Category: Pastoral Development

Shouting Hosannah

I can’t believe I’m losing my voice! Here comes Holy Week, Palm Sunday and Easter, two Sundays of high attendance where peak performance in preaching is the order of the day. I can’t believe I’m losing my voice!

My voice is reduced to a whispering croak. If you know me, you know I’m a shouting preacher, a stump-standing, Bible-thumping screamer of a preacher. It’s what the congregation has come to expect, some drawn to it and the rest resigned to live with it. You bring your friends and relatives to hear that crazy preacher, especially on Easter, and you know that even the hard of hearing will get the message from this guy. I can’t believe I’m losing my voice!

What was it? The shouting an acoustic sermon or full-bellied singing on Saturday night? Was it all the hours on the telephone or those two-hour counseling sessions? Was it those private shouts of frustrated wailing to God for relief from the conflict of a growing, changing congregation? Maybe it was shouting across the table at the board meeting, or across the parking lot to greet departing worshippers. Maybe I picked up a bug in the hospital as I prayed for the sick and dying. Maybe. Maybe.

Here it comes: Palm Sunday, Maundy Thursday, Easter, and maybe a funeral thrown in. I’ve virtually given up singing, mouthing the words to the doxology as I wait for the offering plates to be delivered down the aisle for yet another shouted prayer of blessing. I’d give up talking for a few days, but a good friend is dying, and he couldn’t hear well when he was wide awake. I’ll be loudly praying and recounting his story of salvation, giving his testimony to family and friends from out-of-town, leading prayer circles with the verve it takes to express my confidence in his eternal reward.

Then, I’ll shout to the glory of God on Palm Sunday, Maundy Thursday and Easter — if I have a voice left. I can’t believe I’m losing my voice!

My mind takes me back to that Palm Sunday parade, a disciple shouting “Hosanna to the Son of David! Blessed is the one who comes in the name of the Lord! Hosannah in the highest heaven!” We scream at the top of our lungs, reveling as our rebellious shouts launched from the hillside bounce back off the walls of Jerusalem. “This is the prophet Jesus from Nazareth in Galilee,” we shout to the curious, then return to our accolades, trying to convince the city, and perhaps ourselves, that THIS is the Chosen One!

We’ll spend a week arguing with Temple authorities, trying to control the crowds around our beloved Rabbi, debating with Pharisees and loudly rebuking our Lord. “This will not happen to you, Lord!” “Who would dare betray you, Lord?” “Surely not I, Lord?”

We’ll sing a rousing hymn and follow Jesus to the Garden, where we’ll nap, then wake our sleep-stilled voices trying to shout down the soldiers who come with Judas to the garden at night. When the crowd yells, “Give us Barabbas! Release Barabbas!” our rattled cries of “No, Jesus! Set him free!” will barely be heard. When the crowd yells, “Jesus? Let him be crucified!” Our shreaks of objection will be barely audible.

We’ll lose the last vestige of voice sobbing at the sight of our dying Rabbi, weaping in shame and beating our breasts in remorse. By the time sun sets and the body is laid to rest, we’ll have no words left.

I can’t believe I’m losing my voice!

There will be no need for words until the third day, when we will be too amazed and bewildered to shout. Perhaps that’s the plan, to let us rest from our misery so that we can rejoice again when the truth sets in, until at last at Pentecost we find our voices and proclaim the glorious story to all the world.

Yes, I’m losing my voice, just in time for Palm Sunday. It will be appropriately pained for Maundy Thursday. I can only pray it will be adequately restored as befits the excitement of Easter, when we will baptize seven and likely bring many more into the church.

If salvation depends on the ranting of one shouting preacher, we’re in trouble. Fortunately, it doesn’t. Sometimes the gentle conversation of a church is all it takes. Perhaps it takes nothing beyond a pained, “Father, forgive them! They know not what they do.” from a lofty perch on Calvary hill.

I want the church to hear my voice this Easter, but that’s just ego talking. What they need to hear is God’s voice in the life that shouts across the ages the love of God and the lengths to which God was willing to go to restore the family.

I can’t believe I’m losing my voice! Fortunately, God found a voice two thousand years ago in the outskirts of Jerusalem. Even as my words fade this Easter, I pray that the Word of God rings more loudly than ever in the hearts of the church.

A Modern Christmas Miracle

This is a true saying, to be completely accepted and believed: Christ Jesus came into the world to save sinners. I am the worst of them, but God was merciful to me in order that Christ Jesus might show his full patience in dealing with me, the worst of sinners, as an example for all those who would later believe in him and receive eternal life.

— 1 Timothy 1:15-17 (GNV)

If Jesus came into the world to claim chosen people of proper lineage, selected before birth and preserved holy for His glorious kingdom, then I am without hope.

I’m not one to boast about past sinfulness. Some folks say I was a lightweight, anyway. But I am still jealous, prideful, greedy, hot-headed and lazy — that’s a partial list. As Paul says, I AM the worst! If it isn’t true, then it’s another example of pride and arrogance, and that’s bad enough.

Some people like a little earthiness in their pastor, but those who think I’m too worldly are correct. As Paul also said in the book of Romans, “O wretched man that I am!” Yes, we’re sinners, and it isn’t OK, and we ought to do better to honor our Lord. But here we are, imperfect and error-proned. Now what? Now God steps in.

We celebrate the Christmas miracle, a virgin birth and a guiding star to fulfill ancient prophecy. We celebrate a miraculous life of healing, interrupted by shameful death on the cross and culminating in resurrection and ascension to glory. We celebrate a cloud of witnesses martyred for the faith or dedicated to lives of selfless service.

I celebrate another Christmas miracle. I celebrate how Christ lives today through imperfect people like us, overcoming and sometimes using our imperfections to share His love.

As you light a Christmas candle this year, let it remind you that YOU are the light of the world. Thanks be to God!

Take the red pill

Outlaws? Radicals? You go, sis! Bro! Take the red pill. I see a lot of radical beliefs, but professing any particular thought is not as life-threatening or illegal as it once was or is elsewhere. So let’s move on with a few ideas that might also broadcast the message.

1. Don’t buy Christmas gifts. Think we’ve over-commercialized our annual Common Era Anniversary events? Stop feeding the beast. Generosity need not be seasonal.

2. Throw away the pulpit. If you think pastors shouldn’t be on a pedestal, get off the pedestal. We might consider spending less time on the soapbox as well.

3. Spend more on missions. Use your vote, your influence, and your office to direct a higher percentage of church funds to feeding the poor, housing the homeless and healing the sick. Where’s your heart? Hint: follow your treasure.

4. Insert beatitudes here.

You want to be radical? Revolutionary? There was this preacher who proved his God content by giving his life away, because he thought it belonged to God and drew from God’s endless supply He lived like he actually believed the scripture, ignoring the cost, and it was enough to reset the calendar.

Some think he took the blue pill. Others think he didn’t, but his biographers did. I think he had the right ideas, and his biographers gave it an honest effort.

We remember Saint Francis and Mother Theresa not for their opinions, but for their service. A belief is an opinion, but a life of service makes a statement. Did we benefit from their fantasy, or were they operating with a clearer view of reality?

Take the blue pill and have a nice dream, or take the red pill and see how deep the rabbit hole goes.

Darkness & Light

The first time I read the Bible cover-to-cover, I was shocked by what I found. I thought I would have to wrestle with a condemning, torturous God who set the bar impossibly high in order to harm as many people as possible. That’s a common message in some quarters, is it not?

Instead, I found evidence of an expansive, loving God who desires our awareness and genuine love in return.

It was a simple, inexpensive King James Version. Yes, I did sense a harshness in some of the stories, couched as they were in ancient English. But for every verse on condemnation, I found dozens on forgiveness and leniency. For every statement of prejudice, I found dozens on inclusiveness and equality in the eyes of God. I noticed passages commonly used to endorse cruelty were actually there to document ancient crudeness, not to promote it.

What’s going on? Aren’t we all reading the same Bible? The KJV is another imperfect human attempt at translating inspired scripture, erring on the side of sternness where other attempts are accused of leniency. Even so, if I can find more love than hate even in the KJV, why do so many use it to condemn?

“And this is the condemnation, that light is come into the world, and men loved darkness rather than light, because their deeds were evil.” — John 3:19.

I think it really is that simple. In our fallen state, we love to condemn, set ourselves above others, and see ourselves among the elite chosen ones. If I devalue myself, I’m more inclined to set others even lower in an attempt to feel better.

I will continue to preach the love of God, because I am convinced that it is the correct message. I am convinced by the same Bible used to condemn people and condone hatred. I am instructed to avoid condemning anyone, so I gleefully dwell in the light!

Am I a Dinosaur?

I was recently called to task for preaching the Deity of Christ. Simply stated, that’s the Doctrine that God actually existed in human form as Jesus Christ. It is a belief taken to the Nth degree by some Biblical writers. The book of John and Colossians, to name only two, flatly state that the spirit that lived as Jesus Christ also created all things.

When it comes to preaching, I use the Bible, and when it comes to the text, I calls ’em as I sees ’em.

I can hear the applause of fundamentalists everywhere die down as I continue. To accept every word of the Bible does not mean that I buy every restriction Paul allegedly placed on women. (Allegedly because it looks like some of those restrictions were written by Paul only to quote rumors and letters, as evidence by the seeming contradiction when he subsequently addresses and refutes those same quoted passages.) Accepting every word of the Bible gives me no assurance of knowing the details of creation. (Who knows what happened before that first “day”, when darkness covered the face of the deep?)

I accept that the Bible is true and divinely inspired. I also accept that just because someone in the Bible actually said something, that doesn’t make said statement true, reliable or applicable today. Let’s face it, the Bible is by and large a history of humans behaving badly and misunderstanding God. Unfortunately, reading and accepting it as true is too often a different act from studying and learning from it.

And while I’m on a rant, let me point out that accepting every word of the Bible does not mean that I agree lockstep with others who claim that same level of faith in scripture. Some of their more extreme views can only be formed by failing to read scripture carefully and thoroughly, failing to accept the corrective commentary provided by Jesus Christ Himself, and failing to obey the commands of Jesus on how we are to think, live and treat one another.

Having started with a Fundamentalist’s literal acceptance of scripture, I proceeded to read it in order to know what this was that I was willing to literally accept. That being accomplished, I was surprised to draw conclusions so dramatically at odds with those being taught as “Bible-based.”

This view puts me in the line of fire between religious liberals and conservatives. Liberals preach forgiveness and social responsibility — and also scriptural skepticism with outright rejection of unpalatable or unbelievable verses. Conservatives preach judgment and personal responsibility — with unquestioning scriptural views and dogmatic interpretation.

(Apologies to self-declared liberals and conservatives who take offense at my generalizations. I’m talking tendencies, not absolutes.)

Christians who find themselves at odds with conservative fundamentalists are too quick to surrender Biblical ground. If the Bible inspires you to call that Christian, they say, then something is wrong with the Bible. Using the Bible to disobey Christ is surely one form of taking the name of the LORD in vain.

Conservatives, on the other hand, might say you liberals (usually inflected as a slur) can’t call that Christian because the Bible says this.

But there’s another possibility — perhaps the Bible IS the inspired word of God. When it says Moses, Joshua or David said that, then Moses, Joshua or David said that — but Jesus said this, so this is Christian. That is important, that is historical, that is interesting as something men said to or about God, but this is what Jesus said, and He is the Way, the Truth and the Life. “You have heard that it was said” — and indeed it was said! — “but I say … ” and Jesus clears up where God stands on the subject.

What? Is Jesus saying that the Bible was wrong? No, but He is making it obvious that the Bible was and might still be unclear to modern hearing or understanding. He is making it obvious that even if every word is true and inspired, every word is not equally important to living in the Kingdom of God. He is flatly saying that we live by the Spirit, by the Living Word, and not by the selective mimicking of some random slice of scripture.

I hope I haven’t offended anyone, but I might have offended everyone — Fundamentalists for my challenge to their exegesis, and Liberals for my salute to scripture.

People who don’t read the Bible think doing so will make them like most people who claim to “stand on every word of scripture.” People who stand on every word might truly want to please God, and people who don’t might nevertheless want to please God. Both camps are dead wrong on one topic or another — so I accept that I, too, might be mistaken here or there. It is good and right that all of us let Scripture challenge us. It is also good and right for us to challenge one another’s understanding of Scripture, and to accept these challenges with humility and Christian love.

Am I a dinosaur for thinking the Bible is divinely inspired, true, and important for Christian living? Knowing that I feel that way tells you nothing about my opinion on anything else. All I know is that if you feel that way, please don’t jump the shark to conclude that you have perfect understanding and are therefore right in everything you say and do. And if you quote scripture, then you must, simply must, accept any challenge found in the Gospel accounts of the teachings of Christ. He’s the Alpha and Omega, the Cornerstone, the Creator — and the One who is authorized to judge our translation, interpretation and application of scripture.

“You have heard that it is written, but I say … “

Vinyl Pops on the Ipod

It’s a mellow ending to a great day. Celebrate Recovery had 73 people, and now the church is empty. Stan Getz is swinging on my Ipod via Pandora Internet Radio. The hiss of the vinyl is as clear as the breathy slur of his low notes through the tenor sax. The Lord is in his holy temple, and his servant is groovin’ at the Mac.

It’s the irony of it all I find most entertaining. My 21st Century notebook has the same qwerty keyboard arrangement as typewriters from the 1800s, when the clumsy pattern was designed to slow down typing on the sluggish mechanical machines. Music recorded direct to disk in the 1940s and 1950s sounds as scratchy on that little ipod speaker as it ever did on a dusty record.

Children, music used to be stored not on websites, nor on laser discs, but as a squiggly groove running around a vinyl platter. The platter would spin with a needle riding in that groove, and the music played. As amazing as it was that a plastic impression could be turned into sound through a needle and an amp, it was even more amazing to skip the amp and listen to the music through a straight pin in a paper cup.

A few nights ago, I was playing with a 30-something-to-40-ish musician in a combo. When someone suggested that the song reminded them of Bob Dylan, my friend said, “Bob Dylan? Who’s that?” I think/hope it was a joke, meant to imply the speaker was too young to remember such an ancient celebrity. I assure you, Bob Dylan is alive and well, and still bragging about his fondness for Woody Guthrie. He’s older than me, but I’m not ashamed to say he was top 40 when I was mid-teens.

There is no shame in understanding ancient things. I play saxophones that are older than I am, on hymns written long before the sax was invented. And when the power goes out, my bass fiddle can still rock the house.

There is also no shame in understanding new things. A ranting Eminem reminds me more than anything of a bebopping Charlie Parker. Those who forget the past are cursed to repeat it, but those who understand the past have the same option, and it can also be a blessing.

Jesus said that the man who understands the gospel is like a homeowner who pulls from his storehouse treasures both old and new. He said no one puts new wine in old bottles or sews a new patch on old cloth. In the first case, the new wine is wasted; in the other, the old garment is ruined. The parable is not about merely encouraging the new, but about preserving the old as well.

I never heard of Don Byas. His music is new to me, but the song I’m enjoying was recorded in 1952. Now it’s Dizzy Gillespie — I remember him. He broke through on trumpet in the 1940s and was still performing in the 1990s. Miles Davis replaced Gillespie in Charlie Parker’s band, but Davis was still considered a contemporary artist 40 years after Parker’s death.

There really is nothing new under the sun. It’s been a long day, and what a thrill to enjoy old music on a new techno gadget. Eminem’s rap is stored by the Library of Congress on vinyl 78’s, because unlike magnetic and digital medium, those records can survive a serious nuclear blast and still be heard using a sharp stick and a gourd.

Don’t know what I’m talking about? Your loss. Just remember, treasures old and new are equally treasures. Time to log off and drive the pickup home. In times like these, I wish I had a horse to feed when I get there. You see, we possess more than the scope of subjects we master, acres of land or square feet of floor space. We also possess years of experience, whether studied or lived directly, and the treasures of years gone by are more valuable than ever, like vinyl pops on an Ipod.

The Wages of Sin

“For the wages of sin is death” … the evidence surrounds us. It shows itself in pelicans struggling under a coating of oil, arteries blocked by a layer of cholesterol, highways littered with the aftermath of driver distractions and impairments.

A special curse settles around those who think that life is fair and we all deserve what we get. Consider the pelican. This swamp of “sin” that we so cautiously label flows over the innocent and the guilty alike. Each generation’s innocent vice has a legacy in its mortality statistics. Believe it or not, the wages of sin is death.

To me, the equation is a definition. “Sin” is sin because it leads to death. Thus the sin of eating pork falls to cooking technology, only to rise again with enlightened dietary guidelines. The nuances of Mosaic Law are lost as the plague loses steam or the mode of transmission shifts.

Too many people have been driven from church by the concept of a kill-party God, a Deity somehow offended by the concept of human enjoyment. Others fail to see the mercy of Christ in so-called followers who delight in declaring, “I told you so!” Still others see the death that comes from practices and attitudes that believers might excuse as not specifically prohibited.

Addiction recovery was underground at my church. AA meetings were held at arms’ length, happening off to the side, after hours. There was, and still is, a subset of members who “tried one” cup of coffee, never touched a cigarette and settled down with one lifelong partner. But even in that subset, every family has someone who’s doctor shopping for pain pills, babying an overtaxed liver or taking a sabbatical in rehab.

I had a friend, a soaring violinist, the equal of any concert musician I’ve ever heard. He played at my installation service. Despite his humility and encouragement of others, there was no disguising his talent, that it was head-and-shoulders above anything else in the room.

My friend was both a Christian and a “Christian.” He was active in another, more conservative church, one with exacting standards for deacons and membership. He was a member in good standing, probably a deacon, a good boy in Sunday School.

My friend died of an overdose of inhalants. We never knew. He had been sober for years, a 12-step soldier in NA for years. He was also a non-participant for many more years of sobriety — and a few weeks of relapse.

It has been said that AA and 12-step recovery programs are the biggest development in western spirituality since the Protestant Reformation. Luther rejected the Pope; 12-steppers rejected religion in all its trappings, including the priesthood. It’s truly a priesthood of believers in a Higher Power that goes unlabeled, peer-to-peer ministry, sinner-to-sinner therapy. If you want to talk spirituality with Boomers and X-ers, you’ll find common ground with more people quoting the Big Book than quoting scripture.

But a funny thing happens on the way to sober living. All this Higher Power talk leads some people back to the faith of their fathers. Jesus takes on the Higher Power role and does a darned good job of it. The bad news is that the church and Sunday School take on the role of small groups, with mixed results. Too often, the pastor becomes the sponsor without knowing what the sponsee has been through.

My friend found a church, but he lost touch with his recovery community. He had no sponsor to call, no meeting to attend where he could confess his sins and find absolution. So he fell off the wagon and died.

The wages of sin is death. That doesn’t mean that my friend deserved to die. Nor was it entirely his sin that caused this death. Some people knew and said nothing — can’t embarrass my friend in front of the church, can we? Some chose to ignore the telltale signs of intoxication; others were relieved when he started skipping the worship service. Still others survived similar struggles in their own lives and kept them hidden, trying to fit in with the never-a-sip, never-a-puff sainthood.

Sins all around, and their wages is death.

About half of my hospice deathbed vigils have been with people who were too young to die but too burdened by addiction to carry on. My generation knew that our drug of choice was slightly better than tobacco and booze, then translated “less harmful” to read “harmless.” Our children listened and found their own intoxicants. People who were too embarrassed to ask the pastor for a good rehab center have nowhere else to turn for a decent memorial service.

Morality for me is a matter of life and death, but that’s again definitional. It isn’t about impressing me, or God, for that matter, or honoring God by hitting some arbitrary, ceremonial standard. It’s about living another day.

Oh, no, we don’t talk about these things. What’s the big deal about putting a buzz on? “Be careful that the exercise of your freedom does not become a stumbling block to the weak.” I’ve shredded my buzz permit for the sake of those who think if I can do it, it must be ok. Because for them, if not for me, it might cause trouble.

My friend is honored every week at a fellowship meal. The meal follows six simultaneous small group meetings, which follow an hour of worship and 12-step lessons or testimony. No one is put down for their particular “sin” because all of us have sinned. Recovering addicts find a safe worship environment where they aren’t led into temptation by those who take lightly the power of “sin.”

And those teatotalers? They’re learning to speak 12-step, to turn their lives over to a Higher Power, to accept people as they are. We learn that redemption is real, that no one is scarred for life.

“… but the gift of God is eternal life in Christ Jesus our Lord.” Where wrath, judgment, prejudice and the Law have failed us, the grace, mercy and humility of Christ prevail. Love does indeed cover a multitude of sins!

Emerging from, as, & into church

I confess a hint of envy as I walked into the little Disciples church, a narrow sanctuary of hardwood and brick tucked into downtown Lake Worth, Florida. The little building had nowhere to grow, with barely an alley separating it from the commercial development crowding in around it. I imagined it could be a welcome refuge to downtowners seeking a moment of solice.

I was there to meet the regional minister for our first discussion of licensed ministry. He was there for a church transformation meeting. The elderly congregation no longer matched the demographics of its neighborhood. I saw a low-overhead oasis; the congregation saw shrinking coffers, rising power bills and nowhere to park.

How sad it was to learn of that church’s closing. They eventually settled on a vision, selling the building and setting up trust funds to support Disciples missions from now on. And the building is once again a thriving little church — though not a Disciples church.

Another Disciples church had offered refuge for a group of musicians who simply wanted to praise God without rehearsals, agendas or collection plates. They let us use their Log Cabin youth building on Saturday nights. When I finally sat through a Sunday morning service, I found the unfettered Gospel, a kindly pastor and a small but welcoming congregation. I joined, got my license, spent five years assisting the kindly pastor, and became senior pastor when he retired four years ago.

I’ve always had a thing for storefront churches. I remember jamming at a storefront church gathering where 25 people raised the roof and broke firecode capacity. It was an urban translation of the little country churches scattered around my small hometown. I had friends having storefront church in a bar. But when their pastor became unaffordable, I was already committed to a church, and grateful for the oversight, accountability and benefits package.

The Log Cabin gospel jam appealed to my storefront church sensibilities. I still think the out-of-business church could have thrived as a storefront church, welcoming in the passers-by alongside the retired commuters who were its last members.

That storefront church in a bar tired of going without a pastor, had trouble paying the rent and grew weary of the weekly setup/breakdown routine. I invited them to join our church, but they were already serving people who had rejected traditional church.

There was no way I could change worship styles at our church. Our mark of distinction was preserving the organ/choir worship style in a community where one by one, many churches were hitching up the rock-n-roll horse, trying to keep up with the megachurches.

So, we started a second service with a worship combo instead of the choir, collection boxes instead of the plate and intinction instead of little cups and trays. It’s not that simple, but those differences illustrate the direction of the service. Now the little storefront/bar church congregation happily worships in a worship-ready building as members of our church. The traditional members who once wondered about “those people” now see them as fellow members, volunteers, supporters and good Christian friends.

How sad that one group would struggle to keep a building while another struggles to find for affordable worship space. Isn’t the sanctuary empty most of the time? Oh sure, you could rent the space to some other denomination, but wouldn’t you rather share the freedom of Discipleship and diversify the church? Wouldn’t you rather share your sanctuary with people who also share the burdens of maintenance, missions and ministerial salaries?

My advice to all those closet emergents toughing it out in the established church: Talk to your pastor, deacons and elders. Let them know that there are new tribes of believers who would love the freedom of a Disciples church — if only it weren’t so “churchy”! Tell them those tribes love the Lord and have a passion to share Him in new and vibrant ways.

I think every church, especially every Disciples church, should host one or more services featuring the kind of music “we don’t like.” Those that no longer match the demographics of their neighborhood should conduct a service that does. Encourage your youth to conduct their own service. Then, encourage cross-service attendance and talent sharing, so everyone can discover what we have in common.

That “mainstream” church I serve was established 52 years ago in a trailer park rec hall. Members still speak fondly of sweeping up beer cans and mopping the floors to prepare for service. They can relate to tales of transforming a bar into a church and back week after week. They can relate to running from church “their” way and trying it “our own” way because that’s exactly how they started 52 years ago.

God’s church — give it away! Give it to your children, your neighbors, your friends. But stick around to share as needed what you’ve learned. One Lord, One Table, and in this case, one pastor and one building. One Body, many parts.

A Tweet from God

Tropical Sands Christian Church has an interesting mix of people. We have people who established their musical taste long before the Beatles, and those who are too young to name a single Beatles tune. (And the very fact that I selected that band tells you where I fall in that spectrum.) We have members who don’t know we have a website, and others who think that printing a paper newsletter is for dinosaurs.

Today, just having a website is not enough. You need a Facebook page and a Twitter account, and there are probably other significant social networking services that I’ve neglected.

Facebook is a social networking website that lets people post photos, links and updates. If you list someone as a friend on Facebook, their updates will display on your news page, and vice versa.

Say what you will about the trivia that passes for news on Facebook. Between my wife and my daughter, it gives me easy access to more photos of my new grandson than any wallet can hold.

I use Facebook to stay in touch with most members of our youth group and many other members of the church as well. The easiest way to contact other churches is to find the pastor’s Facebook page. If you want to friend me on Facebook, you’ll find my page at Facebook.com/pastor.joel.tucker. And to keep track of our youth group, go to Facebook and do a search for “That Youth Thing” to find their Facebook page.

Twitter takes that simple concept and narrows it down one step further. On Twitter, you’re given 140 characters to post an update. If someone “follows” you, your Tweets, as these updates are called, will show up on their page.

I post church news and other tweets on Twitter.com/TropicalSands. I don’t find very many church members on Twitter, but I do find a lot of Disciples ministers, schools and churches posting news updates on Twitter.

I like the structure of a Tweet — 140 characters, no more. In my view, people are cheating the system by including a web address to a larger article. A Tweet, like haiku, should be a self-contained idea, and not an introduction to a larger article. A pure Tweet is self-contained. And then there’s the perfect Tweet — a self-contained idea that is exactly 140 characters long. I love the challenge of structuring Twitter posts to be pure and perfect Tweets!

Recently, a Tweet led to a blog that challenged Disciples to write a statement of faith in under 250 words. I responded that we should raise the bar with something even shorter, that a 140-character Tweet was big enough for a well-written statement of faith.

I came up with the following: “Emmanuel, God with us. The Creator, most exalted, became the Lamb, most humbled. That’s how to love, how much He loves, and how big love is.”

But I continued playing with the format, typing various ideas and scriptures into the character-counting Twitter input panel. I was astounded to discover that the classic English version of the most popular Jesus quotation was in itself a pure and perfect 140-character Tweet! It goes like this: For God so loved the world that He gave his only begotten son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life.

Who knew that John 3:16, taken from the popular King James Bible, would be a perfect fit for one of the internet’s most popular and exacting social networks, some 400 years after its translation?

I get a feeling that God knew. I’m sure God cracked a smile when the Twitter developers said, “140 characters. That’s enough.” It’s all the creed we need!

It reminds me of an ingenious mission statement, written decades ago for Tropical Sands but still Tweet-ready with 61 characters to spare: “Our mission as Disciples of Christ is to Profess Faith, Proclaim Hope, and Practice Love.”