some years later after that school trip I remember hearing about a couple, dear friends of our family, were getting divorce. It was surprising and sad news. In the resultant conversations that followed one statement stood out to my young self said by someone I respected. “Well you know, things all changed when women started working outside the home.” It was stated as a lament. It’s odd that twenty-five years later, that statement still resounds in my memory. Things all change. Allow a woman to work outside the home, it ultimately leads to divorce. It’s a slippery slope.

I was ten when my family first started to attend church. We wound up at the grand old one in my hometown, white clapboard building situated on a hill on Church Street. That place, those people, they formed my faith. They nurtured and trained me through my youth and teen years. A moderate congregation of moderate people: moderately right of center, moderately evangelical, moderately traditional. Stubbornly moderate, cantankerous at times, but caring, still espousing a strong independent streak, which I account to their founding by Connecticut Yankees. Famers and factory workers, small business owners and teachers, the town’s doctor and lawyer and the local pizzeria’s waitress all worshipping and working alongside each other. This was not a progressive or liberal or conservative or radical congregation in any way (not that there’s necessarily anything wrong with that). It was simply church. But here’s an element that stands out, both back then and still to me now: half of the leadership were men, the other half women. Half of the Session were women. Half of the Deacons were women. Half of the Trustees, women. I so appreciated growing up in an environment where this just seemed like the norm.

I suppose this too was a slippery slope however. The congregation had long past worked through issues of leadership and gender, mostly, until in the early ‘90’s the pastor left, who was a male, and they got an interim who was a woman. A small kerfuffle resulted and I learned the issues of gender and leadership were not as resolved as I had thought, at least not when it came to ministers. But over time the church did the work of being church and this too has all worked out. They called and installed a new pastor earlier this year, the first woman to hold that office. I was glad she was there to help at my grandmother’s funeral last month. 

Sin can be a slippery slope. You let a little bit in, you let a little bit go, and quickly it can snowball. I get those early Quakers in Philadelphia. Sure it was just a ankle, but sometimes, an ankle is more than an ankle.

As Jes wrote about yesterday and as the news media has been reporting, albeit rather belatedly, I have had the 276 kidnapped Nigerian girls in my thoughts and prayers. And I have also been thinking about the instigators of this horrific evil, Boko Haram. And I’ve been thinking about the slippery slope. And of how that slope runs in different directions. Boko Haram appears almost as a caricature of itself. So staunchly ideologically backwards that it is grotesque. But if you could roll the metaphorical snowball back up the slope, where does it begin? How does this ideology start? Or perhaps a better question, how does it roll of course? Where does it slip?

And obviously, I’m not speaking here simply of Nigeria. Or even just of Islam (a beautiful and rich religion that this group is not a bit representative of.) I’m wondering about myself, about my culture, my church and religion, about the ways in which sin is a slippery slope and how ideas and values can veer off course. Allow this much and THIS could happen. I wonder how women can be identified so much so as the other as to be primarily complements and not appropriate in their own right for (insert whatever role here: deacon, minister, CEO, President, etc.) I wonder how others can be labeled “sin” and thus, anathema. I’m wondering, because I’m a pretty moderate kind of guy given the congregation of my formation, how and where I’m participating in this all. And what needs to change.

Sin is a slippery slope. No denying it. But I suppose at some point one has to identify what a sin is. Is the showing of ankle? A woman having parity in a marriage? The workplace? Parity in ministry? In education? Certainly, I don’t believe so. Boko Haram would. And so would many others, not so atrocious and dastardly. Even those within my own denomination, my own church. Sin is indeed a slippery slope.

For a little more information on what's happening in Nigeria and some background, there is this round up from the Church of the Brethren. As well, I found this Nicholas Kristof piece from earlier this week enlightening and challenging. From it: 

It’s estimated that 100,000 girls under 18 years old in the United States are trafficked into commercial sex each year. So let’s fight to #BringBackOurGirls in Nigeria but also here in the United States and around the world.