The Mission Church of the Nazarene

     This is the first year in a long time, that I didn't attend or preside over an Ash Wednesday service. It was a little odd, after years of having that be part of the cadence of life.

      I'd like to say there is some big theological reason why we didn't host one at the church, but it's purely practical. We have 6 weeks until we launch on Easter Sunday, and everything is torn apart. Plus, I'm still figuring out this whole balance thing with work, home, and church. Adding another service seemed exhausting, and a challenge I wasn't up for. Mac also started a new job, so that added into it as well.

       Despite not having a service, I chose to use the day to reflect and prepare for these 40 days, which are marked even more closely by the fact that they coincide with when we want to have the church ready for the public.

         I spent most of the day cleaning, listening to music, reading, and cooking. Because I am a pastor, I had to think through these acts, and try to link them in some sort of meaningful way to Ash Wednesday. I don't know if I did that, but it did cause me to think and to reflect, which isn't a bad thing.

       Ash Wednesday is all about recognizing our mortality and our dependency on Christ. This year I've felt mortality and my dependency on Christ in ways I haven't before.

       I cared for Mac's grandmother in her last days, which really brought me to this point of understanding of mortality in ways I don't know I had before. We lost Mac's uncle just a few weeks later. It seems in many ways that this year was surrounded in a cloud of death, in a way more concrete than the grittiness of Ash Wednesday ashes could have conveyed to me.

      Added to the passing of loved ones, planting a church in an old church building in an urban area has conveyed death and mortality as well. The hopelessness of people around us at times, the desire for more, the dust and dirt we have cleaned in each room of an old and beautiful building. These things all convey a sense of things coming to an end.

      Life, since moving here, in some ways, seems like a very long season of Lent, or advent.... or maybe a bit of both. I don't know if Lent and advent are all that different in some regards, both have longing, both looking forward to something, hoping for something.

       This is why we've decided to launch services on Easter Sunday, because our whole story is about life coming in the midst of death, in spite of death, conquering it. Telling death it has no place here, that life is to reside within these walls, within this community, within our hearts.

     So, we didn't have ash Wednesday services, but in some ways, this ash Wednesday held more meaning than those that came before. Because I've looked at death in more profound ways than in years past. I sat close to it, and breathed it in. It scared me, and gripped me, and lingers on the edges. It ran it's icy cold fingers against my arm, and I was fully aware of it's presence. I saw it's evidence, in the news, in our family, in the dust on windowsills, and the stench of rooms closed up like tombs. I've seen it in the healed over cigarette burns on the arms of an elementary school student, and in the eyes of high school students who have seen their childhood die too soon. I see it in the cash for gold store windows, and the door fronts of payday loan establishments, with the promise of relief and comfort, only leaving those who enter more empty and struggling than before.  I've seen it on the street corners, and behind dumpsters. I hear him in the stories of abuse and alcoholism, and how this time she really will leave.  He is there. Always lingering, always pressing close, always threatening to have the last word. Death. Cold and unforgiving.

      But.... in the midst of acknowledging this mortality, of acknowledging that I too one day will die, there is this glimmer just on the edges. Death's icy grip is felt keenly, but there is something else on the horizon, and it is warmth, beauty, and love. It whispers too, in a still small voice, hope, love, peace, and grace. It shows up in those same corners, in those same rooms, behind those same dumpsters. It shows  up in the laughter and tears of women attending Al-Anon, praying for another day of peace and grace. It shows up in toilitries for the homeless, in the love and care of a teacher towards her student. It shows up in laying tile, in sanding walls, in weeding flower beds. It's there too, whispering, it's warm sweet breath, just waiting for the right moment to come forth. Like the crocus of early spring, it's waiting to break through.

         Life.

         So for these 40 days, we prepare our hearts. We look for those dead places. The places where we've chosen to see death, where we've chosen to speak death, embrace death, and we confess them. We repent of them and we turn away from his icy grasp, and we move in small ways, and in big ways, towards the warmth of life.

     I grew up in small churches. I say churches, but really there were only 2. We weren't church hoppers, or shoppers. My family instilled in me the importance of the Church being family, you don't bail when it gets hard, but you stay and work things out, no matter what. We used that no matter what more than once, sometimes through tears and heartache, always with a lot of prayer.
     When I moved to college, it's a little odd that I didn't plug into a small church, but a large one. Part of it was because I didn't want to church hop, so I just started going to one church and stayed there, volunteered there, and found a home there.
     In some ways I loved my time away from the small church scene. It gave me some perspective I didn't have before, and it prepared me for ministry as associate staff. Mostly because small churches don't hire associate staff, they usually have the need, but not the funds. Despite what some of the churches I worked at may think, they weren't small.
     Over half the churches in the United States have less than 75 people. I am now, again, part of the majority of churches. Our average attendance runs around 10.
       Leaving the small church for larger churches and coming back to a small church again (this time as Pastor) has given me a new found love and appreciation for my small church heritage. I appreciate many things about the small church life, and the churches I grew up in, but one of the biggest things I've grown to value is how much work my pastors put in.

       I can remember all of their names. How they knew mine. The way they would ask about my week, the way they prayed and care for me and my family. They weren't perfect, but they were there. They had an incredibly hard job, that often went criticized and undervalued. They were lucky to get one month out of the year (October) set aside to be appreciated, but a lot of the time, they worked long hours, expected to be there each week with a sermon that took hours to prepare, expected to show up during every family crisis despite what may be going on in their own lives. They may have gotten to choose their day off, or go home for lunch (perks of the trade), but those were often set aside if something more pressing came to them. They didn't have a staff to do pulpit supply if they wanted a Sunday off, or were sick. They didn't have secretaries to take phone calls. I also know, that some went years without pay raises, and some took pay cuts, living off the health insurance of spouses (or none at all, praying nothing happened), just to keep the church lights on.
         Why do I bring this up in conjunction with snow days? Because it hasn't snowed that much this winter over all, yet I am out there shoveling snow at the church. Making sure the sidewalks are clear so no one falls. Spreading ice melt on the icy spots. Checking anytime I walk into the office that people won't slip, and memories flooded back to me of seeing my pastors shoveling the parking lot and walk way of my small churches. Covered in snow over their best suits (my pastors were all men). During the time they usually would be sitting in their office praying over their sermon one last time, or sitting at home with their own families, they were out there shoveling so we could get into church.
        Being from Michigan, I only remember a handful of times our church services were cancelled due to the weather, which means there were lots of snowy services. Which means, there were lots of Sundays they were up, super early, to get the sidewalk and parking lot ready for service.

         In the scheme of things, maybe it's not a huge thing. I know that most pastors I know wouldn't think twice about shoveling the snow. One of my pastors told me that being a pastor means there are no tasks too big or too small for you to do, and you must be willing to do them all, including cleaning toilets. This sentiment was later restated by professors as I was studying to become a pastor myself.
        Sometimes my head gets big, about my ability to communicate through sermons and writing, but I can remember only a few sermons. What I do remember, what is forever cemented in my mind, are pastors with snow shovels in hand, snowflakes covering their best suits, asking me how my week was, despite their cold feet and the knowledge of the immense tasks of the day yet to come.
        Maybe it isn't the sermon or the pastoral prayer that communicates our love for the people God has given us the task of caring for. Maybe sometimes the way we best communicate God's love to the world, is in the simple, yet profound, act of shoveling snow.

   This weekend we are hammering out (literally in some regards) some projects around the church. We are doing our big launch Sunday service on Easter. While we've been holding services, and we are trying to develop relationships organically, it has been very helpful to have a goal day in mind. It gives us a day to shoot for, and something to invite people too. It wasn't in our original plan to have a big launch (and I don't know how "big" this launch will be), but we are learning to go with the flow and find our own rhythm. Every church plant is different. Cultures are different, circumstances are different, finances are different, leadership teams are different, etc. and every one of those factor plays a part in how corporate church worship and community works and is built.
     All of that background to say, we set aside this weekend to get some bigger projects done.
     The mens' restroom faucets have been leaking since we got here. Mac worked hard at replacing them. 

         It works! This update also made the bathroom look much nicer. It's amazing how small and simple details make such a big difference.
          We also are starting to redo the sanctuary. We took the baffles (which were doing nothing) down. Since they were put up with gorilla glue, a lot of work is involved getting the walls ready for painting. The teens this summer have fond memories of scraping this glue off of other areas of the church. That being said, don't use it, unless you want whatever you are gluing to stay there forever. 
      
        Cyndi was a big help scraping glue. It was not an easy job, but it is satisfying to see things coming together.
          Our Christmas decorations also got taken down. It looks empty now, but it'll be transformed over the next few weeks.
         

       Paint colors for the sanctuary are chosen. We have some art pieces to put in. Things are looking great, and we are so excited that in just a couple of months, we'll be sharing this space with our friends, family, and neighbors!
       

       A day in my life substitute teaching is always interesting. This week I was in a middle school I sub at a lot. It's in downtown Hammond.
      I enjoy this school. It has a reputation, as many of the schools here do, of being bad. I'm never really sure what "bad" means when ascribed to schools and communities.
      Sometimes when people say it, they mean that it's rough. That the area or school can be dangerous, with violence and drug use. Sometimes people mean that the level of education isn't up to par with other schools. They mean test scores are lower, and drop out rates are higher. More often than not, I've discovered, that people usually toss the word around with very little understanding of what it means, or very little experience or knowledge of the school or community.
       I take reputations of areas and schools with a grain of salt, so to speak. Because they tend to be a very poor way to judge anything.
       The middle school I was in this week, as I said, has just that sort of reputation.
       Each class starts out the same way, I have the students walk in, and check to make sure they are in uniform. I take attendance and introduce myself. Then I give them their assignment.
       Once they are given their assignment, the fun really begins. I help students with work, and review the rules, 500 times, because middle school students have about as much energy as 4th graders, but they don't get recess.

      The other day a group of girls were talking. The conversation went like this.
Girl 1- My dad is a vegan, and I always have to clean up his gross dishes of beans.
Girl 2- Your parents still together?
Girl 1- No girl! Who stays married these days?! Seriously, I don't know anybodies parents who are married.
Girl 3- I know mine aren't!
Girl 2- I always tell my momma I'm going to move in with my daddy. She says "there's the door".
Girl 1- My momma says the same thing!

      After class I had a little boy still sitting at his desk. I could tell he was crying.
Me- What's wrong?
Student- (puts his head against the doorway sobbing)
me- Come over here. I can't fix the problem if you don't tell me what's wrong.
Student- (walks over with tears streaming down his face)
me- ok, what's going on?
Student- They always pick on me.
Me- what were they saying?
Student- They called me a coward, and told me I was scared because i wouldn't hit a girl."
Me- Why won't you hit a girl?
Student- Because it's disrespectful.
Me- Do you think you are a coward?
Student- No. I just think it's wrong to hit someone, and they just keep picking on me.
Me- If you know you aren't a coward in your heart, don't worry about what they say. I think it's far braver to do the right thing sometimes. Cowards hit girls, brave people stand up for what's right even when it's hard.
(me trying not to tear up) I think you are brave and kind, don't let them tell you any different.
Student- Ok, thanks.

     A different conversation with some students
Student 1- Ms. Cansler I think you are the nicest teacher, can you be our permanent teacher.
Me- I can't.
Student 2- Why not?
Me- I have another job?
Student 1- What's your job Ms. Cansler?
Me- I'm a pastor
Student 3- You a girl pastor??
Me- Well I'm a girl, and I'm a pastor, so yes.
Student 1 and 3- You go to church Ms. Cansler?
Me- Well since I"m a pastor, yes I go to church.
Student 3- I go every sunday and wednesday. Sunday for worship service and Wednesday for Bible study.
Me- We only have Sundays, because we are a new church.


       These are just a few glimpses. Lots of things happen every day. Some heartbreaking. Some victories. However, I wouldn't describe these places as "bad" ever.
      The school's I work in are filled with exhausted teachers who do their best, in an area where many parents have given up at getting their kids to even go to school in the first place. The high school where I work the most has a long list of expelled students, and sometimes I take attendance based on who is present, vs. who is absent, because that list is shorter. These teachers try to give them hope, help them to see life beyond these few years, while many of their students become parents at the age their parents had them.
     These schools definitely have their issues, but ultimately they are filled with students who long for love. Who need some direction. Who try their best. They aren't different from kids anywhere else, just that their zip code happens to be different. Just that they have things stacked against them a little higher than others. I have kids who run up to me and give me hugs every time they see me. I have a student who told me all about her dream prom dress and about going to college, and what shoes I thought she should get for prom.
      No... they aren't bad. Much like the world around us, the image of God is there. It just sometimes takes a couple looks to see it. I'm blessed that I get to be the one to take the second look.

     Homelessness has always torn at my heart. I spent time doing homeless ministry in college, and always try to do something when I encounter homeless individuals on the street. The biggest thing I've learned I can do, is treat people like human beings. I don't always have money (and I'm often hesitant to give money out, though I always like to do something. A post for another day), and I often don't come prepared.
        My mom once said to me that I needed to not give my coat away, because if I came back with nothing and got sick, I'd no longer be able to help people. I understand what she says, so now I try to go into situations prepared.
        When we moved into our church building, we noticed a sleeping bag at the bottom of some outdoor steps. It seemed that this was implying that someone used this space for shelter.

         Due to that discovery, every time I take the trash out to the back of the church, I check the steps, to see if anyone is there. I never found anyone, until a few days ago.
        Despite the fact that I check the steps all the time, I was a bit surprised to see someone there. Their back was turned to me, and the distinct smell of someone unwashed and living on the streets hit me. I called out "hello".
        The person stirred and said "oh hi". I could tell that I startled her. She began to gather up her things, and I said "I'm pastor Robbie, is there anything I can do to help you? I'm the pastor here."
        She said no, as she continued to gather her few things together.
         "what is your name?" I said.
          She told me, and I asked again if I could help her with anything, trying to reassure her that she was welcome here, that I wasn't going to chase her away. I guess after being treated like a rodent for long enough, you start to assume that anyone approaching is going to do the same thing, and so you scurry like one when approached.
           I told her she was welcome to sit there and rest, and I went to gather something for her. We keep these packs in the office specifically for people without homes, they have new socks, a new toothbrush, a washcloth, some snacks, a water bottle, a gift card for a meal, some soap, and a few other things. It's not much, but it's something.

           I rushed back hoping to catch her, and I got there just in time. "This is for you."
           She was so grateful, and I really believe she was a bit surprised. "Thank you. Thank you. Thank you." She kept saying.
            The encounter has haunted me a bit. It was so small a gesture. I could have asked her into the church, and allowed her to use the restroom (having a place to use a restroom is a huge issue among homeless individuals). I could have asked her to come in, and made her a cup of something hot to drink, or to sit down in the heat for a few moments. In the moment, however, all of those things alluded me, as I just tried to think of something, anything, I could do to convey that I saw her, that I cared for her, and to represent a God who cares for her more than I ever could.
        I'm still wrestling with the answers. I'm still praying and seeking direction for what to do. What I pray even more is, that I would be like the boy with the loaves and the fish, and Christ would be as faithful to us as we was the day he fed so many with so little. I pray I will always be faithful and generous with what little we have, and that God would take that little and make much out of it. I pray that even if we do nothing else, that we will always see people as the beloved of God, and treat them as such.

     It is never my intention to go so long without blogging. In my mind, I blog every day. Getting it out there, is another story. Technology glitches, and the difficulty of blogging from my phone all play a part, but mostly it's because we are incredibly busy people.
     We are busier than we've been thus far, because we have started having informal worship services on Sunday morning. This is a big step for us, and one I know a lot of you have been praying about.
    A launch meeting was held just before advent. We compiled a small group of friends and family to be our core. It's an incredible blessing to plant a church where you can pull form family and friends to make up that initial group of people.
     Creating this leadership team has been one of the biggest blessings since we've started this journey. First, we feel much less alone. Second, we are able to accomplish a significantly higher amount of work. Three, church isn't really church if there are no people.
     This leadership team really pushed fast forward on our church planting. They are excited and eager to walk this journey as we learn together. They have energy, insight, and wisdom that I lack on my own.
      The reality is, the Christian life was meant to be lived in community, and that is proved more and more as we are building this small community here in our city.
      A snapshot of the last several weeks:

• We have been holding worship services.

        This may be the coolest thing we are doing. They are small. They are intimate. We eat breakfast together every Sunday. We visit. We explore what it means to be a part of the Church of the Nazarene. We sing a few songs. We read scripture. We pray. We work. Our Sundays are almost entirely spent at the church which is a neat phenomenon. When there are so few of you EVERYONE has to help, and everyone does help. Since we are all there on Sundays, that tends to be the day we work. We clean, we build, we fellowship, we eat, we drink coffee. It's a really cool thing that just sort of was born out of necessity.

• We held a Christmas eve Service

         We were a small group, but we were there. We lit close to 100 luminaries outside to illustrate our presence (trying to be a light in the darkness) as well as to show our vigil for the coming Christ child. Our hope was that neighbors would see the lights and wander in. This didn't happen, but it was a great learning curve for us. One of the things we learned is that things take time. It takes time to be recognized as people who care and are present. We also learned we'll have to do more than light some candles to illustrate that.
             Mainly the main thing we learned during the season of advent, was that longing and expectation aren't bad things. Advent is the season we live in these days, and being able to come together and reflect on why we do what we do, that it's ok to long, and what hope looks like, was incredibly meaningful.

• We've met some more neighbors

            If we've learned nothing else, we've learned a lot about prevenient grace. This grace that goes before us, calling people to the heart of God. That's truly the only way to explain some of our conversations and chance meetings.
             Last sunday, one of our Church members was outside, and a neighbor walked by and started talking to him. I went out and he said "I walk by this church a lot and I always pray that God would open it's doors, and that he would send people to it. I really believe God is going to send you a lot of people."
              It was really an amazing thing, and not an isolated incident. We are glad that God has called Christians in our neighborhood to pray for this old church on the corner. We are grateful that the Holy Spirit is moving in the hearts of our neighbors.
             Would we love to see them walk in our doors? Absolutely, we'd be dishonest if we said we didn't, but ultimately we are here to bring about light in darkness, and transformation to a neighborhood. The transformation we want to see doesn't happen over night, and it won't happen just be getting people in seats on a Sunday morning.

• We've cleaned A LOT

                If you were here this summer, you should come back for a visit, because the building is beginning to become unrecognizable (in a good way). Things are becoming more and more organized, change is really taking place, rooms that were once filled with stuff are now ready to be filled with people. It's actually astounding given the task we had at the beginning of the summer. It's easy for us to be overwhelmed, because there is still so much to do (we still need to tear down some ceilings downstairs, and install new ceilings and light fixtures.... do you know how to do that? Because we'd love to have your help). We really need a new front door, and a new air conditioner, as well as a new window installed, on top of other projects we can't even think about affording right now... BUT, we have this awesome new sound booth built that a couple members took on themselves to put in, and it looks better than I even imagined (and it's not done yet). We set up this amazing breakfast/coffee area in the back of the sanctuary, that my mother-in-law turned into this really warm and welcoming space. The coat closet is completely cleaned out and ready to go. We are preparing to paint the foyer steps and put in new carpet. The bathrooms smell the best they have since I first stepped into them. We have diaper changing stations in the bathrooms. We have new hymnals. We have bulletins. We have a working sound system. We have chairs set up like a real sanctuary. The lights no longer have bugs in them. The stained glass windows shut all the way! The church is getting internet on Friday, which means I'll be able to hold real office hours! This has all happened over the last several weeks. Just imagine what can happen in the next several years?

People ask me sometimes how we get the funding to make all this happen, how we have the time or ability. Sometimes I'm astounded myself. City Connexx has helped us tremendously, and has been one of the most amazing blessings in my life. Our launch team is the best in the world, dedicating significant amounts of time, money, and energy into seeing this vision come to life. On top of that, Mac and I work... as much as possible outside of the church.
       I'm not sure what things will look like 6 months from now, but if it's anything like these last 6, it'll be greater than what we could ever hope or imagine. So, we are ready, 2015, for this to be a year set aside to do great things for the Kingdom of God.

     It almost feels appropriate that so much unrest and outcry about injustice is happening during advent.  The dark reality is that injustice,  racism,  hatred,  and violence has been going on all along,  it's just that suddenly it's more visible... at least to some people.  

      

     If you are non-white,  or live in a diverse urban area,  the head lines only serve to confirm something we've already been witness too. A dark reality we've already been a part of. 
     Regularly I get asked if I am afraid for my life to live where I do.  I get told often how afraid they would be if they substitute taught at Hammond High or Eggers middle school,  the 2 secondary schools downtown. 
     This rhetoric continues to shock me. Why should I be afraid? 
      My follow up question is almost always met with an awkward gaze and uncomfortable silence.  They don't want to say what they mean,  because they think as an educated white middle class woman the same fear resides within me.  A fear of the unknown,  a fear of seeing things that make us uncomfortable,  a fear of being the only person in the room who looks like us,  a fear of kids who have been raised with little guidance or hope,  and let's just address the elephant in the room,  a fear of black and hispanic people. 
      Fear. It's often under the surface of our conversations about race. It's in our comments about "that part of town". It's even ever present in our movies and television shows,  where the young white teacher goes to teach at the urban predominantly black school and is met with violent and drug addicted stereotype black students.
     Fear.  It's consumed my Facebook newsfeed. Two distinct groups of people,  both afraid. One afraid to raise children in a world they could be killed just because of their skin color,  or afraid for humanity as it seems we can't move forward with grace and love.  The other,  afraid to listen,  afraid they might be wrong,  afraid of a world where the police they have always trusted might be wrong. 
     I straddle both of those worlds. I'm afraid at times to raise half black children in this world,  afraid for my students and neighbors,  yet I've always trusted police,  never experienced issues with my race (though when I'm with my husband,  it's a different experience), afraid at times that maybe I'm not as honest about my own biases as I could be,  and afraid I might be wrong. 
     Fear.  We live in fear. 

      Yet,  we long for something else. Something more.  Something greater. 
     In the midst of our fear,  we long for a world without fear,  a world of understanding,  of grace,  of love,  of hope. 
     That's what advent is.  Longing for more,  looking for more,  hoping for more,  and ultimately seeing that come in Christ.
     We didn't invent fear,  racism,  corruption.  That all existed 2 thousand years ago too. In a small town of Bethlehem.  Where the military state controlled all aspects of life. Where to be a Jew,  meant oppression. In the midst of this world of violence,  of pain,  of suffering,  of fear,  an angel shows up to a group of smelly outcasts. 

               "Fear not" the angel says.  Was that spoken just for that moment?  Maybe,  but their entire world was fear. It is no accident they are being told not to fear. 
        But why should the fear stop,  "because I bring glad tidings of great joy,  which shall be for ALL people.  For today,  in the city of David,  a savior has been born to you,  he is Christ the LORD".
          God had broken into the midst of fear,  of loneliness, of pain,  of confusion,  to bring joy,  hope,  love,  heading,  and peace.
         The good news of advent is,  that Christ still comes.  He comes in our compassion,  in our love,  in our service,  in our grace.  He came, he comes,  and is coming again to fulfill what was started in a world of fear,  doubt,  and pain.  He is coming to make all things right. 

               

       So today,  we sit between the first and second week of advent, between hope and peace.  We don't just sit their metaphorically,  but we sit their as individuals,  as communities,  and as a nation.  We sit with a decision like the shepherds of old,  to go and see this thing the angel said, to embrace the news,  to share the news,  to abandon our fear for love and grace,  or to stay,  to be stunted by our fear,  and miss out on the greatest miracle of all.  

    I don't know about you,  but I am tired of being afraid,  tired of doubt,  of loneliness,  and hatred,  so I'm running as fast as i can, doing all within my power to bring hope,  peace,  joy,  and love to this world that so desperately needs it.
    I am sharing with all this advent "fear not,  for I bring glad tidings of great joy for ALL people,  no matter who you are,  what you look like,  your economic status,  your gender,  your race,  there is a savior, he is Christ the LORD"