On Sunday morning, as our youth led the worship service, seniors Holly Knibb and Rheagan Miles challenged us to “do something difficult.” They talked about overcoming their own fears – from befriending the new kid at camp to learning to live with diabetes – by trusting that God was with them and would give them strength. They approached the very difficult task of speaking in front of the whole church with grace and courage, and inspired us to do something difficult, too.

Sunday night, we set out to do just that. We began the process of raising $480,000 to make some much-needed improvements to our building so we can better do the ministry God is calling us to do. At the orientation meeting, Zip Long, our stewardship consultant, told us that one of the beliefs that guides his work is this: the financial and human resources exist within this church to do what God is calling us to do.

Think about that. If God is calling us to be a place – as our mission statement states – where we know and love God, nurture each other, reach out and welcome all people in the name of Jesus Christ, then we can do this. If God is calling us to be good stewards of our building, we can do this. If God is calling us to welcome people in new ways, we can do this.

The campaign leadership team is in place and already hard at work managing the details. You’ll be hearing more about it over the next few weeks, and you’ll probably be asked to help out with one of the teams. I hope you’ll say yes. I also hope you’ll be praying for our church and our leaders, and about your own involvement.

Sure, this is going to be difficult. It’s a challenge. But Jesus never said following him would be easy. And besides, we’ve got God working with us.

So let’s do this difficult thing and make our youth proud to be part of First Christian Church.

Lewis was waiting in his car when I pulled into the parking lot at 6:03 a.m. Easter morning. We waved at each other sleepily.

“It’s early,” he said, as I unlocked the door of the church.

“I know,” I said. “Whose idea was this?”

He laughed and headed down to the kitchen to get started on breakfast.

Out in the playground, where the service would be, it was as dark as midnight, with the moon still hanging in the southern sky. The swings were still and the cross in the corner stood in silent shadows. The birds, though, knew it was morning and were already singing the good news.

Ed arrived to set up the microphones, and Dan carried out the communion table. It felt like we were setting up for a secret late-night party. But then the Steadmans arrived with flowers for the cross, and Jody and the choir, and Jeff with his guitar, and a couple of sleepy-eyed but excited toddlers, and ever-so-gradually, our front yard lightened up with sunlight and life.

We sang, and we shouted “Alleluia!” and we shared the bread of life and the cup of hope, and we placed our flowers on the cross. And right on cue, just beyond the houses to the east, the sun peeked out above the trees.

Breakfast was ready, then, but we lingered there in the no-longer-dark morning, the world coming to life around us. We could breathe easier, somehow, now that the good news was out there for all the world to see.

Walter Bruggemann, one of my favorite contemporary theologian-poets, uses the word Easter as a verb. “Easter us,” he prays. “Easter us in honesty; Easter us in fear; Easter us in joy, and let us be Eastered.”

I think we got Eastered this week. From those first bird-sung alleluias to the soaring refrain of “Christ the Lord is Risen Today!” in the sanctuary at 11:00, and everything in between, I think God was Eastering us. God was bringing us back to life, inspiring us with hope, triumphing again over death.

Good news, people of God: Christ is risen.

Christ is risen, indeed.

This Lenten devotional was written by Alison Simon, an FCC member who is currently a student at Texas Christian University.

For spring break, I went on a mission trip to Taos, New Mexico.  We were staying on the floor of a local church and were supposed to spend four days working on a house for Habitat for Humanity.  I say “supposed to” because on day two, I fell ill and had to spend the next day and a half lying on the church floor groggy with medication.  Luckily, the church had a beautiful wood carving of Leonardo da Vinci’s The Last Supper hanging on the wall of the Fellowship Hall.  Staring at this carving became my entertainment while I was sick.  Have you ever looked – I mean really looked – at that painting?  I found myself wondering at what point in the supper they actually were.  There was terror on some faces, sadness on others.  But there was peace in Jesus’ face.  I decided that the painting was from Mark 14:19.  The disciples have just been told that one of their own will betray Jesus.  But is that really what Jesus wanted them to take from that meal?  The knowledge of a future betrayal?  I don’t think so.  The real question is: what new thing is Jesus giving the disciples to taste?  I think they all felt betrayed by the one disciple who would betray Jesus, even though they did not know who it was.  But Jesus did not want to leave them with the taste of betrayal in their mouths.  He followed his confession by breaking bread and pouring wine.  Jesus replaced the taste of betrayal with the taste of hope.

What new thing is God giving me to taste?  On my mission trip, I tasted the disappointment of having to sit in the church and not participate in the work.  But that bitter taste was followed by the hope that I saw in the faces of the single mother and her five daughters who would receive the home.  Sometimes what God gives us in life is not easy to swallow.  There is betrayal and disappointment.  But, look for the hope that always follows.  And think, what new thing is God giving me to taste?

And so it begins.

Jesus sends those two faithful, unquestioning disciples into the village to find a colt that had never been ridden. They bring the colt to Jesus, help him climb on, and watch as he heads down the path from the Mount of Olives into Jerusalem.

It’s the beginning of the end really, because the story itself began long ago,  in a stable outside a Bethlehem inn… or even longer ago, with a people in exile… or even longer ago, with manna raining from heaven in the wilderness… or even longer ago, with the parting of the Red Sea…

But here the end begins, because even though the people are shouting words of praise, their tone is haunting, as if they know something is not quite right. This is not the king they had expected, and he his heading for a cross instead of a throne. But still they shout their words of praise, maybe because they don’t know what else to do. Maybe because they have no choice. Maybe because they know that God always makes a way where there is no way.

Come and join the parade. And so it begins.

This is the first spring we’ve lived in our house, and lately we make a new discovery every time we walk outside. There’s a flower bed just outside our side door, where daffodils have been peeking up for a week. Finally, yesterday, one exploded into yellow. There are purple crocuses there, too, and I’m pretty sure those curly green leaves are going to turn out to be tulips. Everywhere we look, it seems, something is growing that I didn’t know was there.

One of the things I love about living in an older house is this inheritance of all the past owners.  I set out recently to hang up a clothesline between two trees in the backyard, only to discover a metal hook in one of the trees, and a big knot in the other; someone had had the same idea before. And it’s fun to imagine someone lovingly planting those daffodils years ago, watching them bloom every spring, then moving on to whatever new adventure awaited them, leaving the bulbs buried deep down in the ground for us.

Church is that way, too, I think. Very few of us were here when this building was built, or when the steeple was perched up on top. Most of us are the inheritors of seeds that were planted long ago, by people who loved this church and were committed to its ministry. It makes me wonder what kind of seeds we are planting that might someday sprout and grow and explode into colorful new life.

How is your Lenten journey going? If you gave something up, are you missing it? If you took something on, have you been able to stick with it?

Four weeks into Lent, it’s easy to abandon those commitments we made on Ash Wednesday, or to start feeling a little self-congratulatory about our own willpower. Maybe it’s a good time for a reminder that these Lenten practices are not about improving ourselves, but about improving our relationship with God. It’s not really about how long we can go without chocolate, or how many mornings in a row we can get up early to read scripture. It’s about noticing what happens when we do without, or discovering God speaking to us in a new way. So, how is it going?

Lent is a long season, but there are signs that the end is in sight: March madness is here, there are green buds on the tree outside my window, and daffodils are peeking up everywhere.

There are other signs that new life is about to break through around here. We’re getting to know our neighbors, through the Wednesday morning yoga class and the upcoming Easter Egg Hunt (which we’re holding in conjunction with the Sunset Hills Neighborhood Association on March 27.) We’re reaching out to our community and world in new ways: last weekend, our youth led two mission projects at Joseph’s House and the Servant Center, and mission trips are being planned for this summer to Washington DC and the Dominican Republic. And we’re about to make a big decision about moving forward with a capital campaign to fund some much needed improvements to our building, which would enhance our growing ministries.

Thank you for the ways you have embraced this season of renewal and growth. There are hard days ahead, no doubt, as we head into Holy Week and the cross that waits. But at the end of the journey, the promise of hope glimmers.

I, for one, can’t wait to see what happens next.

Last Sunday, I stood with the children in the front row of the balcony and looked out across the congregation. The kids and I have been going on a Lenten journey during worship these last few weeks, making stops all over the sanctuary. We started at the front steps, where we usually meet, then travelled to the Bible that sits at the front of the sanctuary, reminding us to keep scripture central in our worship and our lives. The next Sunday, we moved to the organ, where the organist showed us how the organ works, and we talked about how important music is in our worship service.

Then, this past week, our journey sent us all the way up to the balcony. Read more »

As I write this, I’m sitting by a drafty window and the cold air is seeping into my bones. Aren’t we done with winter weather yet? I’m reading Isaiah 55: 1-9, and I can’t get the image of a summer picnic out of my mind: A blanket spread out on green grass, a basket full of food – sweet tea and lemonade, ripe strawberries, fresh bread and cheese – a Frisbee to toss after lunch, a book to read in the shade. Maybe there’s a little brook nearby where we could take off our shoes and wade.

“Everyone who thirsts, come to the waters; and you that have no money, come, buy and eat!”

To the exiles in Babylon, Isaiah’s words must have sounded like the promise of a summer picnic after a long, cold winter. They had endured Read more »

This passage from Isaiah 55 keeps speaking to me: “Ho, everyone who thirsts, come to the waters; and you that have no money, come buy and eat!”

Isaiah puts out this call and then goes on to describe the rich abundance offered to the people of Israel by a God who knows no limits to grace. It’s an invitation to all who are hungry, who find themselves alone, all who have lost their way.

This is good news in a world where the earth is literally shifting beneath our feet. The images coming from Chile after last weekend’s earthquake are frighteningly similar to those from Haiti just six weeks ago. Thankfully, better infrastructure, less poverty, and different geology mean the death toll will likely be in the hundreds, not the hundreds of thousands as it was in Haiti, but there will still be much rebuilding to do.

Once again, the Week of Compassion responded with aid within hours of the earthquake. I’ve said before how grateful I am for the ministry of Week of Compassion, which provides disaster relief and humanitarian aid all over the world. I’m grateful for their ongoing partnerships that let them respond immediately when disaster strikes. I’m grateful that I can be a part of that work, even though I’m not there. I’m grateful for the Week of Compassion staff – Amy, Brandon, and Elaine – who are called to this incredible service. Will you join me in prayer for them, and for all in Chile and Haiti who are rescuing, recovering, and rebuilding?

As we continue through Lent, I invite you to look for ways that God is calling you into service, or calling you to come home, or calling you to share in the extravagant abundance of God’s unending love.

I just finished reading The Book Thief, a novel by Markus Zusak, which I’ve been working on for at least six months. I’d started it twice before finally getting into it, not because it is boring – the writing is lovely – but because it is, at times, unbearably sad. The story takes place in Nazi Germany in the early days of World War II, and the narrator is Death personified. The narrator describes visiting concentration camps and homes destroyed by bombs as he collects the souls of those who had died there. There were moments when I couldn’t read more that a few pages at a time.

Then, on Sunday, I tagged along with our youth groups on an Interfaith Tour hosted by the National Conference for Community and Justice. We visited a church, a mosque, and a synagogue, and Read more »