THOUGHTS FROM THA REV

STAY THIRSTY MY FRIENDS

2012-01-03T17:56:00.000-08:00

(This piece is also featured in my Psychology Today blog http://tinyurl.com/7m9cdpx as well as via sermon podcast http://www.mabcnyc.org/mabc-audio.htm)

     “People hang on his every word, even the prepositions.”

     “He lives vicariously through himself.”

     “He bowls overhand.”

     “He is the most interesting man in the world.”

Knocking out my prior two favorite commercials (the eTrade Baby and the original Geico caveman – much superior to the new) is the Dos Equis Beer “Most Interesting Man in the World” ad campaign. Described as a cross between Ernest Hemingway and Don Draper, the commercial features a gray-haired, rough-hewn spokesman who at the end of the ad, smiles, leans into the camera holding a Dos Equis and says “stay thirsty my friends.” Ah yes, the perfect New Year’s resolution.

For some reason at the beginning of each New Year, I tend to get wrapped up in framing the “perfect" resolution list. Yet every year, no matter how much I try, the list always devolves into predictable mind-numbing stuff like "lose ten pounds, read more, become more spiritual."

No more.

In 2012, I've decided to do something different. No long lists, no flow charts. This year I am following the timeless, yet simple Dos Equis wisdom: "stay thirsty my friends."

Okay, yes it encourages us to go out and buy beer. Worse things could happen. But this phrase also offers us all some fresh insight. What if we committed to "stay thirsty" -- intellectually, emotionally and spiritually thirsty -- throughout 2012? How much richer our lives (and our world) might be.

To be intellectually thirsty is probably the easiest of the three. We just take a lesson from little kids. Somewhere around the age of five, we all find a new word – a favorite word – that we begin to use more than any other. And that word is “why.”

“Why is the sun yellow?”

“Why do stars twinkle?”

“Why does Grandpa stay in the bathroom so long?”

At that early age we aren’t scared of questions. The looming dread of seeming ignorant has not set in.

Sadly in adult life that dread takes center stage. We confuse curiosity with ignorance. Newsflash: questions do not demonstrate ignorance. The lack of questions does. Voltaire perhaps said it best: “judge a man by his questions, not his answers.”

When we stop asking questions, we stop learning. And when we stop learning, we stop living. Reclaim your sense of curiosity, ask the questions, stay intellectually thirsty my friends.

Staying emotionally thirsty is a bit tougher. And please understand by emotional thirst I don’t mean clingy. I mean emotionally available.

To be thirsty means to be empty. And sometimes we need to do just that – empty ourselves of ourselves. Doing this allows us to become thirsty again; thirsty, that is, for others. If we are thirsty for others, we seek them out, we focus more intensely, we listen more deeply. It’s like the prayer of Saint Francis: “Grant that we may not so much seek to be understood as to understand.”

What does this mean in practical terms? It means think about someone else for a change. Make a point to actually listen. What are their fears? Their dreams? Their joys? When we focus only on ourselves, we lose one of the greatest gifts of life – the gift of relationship; the ability to love and be loved; the healing of community. Empty yourself of yourself. Try and listen to understand. Stay emotionally thirsty my friends.

The most difficult of the three may be maintaining spiritual thirst. If we are spiritually thirsty, we crave meaning and purpose. Sadly this world is not a place that nurtures that thirst. It is easy to fall into the trap of feeling powerless and insignificant. Everything in the news is negative; every story is about how huge the problems are and how no one has a solution. Eventually we get to a point where we just don’t care anymore – we lose our thirst for meaning.

Not to get too religious for the blogosphere, but if I ever feel insignificant I think of the phrase in the bible that says “indeed, the very hairs of your head are counted.” (Luke 12:7) I mean why would God or the universe or whoever take the time to do that unless we had some importance?

A more philosophical approach was taken by the Transcendentalist Thoreau who acknowledged that “The mass of men lead lives of quiet desperation. What is called resignation is confirmed desperation.”

Yet it was the Transcendentalist that also believed deeply in the power and sanctity of the individual. As Emerson wrote, “Be yourself; no base imitator of another, but your best self. There is something which you can do better than another. Listen to the inward voice and bravely obey that. Do the things at which you are great, not what you were never made for.”

Just for a moment put aside your 21st century skepticism and listen: Each of us was created for something unique and important. Each us of us has a role in this world, whether we realize it or not. The good news is that our understanding of our role (or lack thereof) has no bearing on our significance. Aware, or not, we go forward. We search for meaning. That’s why we’re here. That’s what we do. Or at least that is what we do if we stay spiritually thirsty my friends.

It really comes down to a question of how you want to live your life. Do you want to live in an insular manner, locked down with all “the” answers? Or do you want to stay intellectually thirsty and ask questions, stay emotionally thirsty and listen, stay spiritually thirsty and care?

I challenge us all at the beginning of this New Year to stay open, stay curious, and stay engaged. Make this your 2012 resolution. Commit to it today. What do you have to lose? A stale, predictable resolution list? Please. My 2012 resolution (and I hope yours) is to stay thirsty my friends.

Happy New Year to you all!

WHAT ARE YOU GETTING BABY JESUS FOR THE HOLIDAYS?

2011-12-06T10:18:00.000-08:00

This blog entry was also featured in my Huffington Post Column at: http://goo.gl/13zK3

Stampedes. Fist fights. Pepper Spray.

Is it a political coup? An Occupy Wall Street riot? The running of the bulls in Pamplona?

No it’s Christmas shopping 2011.

One would think after two million years of evolution that human beings would have transcended such nonsense. Sadly our fight or flight genes continue to be driven into a frenzy by the stress of our lengthy holiday shopping lists.

Everyone is included on these ridiculously long lists, from the mailman to our co-workers to our great Aunt Hazalene who we haven't seen in years. Everyone, that is, except one obvious name. Here’s a hint: look at the first six letters of the word “CHRISTmas.”

I am afraid the baby Jesus gets the short end of the stick during the holidays. Given it is his birthday, don't you think he should be on the list?

And please understand, this is not just an idea for Christians. Notwithstanding what you believe about who Jesus was or what he represented, at a minimum he was a wise prophet that offered the world healing wisdom; wisdom like love thy neighbor, judge not, blessed are the peacemakers. Good stuff. So if we are buying the newspaper delivery person a gift, why not add baby Jesus to the list?

Now ... WHAT to get him? An Ipod shuffle? The Twilight Saga Collector’s Edition? An Xbox with Batman: Arkham City? We could also copy the wise men and snag some gold and good smelling frankincense – or by today’s terms a gold pinky ring and cologne by Usher.

While these are all nice gift ideas, honestly, it’s the baby Jesus. We can do better than that.

So what is the ultimate present to give the baby Jesus? And notice I said GIVE him, not buy him. The best gifts are ones that have nothing to do with what money can buy.

To date, the best gift guide I have found is contained in the book of Micah: "What does the Lord require of you but to do justice, love kindness and walk humbly with your God." How about putting acts of justice, kindness and humility on your list? These are things that the baby Jesus would love way more than an Xbox.

How about the gift of “doing justice”? And keep in mind, the scripture says “do justice.” This is not a John Lennon approach like imagine justice. This is about taking action.

My friend and filmmaker Dan Karslake is working on a new movie entitled “Every Three Seconds.” (http://everythreeseconds.net/ ) Tragically every three seconds someone dies of hunger and poverty. Yet the greatest tragedy is that today, right now, we have the means to stop it.

The film highlights everyday people who are in fact trying to stop it. And keep in mind, these are not people who started out saying, “I will change the world.” These are just folks like you and me who simply stepped up to the opportunities presented and did something. Kind of like the great words from Rosa Parks: “All I was trying to do is get home from work.”

What are some “justice” gift ideas? Take advantage of the opportunities right in front of you and do something about those in need. The easiest way? Volunteer. One hour out of your week won’t tick up your stress levels that much. In fact, focusing on others might well reduce them. For a list of suggestions, check out http://www.nationalserviceresources.org/volunteer-recruitment-websites . A true holiday gift is an act of justice – one human being to another.

Or how about the gift of kindness? This may be harder than we think. A recent Consumer Reports poll showed that of the top holiday stresses, “being nice” ranked in the top ten.

How hard can this be? We’re only talking about a few modest acts of kindness. Like the recent media report of the Santa who learned sign language. The story explained that a local school for the deaf was invited to visit, but the children were not told Santa knew sign language. When the first child climbed on his lap, Santa signed, “what would you like for Christmas?” and the child’s face just lit up.

“Kindness” gift ideas? Learn sign language would be at the top of the list. But if you don’t have time for this, then how about just learn to speak to people; people like those who take the blunt of the holiday stress, like bus drivers, store clerks, and waiters/waitresses. Even a simple question like “how is your day?” or “how are you doing?” shows that someone noticed… someone cares.

If none of these ideas strike you, how about give the baby Jesus the gift of humility. Jesus looked at humility much like the Chinese philosopher Lao Tzu. Both believed that true energy or power came not from raising ourselves up, but from lowering ourselves in service. Lao Tzu used water to explain it:

"The rivers and seas lead the hundred streams, because they are skillful at staying low."

These streams flow willingly into the rivers and seas not because the rivers and seas hold themselves up, but because they lower themselves in the land, so that the water might naturally flow to them.

“Humility” gift ideas? I defer to Therese Borchard who writes a wonderful blog entitled “Beyond Blue.” One of her recent posts was “Six ways to deal with difficult family members during the holidays.” (http://tinyurl.com/79p27xu ) She begins with words by George Burns: “Happiness is having a large, loving, caring, close-knit family in another city.”

She then goes on to suggest several ideas for dealing with family stress, such as: Don’t take everything personally, wait before you speak, and my personal fav: when in doubt carry a blankie, like a favorite photo or token to give you an extra shot of strength.

Never underestimate the power of a little humility.

The bottom line? Put the baby Jesus on your Christmas list. Come on – it’s the easiest gift on your list. You don’t have to risk the stampedes or fist fights or pepper spray, as this is about giving the gift of yourself. It’s like 1 Timothy 4:14 says: “neglect not the gift that is within thee.”

We have all been given unique gifts – gifts that make the best and only true holiday gifts. Reach deep within; find what you have to give; quietly cultivate your sense of justice, kindness and humility … and put the baby Jesus on your list.

This blog was given as a sermon at the Madison Avenue Baptist Church in NYC. http://www.mabcnyc.org/mabc-audio.htm

A VETERAN'S DAY MESSAGE

2011-11-12T08:37:00.000-08:00

This message by Carl T. Solberg, Vietnam Veteran, will be given as a sermon at the Madison Avenue Baptist Church in NYC

I was honored when Susan asked if I would like to offer a message for this Veteran's Day. As I am a veteran, you might expect my message to be straightforward - a gung-ho voice celebrating our military, evoking the patriotic feelings we experience when the Veteran's Day parade goes by.

My view is a bit more complex. As a Christian and a veteran, I have found the issues of war and service and faith complicated . I have two themes for this Veteran's Day message: as Americans, we should support our vets; and as people of faith, we should think long and hard about wars, particularly the voluntary kind.

First, I believe whole heartedly that we should support our vets, current and future. Not long ago I was on a domestic plane flight, and before leaving the gate the pilot announced that we had to wait a few more minutes, for some special passengers. Shortly the hostesses ushered into the cabin a group of young men and women, wearing the fatigue uniforms of our nation's military, as the pilot announced that they were headed for service in Iraq. The passengers broke into applause. The pilot - obviously himself a veteran - poked his head into the passenger cabin to watch, with a smile. We were all proud of them, our young folks heading overseas to serve and do battle, for us.

My experience was a bit different.

My service came in the Vietnam War, the most unpopular war in American history. When I traveled around the country in my uniform, no one cheered, no one clapped; people looked anywhere but at me. The rare kind word or smile came only from veterans. When I came home in 1970 from my combat tour in Vietnam, we got off a transport plane at an air force base outside Seattle and walked under a big sign that read, Welcome home, soldier! America is proud of you! 24 hours later, I was dropped off at the Seattle airport by an army bus, and I stood on the sidewalk, wearing a new uniform for my trip home and clutching my new orders, discharging me from the Army.

I wasn't quite ready to go home. My head was spinning from the abrupt transition from the jungle, thousands of miles away, to a cool April evening in the Pacific Northwest. I found a pay phone and called a college friend, who was then a graduate student in Seattle. Before long Bob was pulling up in his car at the curb. He did a wonderful thing for me - he took me skiing in the nearby Cascade Mountains for a couple of days. It was a great transition - everywhere I looked people were smiling, no one was shooting, and it couldn't have been farther from the jungle.

But before we went skiing, we stopped at the house Bob was sharing with several other graduate students. Bob introduced me - this is my friend Toby - he just got home from Vietnam! None of them would shake my hand.

The sign I'd walked under - welcome home, soldier, America is proud of you - was a lie. America was not proud of me - America was ashamed of me. Definitely a Veteran's Day contradiction.

I started law school that fall; I didn't tell anyone I was a veteran. I pushed Vietnam into the back of my mind, and buckled down to building a life for myself. Some 15 years later, another vet stuck his head into my office and called my attention to the Veteran's Day parade outside; he said there were Vietnam veterans marching, and they were being cheered. Time had passed, attitudes had changed. But I will never be able to shake the memory that I once put everything I had on the line for my country, and my country was not grateful.

Vietnam - and Korea - were departures for Americans. The wars that had gone before were easy to understand: the Revolution to make us free, the Civil War to keep our country together and abolish slavery, - and above all World War II: the worldwide struggle against tyranny, totalitarianism, hatred, cruelty, the Holocaust. And all Americans dug deep for that one.

I think of my grandmother, who lived in Eau Claire, WI her entire life. She had 3 children; all 3 went to war - one son to England to train with the 101st Airborne Division for the invasion of France, another son on a destroyer in the Pacific, and a daughter, my mother, in the Red Cross on the distant Pacific island of New Caledonia. And one day an Army car pulled up outside, and an Army officer got out, along with the pastor from Grandma's church. They gave her the bad news - her son John had been killed in action in Normandy. He's buried in the American Cemetery at Omaha Beach. On his cross, below his name, rank, unit and dates, it says Wisconsin. When you look around at the other crosses, some of them Stars of David, you see Texas, and California, and Iowa, and North Carolina. A long way from Eau Claire, WI. A war that touched all Americans, and that was easy to understand. Not like Korea or Vietnam.

Don't get me wrong: I'm proud to have served, whatever the merits of the war. I hold with Stephen Decatur, the soldier and statesman who made his reputation by flushing pirate bands out of Tripoli in the War of 1812. Decatur once gave a toast: to my country: may she always be right, but right or wrong, my country. I'm proud to have served my country. Support the vets; it's the right thing to do.

That said, back the Vets, but question the wars.

The truth is - wars are a little too easy for us to wage these days. They're fought on the other side of the world, far from our daily view, by volunteers. I always felt that we're very lucky to live in America, and that we citizens have an obligation to give something back, be it military service, alternative service, Peace Corps, Teacher Corps, whatever.

Our lives today are pretty cushy, and apart from 9/11 we're far removed from the trouble spots of the world. We have to read history to remind ourselves that a lot of blood was spilled here in the United States by our forefathers to get us to the liberties and luxuries we enjoy today. New York City was occupied by our enemy during the Revolution. There were battles on Long Island, in White Plains; George Washington moved his army across the Hudson River right where the GW Bridge is today. We haven't had a war on American soil since the Civil War. In today's global society, we send our troops far away.

And the troops we send are volunteers. The bulk of service in the Vietnam war, at the level of the ordinary soldier, was borne by draftees, like me. We didn't volunteer. We went under compulsion. Imagine if you can that today every male as he turns 18 gets a letter saying, you're 1A - you're ready to go; you can be called at any moment. And you will be called.

Today there is no draft. Today's wars are borne by our professional military, supplemented by the Reserve and the National Guard, all of them volunteers.

One thing ties all wars together: they tend to be declared by old people, our politicians - and fought by young people. A former business colleague of mine, a venture capital banker then in his 60s, had a brilliant idea. Bill pointed out that wars have always been fought by young men - why? Young men think they'll never die, they think war will be an adventure. Bill suggested we send our old people off to fight instead. Think about it: older people are less likely to cooperate. Picture the World War I scene of the troops in the trenches; an officer shouts, over the top, boys! Charge! The troops in the trenches, average age say 65, respond: my back's a little stiff today, it's not really a good day for a charge. Maybe tomorrow. They're also more likely to argue: why should we charge? They've got machine guns! It's dangerous, not to mention pointless. This idea could be the end of warfare - at long last.

Support the vets. But the best thing we could do for our vets is to save their lives; decide NOT to wage a voluntary war on the other side of the world. Question the wars our politicians propose.

These are important moral issues. Maybe we could find some guidance in our faith. Well - if there are any two features of this world more intertwined than religion and war, I don't know what they are. In the 2000 years since the birth of Christ, try to find a war that wasn't fought over religion; that didn't invoke religion on one or both sides; that didn't represent people trying to pull God into their human disputes.

There's hardly been a period in Christian history without a Christian war going on somewhere: Christians against Muslims, Catholics against Protestants, Protestants against Protestants. Everybody against other faiths, considered non-believers, like Aztecs, Incas and other Native Americans. Wars without declaring war, like the Inquisition, in which the only Christian church of the time virtually declared war on its own people over minor matters of church dogma, all in the name of Christ.

And if the war wasn't directly over religion, religion was invoked, often by both sides. Think of the Civil War, with famously pious generals - mostly Protestants - on both sides praying to God for strength to kill each other. And thanking God afterwards for giving them the victory.

All this involves some basic human presumptions, none of them consistent with the teachings of Christ: the presumption that God would approve of war; the presumption that God would take sides in a war; the presumption that God would want to get involved in such human stupidity at all.

There's always been comfort for Christian warmongers in the Old Testament, in the concept of an eye for an eye, and in the many accounts of ancient wars: the righteous extinction by God Himself of the pharaoah's army at the Red Sea. The reduction of Jericho. David and Goliath. Yet the Old Testament also has Moses on the mountaintop receiving the Ten Commandments, one of the most memorable: thou shalt not kill. Not, thou shalt not kill Christians. Not, thou shalt not kill good guys. Thou shalt not kill, plain and simple.

And then there's the New Testament: the life of Christ, the ultimate pacifist. Can anyone reading the Beatitudes think that Christ would think it was OK to kill Southerners? Or Northerners? Or members of another faith, or members of no faith?

The teachings of Christ - the very essence of Christianity - tell us that killing is a sin. Despite 2000 years of human effort to the contrary, there is no justification in the story of Christ for killing each other. Quite the contrary.

Of course, Jesus wasn't there on Christmas Eve of 1969 when my little fire base in the Central Highlands of Vietnam was attacked. Or maybe He was there, and we just didn't have time to consult. There wasn't an opportunity at Pearl Harbor for our soldiers and sailors to ask what to do. Is it wrong to defend yourself? To defend your country?

Like most American veterans, I consider myself a religious man (there's a famous saying in the military: there are no atheists in foxholes) - and so I am conflicted about Veteran's Day. I'm conflicted about the Vietnam War, torn between pride in my service, shame at my country's reaction, regret that my country saw fit to spend my service in so poor a cause, guilt at surviving the war when so many did not. I'm conflicted about the use of Christianity throughout its history by my fellow humans as an excuse for systematically violating the most fundamental precept of our faith.

That's a lot of conflict, for a holiday. There's a parade, with bands, waving flags, cheering children, and a lot of old men marching in uniforms that are a bit too tight. The Shriners show up at a lot of these parades, and buzz around Fifth Avenue in their little cars. Maybe I ought not to take myself so seriously; maybe I ought to forget about contradictions and conflicts, so natural to our human condition. Maybe I just ought to bask in the cheers and thanks of my countrymen, however flawed, and not worry about my equally flawed self. After all, we're only human. And maybe that's the answer: even God doesn't expect us to match Jesus's idealistic teachings - just to do our best. And that's what our veterans did, all of them, in every war: we did our best. So let's do our best for them, take care of our veterans, and maybe at long last, we can all believe in that sign: welcome home, soldier! America is proud of you.

This blog entry can also be seen on Day 1 at http://day1.org/3420-a_veterans_day_message

BLINDSIDED: How to Recover from the Hits You Never Saw Coming

2011-10-24T07:02:00.000-07:00

Taken from my blog at Psychology Today

http://www.psychologytoday.com/blog/laugh-your-way-well-being/201110/blindsided

My first true love was a used cobalt blue 1976 Ford Mustang. We had a beautiful love affair my sophomore year in college that lasted four months, three days and two and a half hours. Sadly, the relationship ended -- abruptly -- when I was blindsided crossing an intersection.

What a strange and unsettling experience it is to be blindsided. I didn't see the car coming, nor did I have any time to react or prepare. In the blink of an eye, my world turned upside down. Physically I was okay, but the accident made its mark emotionally. My sense of security - my belief that I could protect myself, that I could control my world -- was undermined. It took years to get it back.

We can be blindsided from what seems like the safest of places:

     Friendships: one day all seems fine, the next day stormy words come slamming in;

     Relationships: one moment things seem fine, the next your partner or spouse is walking out the door with their possessions in a box.

     Even the closest of family can blindside us with pain.

It's too bad that life is not more like a cell phone contract where you can simply get insurance against "unforeseen circumstances." You spill green curry on the phone, drop it in the bathtub, leave it on the bus? No problem. File a claim and get a new one. No pain. No prob.

Sadly, life ain't like that. We can't control our world, we don't always know what is going to happen and yes, we are going to be blindsided in this life. That is part of the gig of being a human being alive on this earth. Welcome to it.

So what can we do about it? The way I see it we have two choices: We can hunker down in our emotional bomb shelters, closing ourselves off physically, emotionally, spiritually. Or we can find another way.

I am reminded of words of Nelson Mandela: "You are a child of God. Your playing small does not serve the world." What if Mandela had allowed his heart to be locked down with anger and fear after he was released from his brutal twenty-seven years in Robben Island prison? How much dimmer the world would be today.

The same is true in our lives. There are people in this world that need our love, our words, our gifts, and our light. Not just any gifts -- our gifts. If we closet ourselves away in fear, these gifts are wasted and the world is the lesser for it.

To put ourselves out into the world is risky. It's dangerous. We could (and probably will) get hurt. But that is the price of a well-lived life. That is the price of being fully human.

As the poet Edgar Lee Masters wrote in The George Gray,

I have studied many times
The marble which was chiseled for me-

A boat with a furled sail at rest in a harbor.

In truth it pictures not my destination

But my life.

For love was offered me and I shrank from its disillusionment;

Sorrow knocked at my door, but I was afraid;

Ambition called to me, but I dreaded the chances.

Yet all the while I hungered for meaning in my life.

And now I know that we must lift the sail

And catch the winds of destiny

Wherever they drive the boat.

To put meaning in one's life may end in madness,

But life without meaning is the torture

Of restlessness and vague desire-

It is a boat longing for the sea and yet afraid.

Based on a sermon given at the Madison Avenue Baptist Church (NYC)
Podcast at: http://itunes.apple.com/podcast/madison-avenue-baptist-church/id280293489

THE ROAD AHEAD

2011-09-30T12:33:00.000-07:00

This is an excerpt from last Sunday's sermon, "Motorcycle Meditations." Podcast available at:

(http://itunes.apple.com/podcast/madison-avenue-baptist-church/id280293489)

     We were on the last day of our recent cross-country motorcycle trip; trying to get to the Sioux Falls airport so I could catch a flight back to NYC. Running a bit late, of course we found ourselves behind a line of traffic on a tiny country road. One by one the cars passed around the slow driver. Finally we came up behind the impediment: a beat-up old pickup truck. All you could see from behind were two hands on the steering wheel, a tuft of white hair and next to that -- two pointy ears.

     As we passed I had to laugh. The truck was being driven by a tiny little woman who was laughing and talking to her companion, a scruffy brown dog. But my laughter was not so much from the image of the driver and her passenger, but from something surprising about the truck itself: there were no rearview mirrors – only a few wires hanging out of the sides where apparently mirrors were once attached.

     As I got on the plane and prepared for the onslaught of LaGuardia, I thought about this tiny little woman driving this beat-up old truck; how she was totally oblivious to the traffic turmoil behind; how her only focus was the joy of her companion beside her and the gifts of the road in front of her. It's not a bad lesson.

     Given all the baggage we tend to carry around about the past, it made me wonder: How might our lives be different if we took off our rearview mirrors? What would happen if we stopped worrying about what has been and started enjoying what is here and now? Perhaps we might find a little joy like that woman in the truck.   It wouldn't take that much effort. All we would need to do is forget what's behind us and focus on the road ahead.

We Be of One Blood, Ye and I

2011-09-05T14:43:00.000-07:00

Taken from my blog on Psychology Today:

http://www.psychologytoday.com/blog/laugh-your-way-well-being/201109/we-be-one-blood-ye-and-i

I am not a blood kind of person. I don't like Steven King movies, I've never read Twilight, and I don't watch CSI. That said, last week I may have changed my mind.

I noticed a piece last Wednesday in the New York Times about a surprising impact from hurricane Irene. In addition to the downed trees and power outages, one of the unexpected ramifications in New York City was a shortage in the local blood banks. Due to the shutdown of the MTA, many of the local blood drives had been cancelled. Consequently, the blood supply was in "dire need" of resupply. http://cityroom.blogs.nytimes.com/2011/08/31/urgent-call-for-blood-donations/

Wondering how such a crisis was handled, I did a little research on the Red Cross website. While most blood supplies are maintained locally, when communities aren't able to sustain sufficient levels they sometimes have to look for outside help. This may mean help from another city or state, or even from another country. Last year, for example, the American Red Cross sent emergency shipments of blood to Haiti to help the earthquake victims.

The realities of blood sharing offer a poignant lesson on the common bonds of humanity, especially when you consider these two questions: Where does the blood come from and who does it save?

Blood types don't break down along racial or ethnic lines. They don't follow bounds of politics or religion. We not only share the same blood as our families, but we share the same blood as those who we believe to be strangers: those from a different culture, those who speak a different language, even those who worship differently than ourselves. Who knows ... a pro-choice, anti-war, feminist Wicca priestess might give blood in Height Ashbury and save the life of a right wing polygamist in Utah.

Blood crosses all boundaries; it bridges all barriers; no matter who you are or where you come from, blood is the one thing we all share. It's like Mowgli's famous line in the Jungle book: "We be of one blood, ye and I."

As we all know, this week marks the tenth anniversary of 9/11. In a world where separation, fear and judgment are the norm, we must find a tangible way to remind ourselves of this shared human bond.

One way to do this? Give blood.

Beginning this week, a special nationwide blood drive will be held. But this is not just any blood drive, this is a blood drive sponsored by the Muslim community entitled "Muslims for Life." http://muslimsforlife.org/ / In an attempt to collect 10,000 units of blood in the month of September, Muslim groups across the country are offering open blood drives to honor the victims of 9/11. It's not only a way to offer the gift of life; it is a way to make a statement about human solidarity.

I've changed my mind; I am a blood kind of person. And on this tenth anniversary of 9/11, perhaps you will become a blood kind of person too. Remember this shared connection. Remember our common bond. In the end, our conduct as human beings comes down to two basic choices: do we give blood or spill it? Let it be the former, for "We be of one blood, Ye and I."

The Lifeboat of Laughter: A Reflection on the Tenth Anniversary of 9/11

2011-08-31T07:44:00.000-07:00

Taken from my article in "Read the Spirit" http://shrvl.com/S435q

The day after 9/11, I was working for the Red Cross taking inbound calls for missing persons in the fallen towers. Somewhere mid-morning I received a call from a woman whose husband was missing. Her call was like all the others I had received: she offered a description of him, information about where he worked, what time he left. Then something totally unexpected happened. She began to laugh.

“Oh, I forgot to tell you! He left the house with the worst tie on. It was this horrible green color with flamingos. I told him it didn’t match,” she laughed, “but you know men.”

I was so stunned, I didn’t know what to say. For several moments we sat at opposite ends of the phone line in silence. Finally she said, “I’m sorry. Maybe laughter seems inappropriate right now. But it’s all my family and I have left.”

I learned something about grief—and about laughter—that day. While most of us think of laughing as something we do only in comedy clubs, in fact laughter may be the most powerful healing tool we have. For some it’s a way of lifting the crushing burden of crisis to allow for a brief moment of reprieve. For others, it is a tool to help get through the stages for grief. For the woman on the other end of my phone line, it was a lifeboat in a great sea of despair.

Since that day, I have lived and worked in New York City and have witnessed first-hand the pains of healing and transition, especially the violent reactions to our Muslim brothers and sisters. If I have one hope for our city, our nation and our world, it is that in the years to come we may find a way to dialogue, to listen and eventually, together, to laugh.

Some may bristle at that suggestion. For many, to laugh with someone means you forgive them—that all is okay. In fact, laughter is much more complex. In its purest form, laughter is a not about giving up, it is about opening up.

As a minister and also a professional comedian, I’ve found a great example of this power. A few years after 9/11, I started working with a standup rabbi and a Muslim comic in the “Laugh in Peace” tour. Created by Rabbi Bob Alper, “Laugh in Peace” is an interfaith comedy show targeted at building bridges between diverse communities. Our audiences span every imaginable face: Jews, Christians, Muslims, Buddhists, Hindus, Atheists. And for two short hours, the differences are forgotten and we all laugh together.

The bottom line? Humor highlights our commonalties. When we laugh with someone, whether it is a stranger, a friend, or an enemy, our worlds overlap for a tiny, but significant moment. It is then that our differences fade and our common connections gleam forth. As the poet W.H. Auden wrote, “Love your crooked neighbor with your own crooked heart.”

There is much healing left to do. And many hearts are still broken. But on this—the tenth anniversary of 9/11—we all face one simple question: Will we leave a legacy of retribution or one of restoration? It is my deepest hope that we will not give up, but open up; open up our minds to understanding, open up our hearts to the stranger and open up our spirits to wholeness and healing.

Give our children the legacy they deserve. Show them the tools to heal and move forward. Give them (and ourselves) permission to laugh. In the end it may be the lifeboat that keeps us all afloat.

FEMALE JET PILOT? SURE. PREACHER? NO.

2011-08-10T10:41:00.000-07:00

Taken from my blog on Huffington Post:

http://www.huffingtonpost.com/rev-susan-sparks/southern-baptist-female-clergy_b_923021.html

One third of the U.S. Supreme Court justices are women; more than fifty female astronauts have traveled into space; and forty-one women have won the Nobel Peace Prize. But place a woman in a pulpit and blood pressure and eyebrows immediately begin to rise; rise, that is, within the religious tradition of my upbringing: the Southern Baptists.

The current position statement on women by the Southern Baptist Convention ("SBC") states that "Scripture teaches that a woman's role is not identical to that of men in every respect, and that pastoral leadership is assigned to men." ( http://www.sbc.net/aboutus/pswomen.asp )

Today -- in 2011 -- the road to ordination in the Southern Baptist Church remains strewn with women who have been turned down or, worse, who have been ordained only to be ousted from the denomination. Consider the case of twenty-eight year old Rev. Bailey Nelson who was recently called as the Senior Pastor of Flat Rock Baptist Church in Mount Airy, North Carolina. Within two weeks, her church was summarily kicked out of the local Baptist Association for violating scriptural guidelines that they believe reserve the role of pastor to male. (http://www.abpnews.com/content/view/6626/ ) "We're getting letters from all over the world voicing concern and support," Nelson said. "The outpouring has been overwhelming."

Rev. Nelson is not alone. I remember at an early age telling a vacation bible school teacher that "I was trying to decide between being a minister or a jet pilot." She smiled and said, "well, girls can be jet pilots, but God only calls men to preach."

Eventually I decided against the jet pilot career and became a lawyer (same job as a minister - just different clients). Yet the call to ordination became too strong to ignore. In the end, I was forced to leave the Southern Baptists and join the American Baptists (http://www.abc-usa.org/ ), a more moderate denomination within the Baptist family - and one that ordains women. But I'll give the Southern Baptists one thing: they are nothing if not consistent. To this day, after ten years as a trial lawyer, two graduate degrees, an honors thesis in seminary and my own pulpit in New York City (and the first woman in my church's 164 history), I am still not welcome to preach in my home church in Charlotte, NC where I grew up.

As a lawyer, I can't help but scratch my head at the circular nature of this situation: the SBC interprets scripture to exclude women from ordination; yet all those who interpret scripture within the SBC are ... men?

Their position hangs on a literal interpretation of passages like 1 Corinthians 14:34-35 in which the Apostle Paul writes "Let the women keep silent in church." Of course, a literal interpretation of this passage would mean women may not sing or verbally praise God in worship. For anyone who has attended a Baptist service, you know that is a manifest impossibility.

In another similar scripture (1 Timothy 2:11-12) Paul writes: "I do not permit a woman to teach or to have authority over a man; she must be silent." Not even addressing the historical context of this scripture which demonstrates these words were directed at marital issues and not ministry, there is a larger problem of selective enforcement. For example, that same passage also forbids women to wear gold jewelry or pearls. We don't hear much about that section. I guess the SBC decided that would be too much to enforce on us bling-lovin' southern sisters.

We also don't hear much about Romans 16:7 where Paul speaks of Andronicus and Junia (a woman), describing them as "outstanding among the apostles." (Not surprisingly, some later translations changed the female name "Junia" to the male "Junias.")

If you want to take a literal interpretation of the Bible, then how about use Acts 2:17-18: "And it shall come to pass in the last days, saith God, I will pour out of my Spirit upon all flesh: and your sons and your daughters shall prophesy." As I used to say in my prior career, "I rest my case."

Numerous theologians and prominent members of the Baptist family have publicly disagreed with the SBC, most notably former President Jimmy Carter who broke with the Southern Baptists due to their position on women in the ministry. http://www.cbsnews.com/8301-503544_162-5177423-503544.html He explained, "The truth is that male religious leaders have had - and still have - an option to interpret holy teachings either to exalt or subjugate women ... They have, for their own selfish ends, overwhelmingly chosen the latter."

The reality is this: we live in a world in great need of healing. And there are people across the globe offering to dedicate their lives towards this healing; yet they are denied simply because they are women.

In one of his most famous parables, Jesus said that the Kingdom of heaven is like the landowner who entrusted his three workers with certain talents (money). Two invested the talents, doubled their value and were rewarded. The third worker, however, was punished, because he buried the money and barely returned what was given.

The SBC is burying the divine gifts borne by over fifty percent of God's children. It is wasting these talents. We can no longer afford this unjust denial of vocation. We can no longer afford to stifle God's call. Given the broken nature of our world today, I say we need all the help we can get -- Supreme Court Justices, jet pilots, preachers, and all.

A Heart of Pyrex Glass

2011-08-01T07:42:00.000-07:00

Taken from my blog on Day 1: http://day1.org/3186-a_heart_of_pyrex

I am the world's most dangerous person in the kitchen. If something can be dropped, cracked, or knocked down, I will do it. No exceptions. That is why I am a big believer in Pyrex -- the almost indestructible glassware made by Corning. Used in everything from cookware to the Hale Telescope, the glass is created through a melting process which requires exceptionally high temperatures over long periods of time. The end product is extremely durable, able to take extreme temperature swings and is virtually unbreakable.

While it's a familiar concept in manufacturing, the idea of making something stronger by exposing it to extreme heat is also familiar in life. It's like the old saying "what doesn't kill us makes us stronger."

We all have to face challenges - fires in life. The question is how to face those fires and come out stronger? Said another way, how do you forge a heart of Pyrex?

One quick and easy solution is found in the Genesis story of Jacob wrestling with the angel. There Jacob is attacked by a "man" (or more probably an angel or the divine in human form). Rather than giving up, Jacob holds on and does something audacious. He looks the figure in the face and says "I won't let go until you give me a blessing!" The nerve! Yet what happens? God gives him that blessing: a new name "Israel" (translated: "God prevails"). Instead of letting this struggle defeat him, Jacob turns it into a blessing; something that made him stronger for the days ahead.

What do you wrestle with in your life? What fires or "high temperatures" do you face? What could you learn from that moment? What does it have to teach? What would happen if you took hold of that issue, looked it in the eye and said, "I won't let go until you give me a blessing?"

Do you face a job loss? Perhaps you would receive a blessing of faith.

Are you facing a medical crisis? Maybe you would receive a blessing of courage.

Relationship problems? Perhaps you would receive a blessing of humility.

Even something as minor as waiting on a cross-town bus that is late -- asking for a blessing might bring you a lesson in patience.

In the end, we're all just trying to be better people; to strive to be more like our creator. And perhaps God is offering us a little help. It's like C. S. Lewis wrote, "God whispers in our pleasures, but shouts in our pain."

There's an old myth in metalworking that says a silversmith knows when the metal is fully refined when he can see his reflection in it. Perhaps, God is doing the same; refining us through fire not only to make us stronger, but so that we reflect our creator's image.

Consider the possibility that each hardship in life comes bearing a divine blessing. Ask for that blessing. Look for the lesson. Face the fires of life and come out stronger. Use them to forge yourself a heart like Pyrex glass.

Prayer to Live with Grace By: Rabbi Rami Shapiro

May we discover through pain and torment,

the strength to live with grace and humor.

May we discover through doubt and anguish,

the strength to live with dignity and holiness.

May we discover through suffering and fear,
the strength to move toward healing.

May it come to pass that we be restored to health and to vigor.

May Life grant us wellness of body, spirit, and mind.

And if this cannot be so, may we find in this transformation and passage
moments of meaning, opportunities for love
and the deep and gracious calm that comes
when we allow ourselves to move on.

LOSE THE TRAINING WHEELS

2011-06-18T09:26:00.000-07:00

Taken from my blog on Psychology Today: http://tinyurl.com/3z88zuo

Human beings and Harley Davidsons are a lot alike. You never know their full potential until you get them out on the open road.

I realized that early on in my riding experience. Immediately after I got my license, I proceeded to buy a Harley Sportster, which was a much bigger bike than the one on which I learned. Unfortunately, I chose to "test drive" the bike not on the open road, but in a parking lot doing figure eights (a difficult move requiring a seasoned sense of control and balance).

Not surprisingly, I lost control of the bike and hit a guard rail. To make matters worse, I did all this in front of a passing police car. The officer came over and after helping me bring the bike upright, he said with a smirk, "maybe you'd better keep the training wheels on a bit longer."

It was a harsh blow. But rather than letting it go, I took those words to heart. As a result, I didn't get back on the bike for a very long time. I just kept making excuses:

"I can't get back on. He's probably right, I have no business riding."

"I can't get back on, I might fall."

"I can't get back on, I just need a little more time."

Biker or not, we all have our training wheels in life; the excuses we use when we don't want to move out of our comfort zone.

It's easier to live life with training wheels. It's less scary. It's less threatening. But life with training wheels is also less meaningful. It's like Edgar Lee Masters wrote in the poem, The George Gray, "It's like a boat with furled sails at rest in a harbor, longing for the sea, and yet afraid."

What opportunity is unfolding in the path in front of you? And what excuses -- what training wheels are you leaning on?

Are you leaning too hard on what others say? At one time or another we have all been the target of unkind words. Sadly we tend to let those words sink in and take root. And soon your heart is overgrown with doubt.

An unfortunate fact of life is that people will try and limit your potential; they will tell you that you can't do it or that you aren't good enough. Never let the world tell you what is possible. Just remember those who discourage your dreams probably do so because they had their own dreams destroyed.

Is your excuse that you might fail? Three things are sure in this life: death, taxes and mistakes. They are going to happen. We simply need to change our perspective. When asked how it felt to fail 2000 times trying to invent the light bulb, Thomas Edison replied, "I never failed once. It just happened to be a 2000 step process."

We will make mistakes in life. We will fail. The question is whether we use it as an excuse or as experience. The playwright Samuel Beckett wrote, "Ever tried. Ever failed. No matter. Try again. Fail again. Fail better."

Are you using the excuse of time? "Oh I'm not quite ready, I just need a little more time." On its face, this doesn't appear to be an excuse. We're only asking for extra time. In reality, however, this is a dangerous excuse that sneaks up on us. We delay and wait and make more excuses until eventually we don't even remember what we were delaying. Worse, fear builds up over time and what originally was a rather minor issue looms ahead as an insurmountable obstacle.

My first memory of training wheels was learning to ride a small Schwinn with my Dad. I remember offering all nature of excuses when he suggested we take off the training wheels. Eventually I ran out of excuses, at which point he smiled and said, "no ... I think it's time."

Years later that advice still rings true. It - is - time.

What opportunities are unfolding in the path in front of you? And what excuses, what training wheels are you leaning on?

The day I bought my new Harley the salesman was explaining how much he loved these motorcycles. Finally, he paused and said, "Look, words can't do this bike justice. The only way you'll know for sure is to fire it up and take it out." Good advice for a bike and for life.

Don't waste your time on excuses. Don't miss the opportunities offered. Lose the training wheels. Remember human beings and Harley Davidsons are a lot alike. You never know their full potential until you get them out on the open road.

NESTLE YOUR HEART INTO A CACTUS

2011-06-12T16:19:00.000-07:00

Nestling your heart into a cactus may not sound like the best idea. However while hiking in Southern Utah, I began to see the value of growing a few cactus spines in your life.

It was early in the morning and I was out for a walk in Snow Canyon outside St. George, Utah. After a few miles, I stopped to munch on a granola bar. When I finished, a tiny wren darted over to grab a few crumbs then disappeared into a prickly Cholla Cactus.

I couldn't believe what I saw. The wren had built its home deep in that cactus. When I walked over to take a look, I saw the nest balanced in the Cholla stems with three beautiful little eggs in it. This little bird had found the safest place available for the thing it held most valuable. Too bad humans don't do the same.

We should care for the valuable things in our life: our families, our friends, our partners or spouses. Yet we fail on many occasions. In fact, one of the things dearest to us -- our own heart -- we tend to consistently disregard.

I couldn't help but think about this while watching that little wren care for her eggs. Both those eggs and the human heart are so fragile; yet they are the things that contain the most possibility for life and hope. If only we cared for and protected our hearts, like she cared for and protected her eggs.

To do so is not that hard. We just need to do grow ourselves some cactus spines. Why? Because the spines protect from intruders.

For the little birds, intruders meant foxes and snakes and coyotes. Who is it for us? Who or what intruders do we need protection from?

Is your heart constantly attacked by the non-stop ringing of the cell phone? Or the incessant Facebook or Twitter messages? Is your heart besieged by the constant bombardment of negative messages from the outside world?

One of the things the little wren had to watch out for was the coyote. In the Native American tradition, the coyote is known the trickster, the one you can't trust. The coyote is not unlike some people in our lives: people who say one thing then do another, or people who are out for their own agenda.

Without some cactus spines -- some boundaries -- our hearts can become battered and hurt. Remember what the book of Proverbs says: "when the heart is in pain, the spirit is broken." We need to grow ourselves some cactus spines ... or maybe just grow a spine period.

Turn off the phone for an hour.

Take a Sabbath from email and Facebook.

Learn to say no.

Realize the precious, fragile nature of our hearts. Draw some boundaries. Grow a spine. Just remember ... every little heart needs some cactus pricklies to protect it.

The Tide Will Turn

2011-04-06T07:35:00.000-07:00

Recently I found myself far from New York City on the Olympic Peninsula in Washington State. For the better part of an hour, I sat on one of those fabulous rocky beaches starring at a tidal pool. I had to. We don't have tidal pools on the East Coast. Jelly fish, sharks and "no-see-ums," but not tidal pools.

There's beautiful sea life in these pools: starfish, barnacles, sea anemones. There's also a lot of drama - not unlike human drama.

For example, in the middle of the pool were two tiny crabs having a knock-down-drag-out fight over some raggedy piece of seaweed. Since there were limited treats in this tiny pool, the seaweed was a special find.

Their fight would have made WWF proud. One would smack the other over the head with his claw and then crawl away with the seaweed. The other would then chase him down, hit him back and recover the seaweed.
Over and over this went on -- like two little kids fighting over toys in the sandbox; or like nations fighting over their own version of seaweed: land, water, oil ... Whether you're a crab or a world leader, when there's a perceived shortage of anything, people and critters tend to get testy.

I was mesmerized by these little fighting crabs. Eventually, though, I tore myself away from the crab fight and noticed above the crabs were two tiny minnows swimming round and round. They seemed utterly lost and confused. Then again, who could blame them? One minute they were happily swimming in their big, wide Pacific home; the next the tide goes out and imprisons them in this tiny rock pool - made tinier because of the annoying crab fight going on at the bottom. They just swam in circles desperately trying to find their way home.

After watching for a few more minutes, I stood up to leave. Then I noticed one last thing in the pool. I hadn't seen it at first, but on second glance, crouched behind a barnacle in the corner of the pool was a tiny hermit crab. I noticed him because he had just poked his eyes out of the shell and was peering around. Contrary to their names, hermit crabs are very social little animals that love to live in groups. As he looked around, I realized there were no other hermit crabs in the pool. Perhaps I am projecting, but I swear a little crab tear came out and he slowly retracted back to hide in his lonely little shell.

After a few more minutes of observing this little pool and thinking how beautifully philosophic it all was, a wave broke over the rocks and poured water into the pool and all over me.

The tide had turned bringing all nature of gifts.

I looked down in the little pool and sure enough the wave had brought in more seaweed and the crabs had quit fighting.

The minnows had been washed back to sea, finding their way home.

And the hermit crab now had two new friends.

I walked back and sat on the beach and watched as the tide slowly came in, eventually covering the whole area. In the end, what had seemed to be hundreds of separate little tidal pools had been covered and joined in one big sea of life.

Humans are no different. We all get caught up in our own little tidal pools; tidal pools of anger, confusion, or loneliness. But we have to remember, like that long stretch of rocky beach, ours isn't the only tidal pool in town.

No matter where you find yourself, whether angry, lost, or alone, there are others like you out there; others who walk the same path, others who suffer, others who know our pain. We are joined in one big sea of life. Yet when all seems hopeless, when all appears to be gone, remember the tide will turn and life abundant, like the sea, will flood back into our lives.

In the words of Psalm 130: " ... I wait for the Lord, my soul waits, and in his word I hope; my soul waits for the Lord more than those who watch for the morning ... For with the Lord there is steadfast love, and with him is great power to redeem."

Looking God in the Eye

2011-03-23T07:52:00.000-07:00

Have you ever had this happen? You are at a cocktail party and the person you are trying to converse with is continually scanning the crowd over your shoulder. It is so irritating when someone won't make eye contact. You feel disconnected, angry, dismissed.

Of course the converse is true as well. One of the best feelings is when someone looks you in the eye and makes a meaningful connection. It is then the moment becomes personal; it's then our defenses drop, and the intimacy and honesty levels goes up.

Sadly, human beings tend more toward the cocktail party behavior. It's the classic rule of body language: when we are hiding something or are feeling insecure, bored or angry, we pull away and retract our gaze. Why? Because you can't hide when you look someone in the eye. As the old saying goes, "the eyes are the window to the soul."

Then the question came to me: how might our spiritual lives be affected if we looked God in the eye?

To look God in the eye means to stand honest and vulnerable; to be willing to open up, willing to make it personal, willing to allow God to peer into the windows of our souls.

While it may sound a bit intimidating, it's really not so hard. If God is the great creator of the universe as it says in Genesis, then God's eyes can be found everywhere we look. Perhaps it's something as obvious as the recent full moon. Or maybe the eyes of God are found in the eyes of those we love, in the eyes of a stranger or even deep within our own heart.

If we truly looked God in the eye, perhaps we might engage nature in a more spiritual way; giving thanks for the beauty we encounter every day.

Or maybe we would take time to truly listen to a loved one, affirming them through the gift of being present.

Rather than turning away from unpleasant images in the newspaper or television, perhaps we would make more of an effort to look the stranger in the eye -- feel their pain, empathize with their situation.

And if we searched for God's eyes in our own heart, maybe we would be more honest in acknowledging our own shortcomings, struggles, and fears.

Like the sun emerging after one of our many winter storms, God's gaze can bring warmth and a quickening to our hearts. As it is written in Jeremiah 24:7: I will give them a heart to know that I am the LORD; and they shall be my people and I will be their God, for they shall return to me with their whole heart.

During this newly emerging spring, try looking God in the eye. When we open up the windows of our soul, God looks upon us, God knows us, and through that intimate and honest connection, we are healed.

It's Time for a Silence Siesta

2011-02-27T17:11:00.000-08:00

Unplug iPod

Music stops abruptly

Cricket song instead

-Dr. Sun Wolf

Perhaps you’ve heard the fable about the two frogs. One accidentally hopped in a pot of boiling water. When he felt the heat, he immediately jumped out. The other frog hopped into a pot of cool water that was slowly being heated to a boil. He swam happily around as the pot got hotter and hotter, oblivious to the rising danger.

Sound familiar? It should. We too are swimming in a pot under slow boil unaware of the rising danger; and that danger is the rising decibels of noise. Our lives are permeated with sound -- our iPod music, the blare of televisions pundits, the ringing of our cell phones, email alerts and tweet notices; noise that over time, we don’t even realize is there.

While we may think it harmless, constant noise is a very real danger. The Occupational Safety and Health Administration, for example, reports that the effects of excessive noise can include difficulty concentrating, stress, muscle tension, ulcers, increased blood pressure and hypertension.

Humans aren’t the only ones vulnerable to its dangers. Scientific studies have shown that human-created noise causes a similarly destructive response in wildlife, interfering with core life functions, such as foraging for food, mating and tending to the young.

While human beings don’t seem to care, thankfully action has been taken on behalf of the ecosystem. According to a recent New York Times article, the National Park Service (NPS) has implemented steps to restore quiet to some of its major parks.

In Muir Woods, for example, the great redwood forest outside San Francisco, a sort of “silence siesta” has been imposed: parking lots have been moved farther from the entrance, electric maintenance vehicles now glide silently through the park and a decibel level meter now hangs outside the gift shop measuring the sounds of visitors’ voices. The forest appears to be responding, as two spotted owls were recently observed, an endangered species once believed lost to the area.

What if we followed the NPS lead and took a “silence siesta?” What if we unplugged the iPod, silenced the cell, turned off the television, the radio, the alarms and the timers? Even if only for half an hour a day, our blood pressure and stress levels might lower for those few precious moments. With continued effort, maybe our concentration levels would sharpen. With consistent time away from the daily “noise,” perhaps our relationships with our partners, our spouses and our children might improve. It worked in Muir Woods. Why not in daily life?

Don’t live your life in a fog of noise and distraction. Don’t, as James Thurber warned, lead a life of “noisy desperation.” Give yourself a little silence siesta. Who knows? A little peace and quiet might bring a renewed sense of healing, growth and possibility in your life; things, like those Spotted Owls, once believed lost.

For more information see: http://www.nytimes.com/2011/02/22/science/earth/22sound.html

It is Enough: A Study of Cheese Grits and the Baptism of Jesus

2011-01-10T06:04:00.000-08:00

While I love to cook, I tend not to be the best of chefs. Sadly I am one of those people that think "more is better."

One of my signature dishes is a cheese grit soufflé. However, I can never seem to follow the recipe. I always feel there needs to be more velveeta, then more cheddar, then more garlic, then more salt, then more velveeta, til I am left with a large pot of bubbling yellow goo.

Over the years, I have come to realize that more is not better. Recipes usually work as written and should be left alone. I had to learn three important words: "It-is-enough." Now if I could only master that in life.

Perhaps this rings true with you as well? Do you ever think:

"If I just had a little bit more money in the bank, things would seem better."

"If I could just get one more promotion at work, life would be better."

"If I could just have one more week of vacation, more channels on my cable service, more songs on my ipod, more, more, MORE, then life would be better."

We spend our lives chasing more. Yet the things that truly matter - love, peace, happiness - these things are never found in "more" of anything. Life is like a recipe. It works. It is enough. We are enough. More is not better. If only we could accept that.

A powerful example of this truth is found in the book of Matthew in the story of Jesus' baptism. Jesus comes to the Galilee to be baptized by John the Baptist. When he comes out of the water, the spirit in the form of a dove descends and a voice from heaven says "this is my beloved, in whom I am well pleased."

A beautiful story. A familiar story. Yet, this week I noticed something I hadn't seen in the story before - something interesting about the timing.

God offers these words to Jesus in the third chapter of the book of Matthew. Chapter two was about Jesus' birth and we don't hear about Jesus again until this baptism story in Chapter three.

Why is that significant? Because God tells Jesus that he is his beloved son in whom he is well pleased and Jesus hadn't done anything! He had not called one disciple, he hadn't preached one sermon, he hadn't worked any miracles, he hadn't raised any dead people, healed any blind folks, he hadn't even tangled with any demons!

God didn't offer these words to Jesus after he has completed his amazing ministry and was hailed as the Messiah. God offered Jesus these words before he has done anything. It was like God's way of saying, "It is enough. Your life is enough. You are enough."

It's the same for each of us. God whispers those words to us long before our resume gets written. And God whispers those words to us now not because of what we do, but because of who we are as a beloved child of God. Every morning that we wake up, before we do anything, God whispers those words to us anew. And what better way to start our day - with an affirmation of our worth.

Take a moment each morning to be reminded of your value. Take a moment each morning to listen. For surely if we pay attention in those early hours God's voice will ring clear: "You are my beloved in whom I am well pleased." It is enough. Your life is enough. You are enough.

Delivered as a sermon at the Madison Avenue Baptist Church in NYC on Sunday, January 9, 2011. http://www.mabcnyc.org/mabc-audio.htm

There is No Room at the Inn

2010-12-23T09:24:00.000-08:00

"There's no room at the Holiday Inn, the Days Inn or the C'mon Inn," the desk clerk said shaking his head. "The Shriners' have a gathering downtown, the Mary Kay convention is at the Coliseum and there's a quilt show at the Marriott."

This was not welcome news. It was a cold, autumn night in Bismarck and we had just finished a 400 mile motorcycle trip across North Dakota.

"Please ... really ... We'll take anything," I said, starting to worry.

"There is NO room here," he said, an irritable twinge in his voice. "The best you can do is ride up to Fort Mandan and try the Sunset Motel."

"But that's thirty miles!" I said.

"Yup," he said. "And you'd better hurry, they'll probably fill up fast.

Exhausted and cold, we fired up the Road King and headed for Mandan. As we crested the last hill before our exit, we saw the sign in the distance: an antiquated neon marker with several letters of the motel name burned out. "Sun Mo" it proudly flashed. Unfortunately, the room matched the dilapidated sign: a tiny cubby hole with worn carpets, a cigarette-burned bedspread and a sign in the bathroom that read, "Please don't use towels to clean guns."

But we didn't care. We were out of the cold in a place we could lay our heads. That was comfort enough.

I sometimes remember our odyssey across North Dakota when Christmas rolls around. It reminds me of Mary and Joseph's odyssey through the mountains to Bethlehem only to be told "there's no room at the inn." It's an experience many of us have had; some on a road trip ... others of us in life.

     For eight million American children, there is no room at the "health care inn;"

     For ten percent of Americans, there is no room at the "employment inn;"

     For 925 million people globally, there is no room at the "food inn" (only the "malnutrition inn");

     And for approximately three million Americans (40% of whom are children), the only room at the inn is a homeless shelter.

Oh there's room at the inn for certain select people. A recent report on top corporate bonuses shows that for 2010 Heinz paid $8.5 million to its CEO and Oracle's CEO received $6.5 million. No manger for them.

One of the more troubling "no vacancy" signs is the one put out by the church.

     Some church "inn keepers" say there is no room at the inn for those of different religions, races or sexual orientation.

     For some, the church is reserved for the paying customers, the high rollers, the VIPS.

     For others, the church is a place to escape, feel safe and be protected against "those people" who don't have reservations.

There are many this holiday season who know what it feels like to be left out, or rejected; to be told "there is no room at the inn."

Mary and Joseph knew what it felt like. Jesus did too. How ironic, given that he spent his entire adult life doing the opposite -- "making room" for everyone at the inn and the banquet table.

My Christmas hope for 2010 is that we honor Jesus' legacy; that we recognize there is room at the inn - at every inn - whether economic, social, political or religious; that we realize we are the innkeepers that can insure everyone is welcome. This Christmas, search the inn of your own heart -- make room -- so that all of God's children may find a place to lay their heads. Honor the words of the beloved Christmas hymn: "Let every heart, prepare Christ room, and heaven and nature sing."

My Career Story in Oprah!

2010-11-23T12:46:00.000-08:00

http://www.oprah.com/money/Career-Changer-Susan-Sparks-Lawyer-Turned-Minister

STAND-UP FOR JESUS

2010-11-09T08:09:00.001-08:00

Check out a great interview on my work with humor and religion in the Christian Century! http://www.christiancentury.org/article/2010-10/stand-jesus

MAKE IT WORK! (Or Finding Life in Exile: A Study of Jeremiah, the Chilean Miners and Project Runway)

2010-10-11T13:58:00.000-07:00

Okay I admit it. I enjoy reality television. What can I say? After a long day of pastoral care, property and facility disputes and sermon crafting, I come home with just enough energy to press "power" on the remote and tune in to my personal favorite: "Project Runway."

There is something very feeding about watching the creative work of others in a different discipline. The contestants are all young designers trying to create the best look for the weekly runway show. The center point of the program is Tim Gunn of the Parsons School of Design, who guides the contestants through their design and crafting of the garments. In almost every show, he offers the same line to frustrated contestants whose garment is not developing as they had hoped: "Make it work!"

I was reminded of his famous line when I was wrestling with the scripture from Jeremiah 29:4-7 this week. To the Israelites in captivity, God offers a surprising voice; one with the uncanny ring of Tom Gunn. "Make it work!" God says. In this place of exile, you should "build homes, plant gardens, have families."

I think we can all imagine the shock of the Israelites at these words. Most all of us have experienced exile at some point in our lives, whether geographic, psychological or spiritual. Exile is not a place you immediately think to build a home or family, or continue your work.

I struggled with this idea all week until finally, last Saturday, I saw something that changed the way I came at this scripture. As I was reading the morning paper, I saw an article about those thirty-three men trapped in the Chilean mine. Truly, they are experiencing the ultimate exile-separated from not just home and family, but air and sunlight for over two months. Yet, they are surviving, even thriving, because they are following the very advice given in Jeremiah.

In their place of exile, they built homes. No, technically, they didn't construct a walled dwelling, but they began to create living conditions that protected and strengthened them. After being discovered, the first thing rescue workers did was to find a way to simulate night and day so that the miners could regain a predictable pattern rest. They also began to deliver hot food. Doctors reported that within days, the health and strength of the miners began to improve drastically. In any place of exile, you must strengthen and protect yourself; you must build yourself a home.

They also tended their families. Twenty-three hundred feet above ground, families of the miners have gathered, living in tents now deemed "camp hope." Each miner is allowed a periodic one minute phone call with family members. NASA experts trained in addressing the psychological strain from isolation on the space station, helped coordinate this effort. "Human connection to family or one's support system is critical for psychological wellbeing," explained one expert, "especially in times of prolonged separation."

Paralleling the commandments found in Jeremiah, the miners also followed the third instruction: plant gardens and eat what they reap. In short, continue with your work. In the past two months, the miners have divided themselves into groups of eleven, working eight-hour shifts on clearing debris, measuring oxygen levels and reinforcing the walls of the mine. Even in a place of exile, there is work to be done. And the miners are dutifully going about doing it.

For over two months, the miners have worked to strengthen themselves and their place of exile. And to date, they have survived. I couldn't help but remember the last line of our Jeremiah passage: "seek the welfare of the city where I have sent you into exile...for in its welfare you will find your welfare."

As we all watch and wait for their ultimate rescue, let us pray that the miners' lessons in survival - of finding life in exile - will be honored and celebrated by us all. For no matter where you find yourself in life, no matter how isolated or exiled you may feel, if you tend your families, build your homes and do your work, you can survive-even thrive-and ultimately "make it work."

This message was also offered as a sermon on Sunday, October 10th at Madison Avenue Baptist Church in New York City. http://www.mabcnyc.org/mabc-audio.htm

STANDUP COMEDY AT UNION SEMINARY

2010-10-11T13:49:00.000-07:00

Recently, I was invited to teach a for-credit class at Union Theological Seminary in NYC on "Humor and Ministry." And check it out! Our class got featured in the New York Times!

THE MULCH PILE

2010-10-09T03:36:00.000-07:00

This summer I spent a few days in our beautiful little cabin in Chetek, Wisconsin. (Find Madison on a map and go about two hundred miles north). The first morning, as is our usual routine, we made a huge breakfast, complete with cheese eggs (hey, it's Wisconsin), blueberry muffins and fried sunfish caught right off our dock.

After lingering over breakfast, we cleared the table, put the left over egg shells and fish carcasses in the trash and left to run errands for the day. Two critical pieces of information: (1) It was 92 that day, and 2) there is no AC in the cabin. When we returned, the smell from the baking fish carcasses and egg shells almost knocked us flat. In an emergency rescue effort, I quickly donned a "gas mask" made from paper towels, took the smelly trash and threw it on the mulch pile.

God bless mulch piles. For any of you gardeners out there, you know the magic of a mulch pile: a place where smelly fish carcasses and egg shells transform into rich, dark dirt; dirt that gives life to things like aromatic lavender and brilliantly colored day lilies.

After fumigating the house, I sat down to read the lectionary scripture for the week to prepare for the sermon and saw our scripture in Colossians 3. Who knew there was a parallel in mulch piles and the words of the Apostle Paul? Perhaps he was a gardener? "Get rid of all such things -- anger, wrath, malice, slander, and abusive language from your mouth (the "trash") and cloth yourself in the new self."

Two thousand years later, Paul reaches out and asks us all:
-What trash (anger, fear, shame, jealousy) do you need to throw on the mulch pile?
-And what beautiful new things will you grow in its place?

If you really think about it, the mulch pile metaphor makes a lot of sense. For example, think of an emotion with which you are struggling. Given my fiery Scotch-Irish genes, I vote for anger. What do you do with anger? How do you work through it? You throw it on the mulch pile, of course!

First, you take out the trash. You get it out of your house. You get away from it. You get some distance from it. Maybe that means taking a walk around the blog, or meditating, or journaling, or calling a friend, or watching the Real Housewives of New Jersey. Whatever it is -- you need to get the trash out of your house.

Then you throw it on the mulch pile. It's trash for goodness sakes. Realize it is trash and let it go. It's that moment you let go, that greater forces take over. Like the egg shells and fish carcasses that decompose and become rich dirt, when you hand over your anger or fear or pain to a greater power, it fades and begins to change.

Ultimately, you begin to grow something beautiful in its place (or as Paul says "cloth yourself in something new.") On the mulch pile, anger can become empathy, fear can become insight, pain can become strength.

The mulch pile metaphor works not only on a personal level, but also works on a political level. Consider the recent controversy over Park 51, the proposed Muslim community center near Ground Zero. There have been numerous protests, judgmental blogs and hateful radio and news commentaries bashing this idea. It will be a "Mega-Mosque," some say, "a Muslim extremist site."

As someone who was in NYC on 9/11, smelled the smoke from the crash, saw the second tower fall, I feel quite comfortable saying: "people -- PEOPLE -- throw it on the mulch pile!" This is nothing but fear talking; fear and ignorance that are stinking up our house. Take out the trash. Throw it on the mulch pile. Maybe then something beautiful will grow; something beautiful like an interfaith community center and worship space to honor the memory of 9/11.

This is a powerful message Paul shares. Of course many of us love to listen to a message like this, nod, mumble "um hum" and then turn around and offer every excuse in the book why we can't do it:

"Oh, I can't give up my anger. I was wronged. I was abandoned. I was mistreated."

"Oh, I can't let go of my fear because it might happen again and I need to protect myself."

"I can't release my pain because it still hurts..."

If there is any lesson from our scripture today it is this: STOP with the excuses! If you leave this stuff in your life too long, it will stink up your house. And the longer you leave it there, the worse it will get.

NOW HEAR THIS: This is your house now-- not your parents' or your siblings' or your friends or your partner's or spouse's. It's not their job to take out your trash, even if they brought it in! It's your house now.

One of my favorite poets, Mary Oliver, wrote: "Tell me, what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?" If you care about this "wild and precious life," then you have to ask yourself:

-What trash do I need to throw on the mulch pile
-And what beautiful things will I grow in its place?

Whatever you do, don't waste this life on trash that brings you down and stinks up your house. As Paul says, get rid of these things; take out the trash, throw it on the mulch pile and cloth yourself in something healing and wonderful and new.

Based on a sermon given on Sunday, August 1st at the Madison Avenue Baptist Church in New York. Get the podcast at: http://www.mabcnyc.org/mabc-audio.htm

TRACKING MUD INTO HOLY SPACE

2010-09-05T14:02:00.000-07:00

In my childhood home on Lockhart Drive in Charlotte, N.C., there was a place considered holy space. You spoke of it in hushed terms. It was only used on the most special of occasions. It was&the living room. This was the place where all the "nice stuff" was kept: the chairs with my mom's handmade needlepoint seats; the lamps with glass teardrop prisms dangling from under the shade; the stereo console that looked like a huge mahogany casket. It was the kind of room you felt like you needed to shower and put on a ball gown before you went in.

"Can't there just be one place in this house that is beautiful and untouched from the rest of the mess and craziness?" my Mom would ask in her thick Southern accent. The living room was her battle line that could not, under any circumstances, be crossed.
But, of course, I did. On one particular occasion I was playing hide-and-seek with my neighbor. His family was having a septic tank replaced in their yard and the hole where the old one had been made a perfect hideout. (Please understand that this was a hole in a yard in the South -- which meant it was a hole in red mud.)

We played in that hole all afternoon until I heard the call for dinner. Without thinking, I popped out of the hole, ran into the house and across the holy mint green carpet in my red-mud-soaked Keds.
Behind me, I heard a gasp, then a high pitched "Suuuuusaaaaaan Grace!" I just kept on running right through the house, out the back door and back into the hole in our neighbor's yard to hide. And I knew I had to hide. I had crossed the ultimate battle line. I had tracked mud into a holy space.

While the "holy spaces" of our lives may change, the pattern does not. We track mud into holy space by polluting and poisoning the earth, water and air. We defile holy spaces by bringing judgment and hatred into our houses of worship. Most troubling, perhaps, is that we track mud into one of our holiest of places, our own hearts. And like Southern red mud, the mud we bring here -- things like anger, guilt, shame or despair -- is mud that's hard to get out. Is there nothing holy anymore? Isn't there just one place in this house that is beautiful and untouched from the rest of the mess and craziness?

I was hiking out West last year and saw an interesting sign. At the trail head it said "Please brush your boots before entering this area." I thought that strange until I read the explanation. The forest service was worried about hikers carrying certain types of seeds on the bottom of their boots into fragile wilderness area. Apparently, there are several species of grasses and weeds that crowd out native plants and destroy the habitats for nesting birds and butterflies. So they asked visitors to wipe their feet before entering.

We face the same danger. We track all the negative, destructive influences from the world right through our own little fragile hearts. And sure enough, soon all the weeds and grasses we track in take root, and begin to crowd out and destroy what was once a beautiful, natural landscape. If you don't wipe your feet before entering holy space, you can destroy your entire house before you even realize it.

Now for some of us this advice of wipe your feet may feel like too little too late. Maybe you've already tracked mud into your house. Or maybe your house has been muddy so long that you don't even remember its original unspoiled state. Do not fear. There is no stain, no mistake that can't be cleaned. Even with the deepest ground-in mud, we can be returned to a state of beauty. "Create in me a clean heart, O God, and put a new and right spirit within me." (Psalm 51)

Don't track mud into holy space. Make this your battleground. Let there be one place in your house that is beautiful and untouched from the rest of the mess and craziness.

EAT, PRAY, LOVE ... FROM HOME

2010-08-14T07:43:00.000-07:00

This blog post was featured by Good Morning America:

http://abcnews.go.com/GMA/Spirituality/eat-pray-love-home-weekly-inspiration-rev-susan/story?id=11443996

I am doing my own version of Eat, Pray, Love this morning: I am eating breakfast in a new fun place, and praying that my arteries can support the love I feel for the croissant with egg, cheese and pesto sitting in front of me. I love this little diner. And while it would be nice to fly to Italy for breakfast this morning, right now I lack the freedom (and the cash) to pull it off.

It was a different story for me ten years ago. In the fall of 1997, after ten years of practicing law, I boarded British Air for a two year trip around the world that would put to Elizabeth Gilbert’s journey to shame. Unfortunately, I forgot to write the book. Oops.

Oh well. I learned some valuable things from that trip. But here’s the most important: you don’t have to fly to Italy (or Bali or India) to have your own Eat, Pray, Love experience. In fact, my noisy little breakfast spot provides the same formula.

1) Eat (in a new place)

In 1997, I was burned out, tapped out – over and out. My life best resembled a root bound plant: an organism whose root system had wound so tightly, it couldn’t absorb any nutrients or grow. Maybe you know that feeling? Just existing day to day, unable to see any of life’s wonderful gifts, lost in a storm of doubt and uncertainty?

Like a root bound plant, sometimes we need to be taken out of our routine, shaken up a bit and repotted. Does that mean you should to buy a plane ticket to Bora Bora? Sure, if you can afford it. But a trip to the other side of the world is not necessary. We can just as easily shake ourselves loose at home. Maybe it's something as simple as trying a new breakfast spot, taking a class in something you know nothing about, or traveling to a new and undiscovered place -- in your own town. It’s about jarring our routines, altering our perspective. When we give ourselves a little room, new growth will inevitably come.

2) Pray

To change our path, we have to change our heart. And the best (and I believe only) way to do this, is to re-connect with the life force that emanates through all of us.

I once read that “you should live where you pray best.” I could pray real well in a ranch at the base of the Grand Tetons in Jackson Hole. But since the Lord has not provided me with the winning lottery ticket necessary to purchase said ranch, I will need to find a good place to pray -- at home.

I do think there is something to the idea of finding the right spot to pray. It’s like trying to find wireless service. The little diner where I am sitting shows wireless service with one bar. Have you ever tried to surf with one bar? Images take forever to load, videos stop every two seconds, and without warning you lose your connection.

Unless you find the right place to pray -- a quiet, protected spot where life won’t come crashing in -- it’s like you are surfing with one bar: you take forever to get centered, thoughts from the day start and stop your focus, and without warning the phone or the doorbell rings and you lose your connection.

For every transformation, be it a career change, a new relationship or a loss, we need an internal change to drive the external change. And that change is best achieved through finding the right place to pray.

3) LOVE (what’s in front of you)

Stephen Stills had it right: “Love the One You’re With.” The miraculous things in life aren’t found “out there.” They are the the things “right here” under our noses.

The word miracle comes from the Latin word miraculum meaning “something wonderful.” I’m afraid some of us have stopped believing that something wonderful is still possible. We are so locked down, buttoned up, sure about everything and everyone, ready with explanations and oversized egos, that we are incapable of awe and wonder anymore.

Life is about possibility and hope, not simple explanations and easy answers. We’ve all heard the saying that life is not measured by the number of breaths we take, but by the moments that take our breath away. How long has it been since we have allowed something to take our breath away?

It doesn’t have to be one of the Seven Wonders of the World to make us gasp. The true rich gifts of life are things like a crayon drawing from our three year old, or a morning run with the sun coming up, or the $5 bill you find while doing laundry, or our kitchen table surrounded with loved ones.

In the words of a Jewish prayer: “"Days pass and years vanish, and we walk sightless among miracles." Possibility and wonder is all around us. We just need to learn to see again, to look again, and to love what is right in front of us.

While it might have been nice to fly to Italy for breakfast this morning, I will content myself with this tiny, noisy place in the middle of Queens. It offers just as good a breakfast ... for the body, mind and soul.

ABC NEWS

2010-08-13T14:04:00.001-07:00

hi y'all, check out two fun interviews I did that just aired on ABC News Now http://abcnews.go.com/GMA/spirituality

CHRISTMAS IN JULY

2010-07-27T12:15:00.000-07:00

"Many laughed to see this alteration in [Scrooge], but he let them laugh and little heeded them. His own heart laughed and that was quite enough for him. And it was always said of him that he knew how to keep Christmas well if any man alive possessed the knowledge."      -Dickens, A Christmas Carol

       Welcome to day twenty-seven of one the hottest months on record. In New York City, we've been at ninety degrees for three weeks. Last Sunday our un-airconditioned sanctuary registered a balmy eighty-six degrees. All I can say is thank goodness we put up an artificial Christmas tree.

     Christmas tree? In July? Yes, at Madison Avenue Baptist Church there is Christmas in July. Why? Well, why NOT?

     After extensive research and study, let me offer you the top three reasons why we should have Christmas in July:

     1-the shopping lines are shorter;

     2- the Scandinavian word for Yule is Jul, which happens to be preeetttty close to the word Jul-y; and

     3-No one really knows when Jesus was born anyway. In fact, history indicates that the early Christian Church chose December 25th simply to annoy the pagans with their winter solstice celebration.

     So why not celebrate Christmas in July? Unfortunately, we tend to limit Christmas to the bleak mid-winter; to the twenty four hours of Santa and packages and trees and fruit cakes. And like good Puritan soldiers, on December 26th we store our yuletide joy in the attic and get back to reality and the "true" responsibilities of life.

     Forgetting the gifts of Christmas can be a dangerous thing. Remember Ebenezer Scrooge opting for work and money over love and joy? That choice changed him into a sullen, selfish man; a shriveled soul who lost the ability to feel joy.

     It's easy to make that mistake -- to opt for "humbug" over happiness, jadedness over joy. But here's the good news: it's never too late to reclaim the gifts of Christmas. Scrooge found them again. The Grinch found them again. And we can find them again too.

     Deep down we all still carry that sense of child-like wonder, a yearning to love and be loved, a longing for joy. It just gets buried under years of "humbug." Sometimes we have to dig it out through quiet introspection ... like time spent around a Christmas tree drinking egg nog in July...

     Okay, maybe to decorate the sanctuary and serve egg nog in July is a little crazy. But to celebrate Christmas in July, or April or anytime for that matter is not crazy. Christmas is not just a twenty-four hour holiday, it's is a frame of mind. And to truly honor its gifts, we must carry them with us all the year long.

LIFE AS EXPLAINED THROUGH CHICKEN FRIED STEAK

2010-06-01T11:48:00.000-07:00

I recently returned from an amazing trip to Nashville, Tennessee where I wallowed in some great southern food: grits, sweet potato biscuits, fried okra, green beans cooked to oblivion with fatback, fried chicken, smoked ribs, catfish—you name it we had it. But of all the things I managed to consume in Nashville, my personal favorite was the chicken fried steak.

I grew up eating this delicious meal on Sundays after church. (It was too fancy to serve during the week.) And in the hands of a knowledgeable southern chef, it is an amazing dish. In the hands of a novice, however, it can be a really big mess. I know… I tried to make it one time.

The recipe didn’t look that hard: tenderize a piece of cube steak, drag it through a load of flour, salt and pepper, and throw it into a sizzling hot frying pan. Voi la, you have chicken fried steak.

Unfortunately, voi la didn’t come as easily as I had expected. First, I hammered the meat to the point where it began to fall apart. Then I dragged it through a little too much flour and salt and pepper so that rather than a light protective coating, the flavor of the meat was completely overwhelmed. Worst of all, I burned the daylights out of it so it looked like a shriveled piece of coal.

In the hands of a novice, chicken fried steak becomes a big mess. In the hands of a knowledgeable chef, however, these ingredients completely transform … much like life. We can make a real mess of things when we try and cook up life on our own. It is only when we turn it over to a knowledgeable chef, that things can transform.

Think about the steps in preparing chicken fried steak:

1) Tenderize the steak with a meat hammer. Now, we all know what it feels like to get beaten up. And when we try and handle those times by ourselves, like that steak I over-hammered, things tend to fall apart. Hard knocks can tend to shut us down, toughen our hearts, and consume us with our own problems. In the hands of a greater chef, however, the hard knocks simply tenderize us a bit, open us up, and bring us empathy and compassion for others.

2) Drag the meat through some flour, salt and pepper. We all know what it feels like to get dragged around. Life is never a long straight road. There are always great twists and turns which make us feel like we are being dragged this way and that. And like that steak I dragged through too much flour, we can start to feel overwhelmed -- we can lose ourselves in the fray. In the hands of a greater chef, however, getting dragged around just brings us a light, safe, protective coating… a coating of faith. Like the words of Isaiah 40:31: “But they that wait upon the LORD shall renew their strength; they shall mount up with wings as eagles; they shall run, and not be weary; and they shall walk, and not faint.”

3) Finally, we have to throw it into a sizzling hot frying pan. Lord knows, we all know how it feels to be in the frying pan. We’ve all been in a place where the heat, the pressure, and the expectations were just overwhelming. And when we face them by ourselves, we tend to shrivel up, like my little sad piece of meat. But when we partner with the spirit, the heat can transform us. It’s like the old saying: “what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.” When we face the heat with an experienced chef, adversity becomes transformation.

And here’s the real kicker … the chef is waiting. All we have to do is ask for help: Ask for help when life beats us up; Ask for help when we get dragged around; Ask for help when we find ourselves in the sizzling hot fires of life.

Remember, in the hands of a greater chef, even in the hardest times can be utterly transformed.

Taken from the sermon "Chicken Fried Steak and the Trinity" recorded May 30, 2010 at Madison Avenue Baptist Church. http://www.mabcnyc.org/mabc-audio.htm

USA TODAY

2010-05-24T17:32:00.000-07:00

Check out this great article about my work with humor and religion from USA Today!

http://www.usatoday.com/news/religion/2010-05-23-comedy-preacher_N.htm

A BLESSING OF THE BIKES

2010-05-13T07:18:00.000-07:00

     It's spring. The air is soft. The trees are in bloom. And God's creation is filled with the chirping of sleepy Vespas and the roaring of Harley Davidsons waking up from their winter hibernation.

     We here at Madison Avenue Baptist Church honor this seasonal ritual. Yes, some of us ride. Of course, so did many of the ancient ones of our tradition. Who could forget Elijah: "a hairy man, with a girdle of leather." (2 Kings 1:8)

     We bless the motorcycles this Sunday, not only to honor those who ride, but because it reminds us to sanctify everyday life. It is easy to fall into the trap of believing that the only "holy" time of the week is Sunday at 11am.  At best, we spend about an hour a week in this ritual.

     That is a 1/168 ratio of "holiness" to "life."

     Not so good.

     Today we remind ourselves that it is not just worship where God is near. It is in the daily grind of life: at work plowing through piles of reports and messages, at home trying to establish some - any communication with our teenager, in the line at the unemployment office, at the doctor's office waiting on test results, or on a 2005 black cherry-colored Harley Davidson Road King with bored out cylinders and custom pipes. It's all holy.

     In the book of Matthew an angel foretells the birth of Jesus, calling him "Emmanuel," meaning God is with us. And that's what this ritual attempts to remind us. We are all beloved children of God and when we leave the sanctuary, God does not remain behind. God follows and protects us down every sidewalk, carpeted office corridor or back country road on which we may travel.

     Join us this Sunday (if not in body, then in spirit) to bless the bikes and sanctify our daily journey.
     May you keep the shiny side up and the rubber side down.
     Amen.

TRUST JESUS AND ELVIS

2010-04-13T15:50:00.000-07:00

Recently, I returned from a trip to the holy land ... Memphis, Tennessee. Now, Memphis is holy land for a number of reasons, not the least of which is their BBQ. Now, for those of you who are not Southerners, please understand BBQ is a holy thing. In fact, it is part of what we call the southern trinity: BBQ, Basketball and the Bible. Memphis is known for their BBQ, especially their ribs. As my neighbor used to say, "Good ribs would make an angel weep."
Now BBQ is not the only reason Memphis is considered holy land. The primary reason, of course, is because it is the home of Elvis.

While we were in Memphis, we visited Sun Records, where Elvis recorded his first song. In the studio, there was an "X" marked on the floor with duct tape indicating the exact spot where Elvis stood. The tour guide told us that just the week before, Bob Dylan had come into the studio, said not a word to anyone, walked over to the "X," got down on all fours, kissed it and walked out. For many, Elvis has reached an almost holy status.

In fact, there has been studies on the parallels between Jesus and Elvis, most notably by the renown scholar (and standup comedian) Adam Sandler. He explains:

Jesus said: "Love thy neighbor." (Matthew 22:39); Elvis said: "Don't be cruel." (RCA, 1956)

Jesus is part of the Trinity; Elvis' first band was a trio.

Jesus is the Lord's shepherd; Elvis dated Cybil Sheppard.

Given that kind of reverence, I believe that we as Jesus fans, have a lot to learn from Elvis fans. Especially in terms of faith....

Like any good pilgrims, we took time on our Memphis trip to visit the shrine of Graceland. There was the great welcome sign--a twenty-five foot high Elvis saying "Welcome to the Blingdom!" And after the requisite photographs, we got in line for tickets. As we were waiting, I turned to one of the tour guides and asked, "So, how long did Elvis actually live here?" There was an audible gasp from the surrounding crowd. The guide looked at me with shock and whispered, "We don't use the past tense here." She then pointed at her t-shirt, which read: "Graceland, where Elvis LIVES."

It didn't matter that she had never actually seen Elvis or that technically Elvis stopped walking the earth over thirty-two years ago. It didn't matter. She didn't care. Elvis fans don't care. Without any proof, they believe he lives! Elvis lives, baby. The King lives.

It's a shame we don't all live our lives with that kind of faith. I'm afraid that most of us tend more towards the disciple Thomas than the tour guide at Graceland.

Our scripture today is the familiar story of doubting Thomas. There we find the disciples locked up behind closed doors after Jesus' crucifixion. And Jesus came and stood among them. When they saw him, the disciples rejoiced. But Thomas was not there at the time. When the other disciples later told Thomas about it, he said, "Unless I see the mark of the nails in his hands, and put my finger ... in his side, I will not believe." A week later, when Thomas was with the disciples, Jesus appears again and invites Thomas to touch his wounds. When he put his hand in Jesus' side--he knew.

"My Lord and my God," said Thomas.

Jesus then said to him, "Blessed are those who have not seen and yet have come to believe."

We've all heard this story before. More importantly, we've all lived it. We've all had times in our lives where we've doubted, where we have said to God, "Show me a sign! Give me some proof!" Maybe it was because we were in a place of unbearable pain, or a time we faced hardship with no answers, a time when God seemed silent. We have all been at that point where, like Thomas, we yearned for a sign from God.

And why not? We live in a world where "proof" trumps faith. We send robots with cameras to the farthest ends of the universe so we can know for sure what's out there. We won't believe an assertion until a complicated mathematical equation says it's true. And anytime--anytime--there is a wall bearing a sign "wet paint," we will touch it just to be sure.

If only we could have the faith of Elvis fans, a faith driven not by empirical proof, but by the voice in our hearts. Finding that kind of faith can change our lives. For when you believe something in your heart, you begin to act it in your life.

Look at Elvis fans. They not only believe he lives, they act like he lives. For example, they are constantly looking for Elvis. The Bible says seek and ye shall find. Well, Elvis fans follow that to a tee. They are constantly looking for the King. And, sometimes, they find him. There have been Elvis sightings all over the world--from a spa in Tokyo to a Burger King in Michigan. There was even a woman who claimed that she found the image of Elvis in a taco shell.

If only we'd put even 1% of that kind of energy towards looking for Jesus, we might actually find him too. Maybe we'd find him in the eyes of a little child or the downcast gaze of a homeless stranger. Maybe we'd find him in the face of an enemy or the tears of a loved one with whom we are fighting. If you believe he lives, you'll act like he lives. You'll look for him and you'll find him.

Another thing--Elvis fans believe he lives, so they look for others who believe as well, like through Elvis fan clubs. I heard a story on the Graceland tour about a woman who was in a fan club called "Taking Care of Business." She had to have major surgery and afterwards received hundreds of cards and letters from "Elvis friends" all over the world. We Christians can learn something from this. Community is what gives us strength, support and focus in times we most need it. Finding families of faith is what helps us keep our faith. If you believe he lives, you'll look for others who believe as well.

Here's a third example, and probably the most important. Because they believe he lives, Elvis fans go out into in the world and share his message. They play Elvis' music; they dress up as Elvis impersonators; they decorate their homes with Elvis memorabilia. One of my favorite things at the Graceland gift shop was an Elvis sprinkler. It was a foot-high plastic Elvis in a sequin jumpsuit, and as he watered your yard, he would swivel his hips. Whether through word or music, impersonators or sprinklers, Elvis fans proudly proclaim the message of the King.

This provides an interesting contrast to the disciples. Before Jesus appeared in their midst, the book of John tells us that the disciples were in hiding behind locked doors. They weren't looking for Jesus. They weren't going around looking for other believers. They weren't out in the world preaching the word. They weren't proclaiming the message of the King. They were hidden in fear, locked away in shame because they didn't believe he lived.

I'm afraid that many of us live a similar existence; a life with little or no faith in the risen Christ, our hearts locked up and closed away.

A young woman on the tour told a story about how she grew up listening to Elvis. Sadly, she lived through an abusive childhood, but she talked about how she used daydreams of Elvis as an escape. "He was my safe space," she said, "my little corner of heaven." Because she believed he lived, she honored him in her heart and that enabled her to find peace in the hardest of places.

If only we would open our hearts to Jesus in the same way. When we honor the risen Christ in our hearts, we have our own safe space, our own little corner of heaven in which to rest and to heal.

If you believe he lives--you'll act like he lives. And Jesus' message is certainly a message of action. Elvis apparently felt the same way. For Elvis said early in his career, "Music and religion are similar--because both should make you wanna move."

The gospel is a living, vibrant force that should make us want to get out and move, move around in the world, move towards each other in love and compassion, move towards bringing in the kingdom--or the blingdom--or whatever.

I want a religion that makes me wanna move.

I want a savior that makes me wanna put on a sequin jump suit and sing.

I want to believe in a Jesus that lives.

Don't let the doubts and fears of life shake your belief. Don't let your faith be driven by anything but the voice of your heart. Remember: "Blessed are those who have not seen and yet have come to believe." For if we believe he lives, our lives will change. We will search for and find him; we will proclaim his message; we will honor his spirit with ours.

Sometime soon, find a quiet moment, ask yourself, "Do you believe?" From the deepest parts of your heart, the answer will surely come: He lives. He lives, baby. The King lives.

RESURRECTION BISCUITS

2010-03-30T07:22:00.000-07:00

Happy Easter everyone! I have to tell you, celebrating Easter always makes me think of my grandmother, Ganny, as we called her. Now Ganny lived in a tiny little town in South Carolina; and when we'd go visit, the aroma of all kinds of good things cooking would float through her screen porch and out into the yard to greet us: creamed corn, collard greens and hopefully cornbread. I say hopefully, because the one thing Ganny could not cook was biscuits. Lord, have mercy. She was just not a big believer in things like baking soda or baking powder. On those ominous days when she would decide to bake biscuits, she would open the door of her wood stove and pull out what looked like a tray of toasty hot shot-puts. My uncle used to joke that if you dropped those biscuits on the floor, they would wake the dead. Thus their nickname: resurrection biscuits.

Now, I know I shouldn't talk negatively about my grandmother's cooking, but we Southerners have a little trick. Down South you can say anything you want about anybody you want, as long as you end the phrase with "bless their hearts."

So...this being Easter Sunday, I think about Ganny, bless her heart, and those little sad resurrection biscuits. But, you know, I think her biscuits offer us an important Easter message. Without baking powder--without that key ingredient, those biscuits became heavy and flat. So, too, life without the resurrection, life without Christ, can be heavy and flat.

We tend to think of the Easter message as a message for the end of life. But, frankly, I think we need the Easter message right now, 'cause as many of us know, death can come long before the end of life.
How many people do we know who are walking this earth physically alive but dead of spirit? Maybe you are one of them. How easily life can beat us down. It's like the story of the little boy with his head in his hands staring at his school book saying, "I wish my arithmetic was done and that I was married and dead."

It's easy to celebrate the resurrection of the body on this glorious Easter Sunday. But what about the resurrection of the spirit? What about tomorrow morning, when the alarm clock goes off at 6 a.m. and our spirits sink...where is the resurrection then?

Where is the resurrection when we work night and day in a thankless job and yet find ourselves deeper in debt?

Where is the resurrection when our child gets caught in an ugly cycle of drugs and alcohol and we watch them slip away?

Where is the resurrection when after working forty years we realize we're about to lose our home?

Where is the resurrection when we wake up one morning and realize nothing matters to us anymore?

Where is the resurrection when at the end of life our family and friends are all gone and we are left alone to negotiate in a world that does not honor its old ones?

WHERE is the resurrection then?

It's not just resurrection after death we're talking about, it is resurrection during life. Like biscuits without baking powder, life without the resurrection can be heavy and flat. But, today, I say we bring that missing ingredient back.

Our Easter story from John is a familiar one. Mary goes to the tomb while it is still dark. She finds the stone rolled away and Jesus' body gone. Weeping, she looks inside the tomb and sees two angels. "Woman, why are you weeping?" they ask. "They have taken away my Lord," Mary said, "and I do not know where they have laid him."

Just then, she turned around and Jesus was standing there. But she didn't recognize him.

"Woman, why are you crying?"

"Sir," Mary said, "if you have carried him away, tell me where you have laid him, and I will take him away."

"Mary," Jesus said.

And the second he says her name, Mary realizes that this stranger standing before her was the risen Christ. "Rabbouni" she says to Jesus.

Mary recognized the living Christ. She recognized that life force in her midst. And it's exactly the same for us. We have the risen Christ right in front of us. We have a life force in our midst. And that's the missing ingredient we must reclaim.

In February 2005, I took a vacation to Death Valley. Okay, I know, I know, that is a really strange place to vacation. But something was happening in that desert during that time, something I felt I needed to see.
Earlier that year, Death Valley had received a few more inches of rain than normal and the otherwise bleak sand dunes and rocks of the desert were covered with tiny wildflowers. Desert gold, blazing star, poppies, verbenas, and evening primrose blanketed the desert landscape. For years, those little seeds had remained dormant, hidden under rocks and sand, in cracks and crevasses, waiting, hoping, for rain--that missing ingredient--to bring them back to life. And the rain came. And flowers bloomed in the desert. It was such a brilliant symbol of renewal--of life from no life. I just needed to see it.

Like those little dormant seeds, there is still life in us all. We just need to find that missing ingredient to bring it back. And that ingredient is Jesus.

The Saturday before my very first Easter sermon, I was walking around my neighborhood trying to walk off some nerves. Towards the end of my walk, I stopped by the local deli to get some coffee.
"Are you ready for the big service?" asked Hannah who owns the place. I nodded tentatively and said, "I guess. I'm pretty nervous though." She looked at me with a surprised expression and said, "Oh, you'll be fine. Just get out of the way and let Jesus do his work."

I've never forgotten those words, for they are not only great advice for a sermon, they are great advice for life.

The best thing we can do in life is to get out of the way and let Jesus do his work. Oh, we can put up a whole lot of blocks to the spirit. Things like anger, negativity, fear, doubt, things that shut us down, weigh us down, things that keep that key ingredient of life and spirit from working in our hearts. It's like the author Ann LaMott said, "God can't clean the house of you with you in it."

You know, life has many great truths. Like never slap a man chewing tobacco. Or one appropriate for early April, when you put "the" and the word "IRS" together, you get "theirs."

Another great truth in life is this: Deep down, the human spirit yearns for joy, yearns to soar. Kind of like my nieces' favorite movie Mary Poppins, a movie they made me watch over and over and over when they were little. Bless their hearts.

Even after watching it 700 times, I still love the scene where Uncle Albert starts laughing in that lifeless, sterile bank vault. As he laughed with joy, he began to float up to the ceiling. The laughter and life and passion he felt brought him a lightness that made him float. And everyone around him began to laugh and float up as well.

That scene taps a deep human truth: that we all have a spirit that yearns for joy and lightness--a spirit that yearns to soar.

And then life gets in the way--key ingredients go missing--and over time our spirits sink and become flat and heavy and bleak.

For everyone out there who feels that their dreams have been destroyed, their hopes dashed, their spirits crushed...here is the good news of Easter morning: The risen Christ can take our flat, heavy hearts and put back that key ingredient...

...so that our spirits are not stuck on the ground,

...so that our spirits are not dictated by human pain or loss or disappointment,

...so that our spirits are not mired in a tomb.

Easter brings each of us a second chance. A chance to see the life force in our midst. A chance to recognize the risen Christ right in front of us. A chance to start again.

A LEO'S SEARCH FOR GOD

2010-03-13T04:59:00.000-08:00

"God is silent. Now if only man would shut up."

- Woody Allen

I am a spiritual seeker and a Leo. As such, I prefer chatty, outgoing deities. I want a God that wants to talk about the same things I do, i.e. me; a God that tells me when I wake up each morning that I look gorgeous; a God that says, "I love you" every five seconds and "You are so fabulous" every ten.

I didn't ask to be born in August. I didn't even ask to be a Leo. But since someone or something chose to put me on this earth during that particular planetary grade, one would think that he, she or it would take the time to ensure that my royal Leo requirements were met. Unfortunately, the deity responsible was, I believe, a Scorpio: a private, quiet sign that hates lengthy conversations.

You don't have to be a fiery lioness to feel the weight of holy silence. We've all had that moment when we look around expectantly for some divine response -- any response -- and there appears to be none. Why does God sometimes appear silent? And why do those times seem to be the ones we most need holy assistance?

One thing I have learned over the years about Scorpios is that while sometimes quiet, they are loyal beyond imagination. Often found in the background, they are nonetheless always there -- a bit like Forrest Gump. In the movie, Forrest magically materializes out of the background in some of the major historical moments of the time. Oh, here is Forrest with President John F. Kennedy! Oh, here he is with Elvis Presley! Oh, look Forrest is standing beside John Lennon! You had to look closely to see him, but he was always there.

The ancient Celts apparently agreed with my assessment that God is a Scorpio. In Celtic spirituality, in order to find God, you had to look pretty hard. But if you looked in the right places, God was always there. One of those places was what the Celts deemed "thin places"; places where the boundary between human and holy were so thin, so transparent, you could almost break through. These were the spaces where secular and holy, earth and heaven, ordinary and sacred came together. As the theologian Marcus Borg explained: "Thin places are places where the veil momentarily lifts, and we behold God."

Thin places can take many forms. Some might be geographical, like the desert, where all things are stripped away and life is down to its bare essentials. Others might be found in music, poetry, literature or art. Another thin place we don't often think of is laughter. Laughter is the ultimate act of letting go. It clears our hearts of insecurity, neediness and stale expectations. It opens it anew to the words or songs or silence we were meant to receive.

With laughter, our hearts are laid bare before God. And in this place where all is released, all becomes possible.

One other thing I have learned is that Leos never believe anything is their fault. That is why it has taken me years to realize that God is silent through no fault of God, but because of my own baggage -- my own inability to hear. The Trappist monk Thomas Merton explained: "Life is this simple. We are living in a world that is absolutely transparent, and God is shining through it all the time. This is not just a fable or a nice story. It is true. [And] if we abandon ourselves to God and forget ourselves, we see it sometimes."

In the end I still see myself as a Leo with a Scorpio creator. But through laughter, I've found a thin place where even Leos and Scorpios are compatible; a point where we let go and stop trying to make God into something; a place of repose where, resting in the mystery, we simply await God to reveal God's self in God's own time. No expectations. No disappointments. Just faith that what comes is holy and right and meant to be … Scorpio, Leo or whatever.

This post is an excerpt from Susan's upcoming book, "Laugh Your Way to Grace: Reclaiming the Spiritual Power of Humor." Permission granted by SkyLight Paths Publishing. To order call 800-962-4544 or online at www.skylightpaths.com.

Skyping With God

2010-02-28T14:25:00.000-08:00

As I was Skyping a few friends this week, I started thinking about how things have changed in terms of how we stay in touch. Used to be, we'd simply send a post card. Today, we tweet, text, email, and of course - Skype. Thanks to this cool software program, you can talk to anyone with a Skype connection anywhere in the world for free! But here's the coolest part: it's not just voice. There is also a video component, so your conversation is held via a real time image on your screen.

It made me wonder what it would be like to Skype God? Then I realized -- we already do. Just like on Skype when my friend's video image pops up, so too in prayer, when we bow our heads an image of God usually pops up in our mind's eye. So here's the question: When we bow our heads to pray, who do we see?

Is God male or female? Black or white? How old is God? If God talks back, what does God sound like? Does God speak English or Farsi? What is God wearing? What is God doing while you pray? Reclining in a chair or a throne? Taking notes or staring out the window?

None of us was born with a genetic code or microchip that has "the" image of God. From birth on, we gather information from sources like our families, our religious upbringing, and our culture to construct our personal image of God.

Growing up, I was pretty clear that God resembled Clint Eastwood in High Plains Drifter. And why not? The scriptures I remember hearing were like Deuteronomy 28:22: "The LORD shall smite thee with consumption, and with a fever, and with an inflammation, and with an extreme burning, and with the sword, and with blasting, and with mildew; and they shall pursue thee until thou perish."

Yup. High Plains Drifter.

And the images I was exposed to in church didn't help. Every Sunday, this scary judgmental God stared back at me from the stained glass windows surrounding our pew. On the right hand side near the front was a depiction of God drowning Pharaoh's army in the Red Sea. On the left hand side was a very unhappy Jesus hanging on a cross. The window in the back had God destroying the world with a flood. This was not a God you wanted to annoy.

Think about your own upbringing. What holy images did you learn to see? It's important to be aware of the image of God we use in prayer because how we image God drives how we interact with God. Let me offer an example.

Most of our liturgy today is based on male language and specifically father language. This is not necessarily a problem unless, of course, that is the only language we use. When God is father, we tend to project all the parental baggage around that term onto God. And if God is mother, we do the same. Think of how you communicated with your mother versus your father. There were probably things you felt more comfortable telling one and not the other. One parent may have encouraged more of a "yes" "no" "maybe" kind of conversation and the other an intimate conversation for hours. Our prayers may be very different based on which image we use.

And that's just gender. What if you imaged God as a young person versus an old person? Or of a different race or culture? What if you imagined a God that smiled or laughed? Or a God who would cry with you during prayer?

We all know God is beyond titles or descriptions. But it is human nature to want to imagine or "see" God during prayer. As you are "Skyping" God this week, try and open up to new images of God you haven't considered. You may well discover a level of intimacy and honesty you didn't know was possible.

Spare Me Jesus

2010-02-21T04:56:00.000-08:00

My new religious jewlery purchase:

A cross with "Spare me Jesus" inscribed. Please look closely at the detail.
For a fun sermon on the topic, go to: http://www.mabcnyc.org/mabc-audio.htm

World Peace -- One Joke at a Time

2010-02-17T11:54:00.001-08:00

"Our first task in approaching another people, another culture, another religion,

is to take off our shoes for the place we are approaching is holy."

-Anonymous

A Rabbi, a Muslim and a Baptist preacher walk into a room. (Rim shot!) Yes, it’s the setup for a joke, but not like you expect. Comedian Rabbi Bob Alper, Muslim comic Azhar Usman, and myself, an ex-lawyer turned Baptist minister and standup, are taking the stage for the Laugh in Peace Tour. The shows (many of which are fund raisers for Habitat for Humanity) are being held at Churches and Synagogues across the country, including Urban Grace Church in Tacoma, Washington, Baltimore Hebrew Congregation in Maryland and Wellshire Presbyterian Church in Denver, Colorado.

The audiences span every imaginable face: Jews, Christians, Muslims, Buddhists. And for two short hours, the differences are forgotten and we all laugh together.

In the show, Rabbi Bob Alper explains about the differences in language and culture:“On my first visit to Jerusalem I was eager to try out my classical Hebrew. While riding in a cab I asked the driver to stop at the next corner. He looked at me funny, then I realized what I had said was not ‘let me off here,’ but ‘BEHOLD! Here I descend!’”

Alternatively, Azahar Usman rifts on what it’s like being Muslim in America—especially in airports.

The three of us believe that humor may be the quickest way to world peace. Laughter allows us to see our commonalties and, in turn, appreciate our diversity. When we laugh with someone, whether it is a stranger, a friend, a lover or an enemy, our worlds overlap for a tiny, but significant moment. It is then that defenses are lowered, ideas and feelings are shared and the best in each other gleams forth. Only when we can laugh past our perceived superiority and righteousness, can we truly look at our neighbor with a sense of hospitality and justice. Perhaps W.H. Auden put it best when he said, “Love your crooked neighbor, with your own crooked heart.” For more information, check out:

http://www.bobalper.com/

http://www.allahmademefunny.com/

http://www.susansparks.com/

Click, click, click

2010-01-18T10:02:00.000-08:00

This week I took my first fall on a New York City street. And this was no simple trip, catch yourself and move on kind of fall. This was a sprawled-out-onto-the-sidewalk kind of fall.

Certainly, there is a moment of shock when one finds oneself on the ground. More shocking, however, was my realization after a few seconds that no one was stopping. All I heard were the click, click, click of the boots and heels and wingtips walking by.

Unfortunately, that sound describes how many people prefer to approach the suffering of others. Whether it is the click of our heels walking by someone in need, or the click of a remote control to avoid images of pain, many choose to love thy neighbor – but at an appropriate and safe distance.

Haiti -- click
Illegal immigrants -- click
Those without adequate healthcare -- click
LGBT Hate crimes – click
Racism in America -- click, click, click

Oh we want to know a little bit about what’s going on in the world. It’s good for cocktail conversation and certainly a world crisis might affect the financial markets! But when push comes to shove, we’d prefer to change the channel or walk on by.

In his Letter from Birmingham Jail, Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. warns of the evil of such silence: "We will have to repent in this generation not merely for the hateful words and actions of the bad people, but for the appalling silence of the good people."

We need to be clear: The people that we walk by, the people whom we turn away from are our own family. Oh we may think we are different and separate, but we aren’t. We are like islands that appear separate on the surface of the ocean, but deep down are all connected to one unique core. Every life lost, every broken body, every heavy human heart is equally ours.

Dr. King also wrote that “human progress never rolls in on wheels of inevitability. It comes through the tireless efforts of [people] willing to be co-workers with God.”

If we are to be co-workers with God, then we need to make the same promise God made to the Israelites in Isaiah 62:1: “I will not keep silent.”

Let’s make that promise today – that we will not be silent in the face of suffering and injustice. A promise that we will look on each other as brothers and sisters, that we will treat each other as family, and that ultimately we will live our lives like the words inscribed at the Holocaust museum in Washington, DC: “Thou shalt not be a victim. Thou shalt not be a perpetrator. Above all, thou shalt not be a bystander.”

No Al Dente in 2010!

2010-01-06T13:01:00.000-08:00

I have never, nor will I ever, understand the term "al dente." For example, to cook asparagus so briefly that it still comes out bright green and able to stand up on its own. Why even go to the trouble of cooking it? If you are in such a hurry to finish, why not just eat it raw?

As a southerner, I'm proud to say: we don't do al dente. We actually cook our food. We stew things, boil things, we simmer things.

New Years day, I spent most of the morning stewing a big pot of black eyed peas. And no, I did not blanch or sauté them. First, I soaked them in water for an hour. Then, I simmered them for another two hours with cloves of garlic, beef bouillon cubes, salt, pepper, a Vidalia onion and of course a ham bone with lots of fat. After several hours, all those fabulous flavors seeped into those little peas and they magically transformed into a holy work of art.

It's too bad we don't live life like those peas. Sadly, New Years is all about living life al dente. It is a time for gearing up, revving ones' engines about the coming year. We make New Year's resolutions, lists, goals, plans, strategies; we think of ways we can be more productive, more efficient, more successful, and more things to more people; we plot what we can do now, what we can be now, how can we improve life now. Now, now, now!

Perhaps the lesson for 2010 is not to speed up, but to slow down. Not to rush, but to take a slower, more deliberate pace to life.

Life just tastes better when slow cooked. For example, if I had quickly blanched those peas, all the garlic and onion and ham flavors would have been lost. And it's the same with life. When we live life al dente, we miss all the surrounding ingredients: the things of beauty, the things that matter, the people in need.

Jesus' life was the perfect example. His ministry was based upon a slow, deliberate approach to life. Jesus never did anything al dente. He didn't work on a strict agenda. He didn't use a Blackberry or an iPhone. He just walked and went at such a pace that he noticed the things around him; things like a mustard seed, or Zacchaeus in the sycamore tree, or the leper by the road, or the woman at the well.

When we insist on living life at a quick al dente pace, we will walk right by the things that made Jesus stop. "I was hungry and you gave me no food, I was thirsty and you gave me nothing to drink, I was a stranger and you did not welcome me." (Matthew 25:42-43)

There is another ingredient we will miss living life al dente. That ingredient is God. To develop intimacy with God, you need time. The theologian Brennan Manning talks about it in terms of "wasting time with God." And why not? We waste time with our loved ones: napping on the couch, taking a long drive, reading the paper. It is the time spent without an agenda where true intimacy is born. Yet, we rarely make an effort to "waste time" with God; to leisurely pray or meditate without an agenda, without an ending time in mind.

As you head into our fast paced 2010, think about my black eyed peas. Think about Jesus and his ministry. Why not simmer over life rather than blanch right through it. Let's make a pact right now: NO al dente in 2010! Life is just better when it's slow cooked.

Taking Down the Tree

2009-12-30T08:29:00.001-08:00

There is one ritual I really hate during the holidays: taking down the tree.
It's a sad job, as it marks the end of the season. And it's messy-- dragging out a month old, dried up balsam. Most of all it leaves the house with this big empty hole in the corner of the living room. What was there before the tree? I can't even remember.

But I took it down. And here I sit, feeling sad, staring at a bare spot in the living room and a house strewn with needles.

I really need to get over this annual trauma. January is supposedly the month of moving on, cleaning out, and lightening up, right? It invites us to think of the things like my tree - the old, dried up parts of our lives - that need clearing out. Maybe it is an old grudge that we need to release or a lingering sense of self doubt. Whatever it is, the hardest part of the holidays is the clearing out. For with it come sadness, messiness and emptiness.

When we let go of something, even the old, bad, dried up stuff, we feel loss. What is known (good or bad) is gone. And any loss brings sadness.

The clearing out can also be messy, as it shakes loose a load of emotional Christmas tree needles in our lives; ones that can show up later in strange places we didn't expect (like the needles I found in the vegetable bin of the refrigerator last May).

Most of all, letting go can leave a hole we're not sure how to fill. If we let go of anger, for example, then what goes in its place? If we aren't mad, then who are we?

Hard as it was, I guess I'm glad I took down the tree. Sure I have a lot of needles to sweep and furniture to rearrange. But if I didn't take down the old dried up tree, then where would I find room for the new tree - and the new joy - next Christmas? Happy New Years cleaning to you all!

Thoughts from a Snowman

2009-12-28T05:23:00.000-08:00

To whom it may concern:

I am a tiny snowman sitting on a stoop outside some place called Madison Avenue Baptist Church on a snowy Sunday morning. I’m not quite sure how I got here, but here I am. My entire life (all thirty minutes of it) has been spent watching people… watching and thinking and wondering. So I thought I’d write down what I learned. I mean if Meredith Baxter can write a memoir, I certainly can too.

It all started when I was very young, which was about 15 minutes ago. I noticed how no one looked like me. Granted I’m only a foot tall and I have a scarf made out of a piece of a garbage bag. But it’s people’s faces that I’m talking about. Unlike most people, I have a big smile – thanks to a yellow twisty tie.

I stand out here smiling at passersby. Some see me and smile. But, most don’t. The ones that always smile are little people. And the smaller, the more excited they are. “A snowman!” they’ll squeal and then reach down and fix my scarf and pat on more snow. I like them. The big people, however, don’t usually smile; in fact they don’t even notice me.

But of course, how can they? They walk by too fast, looking down at the sidewalk like they are going to find the $270 million dollar mega-bucks lottery ticket. They seem in a great hurry; seem terribly worried about something. They seem so sad.

I’m only a snowman, but on a day like this, why worry? There’s magic in the air! There’s joy to be found--even in the tiniest things like a snowflake. Every crystal is unique. Every crystal is a masterpiece of design. And not one design is ever repeated. When a snowflake falls, the masterpiece is revealed. And when it hits the pavement and melts, it is forever lost.

Most big folks miss the snowflakes like they miss the other great moments of beauty and magic in this life. Moments that will never be repeated; moments lost to worry. And for what? Do you remember what you were worrying about six months ago? It’s like a saying I read on a fortune cookie paper blowing by: “today is the tomorrow that we worried about yesterday.”

I wish I could write more. But I can tell that the snow is starting to wane and the air is beginning to warm. I don’t want to waste one minute of my short time here on this stoop. So I’d best get going. I have work to do … and smiles to offer. Just slow down your pace and look up from the sidewalk -- maybe you'll see me!

2009-12-08T05:15:00.000-08:00

SOURDOUGH JESUS

One of the most important lessons I have learned as a minister is this: never read scripture that involves food when you are hungry. Recently, before breakfast, I read: "I am the bread of life. Whoever comes to me will never be hungry." All I could think about was what kind of bread was it? Cinnamon raisin? Herb? Or perhaps chocolate cherry?

To get me off the bread fixation, I did a little research on the Greek word, "artos," that John used to denote bread in this passage. It is defined as food mixed with flour and water and baked. Some have even interpreted it as meaning an ancient version of sourdough. Now that definitely puts a new spin on the passage: "And Jesus said to them 'I am the sourdough of life.'"

Sourdough or not, Jesus as the bread of life is a common metaphor we see in the gospels: Jesus as the unending source of nourishment, Jesus as the giver, Jesus always putting others first.

But here's the problem: some of us have taken that metaphor a little too far. We all know folks like this-or maybe we are folks like this: People who believe that in order to serve others, you have to sacrifice yourself; people who believe that in order to be whole, you have to give yourself away -- piece by piece, obligation by obligation, a yes here, a yes there until there is nothing left. There are way too many people who believe that they need to sacrifice themselves even unto death, or at a minimum unto heart disease, diabetes, high blood pressure and stroke.

Especially during this chaotic holiday season, we might consider looking closer at the wisdom offered by Sourdough Jesus. It involves two simple lessons:

FEED THE DOUGH
Sourdough is made with what's called a starter, which consists of water and flour (and maybe yeast if you aren't a purist). The "starter" sits in your refrigerator and requires a regular feeding of flour and water. If you feed it, it becomes an unending supply of nourishment.

Not unlike sourdough Jesus. It seems almost every day of his life, Jesus is doing something to feed himself: stopping for a meal, stopping for water or pausing for conversation with friends. But one of the most important things he does is allow others to nurture him. Who could forget the story of how he allowed Mary to pour expensive perfume onto his feet and to dry it with her hair?

To allow others to care for us is not the easiest thing. But in order to make the bread, you have to feed the dough.

LET IT REST
Anyone who bakes bread knows the creation process involves cycles of feeding key ingredients to the dough and then allowing it to rest.

Jesus followed the same process. He took time to feed himself and he rested. (OK, OK, maybe not in 21st century terms. You don't necessarily see Jesus doing an exorcism then going to recover at Canyon Ranch.) But he found his own ways to rest. Time and time again, he would say "no" to the crowds, "no" to the disciples and pull away into the mountains for quiet and prayer. He knew without food and rest, he could feed no one.

This holiday season, don't fall into the trap of thinking you aren't loveable unless you feed everyone else first; that you will be a better person when you heal and care for the entire world to the exclusion of yourself. Take time everyday to feed yourself and to rest. If you follow this recipe closely, then like Sourdough Jesus you can be an unending source of life and nourishment for others without losing yourself.

There's Been a Change in Plans

2009-11-18T11:31:00.000-08:00

5:30pm JFK

I was sitting on the runway waiting for a flight to Minneapolis--or so I thought. Just after pulling away from the gate, a huge cell of electrical storms blew in. The next thing you know, JFK closes and we are engines off for two hours. Finally the storms pass, and I hear the jets begin to warm up. We move approximately 2.5 inches, then we stop again with engines off. Then the pilot comes on: "I’m afraid there’s been a change of plans. The good news is that we will get to Minneapolis at some point. The bad news is that due to the backup from the storms, we are number 78 in line for takeoff. "

Isn’t that life? We’re going 100 miles an hour one direction then BAM—there’s a change of plans. Like death and taxes, one of the few things in this life we can count on is change. It's like the Author Faith Baldwin said, "Time is a dressmaker specializing in alterations. "

From the time we are born, life is in a constant state of change:

-One day you are filing papers at your job, the next day you are filing for unemployment. There’s been a change in plans.

-One day you have brown hair, the next you have brown, mixed with a few strays that look suspiciously gray. There’s been a change in plans.

-One day your son or daughter is curled up in your lap begging for a story, and the next they are standing at the door begging for the car keys. There’s been a change of plans.

-One minute your partner says you are the love of my life, the next you hear “I don’t want you in my life.” There’s been a change in plans.

-One minute you are full of vim and vigor, the next you are taking five advil just to get out of bed. There’s been a change in plans.

We spend our lives looking for solid ground. And sometimes we look in places that aren’t so solid--like money or possessions (which will fade), or worse we turn to other people for solid ground (which many of us know from experience can be one of the most unstable, unpredictable of all places).

Sometimes I think life feels like the undulating floors at Coney Island fun house. Everywhere you put your foot, the ground moves and shifts and changes. No spot remains constant and there is no solid ground.

It is times like these that I think about others who have lived this moving, shifting fun house floor experience and somehow found a way to survive—even thrive. And that's when I think about the Psalms.

Three years and seven trillion dollars later--the best thing I got out of seminary is an introduction to the Psalmist. These folks seriously rock. I'm not kidding. Just pick up a Psalm--any Psalm and you’ll find any and every human trauma: war, murder, adultery, treason, theft, lust...it’s like Mad Men set in 750 BC. These were people who knew a bit about change. Yet, they survived and not just survived but flourished. And they did so, because they put their trust in what never changes.

My favorite is Psalm 46 where the Psalmist write about stuff sounding suspiciously like the movie 2012. "We will not fear, though the earth should change, though the mountains shake in the heart of the sea, though its waters roar and foam, though the mountains tremble with its tumult...The nations are in an uproar, the kingdoms totter...the earth melts." Take that on John Cusack!

There is something very poignant about reading a 3000 year old message written by folks that have gone through the very same things we are going through today. We’ve all been exiled, we’ve all lost our sense of home, we've all faced storms and tribulations and we all have felt the lack of solid ground. Yet for generation after generation, these psalmists found a refugee. "The LORD of hosts is with us; the God of Jacob is our refuge."

My two cents? In life there will always be “a change of plans.” We just need to trust in what never changes, so we can then trust in what does.