Running for Good -- Washingtonian, November 2007

On my 40th birthday, a Catholic priest challenged me to run the Marine Corps Marathon. I thought he was crazy.

I had no experience as a runner, and the prospect of 26.2 miles was daunting. But I needed a midlife challenge. My priest friend had run several marathons, so he gave me some tips and turned me loose.

The first time I hit the road, I ran for three minutes and had to stop, gasping for breath. But after walking for seven minutes, I was able to run for another three, and then I walked another seven and ran three. Over several weeks, my running increased and my walking decreased until I could run for an hour. And then I ran two hours.

"If you can run two hours, you can run four hours," the priest said. "If you can run four hours, you can do a marathon."

He was right. Six months after beginning my training, I finished the 2000 Marine Corps Marathon in a respectable four hours and 12 minutes. I felt as if I’d been through boot camp, but my wobbly elation at the finish line made the pain worthwhile.

Since then, I’ve run a marathon a year—from New York City to Tucson. The most thrilling and agonizing was the Boston Marathon last year. Heartbreak Hill is perfectly named.

Marathon training has become a meditation for me, an opportunity to think, dream, pray, and solve problems. Besides enjoying the fabled endorphin rush, I’ve been amazed by the clarity of mind I experience. I’ve come to appreciate how exercise cuts through the clutter of life and gives me the gift of simplicity for a few hours each week. In a career dominated by phone calls, e-mails, meetings, counseling sessions, and sermon preparation, it’s calming to spend time focused only on the path ahead.

But as good as this feels, I’m beginning to sense that there must be more to running than finishing races and enjoying the benefits of praying to St. Endorphin.

For this year’s Marine Corps Marathon, I decided to be part of a team of 50 runners raising money for 25:40, an organization helping to fight AIDS in South Africa. Other people are running to conquer cancer or diabetes, while still others are trying to provide sports programs for paralyzed veterans or medical care for Catholic seminarians. At least 38 groups have become charity partners, raising money and awareness.

Now when I hit the road for a long training run, I think of Lithemba, a five-year-old South African boy with AIDS. The money I raise will support the clinic that treats him and will pay the salary of AIDS monitors—native South Africans trained in HIV/AIDS care and prevention. When I feel exhausted at the halfway mark, I think of the weariness brought on by a life-threatening disease. When I struggle to make it to my next water stop, I wonder what it would be like to face real thirst: In rural South Africa, 5 million people lack clean drinking water.

I’m glad I’ve taken on the discipline of marathon running. But better than suffering for myself, I’ve discovered, is doing something to ease the anguish of others. In a sport focused on achieving personal goals, it seems right, even spiritually healthy, to run a race for something more significant than a feeling of pride at the finish line.

Wilber Force -- FPC sermon excerpt

Exactly 220 years ago, an Englishman named William Wilberforce became a Christian. Then, 20 years later, in the year 1807, the British slave trade was abolished.

An awakening of the spirit, followed by the abolition of slavery. There’s a connection between the two.

According to The Economist magazine (February 24, 2007), William Wilberforce was a front-line fighter in the British campaign to end slavery. He was also a passionate Christian who took sin seriously, and stressed the importance of getting right with God. Today, political progressives see him as a pioneer of social justice, while conservatives see him as a faith-based leader of compassionate conservatism.

He is truly a man for all seasons.

So what can Wilberforce teach us today, exactly two centuries after his greatest triumph? For starters, he did not see his faith as a private matter, nor did he make a distinction between social justice and Christian morality. He professed two goals in his life — to abolish slavery and to raise Britain’s moral tone — and he pursued them with united and unending passion.

For Wilberforce, the elimination of slavery was part of a broader project to bring people to God. Like so many great reformers, he was able to see the big picture, and he made connections that many people failed to grasp. For instance, he was alarmed at the frequency of executions by hanging that were occurring at the time. He knew that people were being executed for very serious crimes, but he also understood that sin can start small and then grow into greater offenses. So Wilberforce started small and campaigned against immoral behavior — he tried to turn people away from gambling, heavy drinking, and promiscuity.

He knew about slippery slopes. He understood that quarreling can lead to killing, and drunkenness to rape and robbery. He agreed with the apostle Paul’s words to the Romans, “Let us then lay aside the works of darkness and put on the armor of light; let us live honorably as in the day, not in reveling and drunkenness, not in debauchery and licentiousness, not in quarreling and jealousy” (13:12-13).

The bottom line is this: When you put on the armor of light, you are not going to be properly outfitted for gambling, heavy drinking, robbery, or murder. You are not going to be wearing the right clothes for the slave trade, as William Wilberforce discovered over 200 years ago.

Check the clock, writes Paul — “it is now the moment for you to wake from sleep” (v. 11). Salvation is near, so it’s time for us to put on our Christian clothes and get to work. “Put on the Lord Jesus Christ,” says Paul, “and make no provision for the flesh, to gratify its desires” (v. 14).

It’s time for us to follow the apostle Paul and William Wilberforce, and to pay attention to both Christian morality and social justice. Not just morality, and not only justice, but both. We are challenged to be a force for good in our communities, our schools, and our workplaces … what I would call “a Wilber force.”

That’s exactly what the Christian community should be — a force that raises our nation’s moral tone, while also working for a better society. We should be a Wilber Force.

Santo Subito -- FPC sermon excerpt

When Pope John Paul II died two years ago, over a million people filed past his plain cedar coffin to pay their respects. About four million flooded into Rome to attend his funeral or watch the service on giant video screens placed across the city. Around the world, hundreds of millions of people — maybe even billions of people — watched the funeral on television.

In Rome, a cry began to spread through the crowd, “Santo subito … santo subito.” The phrase also appeared on hand-painted signs help up by worshipers at the funeral.

Santo subito.

Translation: “Sainthood immediately.”

The fans of John Paul II want the Vatican to cut through its normal red tape and pronounce the pope a saint right away. He’s clearly a saint, they say. So let’s make it official.

According to Time magazine (April 3, 2007), the new pope, Benedict XVI, has moved about as quickly as possible to get his predecessor into the ranks of the holy ones. He started by waiving the normal five-year waiting period to begin the process, an exemption that had previously been granted to Mother Teresa of Calcutta. Although there are still a number of steps to take, it looks like John Paul II might make the fastest rise to sainthood in history.

The month of November, which begins with All Saints’ Day, is the month each year we give thanks for the saints of the church, those great role models for faithful discipleship who now enjoy everlasting life with God. Said Pope Benedict, very recently, “In the communion of saints, it seems we can hear the living voice of our beloved John Paul II.” He is convinced that John Paul is now communing with the saints in heaven, inspiring and guiding the church from his new location.

But why is it that people tend to focus on saints in heaven? Take a look at the Bible, and you see that the emphasis is on the saints that are living right here on earth.

In his letter to the Ephesians, Paul writes, “I have heard of your faith in the Lord Jesus and your love toward all the saints” (1:15). Whenever Paul speaks of saints, he is talking about members of the church — people who have been chosen by God and set apart to do his work in the world. Saints are holy people, according to Paul, but their holiness does not come from achieving some kind of moral perfection. Thank goodness for that — I would never qualify. Instead, they have a holiness that comes from being marked as God’s people. God “chose us in Christ before the foundation of the world,” insists Paul, “to be holy and blameless before him in love” (v. 4).

A Meeting Ground -- FPC sermon excerpt

What is it that I really love about Fairfax Presbyterian Church? What is it that I cherish? What is so special about this place, and how can this uniqueness be captured in its mission statement?

My mind went immediately to the Scripture that appears on the wall behind the pulpit: “My house shall be called a house of prayer for all peoples,” a line from Isaiah 56:7. A house of prayer for all peoples — that identity is certainly part of the uniqueness of the church.

But what does it mean? And why does it matter? This Scripture verse sounds good, but what difference does it make? I knew that I would have to dig a little deeper, in order to figure out why it is so important to be a house of prayer for all peoples.

As I look at the history of our church, I see that we were once a growing, middle-of-the-road church that served as a meeting ground for a large, diverse community of Christians. The first members of FPC may not have agreed on politics or shared the same cultural outlook, but they identified themselves with a particular religious tradition and they proudly wore the label “Presbyterian,” with all that it implied. But over the years our denominational loyalty has declined, and FPC has lost members left and right to more specialized, politically focused churches and communities.

We are not alone in this. In fact, our story echoes a broader, troubling change in churches across the country. It is a change that could lead to the disappearance of churches that seek moderation and strive for balance in religious practice and belief. This shrinkage of the moderate religious middle reflects the polarization of contemporary politics, where the most powerful voices now speak from the far right and left. The United States is “a country that is almost evenly divided politically,” says the Pew Research Center, “yet [is] further apart than ever in its political values.” Says Ruth Wooden, president of Public Agenda, a nonpartisan research organization, “There do not seem to be very many voices arguing for compromise today.”

Is this a problem? Yes, I believe it is. What we’ve lost in this process of polarization is our belief in the importance of meeting grounds — communities where people of diverse opinions and perspectives may gather, talk, debate and argue. Church is, in my opinion, the healthiest place for people to wrestle with difficult issues such as church-state relations, immigration, homosexuality, and war. Given that we live in a world being so profoundly affected by religious extremists of all faiths, this is a loss we cannot afford.

We can be a meeting ground here at FPC, and this is at the heart of what it means to be “a house of prayer for all peoples.” Here, people of diverse perspectives can gather to worship, debate, learn, and share insights and experiences. Here, people of different opinions can find common ground, and people of shaky faith can find holy ground. FPC can be a place of reconciliation, a place of coming together, a place of union and reunion. It can be a Meeting House — which is what New England churches were called back in colonial times.

FPC is a meeting ground. This is part of what I love and cherish about this church, and what I think needs to be in its mission statement.

Of course, we can truly be this kind of church only if we open our hearts and minds to new insights and understandings. One of the great things about Isaiah 56:1-8 is that it reveals a change of perspective that takes place inside the Bible story itself.

Back in the book of Deuteronomy, several categories of people are excluded from the assembly of the Lord, including eunuchs and certain foreigners. “No one whose testicles are crushed … shall be admitted to the assembly of the Lord,” says Deuteronomy 23 (v. 1). “No Ammonite or Moabite shall be admitted to the assembly of the Lord” (v. 3).

But over the course of biblical history, this perspective changes. In particular, according to my colleague Susan Andrews, the understanding of religious purity undergoes a transformation. The prophet Isaiah changes the purity codes of Leviticus and Deuteronomy by including in the religious community two categories of people who had been excluded before — eunuchs and foreigners. “For thus says the Lord: To the eunuchs who keep my Sabbaths, who choose the things that please me and hold fast my covenant … I will give them an everlasting name that shall not be cut off. And the foreigners who join themselves to the Lord … these I will bring to my holy mountain, and make them joyful in my house of prayer” (Isaiah 56:4-7).

That’s remarkable, isn’t it? Those who had once been excluded on ritual grounds are now included because they honor God in their actions and relationships. Previously rejected people are now accepted, because God wants his house to be called “a house of prayer for all peoples” (v. 7). God’s place is now open to everyone who keeps his sabbath and holds fast to his covenant … God’s house is now a meeting ground.

This is our challenge at FPC: To be a church that is open to new understandings, a place in which people can gather to worship, debate, learn, and share insights and experiences. To be a community which grasps what Susan Andrews calls “the unfolding notion of purity in scripture.” In the Bible, you see, “a purity of law turns into a purity of love,” and this purity of love is “embodied in the gracious and hospitable ministry of Jesus Christ.” It is Jesus who breaks with tradition and eats with tax collectors and sinners, who teaches women and welcomes little children, who reaches out to lepers and outcasts.

Jesus creates a true meeting ground, “a house of prayer for all people.”

This, I believe, is our mission at FPC, and it is a mission that runs against the grain of many churches today. Loren Mead, an Episcopal priest and founding president of the Alban Institute in Herndon, tells me that Protestants today seem less able to tolerate differences — churches are living in a constant state of conflict, he says, with people on different sides of an issue drifting apart, shutting down dialogue and often using derogatory terms to belittle their opponents. What is killed in these struggles is the notion that church can be a meeting ground for diverse points of view, a place for conversation, discovery and growth. When congregations fracture, says Mead, “we lose the chance to learn to deal with differences, to solve conflicts within a community of caring.”

I want our church to be a place where we can deal with differences, and show each other a purity of love as we work to solve conflicts together. I want our church to be a place where people of diverse backgrounds can find common ground. I want our church to be a place of reconciliation, a place of coming together, a place of union and reunion. I want our church to succeed in doing what Jessica Tate has lifted up to me as being of central importance: Outdoing one another in honoring one another.

So let’s begin to rethink our mission statement, to make it more grounded in the reality of who we are.

Fairfax Presbyterian Church is a Meeting Ground, where all people can Encounter God, Experience Christ, and Express the Power of the Spirit.

That’s got a nice ring to it, don’t you think?