Mitch Lewis

I think the church ought to remind its members frequently of their baptism. If the mission of the church is to make disciples for Jesus Christ, then baptism is at the heart of our mission (Matthew 28:19, Acts 2:38-39).

One reason that Christians think so little of baptism is that we hide it away and think of it seldom. Out of sight, out of mind. Let's keep God's gift of baptism in plain sight so that it can begin to shape our thinking about what it means to be a Christian.

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When I was in seminary way back when, I read Donald Dayton’s Discoveing an Evangelical Heritage. Dayton reminded evangelicals that their 19th century forebears were social activists that supported the abolition of slavery, women’s rights, labor reform and other causes now deemed “liberal” or “progressive”. Dayton’s thesis was that what became the “social gospel” movement was rooted firmly in an earlier form of evangelical piety.

I recently read D. G. Hart’s The Lost Soul of American Protestantism which makes a similar argument: the progressive liberalism of mainstream Christianity and the social conservatism of evangelicalism are both children of what he calls Anglo-American revivalism that began with the Great Awakenings. Revivalism itself was the child of continental pietism.

The sort of religion heralded by the revivals of the First Great Awakening is chiefly responsible for the triumph of a utilitarian view of faith. The itinerant evangelists of these revivals, as well as their successors, transformed Christianity from a churchly and routine affair into one that was intense and personal. The conversion experience marked the beginning of this new form of faith. But it was only the start. True converts were expected to prove the authenticity of their faith through lives that were visibly different from nonbelievers. Indeed, the demand for a clear distinction between the ways of the faithful and those of the world not only propelled many of the social reforms associated with evangelicalism but also provided the foundation for viewing Christianity in practical categories. If faith was supposed to make a difference in all areas of life, not just on Sunday but on every day of the week, it is no wonder that the emphasis in Protestant circles shifted from church forms of devotion to one that should be seen in personal affairs, community life and national purpose. In other words, the cycle of revivals throughout American religious history, inaugurated by the First Great Awakening, secured the victory of pietism within American Protestantism. Like its European antecedents, American pietism dismissed church creeds, structures and ceremonies as merely formal or external manifestations of religion that went only skin deep. In contrasts, pietists have insisted that genuine faith was one transformed individuals, starting with their heart and seeping into all walks of life.

Hart also argues, however, that historians have ignored a “third way” within American Christian history. Hart identifies this stream as confessionalism.

Confessional Protestants resisted revivals in large part because the methods of the evangelists and the piety expected of converts were generically Christian – sincerity, zeal and a moral life. As a result, revivalism did not respect but in fact undermined the importance of creedal subscription, ordination and liturgical order. In a word, confessionalists opposed revivalism because it spoke a different religious idiom, one that was individualistic, experiential, and perfectionistic, as opposed to the corporate, doctrinal and liturgical idiom of historic Protestantism.

The pietists, Hart says, won. Confessionalism lost and persevered primarily in small, ethnically based denominations.

One way to measure this defeat is to ask any American Protestant if the Apostle’s Creed, the real presence of Christ in the Lord’s Supper or the ministry of the local pastor is as important as personal times of prayer and Bible study, meeting with other Christians in small groups, witnessing to non-Christians, or volunteering at the local shelter for the homeless.

Pietism fit America. Hart’s history of pietism and American culture is a great read.It's particularly interesting to discover that before 1960, it was the mainstream or progressive side of the aisle that most saw itself aligned with American history and values.

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I recently wrote that the pulpit, the font and the table were essential to Christian worship space. I also like stained glass windows. Like music, art speaks to the non-rational parts of the human brain. As multi-faith worship spaces, recently constructed military chapels have rather generic stained glass. That's understandable, but I prefer something more concrete in dedicated Christian worship spaces.

What I want to see in a church's stained glass windows - or really, in any of its works of art - are pieces that depict scenes from the great Biblical drama.

Abstract designs that create a vague religious impression are often pretty, but I think they take the contemporary church in the wrong direction. In our post-modern culture, there are plenty of people who want to have religious feelings but are scandalized by the Bible's specificity.

Depictions of Biblical characters divorced from the context of the Biblical narrative also, in my opinion, fall short. Are these people to be worshiped? To be imitated? To be admired?

The focus, I think, should be on what God has done. Just as a mental exercise, I imagine commissioning twelve stained glass windows that together tell the story of God's salvation.

If you had to choose themes for twelve stained glass windows for a church's worship space, what would they be? Here's my list: six from the Old Testament and six from the New Testament.

1. God creates Adam and puts him in the garden. (Genesis 2:7-8)
2. Adam and Eve leave Eden (with the tree of life in the background). (Genesis 3:21-24)
3. Abraham and Isaac climb Mount Moriah. (Genesis 22:1-18)
4. Moses brings the tablets of the Law (with the Sea of Reeds in the background).
   (Exodus 31:18)
5. The prophet Nathan confronts David King. (2 Samuel 12:1-14)
6. Ezra and the returned exiles offer sacrifices in the restored Temple. (Ezra 8:35)
7. Jesus feeds 5000 who came for teaching and healing. (Luke 9:10-17)
8. Jesus eats the Last Supper with his disciples. (Luke 22:13-23)
9. Jesus dies on the cross. (Luke 23:26-49)
10. Women find the empty tomb. (Luke 24:1-9)
11. Peter baptizes Cornelius and his household (with signs of the Holy Spirit's presence).
    (Acts 10)
12. The Son of Man comes in glory to judge the world and reign over creation.
    (Matthew 25:31-32)

What 12 stained-glass windows would you want in your worship space?

In a recent conversation with one of my colleagues, we discussed which chapel furnishing were essential for Christian worship. I suggested that every chapel needs a baptismal font. My friend didn't understand. "What if there weren't any families there," he said, "so there wouldn't be any babies." For military service members in a forward deployed area, that might indeed be true.

"I baptize adults at the font as well," I replied. "And even if I never baptize anyone at the font," I continued, "it serves as a visible reminder of our union with Christ."

The more I've thought about this, the more convinced I've become that the font, the table and the pulpit are the three most important furnishings in the church's worship space. Visually and experientially, those three items put word and sacrament at the center of the church's communal life. Baptism, communion and the preaching of the word are at the heart of what God's people do when they gather to worship. These three object define who we are.

So, for me, the baptismal font is more important than a brass cross for the wall or table. It's more important than a Bible stand for displaying the Holy Scriptures. It's more important than candlesticks or offering plates or flower stands. It's more important than liturgical hangings or clerical vestments or stained-glass windows or religious artwork. It's more important than a piano, an organ or a set of drums. It's more important than chairs or pews.

Yes, we need a chalice and paten (or communion set) to actually use the communion table. And I like the idea of reading the sacred texts from a large, visible pulpit Bible. I think of these things are components of the table and pulpit.

We can function, I suppose, without any of these things. I've baptized from a canteen, offered communion from the tailgate of my truck and preached from a Bible I kept in my pocket. If we are going to have dedicated worship spaces, however, the pulpit, font and table visually represent the essential functions of the Christian church: preach God's word, make disciples and live together in union with Christ.

What do you think? How would your prioritize the physical objects that comprise your worship space?

One of the best things that the United Methodist Church has done in the past quarter century is to revise its liturgy. Many of the elements of the new (ancient) liturgy have worked themselves into my subconscious. I’ll find myself silently singing the “Sanctus” or the “Gloria in Excelsis.” Phrases from the creed or the Great Thanksgiving pop into my mind at the strangest times. The Eucharist – the sacrament of word and table – is the central means of grace for those who are already united to Christ in baptism. The work that God does through word and table for those who abide in him is transformation I can believe in.

We walked down this path of liturgical renewal with post-Vatican II Catholics, Lutherans and a few others who rediscovered the practices of the early church. There are all sorts of good reasons for these changes which are beyond the scope of this brief post. My starting point is simply this: the structure of our liturgy now resembles that of Catholics, Anglicans and Lutherans.

Even though Methodism was born from Anglican roots, early American Methodism never warmed up to an Anglican style liturgy. When we adopted the new liturgical structure, then, it was not something that was very familiar to many Methodist people. We were tentative and awkward. I’m sure that our Episcopal and Lutheran friends will always consider us “liturgical lite.” Even though our structures are similar, there is a different feel to the liturgy in most United Methodist churches.

We bring our evangelical and deeply-personal approach to the faith to the liturgy, and I think that’s a good thing.

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I am the vine, and you are the branches. If you stay joined to me, and I stay joined to you, then you will produce lots of fruit. But you cannot do anything without me. John 15:5 CEV

John 15:1-8 - Lectionary for Easter 5B
See also The True Vine

Life in the Connection

Spring in Korea is absolutely beautiful. The mountains turn to green. Gardens erupt in a sea of pinks and yellows and purples and whites. Week after week brings a new display of color.

We have a volunteer in our chapel that produces the most amazing floral displays every week throughout the year. She incorporates an astonishing variety of seasonal flowers and her creations always seem to fit the liturgical theme. Her arrangements are astounding in both their natural beauty and their human ingenuity. I've never seen anything like them in nearly 30 years of ministry. She produces these works of art as a labor of love and fills our sanctuary with God's beauty throughout the year.

Still, the beauty of a cut flower always fades. My wife cut some irises from our garden last week and put them in a vase. Their beautiful purple flowers turned to brown, their green stems turned to mush and their aroma turned to stench. Within a week of being cut they were good for nothing but the trashcan or compost heap.

My street, on the other hand, is lined with birch trees that were severely pruned in the fall two years ago. When the trimming was complete, they looked like nothing but tall stumps. What was left of the branches ended abruptly where the chainsaws had done their work. The trees were barren, gnarled and ugly. I was sure they were dead. Even when spring rolled around, the trees showed no sign of life for weeks. By midsummer, however, new life had emerged. Even then, a few trees that stood outside the chapel appeared to be completely dead, with areas of obvious decay near the truncated limbs. They went through a complete growing season last year without sprouting a single green leaf. This morning, however, I was surprised to discover some new green shoots sprouting from the truncated limbs of even the most damaged trees.

What is the difference between beautiful flowers that turn ugly and rot and ugly stumps that blossoms in new life? New life emerges where the branch remains connected to its life giving root.

Jesus compared himself to a vitis vinifera - a common wine-grape vine found throughout Europe and the middle east. As the grapevine grows vertically from the ground, it eventually reaches the height of the trellis or frame, to which the gardener ties its outstretched branches. A single grape vine looks something like a cross, with its horizontal members spread to either side. Was this visual image one aspect of Jesus' intent?

Grape vines can live very long lives and they are not much to look at. Over the years they become twisted and knotty. Old branches are pruned away. Even new branches are trimmed to maximize grape production. Old vines bear the scars of generations of growth and pruning, but they still live on. Old vines, it seems, produce fewer grapes, but the fruit they do produce is more flavorful and intense. That sounds hopeful to an old guy like me.

Jesus compares himself to a grapevine. Vine branches only bear fruit, Jesus says, as they remain connected to the vine. That is demonstrably true for grape vines and tomato plants and all sorts of living things. Is it also true for people?

Resiliency after Trauma

I recently returned from a retreat with other chaplains and chaplain assistants at which we talked about resiliency in the experience of trauma. We were talking about the trauma of war, but we could have talked about death, disease, divorce, physical or sexual assault, job loss, or any other of a host of traumas. Trauma has a way of beating you up. We like to think that we will express our faith in profound ways and have a meaningful spiritual experience in the middle of trauma, but the fact is that trauma just pretty much kicks you in the teeth.

We learned a lot this week about how trauma affects the brain. When the brain senses a threat, higher brain functions get left out of the loop. In the midst of trauma, the brain is not capable of either reason or what we would normally identify as meaningful spiritual experience. The brain is overwhelmed by the threat of danger or pain. Very basic survival reactions take control when life is threatened. The ability to think religious thoughts or have religious feelings is severely limited.

How, then, do you mentally and emotionally and spiritually survive trauma? Theologically, for me, that question means, "How do I stay connected to the spiritual source of life even when life is kicking me in the teeth?"

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