Archive for January, 2012

Sunday, January 29, 2012
Holy Covenant UMC
Rev. Matthew Johnson, preaching

John 1:43-51

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I’ve got a few friends who are on a retreat together this weekend … they’re off, I’m sure, having a great time away from it all in the woods … getting to know each other better … hoping to know God better. They’ve been having this annual retreat together for a few years now, but I’m willing to bet this year it is going to be a different experience for them. In fact, I’m willing to bet it already HAS been different for them. Now, I don’t know that yet … and won’t until they get home. That’s because the difference is … wait for it … they chose to leave their phones and hand-helds at home this time.

[gasp!] I know! it borders on lunacy, right? Flirting with disaster, I think. They have disconnected from the populist media … from the answers that we have come to expect having at our fingertips every second. They’ve disconnected from Google and Yahoo; From Facebook and Twitter; from Wikipedia, Yelp and Amazon.

I don’t know if I could do it. What about those e-mails? And the status updates? How can they go without posting a few candid photos? And, perhaps most importantly, how will they review the meal service at the retreat center? Or post their thoughts on the book they are reading?

When my phone battery dies in the middle of the day I have been known to suffer from withdrawal. Especially if I’m looking for a restaurant or shopping. I’d just as soon not eat unless I can find a place that Yelp reviewers love. And I will wait to have something shipped to me if I can’t read the reviews on Amazon to find out what they have to say about it.

Anybody else have that problem? I don’t know how many times they have saved me from making terrible mistakes to my digestive tract and my credit card statement. Usually the aggregate reviews are enough for me … I trust them, especially when they represent a big sample size, like 400 reviews as opposed to 40 or 4. If being a baseball fan has taught me anything it is that: the bigger the sample, the more accurate the prediction. Big sample plus low rating always equals back on the shelf (or walk on by).

But what makes me even more leery than a low average review are the places and items that have NO reviews. Now, this is probably unfair of me. Just because it is unpopular doesn’t mean it is bad. Maybe it just hasn’t been marketed well. Maybe they are new. Maybe the kind of people who frequent the place (or buy the product) aren’t into social media. Sadly, my brain doesn’t often seem to process that way. If nobody has taken the time to write a review, I am bound to think that, maybe, it is really bad…worse even than the big-sample, low-review places and things. The ethos of the no-review … of the unknown … is where we find Nathanael in our scripture lesson from John’s Gospel today. (more…)

One of the more formative times in my ministry was when I helped lead youth mission trips during my days out in Boone County. I got to team plan with other adult leaders from across the Midwest – many of whom remain dear friends and colleagues. We were all pastors who served financially strapped congregations, so we never did a “canned” trip programmed by a professional outfit. Instead, we did it all together: coordinating work sites, meals, housing, transportation, worship, daily devotions, leader training, and the obligatory fun day. It was taxing, yet I wouldn’t trade those days for anything. And that wasn’t because of anything really major that happened. It was a rather simple thing that made those trips special.

Because the youth and their adult volunteer leaders were split into groups that worked at many different sites, we’d open our evening time together by hearing stories about their projects and the people they’d met. And after they briefed the others on their day, they were asked the question.

“Where did you encounter Jesus today?”

Each team member was supposed to answer. The first couple of days never yielded much. There were a lot of “dittos” after the poor soul who was pushed forward to speak first. To the ones who struggled at the beginning, I’d challenge them to “change their lens” and take a wider (or closer) look at the people and situations that surrounded them. By the time the week was over, they had changed their perspective, and you couldn’t get some of them to be quiet! These were middle and high schoolers, mind you; mumblers of grand pedigree at best, members of a silent monastic order at worst. But they couldn’t shut up about Jesus whenever they were asked where they encountered him that day. For my youth, this continued well beyond the trips. It was the de facto conversation starter for youth group. And it changed the way they looked at the world and themselves.

I understand the comfort of seeing the world through the lens of our context. It helps us to fit in; to blend and be anonymous. But discipleship requires us to look through the lens of our calling. At every turn, the Spirit gives us an opportunity to witness Jesus and hear him calling us into deeper relationship with our neighbors and God. We just need to be looking — both wide-eyed and squinting — and together we will see.

So, friends, where did you encounter Jesus today? I look forward to asking you in person soon.

Peace,
Pastor Matthew

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Sunday, January 22, 2012
Holy Covenant UMC
Rev. Matthew Johnson, preaching

1 Samuel 3:1-10

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Back when Emily and I were first married, I rode the Metra Northwest Line between Crystal Lake and Dee Road in Park Ridge to get to my office on Busse Highway. Most mornings, you couldn’t count on the alarm to rouse me from my sleep. Instead, it took a good shake from Em.

“Wake up!” she’d say “We have to go.”

Now, the we part of that was because, being budget-conscious newlyweds, Emily would typically drop me off at the train in the morning and pick me up in the afternoon to save on parking fees. I can’t say I complained about the curbside service, either. It was the highlight of a long commute made largely by local trains, the kind that make every stop.

I know many of you make similar commutes and can empathize. So you probably also met my arch nemesis from those days: Boredom.

Some of our battles were epic. I could generally win the those on the way in, but the outbound trip … the trip home was something else all together. I would talk on the cell phone and play “bricks” until my battery died; I’d read proofs from the journals I edited; I’d people watch; I’d try and come up with the sum spent on all the cars in the Barrington station’s parking lot. I’d count the wads of gum stuck under the seat.

But Boredom has an accomplice in the train … and that train was relentless! With the droning noises of the track, and rocking, and the locomotive powered fans persisting like an incoming tide, and the rolling of the vestibule doors, and the rocking, and the chimed-prelude to the constant loop of the man saying “Caution. The doors are about to close,” and the rocking, and the smell of overheated brake pads. And the rocking …

Now, Crystal Lake is not the last stop on the Northwest Line. It goes on to Woodstock and Harvard. The first time I lost, I ended up in the latter.

Sure, Boredom happily put on its coat, stepped out onto the platform at Crystal Lake, and greeted its spouse with a kiss after getting into their car. But I slept my way past mine; past the home of Chester Gould; past the struck sets of Groundhog Day, and past a fiberglass cow bolted to pedestal covered in green astroturf.

I slept through the conductor’s sing-song edict “Back of the train for Harvard. Harvard move to the rear. Last two cars for Harvard.” In my dreams, I paid little attention to him … they weren’t words for me … they were words born from some sort of Ivy League segregation. “I didn’t go to Harvard. I went to a state school” I’d mumble to myself in the dream.

Mind you, my slumber did not please the conductor. His little bird voice became something other-worldly.

“Wake Up!” he shouted. “This is the last stop.”

Startled, I rubbed my eyes, looked out the window at the foreign landscape, mumbled something about manure, and began walking to the back of the train confused and embarrassed. After catching up with the conductor, I asked him jokingly, “Any way I can arrange for a wake-up call next time?”

“You just got one,” he replied. (more…)

Scanning through the headlines today was a bit depressing. I really couldn’t find a bit of good news anywhere in the front sections of the city’s newspapers. I guess that, maybe, people still like it that way. At least that’s what the publishers would say.

I remember attending a conference at a prestigious journalism school many years ago. I was there to learn how to make my university’s student paper better and get some insight from top journalists on what would best serve our readers and advertisers.

When it came time for our consultation with the professionals, they passed around our recent edition, mumbled to themselves, and jotted a few notes in green marker on the pages.

“Are you committed to the tabloid format?” one expert asked, referring to the smaller size of our pages, ala the Chicago Sun-Times.

It was an interesting question. I told them it was the size we’d always been … at least for the past 50 years.

“Be a tabloid then,” the expert concluded.

They then went on to give us the formula for turning our student paper into the New York Post. Big graphics. Even bigger headlines. Tease your content. Twist your topic. Push people inside. (more…)

Sunday, January 15, 2012
Holy Covenant UMC
Rev. Matthew Johnson, preaching

Mark 1:4-13

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It took long enough, but winter has finally arrived. Wednesday, as the snow fell fast and heavy, Libby and I had a wonderful time clodding through it on the way home from school. But by the time the evening hit, and the wind picked up, I was already done. Walking out the door after an evening conversation with Polly, both of us were stopped in our tracks as a wall of snow whipped around the corner of Broadway and Diversey. Yuck.

As I trudged on home through the grey mess that piled up at each intersection — gloves and hat now sopping wet — I attempted to transport myself in my mind. I attempted to pretend that the blowing snow was was actually a warm summer thunderstorm. I thought, if I could just pull up enough of those memories, I might be able to trick my eyes into believing that the grass was green, that the trees were full, and that I was warm.

When winter begins to get me down, I long for a summer thunderstorm. I think back to afternoons in my parents’ yard, looking west. From there, you could watch the wonder of the prairie sky in July develop; the storm head, growing so high that it touches the firmament; it billows up upon itself, reaching higher and wider.

What was once a clear sky with wisps of bleached cotton becomes a growing explosion of grey iron; and then the iron becomes as black as volcanic glass … the sun disappears, the temperature drops, the wind picks up and the wood begin to bend and groan against its will. It rolls through like a stampede of bison and shakes the ground where you stand. It has a wild power which approaches with majesty, stands in the distance with a haunting serenity, and then roars past you with a force that jars your soul.

A good summer storm commands your awe, because within the storm you know you get to participate in spectacle of something much greater. And after it happens once, you know it is always a possibility that could happen again … after one storm, you know the force of which the sky is capable.

I believe the same can be said for the way God enters into history … the pattern of majestic … to serene… to jarring seems to be how God becomes incarnate with us … especially the person of the Holy Spirit.

We can see that in our recent liturgical memory of Christmas. As Jesus was born, the the majesty of God’s angels appeared to shepherds … and a heavenly star to the Magi. The serenity comes as the shepherds gather at the manger and the magi later bring their gifts. But as the toddler Jesus is running around, giggling, pulling on the dog’s ear, the Spirit is so powerful and threatening that Herod sends out his people to kill anybody matching Jesus’ description. The Spirit sends the holy family running into the far off land of Egypt so they don’t get caught in the middle of the bloodshed.

In Gospel reading today from Mark, we see the same kind of pattern emerge. Mark gives us an account of Jesus’ baptism at which the sky opens up and a heavenly voice speaks, the Spirit descends like a dove and then … Jesus is cast out into the wilderness. (more…)

Sunday, January 8, 2012
Holy Covenant UMC
Nora Kahn, preaching

Genesis 1:1-5

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Sunday, December 18, 2011
Holy Covenant UMC
Rev. Matthew Johnson, preaching

2 Samuel 7:1-11, 16

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For as long as I can remember, it has been a challenge to find meaningful gifts to people like my parents and grandparents. It doesn’t really matter what is being celebrated … Birthdays, anniversaries, or Christmas … all of them are excellent opportunities for me to fail to meet the demands I place on myself to find something with the appropriate sentiment, something they could need or use, and something they want but don’t already have.

As a child, I didn’t really have to try as hard. Pinch pots get you a long way when you are under 10. Those are the kind of gifts they would open and there would be genuine delight … not because of the quality of the handiwork, mind you … but delight in knowing that I had done it. That it was all me.

These were the gifts that were wrapped all crooked and lumpy. The ribbon and bows were kind of mashed into a clump.

There was likely a sizable hole in the paper from where I had dropped it on their front steps in a mad dash to beat my brothers in the house. The fractured pieces jingled inside as I ran it across the room to place it in their hands while shouting the appropriate salutation for the occasion.

Those gifts were always met with a smile. They always found their way onto the mantle or coffee table right away — Well, maybe after a short detour to the kitchen for some patching up with Elmer’s glue.

When I became a teenager — and no longer had art class as a means for such things — gift giving became exponentially more difficult. Of course by then, it was usually last minute and low budget … something I could pick up at the Ben Franklin or Supermarket when I thought of the occasion a day or an hour before. There would always be a sign next to the item that said “makes a perfect gift!” in scripty type.

Those gifts would still get the haphazard wrapping treatment. It was kind of a tradition at that point — as was their smile when opening, an over-the-top gasp of excitement, a trip to the mantle (or the bathroom counter-top if it were perfume or aftershave).

But each year, the smiles went to grins, then to quizzical nods, then to a simple thank you with a slight hint of bewilderment. Then finally, the letter or awkward phone call came saying “Please don’t bring us gifts this year … no need to put yourself out. Just bring yourselves.”

The test for how well I did always happens when there is a major cleaning at one of their houses, because now I’ve started to get some of the stuff back. Trinkets and bottles of scented alcohol with 20-years of dust sunbaked into them now happen to find their way into boxes that show up at our house.

The pinchpots, having sat for their entirety on that mantle, now had splinters fused into the bottom and sat, instead of my counter. Each time these returned gifts show up, it is kind of like looking at a bad yearbook photo, and verbalized with a sigh or a head shake is one consistent idea: What on earth was I thinking? (more…)

When I was in high school, I worked at a hardware store doing all kinds of things. I stocked shelves, operated the register, answered phones and cut keys. And sometimes I helped people – that is, when they let me. In those days (before the big box chains popped up in the cornfields) the hardware store was the haven of the “I can do it myself” person. In fact, our distributor – Hardware Wholesalers, Inc. – called many of their stores “Do It” centers. Of course, those who didn’t want my help had their reasons. Namely, that I was too young. What right or experience did I have to offer them help? They didn’t need me. Or so they thought. On countless occasions, after two-or-three return trips, they would begrudgingly accept my assistance in finding the fitting they needed, the nails that wouldn’t split the trim, the screws that would hold in the cinder block, and the right tools for the job. Yet, it was always with great distress that they said “thank you.” It was as if they had lost something of themselves.

Looking back on those days now, I have come to understand that they weren’t just embarrassed – they were grieving. They were grieving the dying myth of the rugged individual. They were grieving the assumed truth that they could be whatever they wanted (and do it themselves). It has failed them. It was a lie. The self-help section at the book store might as well be lumped in with the fantasy titles, because that kind of thinking is not of this world.

It is a vulnerable position to be in … once you realize that you (and everybody else) are in need of help. And, if you think I’m exaggerating, consider your reaction the next time the power goes out, or the store is out of what you need, or your car breaks, or (God forbid) there is a fire or a health problem. We all need help, and we could need it at any moment.

The Christian faith is full of examples of how being “helpless” isn’t a bad thing; in fact, it is a God thing. Being helpless and needing a helper is part of a new paradigm for living (or the paradigm that was true all along) that claims we need each other. We are complete when we are together. Being weak or exposed is a good thing when you are part of a community where there is trust and mutual love. Being vulnerable enough to ask for assistance and humble enough to receive it is a tangible way that God’s presence is known.

So, what if that is what it means to be saved? What is salvation is found in our crying out and answering each other in love? That’s how it started at Christmas, and maybe that’s how it can restart in us and our world.

Peace,

Pastor Matthew

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I write this from a desk that has now become a makeshift music studio. I am surrounded by blinking lights, knobs and switches. Wires snake around each other on the way to their destinations. I have spent the past few days getting lost in the signals they send. This is not the first time this has happened, but it is the first time in a long time. And I am remembering why I enjoy it so much.

I have recorded snippets of this and that for the past 20 years. Much of it is nothing more than musical doodling; there is very little of it that I’d be comfortable sharing with anyone. This has always been the tension for me. I have often felt like I have to justify exercising my creativity and imagination. I feel like it has to be meaningful to someone else to be worth the time; profitable for myself or those for whom I work. If if has no meaning or purpose beyond me, it seems like a waste of time. (I know, very Protestant of me.)

This year, I am going to work on being OK with wasting time in this way. Because, if I “waste” time doing what I love and what makes my heart glow with joy, it is at least a holy waste of time. If it brings me joy, it originated from the source of joy. If it makes me live, it originates from the source of life. I don’t need to justify living as God made me.

Do what you love, friends. Do what gives you meaning. Do what makes you resonate with the song of your heart. It isn’t a waste. It is God in you.

I resolve to discover and be who I am in 2012, and to love you enough to walk with you as you do the same. Let me know how I can do that for you!

Until then, the headphones are going back on. (Wait, what? Did you say something?)

Pastor Matthew

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The Staff Parish Relations Committee is excited to announce that we have hired an Evening Worship Leader and a Ministry Associate. Steve Thorngate will be our Evening Worship Leader starting the week of January 2. Rev. Polly Toner will be our Ministry Associate starting the week of January 9. Please help us welcome them into the Holy Covenant Community.

Evening Worship Leader – Steve Thorngate
Steve grew up in an evangelical church, where he cut his musical teeth playing in praise bands. He studied classical music at Wheaton College and has since worked in several churches that have welcomed his passion for music that a) is stylistically eclectic and b) encourages everyone present to sing. Steve loves many kinds of music but has a particular interest in traditional country gospel.

By day Steve works in nonprofit journalism. He’s currently an editor at the Christian Century magazine; before this he interned at Sojourners and the Utne Reader and edited publications for a social policy advocacy organization. Steve is also the music director at Christ Lutheran in Albany Park, a job he’ll continue alongside his work at Holy Covenant.

He and his wife, Nadia Stefko, live in Hyde Park, where Nadia is a student at the University of Chicago Divinity School. They like to cook, preserve food, geek out about beer, play Scrabble, and lavish embarrassing amounts of attention on their cat.

Ministry Associate – Rev. Polly Toner
Polly has been a resident of Lakeview/Lincoln Park since 1997 where she currently lives with her Beagle, Bella. She has also lived in Idaho, Massachusetts, Southern California, and briefly in both Wisconsin and Salt Lake City. She completed her undergraduate work and Occupational Therapy school at the University of Southern California.

She attended Divinity School at the University of Chicago with some extra work at McCormick Theological Seminary, and is ordained in the Presbyterian Church (U.S.A.). Raised in the Roman Catholic tradition, Polly has been involved with Protestant churches since junior high when she persuaded her family to give the Presbyterian church in San Diego a try. Both Fourth Presbyterian and Lakeview Presbyterian churches in Chicago have been formative during her journey into ordained ministry.

Polly enjoys her work with older adults and youth in physical rehabilitation, mental health and school settings, and in faith communities. She continues to work at St. Joseph Hospital where she has been on staff for 15 years. She looks forward to getting to know the Holy Covenant community, learning and growing along side everyone, and participating in God’s work in the world here.

Those who look at her eclectic music collection, books or inbox may struggle to put her into a category. She is passionate about people, inclusion and health care; loves the outdoors, travel and dogs; and is happiest when she makes time to exercise regularly.

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