Archive for July, 2011

Dear friends in Holy Covenant,

This week, I want to confess publicly that my mother, Ruth Hofmann Anderson, makes a better apple pie than I do. This will not come as news to her or to anyone else in my immediate family. I’ve been striving to match her high standards for years. Sure, I’ve had my occasional, mouth-watering successes but in general, I fall short of the glory.

My mother and I, besides our vastly unequal apple pies, are very different cooks. I make curries and she makes chicken rice soup. She makes a killer minestrone and mine always turned out so bland that I gave up trying. I sauté heaps of kale every week and she, well, she notes politely that she just finds it a little…tough. So for a few years, when friends would ask, “How did you learn to cook?” I’d answer, “I’m not sure.” I’d think about college and learning to make stir-fry. I’d think about the hippie camps where I’ve worked and first eaten all kinds of things I’d never encountered before (that are now such a part of my diet I can’t even think of a good example!). I’d think about Kyra giving me her sugarless carrot cake recipe. Then finally, I wised up.

“My mother taught me to cook,” I now know and answer.

Cooking from scratch; making all our baby food when her family members thought she was nuts to do so; allowing me to try my hand at baking cookies and loaf after loaf of dense, brick-like bread; hosting dinners for church folks, and my friends, and most often for a gathering we referred to as “just us” (as in, “Are we having people over or is it gonna be just us?”): my mom taught me the joy of preparing with my own hands food for the sustenance and pleasure of life.

So while she still thinks tofu tastes bland, and I still think she ought to sauté her vegetables before she puts them in the omelette (I mean, come on, what’s up with that?), I know that my mom taught me how to cook. Not what to cook, but how. And in teaching me how to cook, she taught me a lot about how I want to live my life: prioritizing household, and health, and companionship.

None of the recipes I sent to Maria and Amy for the Holy Covenant cookbook are from my mom. But the fact that I have go-to recipes that I use to feed crowds of people, could hardly be more directly from her. That’s my story. Send yours, with your recipes, by midnight this Sunday.

See you on Sunday!

Rebecca
Minister of Spiritual Formation

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Sunday, July 24, 2011
Holy Covenant UMC
Rev. Matthew Johnson, preaching

Matthew 5:43-48

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In March, when Emily and I first visited the parsonage here, we were excited about city living … and what the prospect of downsizing was going to require of us. We were thinking we could simplify our life a bit. You know, some large, bulky things were going to have to go. Some of the things we’d hung onto for a while (only because we had the space) were now up for consideration. Even some of the things we loved may not make it on the truck. You’ve all moved, so you’ve been there … I’m sure many of you have been forced to make similar decisions.

What I didn’t consider initially was how challenging being responsible about the things we wanted to be rid of was going to be. I mean it started easy enough … we found takers among friends for many things we didn’t need. But as the move grew closer, and the number of items we wanted to be rid of grew larger, I got anxious. Ads on Craigslist went without response. People who claimed items never came to get them. The weeks continued to fly by, counting down to move day, but the pile didn’t seem to go anywhere. I kept thinking “how easy would it be just to drag all this out to the curb, put garbage stickers on it and be rid of it?”

Every time I would think that, though, I’d get a twinge of guilt … and instead think about what my grandmother, who grew up in depression era, and still practices much of what she learned then now, would say to me in nasal-toned disappointment. “Wasteful” … I kept hearing her say. Wasteful. And I’d know she was right. (more…)

While on my first trip to Lithuania, our group was offered a tour of a small village outside the city where we were based. Initially, I was excited. Understanding the present context was important to me, and the villages were steeped in it. But as we stepped out of the van I was a bit afraid. I was sure we stood out like bright orange traffic cones as we sauntered down the street. It made me very uncomfortable. Although I was with a small group of people, I felt exposed and vulnerable.

As we arrived at a canola farm at the end of the road and a few of us were admiring the flowers planted at the corner of the property, the farmer noticed us. He began to approach very quickly. I wanted to run. But as he came closer, we saw his arms were extended as if he wanted to embrace us all at once! Excitedly, he directed us to follow him up the path toward the house and barns. His wife came out to greet us with the same enthusiasm. They spoke briefly and she quickly went back into the house. He showed us around the farm for about 20 minutes, and then led us into their home. His wife had been preparing a feast of fresh strawberries, cakes and cookies, all of which were set out (along with every chair they owned) in their living room. They poured us coffee and tea. We ate.

Then the question came via our translator: “So who are you?”

While that kind of radical hospitality is still ingrained in Lithuanian culture (and many other nations for that matter), it is downright foreign to us. Oddly enough, the concept of radical hospitality — opening one’s life to the stranger — is deeply rooted in the culture of our faith. When the three visitors came to Abraham and Sarah, they are welcomed with more bread than their family could have eaten in a month. When Jesus is invited to dine with the Pharisees, he challenges them to do the same for those who cannot repay.

How do we practice that kind of radical hospitality in our own lives as Christians and as members of the church community? What would happen if every stranger who approached us were lavished upon like my group was by that farming couple? What if we were intentional about inviting those who may challenge our resources and ideals? I don’t think it would take long before we’d make use of every shuttered Borders bookstore in the city to accommodate all who felt like they finally belonged somewhere. But I’m getting ahead of myself. Maybe we start with the empty seat next to us this Sunday in worship; or tomorrow morning for coffee, Monday for lunch, or next week for dinner.

If nothing else, you’ll give somebody a story like mine…and they will tell it forever.

Shalom,

Pastor Matthew

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Sunday, July 17, 2011
Holy Covenant UMC
Rev. Matthew Johnson, preaching

Genesis 28:10-19a

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As Jacob lay his head on the rock and attempted to fall asleep, he did so not as a person who was able to relax. He looked up at the stars arriving in the fresh, darkening sky, and his thoughts were not filled with romantic dreams of his future. He was exhausted from the day, yet he found no rest. Every sound startled him — be they distant mountain echoes or nearby nocturnal animals.

He would rather keep moving, but he was unfamiliar with the wilderness that surrounded him. His trip into the wild was not a vacation. He wasn’t going to be able to sleep in. He had no plans to spend the next day taking in the sites or sampling the local cuisine. No, he wondered if he would wake up the next day at all … because he was on the run.

Jacob was a fugitive from his own twin brother Esau, on his way to find his uncle, hoping to be given asylum … to hide there long enough for his brother to forget what he had done to him. At least that’s what his mom, Rebekah, told him to do. Yet what he had done wasn’t something easily forgotten. What Jacob did was unheard of in his day … unforgivable. He defied his culture. He subverted authority. He stole position and honor. He deceived his dying father.

Jacob had always been an opportunist, finding a way to excel — some would say — without doing all the work himself. He hitched a ride out of the womb on his brother’s heel. Later, he traded that same brother, famished from a day’s work, a lovely bowl of stew for his birthright … “red stuff” as the gastronomically challenged Esau called it, in exchange for the right to be heir apparent to all that his father Isaac had.

But the last straw in Esau’s mind was when Jacob lied to his blind father to con him into giving him the blessing that belonged to Esau. It was quite a feat that involved incredible deception. Because while they were twins, they weren’t much alike. Esau was Mr. T to Jacob’s Mr. Bean.

So Jacob and his mother crafted an elaborate disguise that allowed him to get the coveted blessing … the same one that Isaac had been given by Abraham … and the same one that Abraham had been given by God. It was the last thing Isaac had to give, which left Esau without anything of his family apart from his name. This is what led Jacob to the wilderness.

As he looked for a stone to lay under his head, I imagine him reciting the blessing that he’d been given by his father with sarcasm. “May God give you of the dew of heaven, and of the fatness of the earth, and plenty of grain and wine,” he’d say, kicking at the earth. The dust rising into the moonlight.

“Let peoples serve you, and nations bow down to you. Be lord over your brothers, and may your mother’s sons bow down to you,” he’d say with a sad chuckle as he crouched down to clear his bed. And there he’d lay. He didn’t understand.

He had only become who God said he would become since before he was born. It was God who told his mother that he’d be the one to inherit the promise. She’d repeated it to him and helped him to live into that inheritance. God told him the same. And he believed it.

Now it looked as if the future he sought was all wrong … that call of God may not even have been from God. He was filled with doubt. And there he’d lay. Eyes bathed in tears. Eyes getting heavier and heavier. Until, finally, the darkness came; and the silence. (more…)

Holy Covenant was well represented last week at Roscoe’s, as son of a former evangelical TV preacher-man and current LGBT ally Jay Bakker spoke at an event sponsored by the controversial Marin Foundation. From my perspective, it was an odd event. I got the sense that Jay was trying to challenge the “love but not affirm” Christians in the room, leaving many of us wondering who, exactly, he was talking to. As a smaller group of us gathered to discuss the evening, many (myself included) expressed that they were expecting something else … something more. Jay covered ground that we could have recited from heart. I think we were disappointed it was too narrow a focus to include many of us in the conversation.

I can see, however, that there is something incredibly positive about this. It is evidence as to how far this community has come in embodying God’s love and embrace for all people. It is a healthy thing to remember that, some time ago, our sisters and brothers who occupied the building at 925 W. Diversey Parkway would have been challenged by words like Jay’s. And somewhere along the way they rose to the challenge, changed and left us with this great inheritance we call our community.

I often think about the logistics of the Exodus. How do you coordinate the movement of that many people (2 million by some deductions) so that information is shared properly, and so every person at the back of the line can learn about the terrain from what those at the front have experienced of it? Together, we are part of a very large group of people that is moving toward the promise of God’s justice. And, though we walk together, not all of us will arrive there at the same time. As we advocate for change, and are frustrated by how slowly the universal church moves, it is important to remember this so we can keep strong in our work. It is tedious to walk with people, which makes it a good thing we have each other.

Mobile Office
One of the main differences I sense already between this congregation and others I have served is that you aren’t going to come hang out with me during the day at Diversey/Wilton. There aren’t many among you who are retired and in need of a daytime study group. And evenings? As I already said, this city is relentless. So, I think I am going to set up shop among you. By-and-large, my office will be mobile: at the coffee shop up the block from your office; at your lunchtime favorites; on your campus; and your happy hour haunts. Which means I will need your assistance yet again. Please contact me and let me know what places you frequent!

Peace,

Pastor Matthew

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Sunday, July 10, 2011
Holy Covenant UMC
Rev. Matthew Johnson, preaching

Matthew 6:25-34

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I am enjoying, still, the adventure of being with you and in this marvelous city. It keeps me on my toes and observant as to how God is at work here and everywhere. I had coffee with Cassie M. over in Logan Square last week. As we concluded our conversation and walked out the door together, she asked me if I knew how to get back home.

“Of course,” I answered. I just needed to catch the east-bound bus. She was gracious and reminded me that both the east- and the west-bound buses stop in the same place at the Blue Line station there. “You want ‘Nature Center’,” she replied and concluded with something like “I got on the wrong one before, so be careful.”

You know what happened, right? I was not careful. I was certain that the stop opposite the one where I arrived would be going in a homeward direction. I was wrong. I was no worse for the wear, however. I just ended up with a 20 minute delay and this illustration that cost me two-and-a-quarter.

Now, I don’t know if it is a self-fulfilling prophecy or not, but it often happens that if I’m asked/ suggested/ begged not to do something, I will do it anyway. Sometimes it is out of stubbornness, but mostly it is out of some sort of hyper-awareness that inhibits me from doing anything but the contrary.

Does that ever happen to you? If it does, this word from Jesus this morning about worry, how we’re not supposed to do it … not about our life, what we will eat or what we will wear … probably jolted you with a rush of all the ways you do — in fact — worry about those things. And that may have worried you in and of itself. I know it does me every time I read it.

When I hear Jesus say don’t worry, I think “He is obviously talking about another world from this one!” How can he, realistically, tell us not to worry? The city, state and nation face shortfalls and are cutting services that promote community. Pension funds — both public and private — are drying up. Health care premiums are flying up. Jobs are difficult to come by; careers even more so. We have student loans to pay off. Home improvements we’ve been putting off. Credit card debit. Wedding plans. Family plans. Five-year plans. Ambitions and expectations.

I’m sure you can come up with your own, specific set of worries. Worries that haunt you in the night. Worries that poke at you with persistence. Worries that are relentless … that stand in the way of love and life itself. Can you think of any? Maybe they are rational. Maybe they are not. (more…)

What a whirlwind! One day we’re in the sleepy suburbs, the next we’re in one of the largest cities in the nation. Thank you for all the love you have shown to make Emily, Libby and me feel welcome in such a storm.

I have to say, though, at only a week in I have succumbed to the city. Chicago is relentless. It does not stop. And I think I like it that way. As trains go by my window at 1 a.m., I remember there are some still going to work (or just getting home) — that the hours I slumber are paid for by the labor of those who work by moonlight. Weaving through crowds of people on the sidewalk or Lakefront Trail, I remember how many of us there really are — that we are not isolated individuals, but part of something magnificent. And as I see such a great rainbow of faces everywhere, I cannot help by smile at the uniqueness of that magnificence.

Yet what this city’s flurry of life and activity remind me is that God’s Spirit is even more relentless. She does not stop. She sweeps through our neighborhoods and paints grace on every door. She rushes by our windows to awaken us to the need of others. She gives us eyes to see — in all times and places — where God’s transformative power is reshaping our everything. What a glorious gift it is to now live in this city, and see Her at work in each of you. I already know the Spirit will take us places. And I pray, that by our openness to Her, the “Windy” in our city will not just refer to politics or weather, but also the way God moves here — in all our neighborhoods — by our witness.

Neighborhood Guides
As I prepared for my arrival here, I kept reading that Chicago is a “city of neighborhoods.” And after a handful of L rides and trips in the car, by bike and bus, I am beginning to appreciate the diverse nature of this city — the whole of which we call our parish. I am also more convinced that I can’t explore everything the city has to offer alone. I really need guides. So … fancy yourself to be a bit like Chicago expert Geoffrey Baer about your neighborhood? Fabulous enough to be captured on camera? I would like your help to both a) get me acclimated to the city and b) prepare for the fall kick-off when we will celebrate many of the neighborhoods where Holy Covenant is well represented (and those in which we have an opportunity to grow). Ideally, I’d like to bring my camera gear and make some short movies about our neighborhoods, so I’ll need a crew, too. If you’ve always wanted to put “key grip” or “best boy” on your résumé, this could be your chance. Please contact me if you are interested in participating on any level.

Thanks again for all the love you have shown, friends.

Peace,

Pastor Matthew

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Sunday, July 3, 2011
Holy Covenant UMC
Rev. Matthew Johnson, preaching

Acts 17: 22-33

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One of the reasons I am very excited the Bishop brought us together is because of the Holy Covenant mission. Seek God, Love All People, Change the World. With memorable brevity, it captures the Spirit of the great commandment — to love God with everything and neighbor as self — and the call of Jesus to continue the work of his occupying and transforming grace. And at the same time, it captures the enormity of what it means to be a disciple … that it is a journey, that it takes intentionality and that it takes a lifetime.

Seek God, Love All People, Change the World. I say those words and know I cannot accomplish them in an hour on Sunday. To change the world, I have to change myself in respect to the world.

To love all people, I have to let love rule me. To seek God, I have to submit to the idea that there is much left to discover in my seeking. I have to give up on the idea that I have God figured out … I have to admit that I don’t have all the answers.When together, we make seeking God our first thing, we say that, while we greatly appreciate the witness of those who have come before us, we think there is still more to God than we know.

In the cultural Christianity of today, this is a hard thing to do. It’s probably not lost on you that “Seeking God” defies much of what is considered orthodox and fundamental in the American church. To some circles, when we say we “Seek God,” they hear little bit of heresy. Because, while we seek God within the mystery of creation, there are many others who claim no need to look for anything. They’ve already found it. They know.

For an extreme example of this — one that was all over the news — we only have to go back about six weeks … to May 21. That was the day Harold Camping said the beginning of the end would come … the rapture. The polar opposite of seeking God, Harold’s campaign that led up to May 21 was pinned to the phrase “We Can Know.” On his website, you could read a lengthy diatribe — likely one of Camping’s sermons — detailing every bit of figuring and math he used to determine (without any doubt) that the twenty-first was the day.

I vividly remember, about this time last year, reading that content on that website with a morbid curiosity. With each paragraph, I took a deep breath let out a sigh of sadness. It reminded me of the rambling letters I have gotten throughout my ministry admonishing me to teach that all of us are wicked and vile … that we are all destined hell for any number of reasons. In them and Camping’s writing, texts were pulled from all over the Bible, combined into a solid brick of grey, definitive proof. They said, there is nothing to seek, because we know. (more…)