Giving up a friend for Lent had not been something I anticipated.

At our Ash Wednesday service I felt more sombre than ever going up and down the altar rail, marking the cross in ashes on people. People who were Don’s age (not yet retired). Younger. Even the five year old who was baptized the day I was installed as a deacon at All Saints’. To one and all, I echoed words that God Himself first spoke to Adam. “You are dust, and to dust you shall return.”

The death sentence, not to be too coy about it.

When I consider my own brokenness and inability to walk a straight path with Jesus, I think that sentence might be a merciful one. What need is there to further document well established short-comings?

But I also realize that this death sentence is, truly, the key to the full and abundant resurrection life Jesus plans to bestow on me. Resurrection requires at least that one thing of me first.

Good, then, that during Lent I can practice on a multitude of individual surrenders and sacrifices. Think of it as my preparation.

Some have looked at what happens next and conclude that some young people tell a lie at that moment. Young people go through with it, perhaps out of courtesy to their parents, and once they’re off to college they don’t bother with church again. Or is that just a myth?

I came across a couple of reports lately that treat both sides of that issue. One was Amy Becker’s book report for Christianity Today on a new book by Kara Powell and Chap Clark, Sticky Faith (Zondervan).

These two authors apparently encourage parents to instill a living faith in their children by letting them see one in their own lives. Children will know Jesus if they watched us know Jesus.

Reviewer Amy Becker is honest enough to admit that lots of what her own young children see in their home is little more than praying for meals and singing Sunday School songs in the car. Could that possibly be enough to anchor them once they grow up and see the world we know is out there? And pray as we might, if that’s the only foundation children are given at home, it hardly seems likely that another hour in church on Sunday will be sufficient to fill in the gaps.

Still, every seed looks tiny to begin with. Perhaps more of them take root than we think.

In a new report The Barna Group has sorted the young college demographic into four categories. They admit those they label “Prodigals” (about one in nine) are generally gone for good. The church will find them only if we go looking for them “out there.”

Two other groups only seem to leave for awhile. “Nomads” (four in ten) wander away from institutional churches they’ve grown up with – but they don’t seem to give up on Jesus himself. Presumably they are worshipping him while fishing or golfing and don’t think they have rejected the Christian faith they knew. But they don’t grow in it, either. So we have adults with an infant faith, of a sort.

“Exiles” (two in ten) also depart the church structures they’ve known. They also wish to redefine and re-form a Christianity they believe better suits their lives. They “stay active” as Christians but on their own terms. The redefinition part is problematical from an orthodox perspective, unless you are sure that fresh, young minds could never be mistaken when tweaking the faith handed down to them.

That leaves the “Faithful” (three in ten) young people who stay plugged into a church family and introduce their own children to it.

In terms of visibility at church, each generation does seem to evaporate at a 50% or worse rate.

These sobering facts have weighed on my mind as I teach this year’s confirmation class at All Saints’.

For one thing, I’ve thought about the fact that, as a child, it was impossible for me to have foreseen what an adult Christian life would be like, if only because a child’s mind doesn’t have any way to fully grasp the adult viewpoint. It seems almost unfair to ask a young person to make a lifetime promise they cannot fully understand.

But there is no alternative that I can see. We make promises intended to bind our future lives all the time (installment payments, marriage). This is one that tops all the others. It’s not fair NOT to give young people the chance to own it.

Secondly, what a young child has learned about Christianity, it seems to me, will be pretty useless in making a transition to the Adult Faith it truly is. Stories about Noah and David and Goliath may have kept your attention as a child. They are not unimportant. But now you’re dealing with power and sorrow and broad roads with intoxicating promises. It is a new day and requires, almost literally, a new faith. Jesus can handle that challenge. Can we? Will we even give Him the chance?

The first night of our Confirmation class I asked several people to come and talk about that transition. How is it different being an adult Christian believer in Jesus Christ? What could we say that might help young believers to step up instead of away?

I know one thing. Adult Christianity includes a church where we can talk about it honestly with each other.

Here’s why.

When we first began doing this as part of the All Saints’ Church participation in the annual drive, we were given one of these last-of-the-day shifts, and we expected to be there until 8 pm at our location. Instead, the representative from the Salvation Army who was collecting the kettles showed up 20 minutes or so early. So we got to leave early.

The same thing happened the next year and the next. We began to make sure we were asking for that last slot of the day, figuring we wouldn’t have to stay the full two hours!

This past week, shaking that little bell with one hand, I started glancing at my watch around 7:30. I ran my eye over the parking lot trying to guess where the Salvation Army collection guy might be parked. (We’d spotted him in earlier years, parked and waiting as much as an hour before the end of the shift.) But I couldn’t find him. A couple of likely candidates came and left again as I watched. Ring, ring, ring.

At 7:40 pm the parking lot was thinning out. One more shopper gave a donation. But no collection guy in sight. Ring, ring.

7:45 pm and nothing. Ring.

7:55 pm and nothing. Ring.

So this year we do the whole shift, I thought. (And we had even showed up early to relieve the volunteers who did the late afternoon shift, since we expected we would also be leaving early…) Ring, ring. And then it was 8:01 pm. Still no collection guy.

The Salvation Army leaves instructions on what to do. We carried everything inside the store and turned the bucket over their managers. They would hold it until someone from the SA arrived to collect it. Melanie and I left.

Did I mention this long, full, complete volunteer shift of ours was done the one night it was chilly and drizzly this week?? Ring!

Going home I listen to the Lord preaching in my ear. I hear the words of the Master who is paying his field workers at the end of the day. “Did you not agree for such and such?” Yes, we signed up for two hours. But I didn’t think it was going to be two hours.

We had gotten used to the idea of getting credit for two hours volunteering but only staying for 75% of the time. THAT was what I thought I was signing up for again. What was the hold up this year? That collection guy was way late!

God says how it is but I’ll go ahead and depend on my own experience and my own expectations. Then when my judgment is disappointed and things don’t turn out the way I want, I want God to explain himself. Of course that’s when God goes silent, staring at me, until he finally says something like, “What?” And then there’s more silence while I review my situation.

So before the silence drags out too long, let me just say: ring, ring.

The other day they were introduced to the (unblessed) elements of Holy Communion. Everyone had a chance to see what a communion host tasted like (not exciting). They tasted a tiny sip of communion wine (make your faces now, not later!).

The teachers also let the children see and hold the silver paten and chalice from which the ministers distribute Holy Communion at the altar rail. This inspection was interesting.

That image of the children flipping the chalice upside down to make a THOROUGH inspection stayed with me. You don’t do this later, usually. But I guess it has to be done at least once, at the beginning. After all, just what is the big deal?

Ah, yes. I remember. It’s not immediately clear what the big deal is. That sinks in kinda slowly. Sometimes it can take years. And an element of mystery always remains, no matter how well you think you understand what is being held out to you.

This is one of those boundary zones where we get the hint there is something more going on than what we can feel and touch. Jesus talked about the wind, invisible, moving all around. Nicodemus still shook his head. “How can this be?” Indeed.

Why is the chalice so fancy and different? What makes the drink within so special? On our own, we would never figure this out. As Jesus explained to Peter, there are things that flesh and blood just don’t reveal to us. Some things become known to us only because God chooses to reveal them. That still doesn’t mean we understand them, in the usual sense. But we become aware of a reality beyond our natural ability to discover. We start to walk by faith, not by sight.

On our own, we flip that chalice upside down and puzzle at the intricate detail of the design. Once the Holy Spirit reveals the mystery unfolding through the sacrament -  the inward grace carried by the outward sign – then we can begin to cross the border from natural to supernatural. From that point on, we hold that chalice reverently, carefully, with a deeper sense of wonder.

“The Body of Christ.” “The Blood of Christ.”

Amen.

We talked about how to understand that. After all, it is God Himself Who is God, not His Name. So why the delicacy about that Name?

That led us to think about the symbols that provide us ways to think and talk about intangible concepts. We can’t actually touch or see some of the things we talk about: love, infinity, Abraham Lincoln. We can only talk about things like that by using language-symbols that represent them.

Such symbols are a hugely effective shortcut. We’re all used this. I tested my class by displaying a series of graphic images, like these:

They were able to quickly identify the associations they had in their minds for these symbols. None of the things were actually before us in the room, but brandishing their symbol caused our minds to flood with thoughts and experiences relating to them.

Although I hadn’t planned it this way, I also showed them one symbol that had nearly everyone in the room stumped. No one could tell me the significance of this image:

I had thought it would be a familiar image but instead we all had a lesson in how a symbol that has not been learned, or has lost it’s intended meaning, has no ability to stir our minds or hearts one way or the other.

If I had told my class that the logo represented a golf course membership or the brand of a type of teleprompter, they would not have known the difference. If they tried to act on such garbled meanings, they would only be able to mislead others or look foolish in the eyes of those who know the correct meaning of the symbol.

So, to return to the topic of this class, why is God concerned for how we make use of His Name? Because He intends for each of us to be living symbols representing Him to the world. When we announce that the label and symbols of “Christian” describe us, people take what we are as representative of who God is. If our witness is poor, we leave a garbled impression of God. We misuse His Name.

As we began, I asked the class to think about what was missing from that Top Ten list that Moses received from the hand of God. After they thought it over for a moment they began to identify some important, familiar concepts that we all believe are vital to our spiritual health. But they didn’t make the cut.

The Ten Commandments say nothing about baptism. (Yes, the formal significance given to baptism does not show up in the time of Moses, but the absence is still noteworthy.)

There is nothing there about forgiveness. (Moses goes on to relate a number of sacrificial acts to gain temporary forgiveness of personal sins, but in The List itself you find nothing about forgiving anyone who offends or sins against you personally.)

Nothing is said about tithing (although Moses will describe various offerings and tithes later).

Perhaps you can think of other important principles that don’t make an appearance in the list. The Ten Commandments are essential but not exhaustive, it would seem. (No shortcut here to avoid reading the whole Bible!)

Recognizing what is not there makes it all the more interesting to contemplate why God chose the particular commandments that He did. That’s one question we’ll all ponder over the next few weeks.

And another question will be, why are these ten simple commandments so hard to obey!?

That’s right. Those guys are sitting on the shoulders of the other two guys. And I’m only showing two of the windows. There are a couple more as well showing the same setup.

You find them at the Cathedral in Chartres, France. On the left is St. Luke sitting on the shoulders of the Old Testament prophet Jeremiah. On the right it’s St. Mark sitting on Daniel’s shoulders.

The windows illustrate a remark by Bernard of Chartres, chancellor of the cathedral school in the early 12th century. He had remarked that “we are dwarfs but we sit on the shoulders of giants.” Those who went before prepared our way and we benefit by understanding even more clearly what they saw first. We have that unearned privilege of understanding simply because of our place in line and in time.

I’ve thought about that as our church Home Grown Mission Week kicks off. It works out in part as an introduction to this world and the work God has prepared for us to do in it. Our young missionaries will follow behind more than a century of pioneers, families and taxpayers who have created our community of Lakeland. Our young missionaries will get to add several small touches of kindness and assistance around town: planting trees, cleaning up lawns, helping to distribute school supplies. Who knows, it will serve them as a practice run for later going out even further into the world to share the love of Jesus.

Meanwhile, they’ll have contributed to the history of our neighborhoods, preparing a community for others to enjoy in the days to come.

God brings us into a family that is made up of more than the people of our own time. We walk with the giants who were here ahead of us, who left a prepared field for us to enjoy and harvest and hand on.

But I thought it might save you some time to tell you right now how I choose to pray with people. That’s what this lady wanted me to do on the phone. But, as I say, she hung up before we got to it. I think it is fair all around to say she did so because her concept and my concept of what it means to pray together were not in sync. She probably saved herself a lot of time by withdrawing her request to pray once she noticed that. (And by the way, she told me she did not attend our church. She just wanted “some clergy” to pray with her.)

Let me try an illustration. If someone tells me they want to write a letter of complaint to my daddy but it’s a little dark over by the desk so they want me to hold a flashlight on the page while they write out what they have to say… my assistance and cooperation will be difficult to obtain. Because this is not just a matter of me helping a stranger to carry out their plan. This involves a third party, someone I know and love. If I hear you criticizing my daddy’s conduct or those of his other children, I will have little desire to stand with you while you do so.

I guess I could rattle off some inoffensive, rote cliches to show solidarity with you. “Now I lay me down to sleep, fasten your seat belt, a penny saved is a penny earned.” But I probably won’t.

I was going to tell you what to expect if you come to me and ask me to pray with you.

I will start by listening as you tell me what you want God to do. Jesus often started with that question. It is likely I will not know what it is that you want and I may not really know you very well. So I’ll listen and learn for a moment while you educate me. It’s likely I’ll ask some questions to make sure I am understanding you.

But, as in my parable, I’ll know from the first moment that it’s not just you and me having this conversation. Our Father who art in Heaven is the third party listening in. Although we intend to speak TO Him at one point or another, I assume He already knows what you are facing. While I listen to you tell me about yourself, I’ll also be asking the Lord what He wants me to notice and discern.

Praying with someone is always going to be that kind of three-way deal.

This makes for a big conflict when people think that once they’ve said their say, that’s all there is to say. It makes “prayer” more like a speech: “I’ve got this figured out, I’ve told You my plan. So God, why aren’t You doing what I want? And by the way, you there, praying with me, here’s where you say Amen.”

By the way, I think it’s okay to have that conversation, or at least to start that way. Job thought God was making a mistake. Abraham objected to God’s plans for Sodom. Moses tried explaining why he couldn’t go to Pharoah. Jonah was frustrated by God’s travel plans. The Syrophoenician woman refused to be turned away by Jesus when she begged for her daughter’s deliverance. Each began personally disatisfied with the way things were going and God didn’t mind hearing about that.

But what makes prayer a conversation with God is that God gets to say something, too. We hear Him only if we do some listening and some reflecting on what He has already been saying to us.

So after someone tells me what they want us to pray about, I am ready to stop for a moment and consider what God may already have said about that. And that may mean that my prayer ends up not being, “God, change what You are doing” and instead becomes, “God, forgive us, we need help to change what we are doing.”

I mean, if Jesus began his public ministry by preaching, “Repent! Change what you are doing!” you can bet it will be likely that, whatever we’re doing, we need to change.

So if I take a moment for that interior prayer of listening to the Holy Spirit after I’ve heard what your request is, don’t think I am ignoring you. Unless you think I won’t hear God right, which is always a risk. Then you might do as the lady on the phone did.

“I can tell you’re busy,” she said abruptly after I asked about her church background.

“How can you say that? I am showing my interest in you by asking you to tell me about yourself,” I replied, surprised.

But her mind was made up. “You are being legalistic. I just want you to pray with me that I’ll have peace of mind.” And she hung up before the conversation could go any further.

So why did you send that phone call to me, Lord? I wondered. And I realized something about how our conversation had unfolded. A couple of times I was ready to break in and say something to her, but I’d felt a hesitation, like the Lord was telling me, “Not yet. Keep listening.” And what I heard was a woman who was not listening. She didn’t need to. Her mind was made up. She just wanted my Amen.

And not that it will help this lady, but I ended up thinking maybe I should write this all down for you, gentle reader, so that, if it should happen, you’ll know why I am not going to just hold a flashlight for you. I might want to have a conversation with you about the letter you’re writing. And I’ll want to be ready to spend time listening to the Lord before Whom we are laying our requests.

That’s so He can be part of our conversation.

>>”The natural person,” writes St. Paul, “does not accept the things of the Spirit of God.” The reason for this rejection is simple: “for they are folly to him”(1 Cor 2:14). There is therefore an antithesis between Christian thinking and the alternative.

This is an up and down, black and white reality. And we don’t just face this from afar. It gets right into our faces, at home.

>>We live in a pluralistic society, where our loved ones are often nonbelievers. The temptation for us, in such a society, is to minimize the antithesis in our hearts, believing that Christian and non Christian thought can cohabitate harmoniously. The opposite, however, is the case.

Dobbins firmly rejects the idea of tolerating rejection of Christianity as an honorable matter of opinion or taste.

>>Let us make no mistake, this world is against Christ. There is no honest inquirer, one who simply rejects Christ for the sake of intellectual honesty… We therefore, who are surrounded by unbelief, must not accept atheists at their word, as if they had judged themselves accurately. Indeed, experience testifies to this truth, namely that apostasy is connected to moral rebellion.

Dobbins is not just criticizing “those other people.” This is, after all, an internal struggle.

>>We cannot even trust our own thoughts. When doubts appear in our minds, telling us that Christ’s word is false, we are to remember the source of these doubts, namely our finite and fallen minds.

But enough with these excerpts. Go forth and read his whole column.

UPDATE: I’ve found another web column that explores this dilemma further. Check out Fr. James Schall’s discussion of “The Constant Temptation.”

But no. This is an ART cafe where you get to do quick projects in ceramic and then they send your masterpiece off to a kiln to bake it. A week later you get to pick it up and see the results of your labors. Melanie loved it. She hadn’t had a chance to do this since she was in high school.

When I heard about the kiln and delayed gratification of seeing the finished work I began to think the spiritual lesson in all this would be all about learning to wait patiently for the full revelation of the artist’s vision.

But there was actually something I found even more interesting as I watched that room full of young people intent on their craft and art. It came the moment I saw this:

I had thought all the colorful glazes these young artisans were putting on their ceramic projects were permanent. I had hesitated to try it myself because I doubted I could control my own fingers well enough to paint anything more than one solid blob of color. But it turns out there is a remedy if you make a mistake as you add all that color to the ceramic surface. As long as you haven’t put your project into the furnace and baked it, you can still wash off the glaze and try again

A do-over. You don’t get back the time you’ve spent so far. But you don’t have to just live with the evidence of your mistake, either. You can wash it away and do better next time.

I’m … grateful.

PS: there are other pictures from this outing at our church Facebook page!