Pandemic Ministry

It has been nearly four years since I retired from fulltime pastoral ministry. At the time I wondered how the transition was going to change my ministry, which I have always considered to be a lifelong calling and never dependent on a church paycheck – although the salary certainly helped pay the bills.

For the most part I have declined opportunities to do traditional ministry. I have declined all requests to be an interim pastor at churches in surrounding towns. I declined most invitations to be the guest preacher in other pulpits. I needed time away from the pulpit to recover my land legs. Like sailors needing time to adjust to land life after an extended time at sea, I needed time to see what it was like to walk the Christian life without leaning on a pulpit.

Strangely enough, in recent months the coronavirus pandemic has aided my ministry.  Enjoying the slower pace that the pandemic brought, I used the time to start a podcast and a video YouTube Channel. I don’t preach online. I talk about spiritual matters in an informal manner.

What I say has changed as much as how I say it. When I was a church pastor I had the responsibility referred to as “care of souls.” I ministered to people at all different stages of the spiritual journey. Whenever I crafted a sermon, I was very aware that it would be heard by a wide variety of people at different stages in their physical and spiritual lives. That determined what I said.

Now without the responsibility for other’s souls, I find myself looking more carefully at my own soul. I write and speak to clarify my thoughts about what I am experiencing spiritually. I speak from where I am, out of where I am – not to where other people are. I “speak forth” rather than “speak to.” If people happen to be where I am spiritually, then they will tune in. If not, they will tune out. Either way is fine. It turns out that I reach more people now than I ever did when I was a pulpit jockey.

This new ministry has deepened my spiritual life. One of the reasons I chose Christian ministry as a profession was so I could spend time developing my own spiritual life. I admit, it was selfish. But it worked … to a degree. Pastoral ministry was more time-consuming than I ever imagined, but I also focused on what I love the most – spiritual matters. Now that I am retired I have even more time to devote to the spiritual adventure.

In classical Indian philosophy of life, there are four stages of life known as ashramas. The first is the Student. The second is the Householder. The third is Retirement. In ancient times, people withdrew from society and retired into the forest to devote themselves fulltime to spiritual practice. In reality most people did not do this, but it remained the Hindu ideal. (The fourth stage is renunciation, a life of monastic-style vows, taking on voluntary poverty. Something I am not yet ready for - although I am striving for simplicity.)

Most Americans today, who can afford to retire, use retirement to catch up on all the things they wanted to do earlier in life, but did not have the time or the money. “Eat, drink, and be merry” as the retired preacher of Ecclesiastes advises.  Those who cannot afford to retire must continue in the householder phase. Many people, who can afford to retire, choose not to. Instead they continue in the second stage of life until the end. Very few use retirement as a time to devote themselves to spiritual pursuits. I have embraced this stage in my life gladly and wholeheartedly!

When I look inward at who I am and who God is, it puts outward matters in perspective. My inner vision is sharper, even while my physical vision and hearing is dimmer. What I see astounds me, and I share it with others. I have no choice. This is who I am. Through the responses I receive regularly from listeners around the world, I have discovered there are a lot of people who see what I see. They are where I am. We are one.

In my ministry I share what I see, which is what Jesus saw. He called it the Kingdom of God. My teaching is more like the message of Jesus and less like the church’s message about Jesus. It is more focused and unequivocal. I am less concerned about offending those who are afraid of the light and more concerned about bearing witness to the Light.

A pastor friend of mine who is still in the pulpit is worried that his bold and prophetic preaching will get him fired by his congregation, with the attendant financial hardship that would involve. I empathize with him, but I have no such fears myself.

I still get the occasional sniper taking shots at me from the dark corners of the Church. Those attacks still wound me, but I am learning how to let them move through me with less resistance. As Jesus wisely practiced and taught us, “Resist not evil.” My ministry is still the joy it has always been, but now the joy is fuller and deeper, and it shows no signs of diminishing. I am eternally grateful for this blessing of the ministry of retirement.

Wrestling with Racism

As a pastor I have always been expected to have wisdom to share on any occasion. I must honestly say that when it comes to racism in America I have no wisdom. I feel like I am part of the problem. No, I am not a white supremacist or Christian nationalist. In fact I have always considered myself progressive when it comes to matters of race. But I confess that I have not been part of the solution to the persistent and systemic racism that has survived for four hundred years in our land.

I have had friends of other races and religions throughout my life. When I was a pastor in the Pittsburgh area I used to exchange pulpits with an African-American pastor friend regularly. I preached in his church and he in mine. That was quite an experience for this white guy raised in an all-white New England Congregational Church. On that first Sunday in the pulpit of the Second Baptist Church, I was taken off guard by the congregation talking back to me during the sermon! But I got used to it quickly and came to enjoy it. Now I miss the real-time interjections of encouragement and affirmation.

I have never considered myself racist, and that is exactly the problem. Very few white people do. Most of us adamantly insist that we are not racist. People like us are blind to the fact that we are part of the problem. I am the beneficiary of white privilege. I grew up in a middle class white family in a middle class white neighborhood. I attended a private, all-male, preparatory, boarding school during my high school years. That makes me REALLY privileged. There were a handful of non-white kids there at the time, but they tended to be from wealthy families.

Because of my excellent secondary education I got into a good liberal arts college, and my parents footed the tuition bill. That was before a college education required parents to take out a second mortgage or students to mortgage their future. For graduate school – another predominately white experience – I attended the oldest Southern Baptist seminary in the country, founded by slaveholders. There I learned firsthand about the racism that is an integral part of Southern culture and religion.

In short, as a white middle class male, I am privileged. I don’t know what it means to be female or poor or gay or a racial minority in our country at this time. For that reason I am uncomfortable with the self-righteous rhetoric that I am hearing from my fellow white Americans – on both the right and left – when it comes to the protesters. Throughout my life I have always advocated nonviolence, a la Martin Luther King. But nonviolence is easy for a white male to espouse when I have not been a victim of violence.

Part of me understands why some people resort to violence. People feel frustrated with the lack of progress in racial justice and equality. If I were in their shoes I might do the same thing. If I was an urban black male today I could easily see myself as one of those whom our president calls “thugs” and threatens with shooting and domination. That is the type of white attitude that led to the murder of George Floyd in the first place.

The socially acceptable paths available to black people have not worked, and whites seem content to leave it that way. So what are people to do? What am I to do? As I write this, my wife and I plan to stand with the protesters in Hesky Park in Meredith on Sunday, although I am concerned about the weather. Thunderstorms are forecast. 

Even that caveat betrays my entrenched self-interest. I will stand up for my fellow Americans’ basic human rights … as long as it is convenient and not uncomfortable for me. How hypocritical is that?! I am clearly part of the problem. Until white folk like me see ourselves as the problem, our nation will never find a solution. God help us all.

Are Churches Essential?

There is a debate going on among American Christians about whether or not churches are “essential.” It was prompted by the president’s announcement over Memorial Day weekend that churches were indeed essential and should be allowed to open their doors for physical in-person worship services in all fifty states “this weekend.”

Then the president promptly went to Virginia to play golf on Sunday morning instead of going to church. I guess church worship is not essential for him, at least not as essential as a round of golf. I do not begrudge the president a bit of recreation. He works hard and deserves a break. But his announcement would have carried much more weight if he practiced what he preached.

Back to the question at hand. Are churches essential? Well, that depends. I am an every-Sunday church-goer, but I have gotten along just fine these last couple of months without stepping through the doors of a church building. I have worshiped with my church via the internet every Sunday morning and have been very inspired by the services.

Of course I miss being in church and look forward to the day I can return. But it is not essential to my spiritual life to do so while an “invisible enemy” (as the president described COVID-19 this weekend) stalks our land killing thousands of people. Protecting the lives of the most vulnerable Americans is more essential. Keeping the church doors closed for a little longer is the best way for the church to fulfill the divine command to “love your neighbor as yourself.”

The way I see it, keeping people safe is the godliest thing that the church can do at this time. By remaining closed temporarily the church is demonstrating its willingness to sacrifice its own welfare for the good of others. That is what the gospel is about. Perhaps this pandemic is a test to see if the churches also practice what they preach.

What about the issue of religious liberty? That seems to be the rallying cry of protesters who are insisting that churches be allowed to “open.” As a Baptist I am a life-long champion of religious liberty, but I don’t see this as the issue during this pandemic. I see no orchestrated campaign by godless Democrats or the Deep State to take away our right to worship, using the pandemic as a convenient excuse to do so. That sounds like a conspiracy theory.

Instead I see governors and mayors trying to keep their people safe by restraining people from assembling in large numbers, especially indoors where the coronavirus is most easily transmitted. Furthermore church attenders tend to be significantly older than the general population, which makes congregating even more dangerous for them.

If there is a conspiracy going on, I would guess that the call to reopen churches is an attempt by godless conservatives to kill off as many Christians – and Jews and Muslims - as possible as quickly as possible. At the same time these devious conspirators have somehow convinced Christians that they are doing them a favor by urging them to enter closed buildings and spew out virus-filled saliva droplets while singing and preaching loudly. Very crafty! Of course I don’t really believe there is such a conservative conspiracy, just as I don’t believe that power-hungry, anti-religious liberals want to outlaw Christian worship.

Once again, are churches essential? Not in the way the president has proclaimed. All the Christians I know can get by for a few more weeks or months without singing hymns and taking communion together. Neither is it financially essential for churches to meet in person. If money is the reason, all the congregants have to do is mail their offerings or give online.

But in a deeper sense church is essential to me spiritually. It is essential that I be part of a community of faith and not go it alone, like so many of my “spiritual but not religious” contemporaries. I need to be physically part of a church. But until that day arrives I would rather be part of a church that is willing to sacrifice itself in order to save the lives of fellow Americans. That is the least that Christians can do to serve our God and our country.

Giving Thanks in a Pandemic

My family has been spared the worst of this pandemic, and for that I am grateful. I know it could have been very different. I would be writing in a different key if I was grieving the loss of a loved one due to COVID-19. A lot of people are suffering terribly because of the coronavirus. Tens of thousands of Americans have died of the disease, usually alone and isolated from their loved ones. There are many families in grief.

People are suffering financially because of the closure of American businesses and governors’ stay-at-home orders. People have lost their jobs and incomes. Some are threatened with losing their housing as a result. People are lining up at food banks because they do not have enough to eat. People are angry. Mental health concerns such as anxiety and depression are on the rise, not to mention the run-of-the-mill types of neuroses that are exasperated when families are shut up together. Things are not good for many people.

I have not experienced any of that personally, except insofar as I empathize with those who are suffering. My safety is due to the fact that I live in a remote neck of the woods. I reside in a small town of a thousand people scattered over one hundred square miles of forest. According to the state statistics there has been only one case of the coronavirus in our town and no deaths. Similar statistics are repeated in surrounding towns. The angel of death has not come near our door.

There are lesser effects of the shut-down, such as social isolation, which we have experienced. We miss our kids, grandkids, church and friends. But we have adapted by seeing people and talking to them outside from a masked distance. I feel guilty for saying this, but for me the advantages of the pandemic restrictions have outweighed the disadvantages.

Weeks ago I shared in a podcast about the opportunity that these pandemic restrictions give us to pay attention to our spiritual lives. We are prevented from many of our regular activities, so why not use the time to develop our spiritual lives? Well, I took my own advice. I have focused on spiritual practices including meditation, mindfulness, spiritual reading, writing and recording episodes of my vlog and podcast.

My writings and recordings have been a form of spiritual journaling for me – a way for me to express myself in a deeper and more thoughtful manner. They have also put me in contact with people all over the world who have read my books and blogs or listened to my podcast or videos. Their encouraging words to me – and mine to them - has turned this online ministry into an extended spiritual community for me. While I am cut off from my local community I have gained a global community.

The time spent at home away from people has deepened my appreciation for silence and solitude. It is like being on an extended spiritual retreat. I am never bored. I avoid the television. I have used these weeks to pay attention to the Kingdom of God within me and around me – to “practice the presence of God,” as Brother Lawrence called it. I have become increasingly conscious of the Oneness that is always here. The pandemic has given me time to integrate this awareness into my daily life.

This has also caused me to empathize with those who are suffering. As Paul says, “If one part of the body suffers, every part suffers with it.” There are family members and church friends who are suffering from illnesses unrelated to the coronavirus, and whose suffering is made worse by the social restrictions. People we love are seriously ill, and some have died. This prompts prayer, sorrow, empathy, and compassion.

We try to help others. My wife helps by baking bread and fixing meals for homebound people, sending countless cards, making phone calls, and distributing her little works of art around the community. In addition to being her bread-delivery driver and donating financially, I help by using my gifts - sharing my words of hope and peace and grace through my audio and video devotions. This has deepened my sense of the unity of humankind, the natural world, and God.

It is too much to say I am thankful for the pandemic. I wish it never happened, and I pray for it to end. But I am thankful in the pandemic. As the apostle instructs, “Give thanks in all circumstances for this is the will of God for you in Christ Jesus.” I am thankful for those workers on the front lives risking their lives. I am grateful for the opportunities that this pandemic has opened up for all of us. I am grateful for the love I have seen demonstrated by ordinary people.

If you have not been practicing a compassionate and intentional “pandemic spiritualty” these last few weeks, I encourage you to begin soon before you miss out. See what God has in store for you. You will be grateful. Gratitude is probably the best medicine for these difficult and uncertain times. As Paul says elsewhere, “nothing [not even a pandemic] can separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus.”

God of Empty Spaces

When the Roman legions conquered Jerusalem in 70 AD, they sacked the Jewish temple. They entered into the Holy Place and the Holy of Holies, which for centuries only the Jewish High Priest had ever set eyes upon. They expected to find treasures galore, like they had found in every other temple they had ever looted.

They found sacred objects of gold in the Holy Place outside of the innermost chamber. The Arch of Titus in Rome shows the famed seven-branched candlestick, a table for showbread, and sacred trumpets being carried out by Roman soldiers. But in the Holy of Holies they found nothing. It was empty.

There was no famed ark of the covenant or anything else. This was not because the ark had been safely hidden away for Indiana Jones to later find. The holiest object of the Jewish religion had been lost centuries earlier and nothing ever took its place. There remained only the empty space to symbolize the presence of God.

Even when the Hebrews still possessed the ark, there was no image of God on it. On the lid of the ark were two cherubim facing each other with their wings outstretched. God was said to dwell in the empty space between the cherubim. YHWH was unique among the gods of the Ancient Near East. Whereas all the other gods were depicted with images, the Hebrew deity was imageless.

The ark itself was originally just an empty box as well, before the Hebrews began to fill it with sacred objects, such as "the golden pot that had manna, Aaron's rod that budded, and the tablets of the covenant" according to the Letter to the Hebrews. That is the way we religious people are. We tend to fill up the empty places with material objects, doctrines and traditions until there is no place left for God.

On Earth Day the pastor of our local church began a series of messages on the biblical creation stories. Last Sunday she pointed out that in the first chapter of Genesis God spent the first three days making empty spaces and the next three days filling them in. I had never thought of it that way before. Emptiness and Fullness. Like any good sermon her words kept me thinking long after the benediction.

The universe started off as “empty and void” according to Genesis, and God preserved the emptiness in the midst of the fullness of creation. God created things but then separated them in order to maintain empty spaces. Separating the light from the darkness, separating the heavens from the earth, and then separating the waters on earth to form inhabitable land.

The Tao Te Ching says,

Spokes unite in the hub, 

but it is emptiness at the center 

that makes the wheel turn.

A pot is made of clay, 

but it is emptiness in the center

that holds the contents.

A house is made of wood, 

but it is emptiness within the walls 

that makes it inhabitable.

A human is made of flesh and blood, 

but it is emptiness at the center 

that makes us useful.

God is in the empty space. That is what the spacious interiors of the great cathedrals communicate. That is why the wide expanse of the heavens amazes us. That is why mountaintop vistas take our breath away. That is why the Grand Canyon awes us. That is why prayer and meditation are so powerful. We encounter emptiness at the center of our being.

That is where divine and human meet - in the Holy of Holies of the soul, the open space of consciousness which is our true nature. We are not these physical bodies or the busyness of the human mind. We are the space at the center. The treasure we seek is found in the emptiness.  

Recognizing the Enemy

It is distressing to me how easily this coronavirus pandemic has degenerated into a political battle. I was reminded of this over the weekend while witnessing the anger expressed in demonstrations across the country for “Opening Up America Again.” If there is one situation where we should be able to cooperate for the common good, it is this one. But it appears that I am mistaken … again. Each side blames the other for making the pandemic a partisan issue. Each side claims the moral high ground and demonizes the other.

I guess I should not be surprised at this development. Indeed I would be surprised if it were any different. Instead of bringing people together, it seems that times of national crisis too often drives people deeper into their warring tribes – liberals versus conservatives, Democrats versus Republicans, Trumpers versus anti-Trumpers, our religion versus their religion, our nation versus those nations, patriotic versus unpatriotic, American versus un-American, people like us versus people not like us.

Whatever label you choose to give to me, I am not your enemy. I refuse to make you into my enemy. We are in this together. Back in mid-20th century, Walt Kelly was writing his Pogo comic strip, which was often filled with profound, yet simple, wisdom. One memorable comic in 1972, penned during a time of great social discord in our country, had the words: “We have met the enemy and he is us.”

When I ponder those words, it is like jumping down a rabbit hole into Wonderland. When we look closely at our enemy we see they are no different than us. I can see this clearly, even in the midst of the bitter political rhetoric of today. I see myself in the faces of the people who take the opposite position than I do on issues.

It takes very little imagination for me to see myself under other circumstances believing what they believe. A slightly different place of birth or trajectory in life, and I am them. They are me. They are my sisters and brothers, my sons and daughters. They are not my enemy. They are fellow humans. Our enemy is us.

The divisions that we see around us are simply the divisiveness of our own souls projected onto the world. National boundaries are nothing more than imaginary lines drawn on maps. The spread of this virus has reminded us of that. 

Racial differences are no more physically significant than being able to roll your tongue. (I can’t; don’t hate me for it.) Religious divisions are illusory, nothing more than ideas in our minds that are given the aura of Truth by the authority of scriptures and traditions.

I say it so often that some might find my words repetitive, but I will say it again. We are one. We are one with every other human being on this earth, as our DNA shows. We are one with all living things on this planet, as our DNA also shows. 

We are one with the earth, as our body chemistry shows. We are earth and return to earth. We are earthlings. We are one with the universe. We are born of the universe and are never separate from it. We are universelings. We are the universe aware of itself. 

We are one with God, which is simply a name we give to Reality in order to make the Incomprehensible more approachable. We come from God and return to God. We are the image of God, as my Scriptures say. We are mirrors reflecting God’s image back to God. 

There are no divisions in Reality. All is one. There is no “us versus them.” It is all our imagination. Therefore all we have to do is reimagine. May we let go of the contempt, name-calling and self-righteousness and see ourselves in the faces of the enemy. Our enemy is us. We are them. We are one.

Pandemic Fatigue

This pandemic is getting old. The novelty of the “stay-at-home” order is wearing thin. I don’t know about the coronavirus, but my curve is flattened. Don’t get me wrong. I am grateful that this pestilence has bypassed my family so far. And I pray for those I know who have been stricken with coronavirus and for those who are feeling the financial effects of the economic lockdown much more than I am.

I know that for many people this is a life and death situation. This virus is killing tens of thousands of Americans, like the Influenza Epidemic in the year my parents were born. As the Surgeon General said, it is this generation's 9/11 or Pearl Harbor. In fact more Americans have died of COVID just in New York City than died on 9/11 and at Pearl Harbor combined, and this attack is nowhere near to being over. But for me this pandemic has been more of a live television event than a firsthand crisis in real life.

For the first few weeks it was exciting. It was like I was an actor in my own dystopian action film. “Pandemic” – starring Marshall Davis with everyone else as supporting actors. That is the way the ego works – it is all about how it affects “me.” No matter how much we try to make it about our neighbors, we live every day with our own egotistical thoughts and feelings. And my ego thought it was exciting at first. Now it says it has had enough.

I see the same attitude in others. People are tired of this. Especially those with children and those who have lost jobs. It is like cabin fever on steroids. It does not help that here in New Hampshire it came on the heels of our regular cabin fever. People want their regular lives back. They want what we call "normalcy," although I suspect it will never really get back to normal. It will be more like a “new normal.”

I see people relaxing their restrictions on social distancing. They are less vigilant about wearing masks or keeping their distance. “It won’t matter just this once,” we think. “Maybe strict measures are necessary in national ‘hot spots’ but not in our little neck of the woods,” we reason. “Social distancing doesn’t apply to me or this friend or that family member,” we tell ourselves. That is bad reasoning.

I can only imagine the tense atmosphere in the White House. I understand the desire of our president to want this to stop soon. We all do. The problem is he thinks he can decide when this crisis ends. He believes he has the power and authority to get the nation – and especially the economy - back to normal. I wish that were true. But it is out of his control. It has nothing to do with his – or our - feelings or desires. It will be over when it’s over. There is nothing we can do - except to keep on keeping on.

There is a parallel here with the spiritual life. Some people think the spiritual life is about what we do and don’t do. It’s not. It is about what we cannot do. The spiritual life is about grace. It is about patience and perseverance and hope. There is very little – if anything – about the spiritual life that is under our control. We do not become more spiritual by our efforts or desires. Even spiritual disciplines do not accomplish anything. They are simply what we do. They do not bring us any closer to God.  It is all grace.

In one of his early letters, the apostle Paul wrote, “And let us not grow weary while doing good, for in due season we shall reap if we do not lose heart.” It is a matter of not losing heart while we do what is right. It is easy to lose heart during this pandemic. I see the heart loss in myself and others. It is not pretty. This is one of the greatest spiritual dangers of this pandemic.

But it is also one of the greatest opportunities of this pandemic. We can learn patience. We can keep the faith. We can hope. We can love – which means keeping our social distance, not for ourselves but for others. It is not about us. We wear masks for our neighbors – not ourselves. They are a badge of our love.

If we persevere, we shall reap, the apostle says. Reap what? The reward will be the quickest end to this national health crisis with the fewest possible deaths. There is also a spiritual reward. A few verses earlier he lists the harvest. He calls them the fruit of the Spirit: love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control. That sounds like a plentiful harvest. And it is ours to taste in due season by the grace of God… if we do not lose heart.  

NOTE TO READERS: A subscriber emailed me and asked me why I have so few blog posts during this pandemic. It is because I have been spending my time recording video and audio devotions, entitled “Devotions for a Pandemic.” If you are interested, you can access those here:

YouTube devotions:

https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLsK97WbFX2Mb1czemIFlPSawSnD8Yti9j

Podcast: https://www.buzzsprout.com/290971