running low on the compassion reserves

One of the reasons I have been avoiding blogging lately is because I have a lot of things I would love to write about, but I can't. 

A couple are topics and discussions that are confidential on a professional level.  Some are just things that hit too close to home for myself and I'm not willing/able to take that leap of faith and just put out there for all to read what is close to my heart.  They are things I need to deal with in person before I am able to properly reflect upon them.  Or maybe I really do just need to take that leap, get over the fear, and put it in writing.  Leave it out there and maybe that will give me the courage to have the harder face to face conversations I have been putting off.

What I am able to talk about is the touchy subject of financial outreach.

Everyone I talk to has their own take on how to best provide real financial resources to folks in need and in the past few weeks I have whittled the differences down to three categories:

1) Contributions to a community fund that pastors then refer folks to.  This method is very connectional, allows for a sharing of resources, and takes the burden off of any one congregation or pastor... especially if they are not the ones actually managing the funds.

2) Congregational "Love Funds."  This money is held by a particular congregation, folks make donations to it and disbursement is at the discretion of the pastor.

3) Connections to outside agencies and networks of support.  This takes a lot of legwork and knowledge by the pastor to have these contacts built up in the first place when the need arises. 

4) Personal time/energy/money.  Every now and then there is someone who needs a tank of gas or a meal and when we can and are able - pastors are extremely generous folks.  As a colleague wrote me:  what is needed and is it within my capacity to meet that need?  I know of a lot of folks who go above and beyond and their mental health, energy and family suffer for it... your capacity is a lot different than your wallet.

These past two months, I am realizing how small the tanks actually are when it comes to financial assisance in our area. 

I recently became the treasurer for our county ministerial fund and as soon as the cold weather hit, our funds went out faster than they could replenish themselves.  We are at the point now where we can only provide assistance when we recieve a new donation, and the need really is great out there.

Our local community fund has resources, but we have limitations on how those resources can be used.  Time and energy need to go into revamping our guidelines and extending our reach... yet at the same time, as soon as we do so, I know that they will be used and gone. Used for good of course, but used all the same.

My congregational fund is not yet a separate and distinct account from the rest of our finances... I am not entirely sure how previous pastors handled the situation, but since I have been there I have budgeted for a set discretionary assistance amount.  I think we exceeded the amount budgeted halfway through the year and asked for a bit more to be set aside... but even if we had ten times the amount of money, we would still have folks we would need to turn away.

I reached the point recently where I almost cashed in my paycheck and gave half of it to someone who really needed it... I'm young, I have a roof over my head, I thought... but I also have a marriage to think of, and my own bills to pay (higher now that our own heat is turned on), and setting myself behind isn't going to help anyone in the long run. 

I felt so guilty that we couldn't do more as a church or as a community.  I felt personally guilty.  I didn't want to call and say no. 

I think I was feeling convicted by the idea from James that if you say you will pray for someone who is hungry but don't give them any food, then you aren't doing anything for them.

But I think I reached a place this past week where I realized that we already were giving so much.  Even if it wasn't the money needed to pay the bills, we were giving of our time.  We were praying.  We were listening.  We were connecting.  We were building relationships.  We were doing what we could with what we had.  And even extending ourselves beyond those points.  We were sharing the love of Christ with folks as much as we could. 

Money isn't everything.  Sometimes it feels like that, but its not.

This Sunday, we lit the first candle on the advent wreath as a reminder that the hope of the world is Christ and Christ alone.  Not a bank account.  Not a fundraiser.  Not a paid bill.  But Christ.

And things out there are tough - all around they are tough.  People are hurting because of broken relationships and they are struggling because of a lack of work and lack of funds.  They are angry with systems that fail them and they are disappointed in the outcome of their work.  And we sit and wallow in this muck and in the words of Rob Bell: yell at the darkness for being dark.

Sunday - we preached texts that told us to wake up.  To stop lingering in the dark and to look towards the light.  To remember that our salvation does not lie in these things.  To live in the light of Christ right now.  To be a community.  To walk together.  To live right now as if Christ had come again. 

And when we do that... we have the strength to answer the phone call when the next creditor calls.  We have the peace in our hearts that enables us to hold the hand of a loved one and tell them goodbye one last time.  We can let go of the guilt and simply love the best we can, right here and right now.

Lost - The Oldest Game Ever Played

In the second part of the pilot, we find John Locke sitting on the beach setting up a backgammon board. Young Walt walks up and wants to know what the game is and how to play.

In his usual enigmatic way, Locke replies, holding up the black and white counters, "two players, two sides, one is light, one is dark."

That theme of light and dark, good and evil, white and black flows throughout the series of lost. Constantly you are trying to figure out who is good, who is bad, and which side the characters are playing on.

Having known very little about the actual game of backgammon, I did some research. In the game, the goal is to get all of your counters/checkers/stones off of the board. The checkers are initially set up at various set locations across the board and the light and dark pieces are moved in opposite directions, each player trying to get their pieces "home." It is the roll of the dice that determines how many moves each person can make.

Opposing forces, two sides, each trying to make it "home."

Later, I want to discuss what it might mean for each side to make their stragetic moves in their attempts to get home, but right now, I'm struck by the contrast between black and white.

In Christian theology, there is a battle between good and evil, between the forces of light and the forces of darkness. This is talked about both cosmically in the sense of Christ's victory over the forces of Satan and individually as our hearts and minds are up for grabs. Christians are called to live in the light, to clothe themselves with rightousness, to put all darkness and evil out of their lives. There is no inbetween. Those who are "lukewarm" might as well be on the darkside. The choice is clear.

Yet even in the midst of this black and white, either/or language, there exists within theology another current that talks about the grey area... the both/and. Lutheran theology claims that we are simultaneously sinners and saints, darkness and light living together. In Methodist theology, we talk about sanctification - that God's grace flows within us from the moment of justification and over time, we are gradually perfected in God's eyes - that someday we reach that moment of perfection, but that in the meantime we are people of the light who struggle with the darkness within us.

The question is one of if and when redemption can come. If we are filled with darkness and evil, can we ever change our ways? If we are filled with light and goodness, can we ever fall from grace?

The characters on Lost constantly struggle with these questions. As we are introduced to Kate, Sawyer, Charlie, Eko, Sun, and others, we see the destruction that their past lives have caused. We see the hurt and pain they have caused not only others, but also themselves. And while at the same time running from their past, they are also running towards a new future. In small ways throughout their lives they have done redeemable acts - like Sawyer leaving his "commission" to the daughter he has never met, or Eko trying to help the villagers get their vaccine - although he chose a path of killing to get there. Their lives are a mixed back of light and darkness, each vying with the other to take control of these individuals.

The island in many ways gives them a clean slate - a tabula rasa, as one of the first episodes puts it. It is a fresh start and a chance for them to make themselves over as new people, without their past haunting them.

The ability to say that they are sorry, to confess the wrongs of their lives and to make amends is difficult. Kate finds that she cannot apologize for killing her step-father, nor Eko for the destruction that followed as he tried to save his brother from a similiar fate. But Charlie does find ways to say that he is sorry and successfully gives up heroin use. Sawyer makes amends with the survivors by throwing a boar feast. Juliet tries to prove she is on the side of the survivors through telling the truth about being a "mole."

And yet, as fear and anger take over, darkness again creeps in. On the first night in their camp, Eko takes the lives of two men that have tried to haul him off. Sayid returns to torture as a means of getting information. Sawyer just cannot leave the con alone when he feels that power has slipped away from him.

In the game of backgammon, light and darkness cannot exist on the same point at the same time. Either there are too many counters of the one color and the other cannot move in, or there is a one on one confrontation. As the light or dark counter moves onto a point occupied by another - the "blot" - the blot must leave the board and is placed on the bar between the sides of the board. That counter must now start from the beginning and make its way all the way back around the board.

That constant interplay, the struggle between light and dark is present in our lives. Faced with temptation, encountered with fear, we must make a choice to move and to confront those opposing forces or to sit back and wait for the darkness to win. As we see all too clearly in Lost, mistrust and secrecy become avenues for darkness to work. Yet, we know through scriptures that through prayer, through community, through open hearts, we are strengthened by others and by God to face those opposing forces. Jack's famous, "live together, die alone," is not only a statement about survival - but a recipe for how they can strengthen themselves for the battle of hearts and minds. If only they could figure out a way to follow it.