• Facebook
  • Twitter
  • Flickr
  • YouTube
Thinking Out Loud
  • Magna Carta and the Social Covenant

    by Michael Jinkins | Sep 08, 2015

    Magna Carta
    "It is a collection of promises extracted in bad faith from a reluctant King, most of which concern matters of arcane thirteenth-century legal principle. A few of these promises concern themselves with high ideals, but those are few and far between, vague and idealistic statements slipped between longer and more perplexing sentences describing the 'customary fee' that a baron ought to pay a king on occasion of coming into an inheritance, or the protocols for dealing with debt to the Crown, or the regulation of fish-traps along the Thames and the Medway." [Dan Jones, Magna Carta: The Making and Legacy of The Great Charter (London: Head of Zeus, 2015) 7.]

    So writes Dan Jones, the author of a popular new introduction to the Magna Carta, a medieval document often celebrated as a basis for the limits and balance of power among the governed and those who govern.

    "For the most part, Magna Carta is dry, technical, difficult to decipher and constitutionally obsolete,” even in England, the land of its framing. And, yet, this author goes on the explain that, "it is very much alive, one of the most hallowed documents in the world." (Jones, Magna Carta, 7.)

    Indeed, as the Reverend Robert Willis, Dean of  Canterbury Cathedral, observed in his sermon at the Choral Evensong commemorating the 800th anniversary of the sealing of Magna Carta, among the places on earth most influenced, even profoundly shaped, by this feudal agreement between a king, his barons and the bishops of his realm, is the United States of America. Amid the pageantry of the commemorative service at Canterbury at which Dean Willis preached in June, amid the grand procession of "the good and the great," the appearance of luminaries such as the Lord Lieutenant of Kent and the Lord Mayor of Canterbury (no one knows how to put on a show better than the English in their finery and fancy dress), it was striking to Deborah and me, as we sat in the congregation, that a direct line was drawn by Dean Willis between the events that occurred at Runnymede in 1215 and our own American republic.

    The Dean's comments were generous, but they also reminded us of the challenges we continue to face as we seek to renew and expand upon something of the spirit (both practical and idealistic, born both of grievance and of hope) preserved in the Magna Carta. Four days after Debbie and I attended the service commemorating the Magna Carta in Canterbury Cathedral, we heard the first reports emerging from Charleston, South Carolina. The racist-motivated slayings in Charleston came in the midst of a year (and more) in which we have witnessed the tragic spectacle of our nation struggling to come to terms with systemic, institutionalized racism and violence and abuses of power. We have witnessed other such abuses of power. And we have seen terrible acts of violence apparently in retaliation, reminding us that violence only multiplies violence. An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth, only leaves the world toothless and blind, as Mahatma Gandhi once said.

    Manga Carta reminds us that our laws represent a kind of social or political covenant into which we have entered, a covenant that does not start and will not stop with words on a page. We, as a people, express our commitments, our aspirations and our identity through the laws we make, the laws we hold one another accountable to obey. We often enshrine our respect for our common humanity through these laws. Our laws, at their best, express our dedication as a people to justice for all. And our laws bind those who enforce them as well as the rest of us. Whatever else we may draw from the Magna Carta, that mixed and muddled feudal bag of idealism and self-interested oligarchy, this at least we may learn. But there is more, a lot more, we know to be true as Christians.

    As the Protestant reformer John Calvin reminds us, laws exist as an expression of grace. And even the most mundane, even the most commonplace of laws can articulate something about the soul of a people and something of the grace of God. I say this because I have heard so often and in so many contexts the idea expressed that laws may enforce behavior but they can't change a human heart. These arguments seem pretty thin to me. Perhaps the history of the sometimes ironic influence of the Magna Carta can be helpful to us as we seek to understand the role of laws in expressing the highest hopes and convictions of our hearts and in actually shaping our hearts for the better.

    When a group of twenty-seven thirteenth-century church leaders and barons framed the Magna Carta, as they crafted those words on behalf of King John of England, beyond and underneath their tangled interests, these men of power also allowed something profoundly moral, something vital to the human heart, to enter into the legal agreement they forged with a reluctant king. They put into law the notion that no one, not even a king, stands above the law. And, although they could not have imagined it at the time (and would have opposed it if they had imagined it), they also laid the foundation for an idea that in time would inspire constitutional evolutions and revolutions and eventually give birth to democracy, the idea that the legitimacy of any government ultimately depends on the consent of the governed, even as the governed also live within certain social and political constraints that guarantee that majority rule does not descend into a tyranny of the many over the few.*

    Trust is essential to such a social covenant - trust that endures through all the attempts of a hateful few to amass power for their own selfish ends or the efforts of bitter and broken individuals to wreak vengeance in the name of their own private sense of justice. This trust is guarded by the sentinel of law - law that is a human product, imperfect, provisional, yet expressive of a peoples' hopes and values.

    These convictions rendered in a "charter" (carta) emerged some eight hundred years ago from human hearts with all their mixed motives. These commitments depended on both the better angels of the human heart and some very fallen ones too. Although this legal charter did not immediately soften the heart of King John, nor many of the kings who followed him, nevertheless eventually the charter helped shape the history of England; it contributed to the development of Britain's constitutional monarchy, the evolution of the parliamentary governments of that nation and many others over the centuries, and made imaginable the birth of democratic republics, like ours. It did all of these things because it gave expression to something that has become essential to the political consciousness of a people, the covenantal orientation toward our life together, the conviction that we are held together as a people not by our similarities whether of race, ethnicity, or religion, but by mutual agreement to be "a people."

    Laws can shape hearts for the better. Laws can make us and our society more humane. Ideas like "equality before the law" (enshrined in the United States in the Thirteenth Amendment to the Constitution) have their origin in moral convictions about the nature of our humanity as children of God, and can give birth to changes in perception among even the most reluctant and recalcitrant. Laws can protect those in a society with less power and influence from the abuses of those more powerful and influential. Laws can protect those charged with making and enforcing the law so that our society can flourish.

    Laws can even remind us that when we treat another person with contempt, we express contempt for ourselves and for our own humanity, and we undercut the civil bonds that make us civilized. When we accord respect to others, our self-respect grows as does the social contract that makes us a common people. This particular gracious gift of the law is in need of recovery, especially in our time. Laws can express grace in a multitude of ways. When fairly written and justly administered, and when enforced with respect for the humanity of every person, laws can make us better people.

    The Magna Carta does not enshrine all of these lessons, but our faith certainly does.

    *To see the influence of Magna Carta on the development of democracy, read Locke: Political Essays [Mark Goldie, editor (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1997], and note particularly Locke's "An Essay on Toleration" (1667).

  • Thin Places: The Life You Save May Be Your Own

    by Michael Jinkins | Sep 04, 2015

    A Spirituality Notebook

    Editor’s note: Periodically throughout the 2015-2016 academic year, “Thinking Out Loud” readers will receive blog posts that explore concepts of spirituality. We’d love to hear what you have written in your “spirituality notebook.”
    E-mail us!

    Thin Places 1"Then Jacob woke from his sleep and said, 'Surely the Lord is in this place - and I did not know it!' And he was afraid, and said, 'How awesome is this place! This is none other than the house of God, and this is the gate of heaven.'" (Genesis 28: 16-17)

    Credibility matters in matters spiritual as much as in anything else. I feel this to be true particularly as someone who has spent a good deal of my adult life cast in one leadership role or another. In these roles, I've encountered people only too ready to serve as experts on various subjects. My skepticism regarding the credibility of some of these experts (and I think this applies mostly to the self-appointed and self-anointed ones) runs high, especially of those who serve as "consultants" in areas of expertise in which they have very limited experience themselves. Their tribe only seems to increase.

    As a minister, an educator and a seminary administrator, I often consider the spiritual needs of people – not in the least, people who lead busy, hectic lives heavy with obligations, pressed down and shaken by responsibilities public and private. In doing so, I realize that I could have no credibility in helping them in their spiritual lives unless I find my own measure of spiritual wholeness. Probably as much as anyone else, I struggle with anxiety, worry, restlessness, and the other minions of the mind that clamor, compete and make messes of us. "Physician heal thyself," we are aptly reminded. And, so, as I shall relate in this blog series, over the course of some years, I have undertaken practice spiritual disciplines that are strangely paradoxical, as illustrated by the title of today's blog. These are disciplines I have sometimes at least initially resisted until undertaking them became more a matter of life and death than merely an option for deeper spiritual enrichment or personal improvement.

    “The Life You Save May Be Your Own” came to mind because of Flannery O'Connor's use of the phrase in the title of a disturbing short story, and because this phrase is used in the title of a group biography on O'Connor and her fellow Catholics, Thomas MertonWalker Percy and Dorothy Day.* The title suggests, I think in part, the irony of the human spiritual predicament and the reason why we have such difficulty figuring out some important things about ourselves.

    We cannot save ourselves from the things that most threaten our lives, our relationships and our humanity. Try as we might, by dint of human effort alone, we can't construct that tower that raises us to heaven. We can't even extricate ourselves from the mire that sucks off our boots in the various sloughs of despond in which we find ourselves. We are saved by grace alone, as St. Paul so eloquently put it, and "that doesn't come from yourself."

    And yet - and yet! - without availing ourselves of what Christians have long called the "means of grace," those disciplined practices through which God channels new life to us, we will not really experience the fullness of life which God's grace freely makes available to us. These "means of grace" include: participation in the community of faith (which is the living Body of Christ), receiving the visible signs of such community (which we call the Sacraments of the Lord's Table and Baptism), engagement in prayer, meditation and contemplation, acts of compassion and mercy, especially to the poor, and listening for the Word of God in the Bible and proclamation. Through these "means of grace" faith is nurtured and tested in us so that habits of grace can become habits of being. God's free grace becomes lived grace.

    We can't save ourselves. That's true enough. But we can't realize our salvation at the ground level without doing something. Grace calls forth participation.

    This year on alternating weeks I will post blogs on the subject of "the spiritual life," which (as my spiritual director, Father Paul Scaglione, has often said) is just another way of saying "human life." These blogs will take as a recurring starting point the metaphor "Thin Places," a pretty common phrase in some of the popular literature on spirituality, though it is a phrase in need of refurbishment, critical reflection and perhaps more.

    Place matters. What place we're talking about makes a difference to the sort of discussion we have, whether historical, social, cultural, religious or some other kind of “place.” Indeed, "place" might serve as a kind of metaphorical shorthand for all sorts of personal and spiritual "locations."

    Where do we find ourselves on the universal GPS? Where and who and how have we been in the course of our lives, aware as we are that we are not the same today as we were twenty years ago, nor, really as we were two weeks ago, not if we are growing and maturing? Where are we and who are we, knowing that we are not experienced precisely the same way in a conversation with an aging parent as we are in a conference with one of our students, or with a business associate with whom we are negotiating a deal, or in a discussion with our spouse, partner, brother, sister, son, daughter or best friend?

    That which I call "myself" is not rigidly fixed, not if I am healthy, spiritually and emotionally. Neither is "myself" utterly fluid, not if I have integrity. We live, as Heraclitus reminds us, floating down that stream that is always roiling, flowing, moving, never precisely the same from moment to moment though it remains the same stream rolling down the years. The thinness of our place psychically and emotionally is as much a part of our spiritual identity as the thinness of the places we worship or pray or meditate, or the thinness of our place in existence, realizing how fragile and fleeting life is. I will use the phrase "thin places" mostly to speak of where we meet God, but I will also use this phrase to describe where we meet every "other." We'll explore this theme, and use it as an excuse and a tool to explore other ideas, though not from a clinical or academic perspective.

    We'll explore thin places like children in a dark wood, hungry and sleepy, who come upon a house built entirely of gingerbread. We will look at thin places like a hill walker who comes upon a cavern on a leisurely Sunday ramble, and, grabbing hold of a root in the cavern wall, scales it with a flashlight down into the dark and the deep chasm. We will set sail upon a sea of thin places letting prevailing winds take us where they will, sometimes flying upon the wind's back, sometimes tacking into it, as the occasions and the seas and the boat demand.

    In our journey, we will find, I believe, that we are guided in all of these adventures by an invisible hand. We will discover, I believe, that our craft can be entrusted to the wind, that footholds await us in the rocky walls, and that the gingerbread house is inhabited not by a wicked crone but by a friend who is closer to us than we are to ourselves.

    It needs to be said from the outset that the thin places we'll explore are not chosen from among all of the places of this wide world because they have been found especially unique in some literature on the subject or on the basis of a poll of spiritual seekers, but simply because they are places I know that have become thin for me. The choices, then, are idiosyncratic and sometimes eccentric. But I believe a writer should write about that which he or she knows. Otherwise a writer has questionable credibility at best. This raises an even more basic question about credibility in spiritual matters.

    I cannot claim any real credibility in matters of the spirit. I am not a spiritual expert. If any such person exists as a spiritual expert, I am not one. Indeed, I am barely a novice, if that. The longer I live, the more convinced I am that I know virtually nothing, and probably the “virtually” in this sentence is a reflection of my false self. Far from being an experienced swimmer in the infinite ocean of the spirit, I feel like a person wading from puddle to puddle on the shore. Often I wonder if the sand is really a beach lapped by waves at all, or is really just a desert and the waves a mirage. Whatever "credibility" I might have must reflect this profound ignorance, this unknowing, this utter dependence on realities I trust but do not understand.

    Thus it is that my own "credibility" (and speaking of credibility, in this application the word must be written within quotation marks to remind us of its dubious character) along this path is not the “credibility” of the guide who, knowing every path and every wrinkle on a well-worn map, can unerringly show us the way. My "credibility" is just that of a beggar who, as the great D.T. Niles has said, has some experience in finding bread for the journey.

    *Paul Elie, The Life You Save May Be Your Own: An American Pilgrimage (New York: Farrar, Straus and Giroux, 2003).

  • The Pope "Minds His Own Business"

    by Michael Jinkins | Sep 01, 2015

    Pope Francis Blog LargerThe political commentator's argument was unequivocal. He said that the pope should restrict himself to spiritual and religious matters and stay out of politics. According to him, the pope should mind his own business. The pundit's ire (and I didn't catch his name on the radio) was provoked by Pope Francis's most recent encyclical, Laudato Si': On Care for Our Common Home. In it, the pope calls for all of humanity to unite to care for our planet and all that dwell upon it, especially the poor and most vulnerable.

    There are many things in Francis's open letter to the world which commend its reading and study, and I will speak to just a few of them in this blog. But before I do that, I want to address the commentator's argument that the pope should mind his own business.

    According to Christian theology and the deepest streams of the Judeo-Christian traditions, there is nothing that is more the pope's business (and, indeed, the business of all Christians) than the stewardship of God's creation and our theological and spiritual reflection and proclamation regarding God's creation. The pope, to use language the pundit might understand, is “minding his own business” when he speaks of the environment.

    The Bible begins with God's creation of the heavens and the earth. The Psalms bear testimony to the wonder of God as Creator and the glory of God's creation. The opening of the Gospel of John reiterates this message. Jesus himself repeatedly calls upon us to be stewards of God's creation. Christian scripture climaxes with promises related to God's redemption of a creation that groans for God's restorative grace. Along the way, we, as God's agents (i.e., God's stewards) upon this earth, are charged to care for this world which God loves and for which Christ gave his life. (Remember, for example, the verse most of us learned as children, "For God so loved the world …", John 3:16).

    The political commentator, and perhaps others, may resent Pope Francis's entry into the conversation about global climate change and other topics regarding the environment. But the pope's entry into the conversation reminds us that the current debate has been distorted and politicized in ways that are not only counter-productive, but also irresponsible. Francis is reclaiming the discussion of the environment for Christian theology in a manner that is both responsible and spiritually appropriate.

    His letter begins by evoking the proclamation of that other Francis. The encyclical begins:

    "'Laudato si', mi' Signore' - 'Praise be to you, my Lord.' In the words of this beautiful canticle, Saint Francis of Assisi reminds us that our common home is like a sister with whom we share our life and a beautiful mother who opens her arms to embrace us. 'Praise be to you, my Lord, through our Sister, Mother Earth, who sustains and governs us, and who produces various fruit with colored flowers and herbs.

    "This sister now cries out to us because of the harm we have inflicted on her by our irresponsible use and abuse of the goods with which God has endowed her. We have come to see ourselves as her lords and masters, entitled to plunder her at will. The violence present in our hearts, wounded by sin, is also reflected in the symptoms of sickness evident in the soil, in the water, in the air and in all forms of life. This is why the earth herself, burdened and laid waste, is among the most abandoned and maltreated of our poor; she 'groans in travail' (Romans 8:22). We have forgotten that we ourselves are dust of the earth (cf. Genesis 2:7); our very bodies are made up of her elements, we breathe her air and we receive life and refreshment from her waters."
    [Pope Francis, Laudato Si’: On Care for Our Common Home (Vatican City: Vatican Press, 2015), 7]

    There are several striking things about Pope Francis's letter. First, it represents a powerful example of practical theology, allowing the resources of sacred scripture and the theological wisdom of the ages to engage a subject of real and immediate concern. Second, the letter presents profoundly biblical reflection, not only providing wisdom from biblical sources, but also recasting the contemporary discussion in biblical categories. Finally, it offers good news, both hope for our planet and hope for a humanity recalled to responsibility for "our common home."

    Francis's letter arrived in my mail box this summer just a few days after I finished reading another book on our human "home" by another Francis - in that case a study of prehistoric Britain by the archaeologist, Francis Pryor. While Pryor, an atheist, might find it hard to agree with any number of things any pope has said, on one thing he would agree with Pope Francis. In the words of Glynis Jones, another prehistorian Pryor approvingly quotes: "Home is not the house, but where the garden is." (Francis Pryor, Home: A Time Traveller's Tales from British Prehistory (London: Allen Lane, 2014), 80.

    Of course, the "garden" to which Pope Francis draws our attention is the one which is co-created and nurtured by God and humanity as symbolically represented in the creation stories of Genesis. As Francis writes:

    "The creation accounts in the Book of Genesis contain, in their own symbolic and narrative language, profound teachings about human existence and its historical reality. They suggest that human life is grounded in three fundamental and closely intertwined relationships: with God, with our neighbor and with the earth itself. According to the Bible, these three vital relationships have been broken, both outwardly and within us. This rupture is sin. … It is significant that the harmony which Saint Francis of Assisi experienced with all creatures was seen as a healing of that rupture." (Francis, Laudato Si', 47-48).

    I have mentioned before in this blog the value of what is commonly called The Daily Examen, a form of prayer popularized by St. Ignatius Loyola, founder of the Jesuits. The Examen provides a form of meditative prayer in which we daily recall to mind the fact that we live every moment in the presence of the God who created us in love and desires above all else to share this love in and through us. The Examen asks us to recall specific things for which we are grateful and to give God thanks for them. It also asks us, in this context of remembering the love, grace, goodness and generosity of God, to examine our lives, reviewing the large and small things we have done, those things through which we experienced the loving presence of God and those things which we regret. Laying our failings and regrets before God, we ask for God's forgiveness, and we pray for God's Spirit to empower us to live and to express God's love in our lives.

    If anything, Pope Francis's most recent encyclical confirms that he is not only worthy to bear the name “Francis,” but that he is a student of Ignatius and a Jesuit. Laudato Si' is an "Examen" addressed to the whole world, inviting us to examine our lives and our consciences in the presence of the God who created us and all things in love and who calls us to lovingly and responsibly care for this world. The explicit call to repentance that is essential to this encyclical is at the heart of the good news of Jesus Christ. In this matter, our repentance not only will allow us to participate in the redemption of the world, but in our own redemption as children of God.

    At the close of the encyclical, Pope Francis invites us to pray two prayers. I will close with the opening lines of the first of these:

    "All-powerful God, you are present in the whole universe and in the smallest of your creatures. You embrace with your tenderness all that exists. Pour upon us the power of your love, that we may protect life and beauty." (Francis, Laudato Si', 158.)

    (The edition of Pope Francis's encyclical used in this blog was published by Our Sunday Visitor Publishing Division, Huntington, Indiana. It includes a study guide. I hope you'll consider using it in adult study groups in your church.)

  • Deepening Our Interreligious Learning

    by Michael Jinkins | Aug 25, 2015


    Christine HongEditor’s note: Today’s blog post is guest-written by the Rev. Dr. Christine Hong, assistant professor of worship and evangelism at Louisville Presbyterian Theological Seminary. Hong (pictured) previously served as an adjunct professor of worship at Louisville Seminary and as an associate for interfaith relations at the national office of the Presbyterian Church (U.S.A.). She began her tenure-track with the seminary this past July.

    Louisville Seminary’s commitment to making interreligious learning and dialogue central to training people for ministry is a significant step toward transforming theological education. As we engage in interreligious learning in our classrooms and in other areas of our lives, we live into our commitments by internalizing humility as our posture of learning and pushing beyond what is comfortable. Here are two basic principles of interreligious learning that help us deepen our commitments to the good work before us.

    1) Proficiency is fallacy: Repeat after me: There is no such thing as interreligious or intercultural proficiency. The word “proficient” assumes that the mastery of a subject or issue is possible, but can anyone claim proficiency in the inner workings of other human beings, let alone ourselves? Precisely because of this, our posture when learning with and among our neighbors of different religious traditions and cultures should be one of openness and humility. Active participation in interreligious learning and community requires us to accept that no matter how much we study, there is always more to learn and deeper ways to listen to one another’s stories.

    For example, even though I am a Korean American woman who is bilingual and bicultural, I cannot possibly know all there is to know about Korean and Korean American culture. Along the same vein, even though I am someone who professes Jesus Christ and claims the Church, I am not suddenly an expert in all Christian histories, all human experiences with the Divine, or the rich diversity represented in the Christian tradition. In fact, the more I learn about the cultures and religious traditions that are part of the fabric of my personal identity, the more I am astounded by how little I actually know and how much more there is to discover.

    There are no experts in interreligious dialogue and life, only commitments. Even within those commitments, there are depths we can never fully plumb. We can never reach the point where we have learned all that there is to know about one another. This is a wonderful thing; it means our work together will always remain fruitful. It reflects the great mystery of God, a testament to the beauty of Imago Dei (image of God). So, let’s put aside our assumptions of mastery and for proficiency.

    2) Deepen solidarity: Nowadays, it is common practice to highlight both differences and similarities in interreligious relationships and dialogue. These are often theological or cultural, but there are other differences and similarities - harder realities - that are unsettling for some of us to discuss. For instance, the differences and similarities in the ways American Muslim and Christian communities of color experience law enforcement and surveillance or the way Christian privilege coupled with systemic white supremacy perpetuates a cycle of oppression and violence against both American Sikh and Christian communities of color. These are tough but necessary conversations that require a great level of risk to unpack. The risks are more significant for some communities than others. Acknowledging this disproportionate risk, we work together to move past our fears and hesitancies in order to support and advocate for one another, especially for our partners and communities constantly under threat.  

    When we are open to advocacy, we commit ourselves to a new level of partnership with our neighbors, one of deeper solidarity and friendship. If we only wrestle with the most surface issues between our communities, we are not doing enough to usher in the societal transformation we seek. Let’s lean into the difficult conversations and broach the dangerous topics, challenging one another to focus less on our need for the familiar and more on what our community needs to thrive.

    Interreligious learning and interreligious commitments mean that we will never be experts in the lives of others or even of our own communities. Interreligious learning and commitments push us to come face-to-face with our best and worst selves and to repent and seek reconciliation. The relationships we have with our interreligious and intercultural partners invite us into a deeper form of solidarity that at times takes significant risk. It is hard work worthy of our attention and best effort.

  • Thin Places: A Spirituality Notebook

    by Michael Jinkins | Aug 17, 2015

    We want to thank you for the very positive response to this year's series of supplemental blogs, "A Leadership Notebook," which Michael posted on alternating Fridays. Beginning Friday, September 4, Michael will post a new supplemental blog series exploring spirituality.

    The new series will be titled "Thin Places," and, as you will see, not even that well-worn phrase will be taken for granted. We hope you will enjoy the new series, which will be posted every other Friday in addition to the weekly "Thinking Out Loud" blogs, which will continue to publish every Tuesday.

    Thin Places

    "The Isle of Mull from Seil Island" was taken by Michael Jinkins in 2012. This photo was taken from a hill overlooking the village of Ellanabeich, looking westward toward the Atlantic Ocean. Ellenabeich is a small village on the isle of Seil - an island on the east side of the Firth of Lorn, 7 miles southwest of Oban, in Scotland. Some people call this lookout "the most beautiful view in the Inner Hebrides."

  • Black Church Studies is for Everyone

    by Michael Jinkins | Aug 10, 2015

    Felicia LaBoyEditor’s note: Today’s blog post is guest-written by the Rev. Dr. Felicia Howell LaBoy (pictured), Louisville Seminary’s new Associate Dean for Black Church Studies and Advanced Learning. LaBoy previously served as Director of United Theological Seminary’s Center for Urban Ministry. Her forthcoming book, Table Matters: The Sacraments, Social Holiness and Evangelism, will be available through Wipf & Stock Publishers.

    Like many of you, I watched in horror as the news reports rolled in with regard to the massacre of nine persons, including many of the pastoral staff at Mother Emanuel A.M.E. Church in June. As I processed my own grief and reached out to students and colleagues in South Carolina, amazing events occurred that captured not only my attention, but also the attention of others, especially those for whom organized religion has become irrelevant.

    From the slain nine martyrs; to the Shelby, North Carolina, woman who spotted the gunman while praying for the victims and their families; to the words of forgiveness spoken from the victims’ families to the gunman; to the words of reconciliation, hope and commitments to justice spoken by state officials; to finally the eulogy given by President Barack Obama, the Church of Jesus Christ was on full display demonstrating itself as a relevant, reconciling and transforming agent of healing and hope.

    As Obama talked about the faith of the Rev. Clementa Pinckney specifically and of the long heritage of Mother Emanuel A.M.E. Church, several ideas began to solidify for me and reaffirmed the importance of the strategic commitment that Louisville Seminary has made with regard to its Doors to Dialogue and Black Church Studies programs.

    Quoting Rev. Pinckney, Obama educated all present on the historical, theological and ethical heritage of both the A.M.E. church in general and Mother Emanuel specifically as the context by which all Americans could move beyond dialog and rhetoric to a more just society. He maintained that the historical and contemporary witness of Mother Emanuel and people of goodwill everywhere show us that we have the ability to dismantle structural and systemic racism that masquerades in civic pride or abstract liberalism.

    While Obama is to be congratulated for an outstanding eulogy, what is also apparent is the great impact of theological education. As evidenced by Obama’s deep theological knowledge of black church history and ethics as the catalyst for social change, it was evident that his eulogy had to have been crafted by someone intimately familiar with engaging theological discourse and praxis. And until this eulogy, it had been easy to forget that the faith of Obama and his family was nurtured not only at Trinity United Church of Christ, but also by some of the best black and white pastor-theologians and laity across a wide diversity of denominations in his work as a community organizer.

    While the media caricatured Trinity’s commitment to be unapologetically Christian and unashamedly black as anti-Christian and anti-white, they missed the fact that many of the most pre-eminent black theological scholars from some of the top seminaries in Chicago served as Sunday school teachers and small group leaders at Trinity. Under the tutelage of then-pastor Dr. Jeremiah Wright and these faculty, Trinity’s members were challenged to engage critically Black history, theology and ethics such that they:

    …embod[ied] the idea that our Christian faith demands deeds and not just words; that the “sweet hour of prayer” actually lasts the whole week long that to put our faith in action is more than individual salvation, it's about [our] collective salvation; that to feed the hungry and clothe the naked and house the homeless is not just a call for isolated charity but the imperative of a just society.1

    In highlighting Obama’s “theological” training as a lay member at Trinity, we also cannot forget that Rev. Pinckney, as well as Rev. Daniel Lee Simmons Sr., were graduates of Lutheran Southern Theological Seminary. The impact of theological education was also on display in the ministry of the white Lutheran pastors and bishops who presided over the congregations where the alleged gunman and his family are members. While comforting the family and congregation, these sisters and brothers in Christ acknowledged the need for theological discourse that leads to transformative heart change and systemic social action.2

    While we can see the fruits of theological training, especially as it relates to Black Church Studies, it is also evident that we need a more comprehensive way forward. We need in the corridors of our theological institutions places to have honest discussions about race and social justice that build on history and enable us to think deeply and act justly in the midst of color-blind structural racism. Black Church Studies cannot only be for African Americans seeking to address theologically the world in which they find themselves. It must be a critical component for those seeking to lead the church to see the increasing racial and ethnic diversity in the United States not as something to be suppressed, but as God’s gift.

    With this in mind, I envision three purposes for Louisville Seminary’s Black Church Studies program. First, the program must provide clergy and lay with a strong foundation in historical and contemporary black church theology and ethics.

    Second, it must deepen the theology, preaching, pastoring and community engagement of students by building on current courses and programs, and by engaging preeminent theologians and practitioners from within Louisville Seminary and beyond.

    Third, it must couple theology and praxis with an emphasis on the administrative and practical skills necessary for graduates to implement and assess current and future black church ministry. Equally important will be to consider how this program serves as a resource for the general church such that the inclusion of Black Church Studies in other academic areas will allow all students to create new insights and praxes. In this way, the Black Church Studies program at both the master’s and doctoral levels can develop a new generation of theological scholars in the Black Church tradition who are able to dialog effectively within other disciplines.

    It is my hope that as we saw the fruits of theological education coupled with creative and prophetic action from both clergy and lay as related to the Charleston massacre, the Black Church Studies program will function such that we too will create outposts of Christian witness that furthers the cause of open dialog, racial reconciliation and a just society. It is my prayer that through the Black Church Studies program, persons within and outside of the church will live into Rev. Pinckney’s assertion that we must know and value one another’s histories and discover that Black Church studies is indeed necessary for everyone.

    1President Barack Obama, Remarks by the President in Eulogy for the Honorable Reverend Clementa Pinckney (Washington, DC: The White House, Office of the Press Secretary), June 26, 2015, https://www.whitehouse.gov/the-press-office/2015/06/26/remarks-president-eulogy-honorable-reverend-clementa-pinckney, last accessed July 8, 2015.
    2For more on this see Rev. Elizabeth A. Eaton, Long Season of Disquiet Letter (Chicago: ELCA News),  June 18, 2015, http://download.elca.org/ELCA%20Resource%20Repository/long_season_of_disquiet_letter.pdf, last accessed July 8, 2015.

  • Christianity and Commitment to Service

    by Michael Jinkins | Aug 04, 2015

    Tom JonesBY TOM JONES

    Today’s blog is guest-written by Thomas L. (Tom) Jones (MDiv ’55, MTh ’59, DMin ’77), ambassador-at-large for Habitat for Humanity International and a former vice president and faculty member at Louisville Presbyterian Theological Seminary. Tom is also a 2006 recipient of the Louisville Seminary Distinguished Alum Award.

    My conviction is real and deep: 100 years from now, when historians write the ongoing story of the people of God for our present era and beyond, Christian movements/organizations such as Habitat for Humanity International, World Vision International, TearfundChristian Aid Mission and the like will be seen as key parts of the story.

    After wonderful opportunities for ministry as a national staff person of the former PCUS Board of National Ministries and a stint as vice president and member of Louisville Seminary’s faculty, and after satisfying Presbyterian pastorates including Harvey Browne Memorial Presbyterian Church in Louisville, Kentucky, and Chevy Chase Presbyterian Church in Washington, D.C., at my request in 1992, National Capital Presbytery approved me for full-time specialized ministry with Habitat for Humanity International (HFHI). Following our family’s recent move to Georgia, Northeast Georgia Presbytery has approved me for my ongoing HFHI ministry, where I continue on the HFHI senior leadership team.

    I have been very, very blessed with opportunities for Christian ministry in every chapter of my life. None has had more significance than my time with Habitat for Humanity.

    From its beginning in 1976 in a chicken house in a Christian community called Koinonia Farm in rural southwest Georgia, Habitat has been, is and will continue to be committed as a Christian organization. Clarence Jordan, a Southern Baptist preacher with a doctorate in Greek and the founder of Koinonia community, is considered the spiritual founder of Habitat. Millard Fuller, the organization’s founder, then a 29-year-old millionaire lawyer, with his wife Linda decided to give their money to serve the poor and came to Koinonia.

    From its beginning, Habitat took the call of the Gospel seriously: to serve the poor, and to save the rich. In its efforts, Habitat is completely inclusive in who can serve and be served. It is non-doctrinaire (the one doctrine being that if you don’t have a Habitat bumper sticker on your car, you are living in sin!) Habitat states its mission:

    Mission Vision: A world where everyone has a decent place to live.

    Mission Statement: Seeking to put God’s love into action, Habitat for Humanity brings people together to build homes, communities and hope.

    First of five Mission Principles: Demonstrate the love of Jesus Christ.

    Habitat has never wavered from its intent to be a Christian organization. Habitat’s basic principles from the beginning have been “not a hand out, but a hand up.” Thus, potential Habitat homeowner partners do hundreds of hours of sweat equity, working on their own home and the homes of others. They assume a no-profit mortgage which they repay. Habitat challenges the volunteers to the Gospel call to give their time, talents and material resources to serve others.

    Habitat is taking seriously research* which shows why so many groups start as Christian organizations, but after 50 years no longer are such: American Red Cross, Harvard University, Barclay Bank, YMCA, Save the Children, and many other colleges, universities, hospitals, etc. Habitat has established an ongoing “Process for Keeping God at the Center.” This is led by a leadership team of 24 persons, world-wide, from every level. All serve by choice. This team provides spiritual growth resources, devotions, prayer guidance, theological reflection tools, study materials, event suggestions, and the like for individuals and groups living the Christian faith by serving human needs.

    The goal of Habitat is “to reach its 50th anniversary - and beyond - as a vibrant, vital, global Christian organization.” As such, Habitat is committed to provide the structure for Christians to join together “to prove what is the will of God, what is good, and acceptable and perfect.”**

    Further, grounded in its Christian faith, without any threat to basic Christian beliefs - or the beliefs of other faiths - Habitat is secure to join with other religious faiths who are also called to care for the poor and who believe that shelter is a core issue. Habitat’s commitment is “to be a global leader toward all religious faiths working together toward ending poverty in the world.”

    Habitat invites all persons around the world who pray - regardless of religious faith - to become Habitat Global Prayer Partners (see www.Habitat.org/pray). Everyone in the world is invited to pray regularly for “a world where everyone has a decent place to live … bringing together those who seek to put God’s love into action by building homes, communities and hope.”

    But the real concern is not what the writers will say 100 years from now. Rather, to live the importance now of Habitat for Humanity and like Christian groups in the ongoing living story of the people of God!

    *“Keeping the Faith: Maintaining a Christian Mission in a Changing World,” by Larry Reed, former CEO of Opportunity International Network.
    **Romans 12:1-2

  • Meaning from the Mountaintop

    by Michael Jinkins | Jul 28, 2015


    Chrissy WestburyToday’s blog post is guest-written by Chrissy Westbury, a Louisville Seminary Master of Divinity student from Grand Rapids, Michigan.

    Colossians 3:12-14 New Revised Standard Version (NRSV)
    12 As God’s chosen ones, holy and beloved, clothe yourselves with compassion, kindness, humility, meekness, and patience. 13 Bear with one another and, if anyone has a complaint against another, forgive each other; just as the Lord has forgiven you, so you also must forgive. 14 Above all, clothe yourselves with love, which binds everything together in perfect harmony.

    This passage from Colossians was the theme passage at the Massanetta Springs Middle School Youth Conference this year, and I attended the conference with six middle school youths from a local congregation.

    I often hear complaints and concerns about the youth of today: they are entitled, self-absorbed, apathetic, and obsessed with instant gratification. However, my experience with these six youth and the dozens of others I met at Massanetta reminded me that these youths could teach most adults a thing or two about compassion, kindness, humility, meekness, and patience. During the course of the four days I spent on the quite literal mountaintop with more than 200 young teenagers, I regained my hope for the future of the church.

    It is easy to look at the church, and at the North American religious landscape as a whole, and become overwhelmed to the point of despondency. There is no doubt that our congregations are growing older and shrinking. The relevance of the church in the twenty-first century is in question. We cannot seem to attract or keep young families, we struggle to find volunteers, and the sense of community and family that many of us remember from our churches growing up seems to be fading. In a fast-paced world of constant movement, how can we ask people to be still and know God? How can we compete with sports, brunch and Netflix for those precious hours on Sunday morning? How can we tear young people away from their devices long enough to engage in deep discourse around the Word?

    But, here’s the thing - these young teens that I met in the mountains of Virginia are not only capable of that discourse, they are thirsty for it. They gladly put away their devices for the vast majority of those four days (they were only allowed to have them during their brief moments of free time in their rooms) and immersed themselves in theological conversations guided by high school students just a few years older than they. Adults participated in the conversations, but only peripherally. The guidance was offered by high school “Enablers” and the bulk of the discourse centered on the thoughts and words of eleven- to thirteen-year-olds.

    When asked about a moment they felt God at work, or a time when they needed to ask for or offer forgiveness, they were not entitled or apathetic teenagers. They were people of strong faith with stories to tell – some uplifting and others soul-crushing – of their own journeys. They listened to one another with compassion and openness that I have rarely seen in adult conversations around questions of theology. They accepted one another with humility and meekness, regardless of whether they agreed with or understood the other’s thoughts on a particular topic. They demonstrated in every way what it means to clothe oneself in love.

    As I returned from this mountaintop moment, I was thrust back into the world of social media and the evening news. Pundits and presidential candidates were all competing to see who could speak the loudest, assuming that their voice was the only one that mattered. Grown adults seemed incapable of treating one another with kindness and compassion, of stopping long enough to consider, with humility, what the other side had to say. It was a toxic spill of negativity and hopelessness. And all I wanted to do was return to the teenagers, to sit quietly in their circle as they explored their faith, their strength, and their world together.

    There was so much passion for a better world, so much hope, and yes, idealism. There were good answers and even better questions. And most of all, there was kindness, compassion, humility, and love.

  • Share the Healing

    by Michael Jinkins | Jul 20, 2015


    Today’s blog post is guest-written by the Rev. Michael Mather, pastor of Broadway United Methodist Church in Indianapolis, Indiana, and author of Sharing Stories Shaping Community: Vital Ministry in the Small Membership Church (Discipleship Resources, 2002).

    The last year has made clear the violence, abuse and trauma in the lives of the people of our nation.  

    Fifteen years ago in my parish in South Bend, Indiana, I dealt with two cases of domestic abuse in one weekend. The next Monday, I went to a clergy meeting, where I asked my colleagues how they handled such things. Their response was, "It never comes up." We are too often blind to it all around us.

    One Sunday at my current parish, Broadway United Methodist Church, the poet Mari Evans spoke in worship about “Shattering the Silence.” (You can hear her remarks at http://goo.gl/GBjqlH).

    Mari challenged us to pay attention to one another. She talked about finding out that her son was sexually abused as a child by an adult female relative. This news came just two months before Mari’s son died at age 58. I have heard Mari speak about this publicly three times. Each time, her story has challenged me to really pay attention to what is going on in the lives of folks around me.

    A few of us from our parish visited Dr. John Rich at Drexel University. Dr. Rich worked as a physician in an inner city hospital where he was seeing young African American men (who looked like him), who had been shot and stabbed. He hired them to be “community health advocates” for a program he initiated called the Men's HealthCREW, a program to train inner city young men to become peer health educators who focus on the health of men and boys in their communities. As a result he won the MacArthur Genius Grant. When we visited with Dr. Rich, he asked us two simple questions that were beautiful in their simplicity and that have stayed with me over the past couple of years. First, he asked, "Who are the healers in your community?" Next, he asked, "How do you support the healers?"  

    Healing is present in the midst of the disease, illness, brokenness, violation, pain and evil. The healers are often the ones who have come through "many dangers, toils and snares."  

    A parishioner wrote me last week and shared a liturgy she was writing as a part of reaching for and recognizing God’s healing in her life. I think of the passage from the Gospel of Mark where people were coming to Jesus "begging to touch the hem of his garment.” When we recognize in our lives that level of hunger and thirst for healing that this represents, then our eyes become open, I believe, to the healing that is present.

    Today I write my liturgy of healing.

    I begin with God.

    God of love and light,
    I ask for liberation.
    Freedom to live in and celebrate

    God of Resurrection,
    On the night Jesus prayed in the Garden,
    He cried out to you.

    I cry out to you:
    Forgive my sin of self-denial;
    Forgive my sin of grasping,
    clinging, holding on
    to pain in place of peace
    of physical pleasure
    in place of whole life-living love.

    Like Jesus, I have asked that
    You take this cup from my lips.
    It remains.

    I am the woman with the issue of blood.
    I seek only to touch the hem of the garment.
    I seek only to be healed.
    God, I seek healing.

    There is a pain - a shadow - that
    from age 6 has haunted me.
    Though I bear no physical scars
    my heart and soul still ache
    for a way to feel whole
    having been broken.

    I give the brokenness to you Dear God.
    I give the pain, the shame, the self-doubt,
    the feelings of nothingness – victimization - to you.

    I release myself to the faith that I hold dear.
    I ask that you will grant this simple prayer
    that I be
    to know/show/share
    love in all of its facets
    free from the pain of the past,
    free to welcome and experience joy in the present,
    free to welcome and experience joy in the future.

    On the promise of the cross, I come to you
    believing in the promise of resurrection.


    We see the healing when we invite those who have suffered and are suffering to name their own healing, their own desire for it. We support the healers when we share it with others. That's where the healing begins to multiply, because we can see it at work.

  • Interpreting the Bible with the Nones

    by Michael Jinkins | Jul 14, 2015


    Tim McNinchEditor’s note: Today’s blog is guest-written by Timothy McNinch, a second-year Master of Divinity student at Louisville Presbyterian Theological Seminary and co-author of People of the Book: Inviting Communities Into Biblical Interpretation (Wipf & Stock, 2012).

    In May, the Pew Research Center published their landmark study confirming that the “nones,” the segment of the American population claiming no particular religious affiliation, have risen dramatically (from 16% in 2007 to a whopping 23% in 2014), while Christian identity among my millennial generation has steadily waned.1 Many Christian denominations are on the edge of panic about dwindling membership and are at a loss for effective strategies to draw in newcomers. At this critical moment in the history of American Christianity, I find myself situated in (of all places) seminary, joyfully up to my ears in biblical Hebrew and Greek. But I sometimes wonder if any of my study to become a professional Bible expert will be relevant to modern churchgoers, and especially to the growing population of unaffiliated “nones” who couldn’t care less about Hebrew participles. It seems as likely as not that when I graduate with a master’s degree in divinity, fellow millennials will look at me and my so-called inspired Scriptures and respond with an apathetic, “Meh.” In such a context, how can we engage this generation with the ancient text?

    I have become convinced that the current religious climate calls for a reevaluation of the role of professional church leadership, not least in our approach to biblical expertise. I think part of the problem is that in our individualized age, we have forgotten that the Bible is a communal document—from communities for communities—and we have outsourced the work of interpretation to expert individuals: scholars, preachers and curricula writers. Laypeople are called upon to live out the implications of Scripture, yet the interpretation of Scripture itself is typically entrusted to the professionals. But what if we were to resurrect the ancient communal nature of the biblical texts, and interpret them together as whole church communities rather than making preachers the bottleneck for dissemination of the Word of God?

    For one thing, balancing our familiar lecture-style sermons with opportunities for scholars, clergy and laity to wrestle together with the task of interpretation would enliven our congregations as people of the Book. We’d begin to see the Bible come to life in the spiritual formation of church members in a way that reliance upon sermons and pre-fab study curricula simply cannot replicate.

    But beyond the benefits for existing individual members, my conviction and experience is that when a church makes a communal-interpretive approach to the Bible part of their collective ethos, this is surprisingly attractive to secular, postmodern, post-Christendom communities like the “nones.” Remember, these friends are often suspicious of the Bible not because they have read it and judged it, but because they have judged the use of the Bible by Christians as a tool to oppress others and sidestep responsibility for their own opinions (“I wish I didn’t have to be a bigot … but it’s the clear teaching of Scripture.”). In this environment, communities that invite open-ended conversation around the Bible, allowing and encouraging questions (even the taboo ones), and taking time to note the insightful input of novices and outsiders—these communities are a breath of fresh air, a wind of spiritual life. When I’ve debriefed such conversations, my secular friends tell me they’ve never before encountered churches that were interested to hear what they think about anything, let alone their take on the sacred texts. I think there is potential in this subtle shift of church culture to create an ethos that is more attractive and authentically engaging for millennial “nones” than attempts at flashy multimedia and lite rock worship music (both of which I appreciate to a degree).

    Where does this leave me here at seminary in my preparation to become a biblical expert? Well, I think this means that in addition to my own Scriptural fluency (a gift I can certainly bring to the table as a pastor), I will need to develop another set of skills for gathering people of diverse backgrounds and diverse biblical experience around the ancient texts. My job is not simply to proclaim the Word, but to train congregations to utilize the tools for interpreting the Scriptures together as a hermeneutical community. Cultivating these leadership skills is both faithful to the communal nature of the Bible itself and essential to the fruitful discipleship of our present generation.

    1Pew Research Center. America's Changing Religious Landscape. http://www.pewforum.org/2015/05/12/americas-changing-religious-landscape.

  • Farm Church

    by Michael Jinkins | Jul 07, 2015

    Ben Johnston-KraseBY BEN JOHNSTON-KRASE

    Editor’s note: Today’s blog is guest-written by the Rev. Ben Johnston-Krase, organizing pastor of Farm Church, a new worshiping community in the Presbyterian Church (USA). For six years, Ben served as the pastor of First Presbyterian Church in Racine, Wisconsin. Before that, he was the associate pastor for campus and young adult ministries at University Presbyterian Church in Austin, Texas.  

    “I’m starting a new church.”
    “What kind of church?”
    “It’s going to be on a farm. It’s going to be called ‘Farm Church.’”
    “Farm Church? Huh. Are you going to have pigs and sheep, stuff like that?”
    “Well, actually, yeah!”

    For months now, I’ve been telling people about what I’m doing, and it never gets old. This time it was with a city worker taking down trees in front of our house in Racine: the house we’re trying to sell; the house that used to be framed so beautifully by two giant ash trees that have fallen prey to the emerald ash borer and had to come down. And so he asked me about the “For Sale” sign in the front yard, the one they were meticulously trying to avoid as one herculean branch after another came crashing down.

    “Where’s it gonna be?” This is the first question everybody asks me about Farm Church, and the answer is still, “Don’t know yet.”

    He paused and looked me over, wondering to himself, maybe, whether or not he ought to offer some advice about church planting—the part that involves selling your home before you know where you’re going. After a few seconds, with a puzzled but at least somewhat appreciative look on his face, he said with his thick Wisconsin accent, “Well, that’s faith for ya!”

    It was affirming to add this man’s voice to God’s sense of direction in my life, which has been pulling me toward this vision of Farm Church for months now. It started last summer with a dream in which I was called to serve a new church. I said “yes” to this new call, sight unseen. When I arrived, it was a farm, of all things. I woke up and thought, “That’s not a bad idea!” Minutes later, I bought the domain name, www.FarmChurch.org, on the off chance that God was calling me to do something new.

    Since that night, Farm Church has grown from a half-baked 3 a.m. dream into a compelling, wild and sometimes scary sense of Christ’s call—a call to leave my previous pastoral position and start a new worshiping community with the Presbyterian Church (USA). Along the way, I’ve been honored and humbled to share it with two friends and their families. Together we are moving toward this vision of a church that feeds people both spiritually and physically.

    As my Farm Church colleague Allen Brimer puts it: “Farm Church invites the spiritually curious into a life practice of Christ-centered faith and service where Christ’s rituals of feeding, teaching and healing are couched in the growing, collecting, preparing and serving of food.”

    Right now we’re prayerfully striving to discern where best to “plant” this ministry. We need at least 30 acres close enough to a population center so that we can both draw worshipers together and address local food security issues. Through our website and our Facebook page, (www.facebook.com/FarmChurch.Org) we are cultivating an online presence and networking with the hope that we will sense God’s leading.

    Sometimes I still wake up in the middle of the night. Only there is no dream.  Just an endless list of questions that spring out of my decision to say “yes” to this call. Where will Farm Church be? Where will my girls go to school?  How will we find land? Will we buy? Lease? Borrow? And then, will anyone come?

    Through it all, the astounding, heart-gripping reality that brings tears to my eyes whenever I think about it is the beautiful fact that we are not alone. From David, who gave us our first donation, to Maureen, who volunteers as our fundraising consultant, to Peter, who is encouraging his church to become a Farm Church Mission Partner Congregation, to so many others, we have been blessed with a wonderful Communion of Saints, praying for us and cheering us on.

    Sometimes I sense their presence and feel the power of their prayers commingling with the Spirit’s steady voice, calling us forward. And I remember that Farm Church isn’t really about me or my idea. Rather it’s about a church ready to risk, daring to dream, even in the face of an uncertain future. To borrow words from a new friend, “That’s faith for ya!”

    Related: “Dreaming of a church with no steeples, buildings,” Presbyterian News Service (March 23, 2015).

    Learn more about Farm Church online at www.FarmChurch.org, on Facebook at www.facebook.com/FarmChurch.org or on Twitter @MadFarmerBen.

  • Devotion

    by Michael Jinkins | Jun 29, 2015

    Amos Disasa

    Editor’s Note: Today’s blog is guest-written by the Rev. Amos Disasa, organizing pastor of Downtown Church in Columbia, South Carolina, and a Louisville Presbyterian Theological Seminary trustee. Amos is also a contributing writer for The Presbyterian Outlook and serves on the board of directors for Transitions, the Columbia Development CorporationThe River Alliance and The Nickelodeon Theatre.

    I want to share with you a moment when I heard God speak. Last fall, I went to one of my homes. Home is hard to define for me. I was born in Ethiopia, came to the United States when I was three, lived in Columbia, South Carolina, for most of my childhood, and graduated from high school in Laurens, South Carolina. Since then, I've lived in Brazil, Winston-Salem, North Carolina, and back in Columbia. I've been around the world, and learned and forgotten three languages. When people ask where I'm from, I have lots of options. For me, home is not a place with a name. I'm learning to love that part of my story.

    When I was very young, I thought home always would be Ethiopia. So last fall I went to the only home I never worried about leaving. The trip fell on the 30th anniversary of our departure from the country, just as the Marxists were beginning to make life miserable and set our country back even further. The trip wasn't what I expected. I anticipated an emotional reunion with a part of myself that I thought I left behind, a part that would complete me. I didn't find it, but I heard God speak in subtle ways. One thing I heard God say was that gifts aren't rewards.

    Near the end of our trip, I visited my childhood home in a quiet neighborhood of Addis Ababa. The street wasn't paved, but for Ethiopia, it was as close as you can get to Pleasantville.

    Two of my three brothers were with me. One of them moved back to Ethiopia a few years ago to work for a coffee exporter. It was Raaji who led us to our house after a brief taxi ride through narrow unmarked streets. We still own the home. When we left, my father asked his elementary school teacher, Astamari Endashaw, to live there rent-free until we returned.

    Astamari wasn't an ordinary tenant. He told my father when he was in third grade that he was smart enough to be more than a shepherd. He challenged him to leave home for more education in a neighboring village with a school staffed by Presbyterian missionaries. So we were going to see our family home, but we were also going to pay our respects to the man who made our own education possible. If not for Astamari Endashaw, I wouldn't have written this devotion.

    The visit was good for us, but couldn't end quickly enough for Astamari and his wife. You see, we did not call ahead to tell them we were coming. We didn't give our hosts time to bake bread, roast coffee or prepare a meal. They were embarrassed and ashamed in a way that's particularly Ethiopian. Greeting guests with homemade food and fresh coffee is a ritual that is nearly religious. Honor is bestowed on guests with an open table. It's not unusual for Ethiopians to keep entire meals in their freezers should someone stop by. Our hosts were empty-handed this day. They wanted to honor us with hospitality, but we didn't let them. We insisted that it was all right, no big deal. It was too late. They were ashamed.

    As we gathered our things to leave, I saw something strange. Raaji discreetly slipped a handful of bills in Astamari's hand. Astamari didn't protest. He took the money and put it in his pocket.

    On the ride home, I asked Raaji why he was so generous. I never heard them ask for money. They lived in our house free. I also asked why Astamari was comfortable taking the money. My brother said, "It's just what you do here. If you have extra, you give it to others who don't."

    My brother’s gift was generous, but that's not the only place where I heard God speak. Astamari received the gift freely, even while expressing shame at being a terrible host. He accepted the gift, just as it was. God spoke to me that day. God said don't dishonor gifts by reducing them to rewards. Gifts aren't earned because you did your part.

    The grace of God is like that. God speaks grace to us all the time, but often we're more generous with others than we are with ourselves. In her poem “The Seven of Pentacles,” Marge Peircy offers this suggestion, "Live as if you liked yourself, and it may happen…".

    So, my prayer for us is that the divine giver will speak up so that we can hear and that our ears, hands and hearts will be open to the word without hesitation.

    I may never have an easy response when people ask me where I'm from, but I know where I feel at home - wherever God has something to say.

  • No More

    by Michael Jinkins | Jun 22, 2015

    No MoreThus read the sign carried by a grieving member of Charleston's Black community: "No more." A plea. A lament. A cry of sorrow. An expression of anger.

    The BBC coverage of the murder of nine men and women at Emanuel A.M.E. Church in Charleston, South Carolina, communicated the grief and fear of many in America. We watched the screen in silence, sitting in our room at a bed and breakfast in Scotland, shaking our heads, wondering why this sort of violence continues to happen in our country. The British news presenter spoke of the inability of Americans to deal with racism and our unwillingness to pass meaningful laws to deal with gun violence.

    Hearing these reports while in Britain only increases the power of President Obama's statement that other civilized nations do not repeatedly suffer these atrocities. He is quite simply right, whether we want to hear it or not.

    My own dismay and sadness turned to anger when I heard a representative of the gun lobby say that the problem is that the members of that Bible study weren't exercising their "God-given right to carry guns." I think it is time we put this outrageous and cynical claim in its place. People have a right to attend a Bible study or worship service, go to a movie, shop in a mall, or send their children to school without worrying whether an insane, criminal or hate-filled person will gun them down. We have a right in our country not to bear arms.

    I remember a conversation my dad and I had when I was a small child. We were watching the old Western television show, Bonanza, and I asked my dad why all the men in the old west wore guns. He said it was because the west in those days was a violent and dangerous place. "Why don't we carry guns now?" I asked. "Because," he answered, "we are now a civilized country governed by laws."

    The president says that at some point Americans will have to face the fact that we are the only advanced country in the world where this sort of violence occurs repeatedly. I hope so.

    The seemingly bottomless pockets of the gun lobbies have succeeded in manipulating, cajoling and threatening politicians into supporting their right to peddle their deadly wares without any meaningful limits. They have succeeded in linking their financial gain to a strain of American patriotism that is only too willing to be used. I say this as a person who was given my first shotgun when I was twelve and who has enjoyed shooting for sport my entire life. But it is time for responsible sportsmen, gun enthusiasts and proud patriots of every stripe to make it clear that no right is absolute. And those who peddle weapons without regard for the uses and abuses to which those weapons are put are merely merchants of death.

    There is another aspect to the murder of the members of "Mother Emanuel" that we must address, the race of the men and women who were killed. Cynthia Hurd, Tywanza Sanders, Sharonda Coleman-Singleton, Myra Thompson, Ethel Lance, Susie Jackson, Daniel Lee Simmons, Sr., Clementa Pinckney, and DePayne Middleton-Doctor were all African Americans. They were all targeted, and they were all slain because they were Black. The Daily Telegraph quoted their murderer as saying, "I have to do it. You rape our women and you're taking over our country and you have to go." To call their murderer a white supremacist lets us all off too easily. Their murderer has been fed on the lies and bigotry that surface repeatedly in our culture in a variety of ways, in innuendo and racist jokes, in the smears and garden-variety disrespect that many Black citizens suffer through every day. He acted alone, but he is not alone in his racist sentiments.

    What was different about the man who reloaded five times as he shot the members of this Bible study group who had extended Christian hospitality to him was the lethality of his hatred because of his ready access to firearms. This was a hate crime, but even more, this was an act of terror which stands in a long tradition of racial terrorism in our country, from lynchings to the institutionalized slavery of the American penal system.

    It is time for racism to be raked from our hearts. It is time for us to stand up against those who cynically exploit the fears of many to sell more weapons. No, that's not quite true; it is not time. It is past time. And for us as Christians, there never was a time when such attitudes and actions were appropriate.

    The grace of God has compelled members of the Mother Emanuel Church to forgive the man who committed this act of terror against their community. The justice of God demands that we take the steps necessary to make our nation safe enough for people to go to church, for our children to go to school, and for teenagers to take in a movie free of fear.

  • A Message of Gratitude

    by Michael Jinkins | Jun 15, 2015

    The Daily Examen (also called "the daily examination of conscience") is a practice of prayer that is closely associated with St. Ignatius Loyola, the founder of the Jesuit order and author of The Spiritual Exercises.

    There are five steps in the Daily Examen:

    1. Gratitude. Give thanks to God for all the gifts that God has given us.
    2. Grace. Ask for God's grace to know our sins and to accept God's forgiveness.
    3. Examination. Review our day, from the moment we rise till we go to bed, reflecting on thoughts, words and deeds, in order that the entire day can be brought to the light of God's grace and mercy.
    4. Forgiveness. Submitting our day to God, we ask God to forgive us of our faults, remembering that the purpose for facing our sin is so that we can know and live in God's love more profoundly.
    5. Resolve. We resolve to amend what we have done wrong through the grace of God. We close by praying the Lord's Prayer.

    Multitudes of Christians have found the Daily Examen to be beneficial in allowing them to bathe daily in the love and grace and forgiveness of God and to live in the power of the Holy Spirit.

    Today, I am mindful of the first point in the Examen: Gratitude. And I am mindful especially of my gratitude to God for all of the many friends and supporters of Louisville Seminary who have made it possible this year for us to engage in a mission that we believe is indispensable to the life and health of the church.

    Thank you for making it possible every day for our professors to teach and form the next generation of leaders for the church. Our students learn to bridge differences in our church and society in the name of Christ. They learn to lead congregations with theological and biblical integrity. They learn "to do justice, love mercy and walk humbly with God." (Micah 6:8)

    Thank you for making it possible for our professors to do important research that will enrich the church and contribute to the church's life and work. This year you helped make it possible for Amy Plantinga Pauw to write a new theological commentary on the biblical books of Proverbs and Ecclesiastes, for Shannon Craigo-Snell to bring together resources from the worlds of theater and theology to better inform the worship of the church. You have supported research into the spiritual and emotional lives of children conducted by Brad Wigger, into the New Testament book of Galatians by Marty Soards, and into the intersections of pastoral counseling and interfaith education by Carol Cook. And this only scratches the surface of the contributions our faculty have made this year because of you.

    Thank you for making it possible for our students and for leaders in our community to benefit from lectures and classes and workshops that challenge us, nourish us, and send us forth into the world renewed in the name of Jesus Christ. You have contributed to some of the most important efforts for justice, interfaith understanding, anti-racism and theological advancement imaginable.

    Someone recently asked me what the best part of my job is as president of Louisville Seminary. The best part of my job is meeting and knowing you, the generous people who selflessly give of your time, talents and resources to ensure that our future ministers and other church leaders will be well-educated and well-prepared to lead.

    The need for your generosity has never been greater, and our gratitude is commensurate with the need. The amount of support seminaries receive today from denominations is very small. In the case of Louisville Seminary, we receive less than 1% of our budget from our denomination.

    If it were not for your generosity, theological education would already have become a thing of the past. But you have come through, again and again. Because of your generosity we just sent another class of ministers to serve congregations; therapists to counsel families and individuals; and chaplains to serve in hospitals, social service agencies and in the military.

    You have made all of this happen. Next fall, because of your continued generosity, Louisville Seminary will be able to provide theological education and preparation for ministry to every master’s degree student tuition-free. Thank you.

    We still have "miles to go before we sleep," as the poet Robert Frost said. There is a lot more money left to raise in order to endow the tuition scholarship program. We face many of the challenges that other seminaries face. But because of you, we are in a wonderful position to meet the challenges of today's world. So, once again, thank you for the time, talent and resources you have shared with Louisville Seminary this year so that we might continue to remain true to our calling, "to educate men and women to participate in the redemptive ministry of Jesus Christ in the world."

    If I might paraphrase the apostle Paul just a little, "for all of these reasons I do not cease to give thanks for you as I remember you in my prayers." (Ephesians 1:16)

    Thank you and God bless you.


  • A Remarkable Woman

    by Michael Jinkins | Jun 09, 2015

    Hildegard of Bingen
    “The Holy Spirit: living and life-giving,
    the life that’s all things moving,
    the root in all created being:
    of filth and muck it washes all things clean—
    out-scrubbing guilty staining, its balm our wounds constraining—
    and so its life with praise is shining,
    rousing and reviving

    (From "Spiritus sanctus vivificans vita")

    “O sweet, elected one
    who burnt in the glow of the fiery one, a root,
    and who in the father’s splendour elucidated
    mysteries, …”

    (From "O dulcis electe")

    abounds in all,
    from the depths exalted and excelling
    over every star,
    and most beloved
    of all,
    for to the highest King the kiss of peace
    she gave.”

    (From "Karitas habundat")

    One of the choicest of fictions entertained in the vanity of some modern sorts is that we have advanced beyond our forebears in our understandings. True, we do possess more technological wonders today, a better grasp of science, and are the beneficiaries of medical advances. But in many regards, especially when it comes to the quest for wisdom, claims to superiority of insight merely because we live in the twenty-first century, while others dwelt in earlier centuries, are baseless.

    In last week’s blog, I asked that we pause with Anselm of Canterbury in the midst of the bustle and demands of existence to reflect on what gives us life. This week, I invite us to listen to one of those voices from history I truly wish I could hear rather than just read, the voice of Hildegard of Bingen, a remarkable woman whose insights often took flight in song such as the selections sampled above.

    Hildegard, first the abbess of the small convent of Disibodenberg, and later of a community she established at Rupertsberg near Bingen, was born in 1098. She died in 1179. Thus, she lived during one of the most intellectually rich ages in human history, what has been called by some the "Twelfth Century Renaissance," a time when universities came into existence, when classical philosophers like Plato and Aristotle and poets like Ovid and Virgil were "rediscovered," and scientific and medical knowledge from the Arab world was making its way into Europe along trade routes.

    We sometimes mistakenly bracket this period negatively, sneering at words like "medieval." But this was an age that saw a rebirth of humanistic and divine philosophy. It was an age when reform swept through monastic foundations across Europe, attracting some of the greatest minds in history to the contemplative life, when Bernard of Clairvaux led the Cistercian revolution emphasizing simplicity of life and worship, purity in prayer, generosity to the poor, hospitality to strangers and honest physical labor. It was also an age when a brilliant woman emerged as a leader, a theologian, a mystic and the author of sublime and original sacred music.

    Hildegard bursts upon the scene already a mature theological thinker, writing humbly, but with an assured hand, to Bernard of Clairvaux in 1146 from her convent in the Rhineland. She asked his advice. She confessed that she had been writing hymns and music, that she has come to theological insights and original biblical interpretations. She entreated Bernard, one of the foremost leaders of the church in her day, to instruct her as to whether she should remain silent or continue to write and teach. Bernard encouraged her to continue. And continue she did.

    The originality of her thought shines through her prose as well as verse:

    "God is eternal, and eternity is fire, and this is where God is. And God is not hidden fire or silent fire, but fire in action. ..." (149)*

    "And when [God] created the light, which was winged and could fly everywhere, he determined in the same ancient counsel that he would give a corporeal mass to the spiritual life, which is the breath of life, and give it a shape formed from the clay of the earth, which does not have the ability to fly or breathe or raise itself above itself; therefore it would be all the more bound down and it would gaze all the more attentively toward God. And so the ancient serpent had such hatred for that bond, because this very human creature which had become so weighed down by its corporeality was destined nevertheless, by means of its rationality, to raise itself to the godhead." (95)*

    Hildegard's letters are especially beautiful, combining humility and confidence, whether speaking to a highly regarded theologian or a humble person asking for advice. I particularly love the closing of a letter she wrote to another mystic, Elizabeth of Schonau:

    "Daughter, may God make you a mirror to life. But as for me, I remain in the meagerness of my own mind. I am tired, anxious and fearful, at times sounding forth as the small sound of the trumpet from the Living Light. May God help me that I remain in his service." (81)*

    Mark Atherton, her translator and a fellow at Oxford University, has written of her:

    "Within a few years, Hildegard of Bingen had become a religious, moral and political adviser to half of Europe, as her voluminous correspondence shows. Credited with prophetic insights, the 'Sibyl of the Rhineland' was frequently consulted, and on the basis of her authority as a prophet, undertook what for a woman was almost unheard of: four preaching tours through the heartland of the German Empire." (x-xi)* {Her first teaching tour, incidentally began when she was sixty years old; her last tour ended when she was seventy-three!}

    Of all the incidents in her remarkable life, the one which stands out most to me is one of the most tragic, an event that, at one point, threatened her entire legacy. A young man of noble family who had once been excommunicated died sometime after having been re-admitted to the church. Hildegard allowed him to be buried in the convent cemetery. The ecclesial authorities in Mainz, however, claiming that the young man had not been properly received back into the church, declared that he remained excommunicant at the time of his death. They demanded that his body be exhumed and removed from the convent's cemetery.

    Hildegard said no. Consequently the authorities barred her and her nuns from holy communion and forbade them from singing the liturgy.

    As Mark Atherton tells the story, "Hildegard herself, who set so much store by music as 'the sacred sound through which all creation resounds', was beside herself." (xv)* Until the controversy was resolved (and, thankfully, it was resolved before the end of her life) she found herself "oppressed by a great sadness."

    My dog-eared Penguin edition of Hildegard of Bingen: Selected Writings tempts me now to share a dozen more passages from her theological works, though the limitations of this space prevents me from doing so. The richness of her mind and the originality of her insights remind us, if we need reminding, that when we turn to so many of the writings of men and women of faith in ages past we are doing far more than just reading lines from old books. We are entering into conversations, we are listening at the feet of trusted sages, we are allowing ourselves to be gathered up into a cloud of witnesses. And we become witnesses ourselves to the God who has been sharing wisdom with humanity for a very long time. This is a terrific antidote to the arrogance of modernity.

    *All references are to: Hildegard of Bingen: Selected Writings, translated with an introduction by Mark Atherton (London: Penguin, 2001).

  • A Quiet from which to Live

    by Michael Jinkins | Jun 01, 2015

    QuietRequired reading lists have proven the death of many a classic.

    I've lost count of people who have told me that they don't like Nathaniel Hawthorne's The Scarlet Letter, or Ernest Hemingway's The Old Man and the Sea, or the short stories of Flannery O'Connor because they were "forced" to read these classics in high school or college.

    The same might be said for reading lists in seminary. Maybe especially in seminary, because the reason we require a particular classic can unintentionally distort the reader's sense of the book.

    I'm not really sure if there's a solution. If you can think of one, please let me know.

    When I was in seminary we were required to read Anselm of Canterbury's Proslogion. It was on the required reading list primarily so we could understand Anselm’s so-called "ontological proof for God's existence."

    In time I came to realize that Anselm's "proof" was neither really a "proof" nor even an "argument" for God's existence. Rather, it is a profound theological and spiritual reflection on the God in whom Anselm placed his trust.

    Anselm's words in the Proslogion represent the exuberant cry of a grateful heart. As Anselm himself writes:

    "Have you found what you sought, my soul? You sought God, and you found God to be the highest of all things, than which nothing better could be conceived; you found God to be Life itself and Light, Wisdom and Good, eternal Blessedness and blessed Eternity; you found God to be everywhere and always."

    The fact that we were required to read Anselm's Proslogion in a philosophy of religion class caused us to bracket it as "philosophy of religion" and to file it away in a particular cabinet - the cabinet of "proofs for God's existence." And there it stayed, unread and largely unappreciated.

    Unappreciated, for me at least, until recently I was re-reading passages from Anselm's Proslogion selected by the editors of a Benedictine Breviary in honor of the Feast of St. Anselm on April 21.*

    Reading the second selection prescribed for this feast day, I was struck by a fact that should have occurred to me long, long ago: Anselm was not only a doctor of the church, he was a busy bishop. Indeed, he was the Archbishop of Canterbury, the ranking official in the Roman Catholic Church in England during one of the church's most turbulent periods (Anselm lived from c.1033-1109). He clashed with kings and was exiled twice. His theology was forged in the crucible of conflict.

    All theology is contextual. There's no such thing as faith in abstraction. So, when Anselm reflects theologically on God, "which nothing better could be conceived," he speaks not as the idle resident of an ivory tower driven by mere speculation, but as an active person who has found refuge, comfort and strength in God amid the dangers, toils and snares of existence.

    Anselm says to himself in one especially moving passage:

    "Come now, you poor creature, turn your back on your busy-ness for a little while. For a few moments leave the tumult of your thoughts; throw off the burden of your cares and put aside your wearisome occupations. Make some time for God; rest in God for a while. Enter into the chamber of your mind; exclude everything but God, and what will help you find God; shut the door and search for God. Now say how you long to see God's face. Say to God: 'Lord, it is your face that I seek.' Say it with your whole heart. Come then, Lord my God, come and instruct my heart where and how to search for you, where and how to find you."*

    In prayer and meditation, Anselm did not seek quietism - an abandonment of the world to its own devices, unconcerned for matters of justice and right. Instead, Anselm sought a holy quiet in the midst of life's strivings and strife. He understood what we sometimes do not, that one acts in vain whose actions do not rest in the God who is able to do abundantly more than we can achieve or conceive.

    I wonder what else awaits in those lists of required texts I've filed away.

    *Benedictine Daily Prayer: A Short Breviary, compiled and edited by Maxwell E. Johnson, Oblate of Saint John's Abbey and the Monks of Saint John's Abbey (Collegeville, Minnesota: Liturgical Press, 2005), pp. 1856-1859.

  • A Leadership Notebook: Adapting the Leader’s Behavior “Situationally”

    by Michael Jinkins | May 29, 2015

    Editor's note: This is the final installment of the Thinking Out Loud "Leadership Notebook" series. We hope you have enjoyed these insights into best practices, challenges, rewards and lessons learned from different models of leadership. Leadership-themed blog posts are available on Louisville Seminary's website. The regular Thinking Out Loud blog will continue to post every Tuesday. Watch for more information about our next Thinking Out Loud special feature for the 2015-2016 academic year.

    Situational LeadershipA pastor I know well recently contacted me to ask if we might reflect together on a problem he is facing in his church. His problem poses a classic leadership conundrum. He received feedback from some trustworthy and frustrated members of his congregation that he “needs to hold his lay leaders more accountable to do the things they are responsible for doing.” The balls they were juggling were getting dropped. Routine and sometimes important tasks were not consistently carried out by the people responsible to do so.

    We explored whether or not this feedback was credible. The pastor confirmed that he thought it was and that he needed to figure out how to do a better job of “holding lay leaders more accountable.” We explored some specific cases, and he related a couple of stories, one of which is particularly illustrative of the problem.

    “Emily” is exactly the sort of wise and caring person you want around the table when elders, deacons or trustees make tough decisions. She brings a wealth of experience to deliberations. She has vision, a great heart and deep faith. When discussions get tough, Emily gets calm and helps find a way through the crisis. But there’s a problem. Emily is an abysmal committee chair. She can’t keep a calendar, organize a meeting, make assignments to accomplish tasks, follow up on the tasks assigned, or any of the other basic competencies of committee leadership.

    “What should I do?” asked the pastor.

    It so happened that this pastor and I had discussed a resource some time back that offers real insight into just such a situation. The resource is called The Situational Leader. It was written several years ago by Dr. Paul Hersey who served as a university president, was the founder and chairman of the board of the Center for Leadership Studies, and was an active church member. He applied the insights of behavioral modification to management for years helping nonprofit organizations and for-profit companies alike perform better. The Situational Leader was originally published in 1984 and has been through several reprints and editions.

    First, let me present the key Situational Leader insight, then I’ll review Hersey’s basic model, and finally, we’ll apply it very briefly to the case at hand.

    The key insight of Hersey’s situational leadership is this: Any leader who always sticks with his or her most comfortable “style” of leadership (whether that leader is a take-charge, highly-directive leader, a facilitative leader, or one who operates more “hands’ off”) is dooming himself or herself to failure about three-quarters of the time. This is because the needs and readiness of followers to do what is required of them in their own leadership roles is quite diverse. An effective leader, according to Hersey, must diagnose the particular needs and readiness of individual followers and adapt his or her leadership style to fit those needs and the followers’ state of readiness.1

    The model can be diagrammed more easily than explained in a paragraph, but I will leave it to you to read Hersey for yourself so you can see his excellent and easy-to-follow diagrams. (His book is short and will repay with huge dividends the time spent studying it!)

    Hersey divides the readiness of followers to do what they need to do into four quadrants; then he lays out leader behaviors that correspond to these four quadrants. In quadrant 1, followers lack both motivation and competence to perform the tasks needed by the organization. In quadrant 2, followers are relatively willing, but they feel unable to do what is needed. In quadrant 3, they are able, but unwilling; and in quadrant 4, they are everybody’s dream - “able, willing and confident.” Unfortunately, most church polities seem to assume that when we are baptized God mysteriously moves us all to quadrant 4. This is not the case.

    A good leader does not simply say “I’m a strong directive leader” and approach every leadership situation the same way. If he or she does this, then s/he will miss the needs and readiness of many people who otherwise might be brought along. Conversely a good leader does not simply say “I’m really just a facilitator of the group. We reflect together on what needs to be done. We collaborate on the goals and objectives of the group. But I leave it entirely in the hands of the other folks to make it happen.” Again, if the leader does this, s/he is going to miss the actual needs and level of readiness of many of the people with whom s/he works.

    Instead, a good leader reflects carefully on the behaviors of the followers, analyzes how well they follow through on assigned or assumed tasks, and crafts his or her own leadership to fit the needs and level of readiness of the followers. For example, someone who just isn’t getting the job done may feel unable and be unwilling to do the job, feeling insecure about taking the risk even to try. They are likely to need “specific instruction” and be “closely supervised.” A person who feels unable but willing to do the task may need the leader to explain more fully why the task matters and what difference it will make to the organization if done well. Clarification is often needed, and this may require a higher level of collaboration. However, someone who is able, willing and thoroughly confident to do the job mostly just needs the leader to get out of the way. Almost anything the leader does will only mess things up.

    As the pastor who called me described Emily’s behavior, it became clear to him that she may feel unable to do the tasks assigned, but is really willing. He was able to develop a leadership intervention strategy: He will go over with her the importance of the tasks of committee leadership, clarifying whatever needs to be clarified, inviting her to ask her questions, and making sure she understands. He will also clarify with her whether she really wants to take care of the basic tasks essential to committee leadership. Then either he will offer her opportunities to get additional training in committee leadership or help her recruit someone to complement her gifts (perhaps an able deputy who could ensure that the details of committee chairing are carried out consistently).

    Hersey’s insight is pure gold. And it helps all of us to keep from absolutizing our own preferences and most comfortable styles of leadership. The organizations we lead need more options than just our favorite approaches to leadership. They need our ability to be flexible and responsive to the needs and readiness of the people with whom we serve.

    1<.sup>Two small notes: 1. Hersey’s use of the term “follower” is essentially positional because each of these “followers” in relationship to the organization’s “leader” is also a leader too, working with others. While the vocabulary is somewhat limiting, the insight is expansive. 2. Obviously this insight does not imply that a leader of an organization with 150 employees or a church with 450 members needs to assess the needs and readiness of every single person. Rather, it means that the leader needs to understand well the leaders that report to him/her, other key leadership, and those who serve on the institution’s board.

  • On Loving the Church

    by Michael Jinkins | May 26, 2015

    The President's Charge to the 2015 Graduating Class of Louisville Presbyterian Theological Seminary
    May 17, 2015

    On Loving the ChurchI once knew a dean who, in the midst of searching for a new faculty member, had a question about one of the candidates under consideration. This candidate had all the credentials. But the dean had a nagging doubt about him because he had written some pretty scathing, very negative criticisms of the church. So the dean called a pastor who knew the candidate well. And he asked the pastor: "Is this person someone who loves the church enough to criticize it? Or does he really just have contempt for the church? What is the source of his criticism? If he loves the church enough to critique the church, we need him and want him on our faculty. But if he does not love the church, if he only has contempt for the church, I think we should look elsewhere."

    This dean told me that he sat there, with the phone receiver in hand, waiting a long time for the answer. After a very long pause, the pastor, who knew the candidate well and liked him very much, said, "I think you should keep looking."

    This conversation reminds me of a very funny chapter in a very funny book by Daniel Zeluff. The book, which came out while I was in seminary, is titled, There’s Algae in the Baptismal "Fount" (Nashville: Abingdon, 1978). Zeluff could be quite a critic of the church himself. The chapter I have in mind is titled, "I must be a prophet, else why are they stoning me?" The point of the chapter is not a denunciation of the role of actual prophets, though there's a good deal of suspicion in the chapter about self-proclaimed prophets; instead, the chapter lifts up the role of the pastor who is willing to love his or her people into righteousness rather than merely judging them for weaknesses and failures that are common to all people to one degree or another.

    Barbara Brown Taylor, a couple of years ago, from this very pulpit, reminded us that, as pastors and church leaders, some of our best teachers are the folks in our churches who will never agree with us. That's true. And it is a sign of God's good grace that God will bring us folks who never agree with us, folks who will never even like us, in every congregation. But in a larger sense, the church herself often plays this role, the role of gadfly teacher.

    The Holy Spirit speaks and works through the people of God. Often unevenly, sometimes at a maddeningly slow pace, but the Spirit of God is at work in and among these people. And usually I have found that the Spirit of God works through the people of God far more reliably and truly than through me as an individual.

    Often we, as your teachers, want you to fall in love with our disciplines. I'm a theologian, so it is only natural that I want you to fall in love with theology. Someone else may want you to fall in love with New Testament or Old Testament, or Christian ethics, or pastoral counseling. Today, I want to encourage you to fall in love with the church, though I truly cannot charge you to do so. No one can charge another person to love. But I do ask you, and I do encourage you to love the church. Unfaithful though the church sometimes is, inconsistent in its service to God, even unreliable in its quest for justice, the church is still the Body of Christ. And that's not just a metaphor, that’s a theological fact.

    In recent days, I have been reminded of what it means to love the church by the example of our friend Dr. David Hester. David was a fine scholar, a great teacher and a theological leader. David was also a pastor. David was dedicated to justice. And David loved the church through which Jesus Christ continues to offer himself on behalf of this broken world that God loves.

    So this is my encouragement, if not my charge, to you: Love the church. Learn the humility that will make it possible to love the church. Love the church enough to respect the wisdom and grace of the people who make up the church. Love the church not for what it could be, but for who it is. For God's sake love God's people.

    And now receive the benediction: May the grace and peace of our Lord Jesus Christ, the love of God and the fellowship of the Holy Spirit be with you always. Amen.

  • The Thrill is Gone

    by Michael Jinkins | May 18, 2015

    BB KingThe year was 1969. I was sixteen. The moment is scorched into my mind. Ben Norrod and I are sitting in his room listening to a recording that would go on to win a Grammy Award in 1970 and eventually earn a coveted place on Rolling Stone magazine’s list of Greatest Songs of All Time: “The Thrill is Gone.” Ben and I were both musicians, and we listened to that record until the grooves nearly wore away.

    B.B. King’s voice was like gravel and honey. And Lucille, his Gibson guitar named for a woman who caused a barroom brawl and conflagration early in his career, well, she sang with a voice all her own. B.B. said he played his solos in the higher register because his hearing wasn’t very good and that way he could hear Lucille sing. Together they made up the greatest musical team in history.

    I grew up in deep East Texas on a diet of music that knew no categories except “good” and “bad.” We were catholic listeners, and we loved them all from Bob Wills and His Texas Playboys to Muddy Waters. Great music poured out of East Texas dance halls I was told never to visit and radio stations from Houston and New Orleans. There was so much great music. But B.B. was unique, and we loved him uniquely. As I moved from one band to another in those days of late nights and long music sessions and other things that will remain hidden in history, from pick-up bands that stayed together just long enough to play one dance to groups that lasted a year or two, covering everything from Blood, Sweat and Tears standards to Bob DylanElton John and James Taylor, B.B. King was a fixed point on a compass that spun like it was driven by the winds of change.

    My children, Jeremy and Jessica, were brought up on B.B. King along with a lot of other great rock, country, blues, R&B, and jazz. When the kids were teenagers, Debbie gave me a Father’s Day gift of a day with them at an all-day Austin City Limits Blues concert. Debbie and Jessica had to leave before Buddy Guy and B.B. came on stage in the evening, but Jeremy and I were there to see the King of Blues, by then too old to stand for long. He sat on a stool and sang and played. His fingers were not as quick as they once had been, but even then his voice was pure magic, transporting us from Austin to the Mississippi Delta that his heart never entirely left.

    The great irony of the blues is just how happy it makes you to play it. The blues draws you in and reminds you that being human isn’t easy, loving isn’t easy, and neither is dying. We are not alone in our unease. Others have the blues too. There’s a community of the blues, and it is not limited by age, creed or race.

    I know this may seem sacrilegious to some people to say this, but when I heard that B.B. died, I couldn’t help but remember something Daniel Patrick Moynihan said when his friend President John F. Kennedy was murdered. Someone said to Moynihan, “We’ll never be happy again.” To which Moynihan responded, “We’ll be happy again. But we’ll never be young again.”

    Over the next several days and maybe weeks, I’ll be listening to B.B. King a lot. Listening and remembering. And I will be very sad. I know I’ll be happy again, but there’s no way to recapture that moment at sixteen when Ben and I huddled round that record player and thrilled for the first time.

    The thrill is gone, at least for today.

  • A Leadership Notebook: When to Sweat the Small Stuff

    by Michael Jinkins | May 15, 2015

    Editor’s note: Periodically throughout the 2014-2015 academic year, “Thinking Out Loud” readers will receive blog posts that address the idea of leadership. Best practices, challenges, rewards and lessons learned from different models of leadership are the focus of these special blog posts. We’d love to hear what you have written in your “leadership notebook.” E-mail us!

    When to Sweat the Small StuffSome time ago I mentioned a now classic essay by Charles F. Knight in the Harvard Business Review in which the author, almost as a side comment, said that most companies fail for “non-analytical reasons.”1 His point was that most of the time when our organizations fail, it is not because we didn’t understand what to do, we simply didn’t do what we knew we should. Oftentimes (to paraphrase Robert Burns) “the best laid plans of mice and men often go awry” because we don’t manage the details.

    Let me give you a purely hypothetical example.

    A large church with a professional staff and a session well-stocked with highly capable folks decides to embark on a capital campaign. They have polled the congregation about the church’s and community’s needs. They have carefully analyzed these needs and have developed a compelling case statement for why the church should embark on this capital campaign. They have interviewed some of the most generous givers in the congregation to find out if they believe the church has a solid case and how that case might best be framed. They spent months using a variety of tools to analyze the giving potential of their congregation. They laid careful plans to ensure that they have not overshot the mark of what they are capable of raising. Their leadership has carefully crafted a beautiful letter co-signed by the head of the campaign (a widely respected elder representing the session) and the church’s senior pastor. The letter will be sent to all members along with a professionally-produced case statement that conveys how crucial this campaign is to sustain and expand the vital missions of the church. The office staff gets to work pulling together the mailing list and sends out the letters.

    But within a few days, the pastor’s secretary gets an angry call from a longtime member, Frederick Arthur David, a beloved and well-known retired physician known to everyone as “Bud.” When the pastor talks to Bud on the phone, he finds out that the letter Bud received from “the church in which I was baptized, the church in which I was married, the church in which my mother and father’s memorial services were conducted, the church to which I gave the stained glass windows that now illuminate the chancel in honor of my wife, Anne, whose funeral you performed last spring” had been sent a “form letter” addressed to “Mr. and Mrs. David Arthur” with the salutation, “Dear David and Anna.”

    The conclusion Bud says he was hesitantly forced to draw is that the church he has loved his whole life doesn’t remember his name, doesn’t remember that his wife “ANNE” died last year, or just doesn’t care.

    After taking full responsibility for the mistake, apologizing, and listening carefully, the pastor asks if he can come over to Bud’s house and visit with him. Over the course of the next few days, this fence will be mended because Bud loves his church and trusts his pastor of fifteen years.

    Unfortunately this turned out to be just the first shoe to drop.

    Within a week the staff realizes that somewhere in the neighborhood of 1 in every 10 letters sent out in the mailing have similar problems. Or worse! It is about this time that they realize too that they were really fortunate with Bud, because a long relationship of trust and affection existed between him and his church and his pastor. This was not the case with other members.

    As research has shown, newer members of a congregation and members with few deep, close, long-established ties to the life of the church are willing to base their entire evaluation of a church and its pastors on very little information, perhaps only a single brief conversation. Receiving a campaign letter that appears to treat them as just nameless members of the herd may be enough to end their relationship with this church.

    It is about this point in my telling of this purely hypothetical story that everyone hearing it who has ever been responsible for a major capital campaign may begin to look a little shaken and to feel a little nauseated.

    Despite great analysis, excellent planning, carefully laid groundwork, and beautiful production of campaign materials, the launch of this capital campaign was undercut by a lack of attention to details. What might have been a great opportunity for the congregation turned out otherwise. Instead of making follow-up visits to take the next step of asking members to contribute to the campaign, a great deal of time and energy now has to be devoted to convincing many of the congregation’s members that their church really does know them and really does care about them.

    Sometimes the small stuff isn’t small. And it matters a great deal that those who are checking the details are detail people.

    This is one of those instances in which good management can contribute to effective leadership. Conversely it reminds us that poor management can undercut our every attempt to lead well.

    1Charles F. Knight, “Emerson Electric: Consistent Profits, Consistently,” Harvard Business Review, January-February, 1992, 57.

  • 1044 Alta Vista Road |
  • Louisville, KY 40205 |
  • 800.264.1839 |
  • Fax: 502.895.1096 |
  • Site Map
© Louisville Presbyterian Theological Seminary