General Assembly -- Day 2
I begin today's reflection on General Assembly with a most perfect example of iambic pentameter, coming from an Atlanta youth to a couple of buddies on a MARTA bus (Atlanta's public transport)--
Y'all like y'all ain't rode no bus before...
To be Southern is to be literary--it's woven into the culture.*
I begin with that thought after reading the Sunday New York Times, seeing example after example of a world spun out of control with no one knowing how to manage--kind of like kids turned loose on a city bus.
My day began with a moving worship service at First Presbyterian Church of Portland. The Rev. Dr. Craig Barnes, president of Princeton Seminary, challenged us to be led by hope as we look over the dry bones of the world gone amok. To be led by hope, he preached, is to hear hope refusing to allow us to settle. Settling is just accepting that things are as they are--that a madman can shoot up a nightclub; that a deranged youth can walk into a Bible study and kill the people there; that Palestinians and Israelis cannot coexist side by side--or, as he poetically put it, we accept misery because we can't tolerate mystery. We accept what we know, even if what we know stinks, because stepping into the unknown is simply too frightening.
My mind went back to the metaphor from yesterday--the collapse into something small--black hole or neutron star? blinding, sucking blackness or light so brilliant it shines through all creation?
To settle sinks into that sucking mire. To enter mystery leads us to cosmic wonder.
It should be a no-brainer, but then the actual meeting begins.
Presbyterian meetings are astoundingly similar from Session to Presbytery to Synod to General Assembly--many reports from many people, running into one another, and forcing us to pay more attention as they threaten to become drones. You see folks settling. They sink into their seats, thumb smartphone screens, or slip out for coffee.
But this is how we do things. We invite folks passionate about things to speak to them. We say we want to hear what they have to say. Then we struggle to keep focused as minutes pass into hours.
Granted, on these opening sessions, there is no action to be taken. These are the non-action reports--the updates of who and where we are--the news from the front, so to speak.
Then comes a moment that is prescient. We were greeted by representatives from three of the major faith communities in Portland--a Mormon elder, a rabbi, and an imam. The elder rose to welcome us to an open city, welcoming all comers. The rabbi called us to consider deeply the pending action to come on overtures concerning Israel, that a huge sweep of American Judaism will be watching us. The imam rose to speak, offering that sometimes the ways of peace require action that is unpopular.
And there it is--the point wherein what we choose to do will either lead us deeper into the darkness, or refine us into a still brighter light. I believe it is the Middle East Committee that holds the key to this Assembly--what they say and do will have more reverberations than any other action committee. The thing is that, at the moment, there is no clear sense of exactly what action will lead to which course--deepening darkness or refining light.
The stakes of this Assembly begin to form. Where will we be at week's end? What will have been said? Done?
Suddenly, Dr. Barnes' sermon rings loud and clear. Mission has an older sister. Her name is hope. Hope refuses to allow us to settle. Hope drives us into mystery.
Are we ready to be led there? Or are we going to be like we ain't rode no bus before?
That will only become clear as we deliberate. We will begin to know if we are settling or if we are following hope into wonder. If we are not going where we need to go, I pray we will pause to reorient ourselves, refocus, and push toward the brilliant light we can be, following Christ, embodying Christ, for a world that certainly acts like it ain't rode no bus before.
==================
* Roy Blount, Jr. overheard the conversation and it led him to see the literary nature of Southern life
Y'all like y'all ain't rode no bus before...
To be Southern is to be literary--it's woven into the culture.*
I begin with that thought after reading the Sunday New York Times, seeing example after example of a world spun out of control with no one knowing how to manage--kind of like kids turned loose on a city bus.
My day began with a moving worship service at First Presbyterian Church of Portland. The Rev. Dr. Craig Barnes, president of Princeton Seminary, challenged us to be led by hope as we look over the dry bones of the world gone amok. To be led by hope, he preached, is to hear hope refusing to allow us to settle. Settling is just accepting that things are as they are--that a madman can shoot up a nightclub; that a deranged youth can walk into a Bible study and kill the people there; that Palestinians and Israelis cannot coexist side by side--or, as he poetically put it, we accept misery because we can't tolerate mystery. We accept what we know, even if what we know stinks, because stepping into the unknown is simply too frightening.
My mind went back to the metaphor from yesterday--the collapse into something small--black hole or neutron star? blinding, sucking blackness or light so brilliant it shines through all creation?
To settle sinks into that sucking mire. To enter mystery leads us to cosmic wonder.
It should be a no-brainer, but then the actual meeting begins.
Presbyterian meetings are astoundingly similar from Session to Presbytery to Synod to General Assembly--many reports from many people, running into one another, and forcing us to pay more attention as they threaten to become drones. You see folks settling. They sink into their seats, thumb smartphone screens, or slip out for coffee.
But this is how we do things. We invite folks passionate about things to speak to them. We say we want to hear what they have to say. Then we struggle to keep focused as minutes pass into hours.
Granted, on these opening sessions, there is no action to be taken. These are the non-action reports--the updates of who and where we are--the news from the front, so to speak.
Then comes a moment that is prescient. We were greeted by representatives from three of the major faith communities in Portland--a Mormon elder, a rabbi, and an imam. The elder rose to welcome us to an open city, welcoming all comers. The rabbi called us to consider deeply the pending action to come on overtures concerning Israel, that a huge sweep of American Judaism will be watching us. The imam rose to speak, offering that sometimes the ways of peace require action that is unpopular.
And there it is--the point wherein what we choose to do will either lead us deeper into the darkness, or refine us into a still brighter light. I believe it is the Middle East Committee that holds the key to this Assembly--what they say and do will have more reverberations than any other action committee. The thing is that, at the moment, there is no clear sense of exactly what action will lead to which course--deepening darkness or refining light.
The stakes of this Assembly begin to form. Where will we be at week's end? What will have been said? Done?
Suddenly, Dr. Barnes' sermon rings loud and clear. Mission has an older sister. Her name is hope. Hope refuses to allow us to settle. Hope drives us into mystery.
Are we ready to be led there? Or are we going to be like we ain't rode no bus before?
That will only become clear as we deliberate. We will begin to know if we are settling or if we are following hope into wonder. If we are not going where we need to go, I pray we will pause to reorient ourselves, refocus, and push toward the brilliant light we can be, following Christ, embodying Christ, for a world that certainly acts like it ain't rode no bus before.
==================
* Roy Blount, Jr. overheard the conversation and it led him to see the literary nature of Southern life
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