Wednesday, March 20, 2013
Monday, March 11, 2013
What I Gave up for Lent
Facebook.
Oh, wait, you're supposed to give up something you really like for Lent...
Does it count as giving it up if my husband reads to me the posts he gets on Facebook?
Oh, wait, you're supposed to give up something you really like for Lent...
Does it count as giving it up if my husband reads to me the posts he gets on Facebook?
Thursday, June 7, 2012
Ray Bradbury, 1920 - 2012
Ray Bradbury died Tuesday, June 5, 2012 at the age of 91. I have read one article that says he died in the morning, and another that says he died that night. What I want to know is, did he die before, during, or after the transit of Venus? I want it to be "during," because it seems important that the transit and his death coincide...at least from my sense of fitness in a literary sense.
Somewhere around 1964, on a rainy July afternoon at Camp Riva-Lake, I discovered a tattered copy of The Martian Chronicles in a little library of paperbacks in one of the cabins. The cover and some of the pages were missing, and those that were still glued together were quite yellow with age. But I was hooked immediately, and from that day on I was a fan of Ray Bradbury.
I first attended the Santa Barbara Writers Conference in 1995 because he was the keynote speaker. I figured a writing conference that had Ray Bradbury for a keynoter had to be just the place for me. And it was, and he was an awesome speaker, talking of a boyhood love for comics, enduring the sneers of other kids when he cut Buck Rogers cartoons out of the newspaper to keep in a scrapbook, how he became a writer, how years later he was asked to write the introduction to an anthology of Buck Rogers comics. He asked us to reflect on the metaphors of our lives and to write about them.
I have three of his books that he autographed for me at the conference over the years. He wrote my name when he signed the copy of The Martian Chronicles. I bet an autographed copy of The Martian Chronicles would go for plenty today on Ebay. Tough! It's mine forever!
I last saw him speak at SBWC in 2008. He had had a stroke and was in a wheelchair, and his speech was a little slow and halting. But that brilliant mind was still there, spinning stories day after day.
I leave for the 2012 conference tomorrow. I know we will be talking about him there -- and raising a glass to him (I seem to recall he always had one of those in his hand!). Thank you, Ray, for sharing your soaring imagination with us, and urging us to soar with you.
And on the day you died, the world was looking up at the skies and beholding the wonder of Venus passing in front of the sun. We were focused just where you wanted us to be. Perfect!
Somewhere around 1964, on a rainy July afternoon at Camp Riva-Lake, I discovered a tattered copy of The Martian Chronicles in a little library of paperbacks in one of the cabins. The cover and some of the pages were missing, and those that were still glued together were quite yellow with age. But I was hooked immediately, and from that day on I was a fan of Ray Bradbury.
I first attended the Santa Barbara Writers Conference in 1995 because he was the keynote speaker. I figured a writing conference that had Ray Bradbury for a keynoter had to be just the place for me. And it was, and he was an awesome speaker, talking of a boyhood love for comics, enduring the sneers of other kids when he cut Buck Rogers cartoons out of the newspaper to keep in a scrapbook, how he became a writer, how years later he was asked to write the introduction to an anthology of Buck Rogers comics. He asked us to reflect on the metaphors of our lives and to write about them.
I have three of his books that he autographed for me at the conference over the years. He wrote my name when he signed the copy of The Martian Chronicles. I bet an autographed copy of The Martian Chronicles would go for plenty today on Ebay. Tough! It's mine forever!
I last saw him speak at SBWC in 2008. He had had a stroke and was in a wheelchair, and his speech was a little slow and halting. But that brilliant mind was still there, spinning stories day after day.
I leave for the 2012 conference tomorrow. I know we will be talking about him there -- and raising a glass to him (I seem to recall he always had one of those in his hand!). Thank you, Ray, for sharing your soaring imagination with us, and urging us to soar with you.
And on the day you died, the world was looking up at the skies and beholding the wonder of Venus passing in front of the sun. We were focused just where you wanted us to be. Perfect!
Tuesday, April 17, 2012
The Sower and the Seeds, 2.0
Jesus told a parable about a man who went out to sow seeds. It turns up in Matthew 13, Mark 4, and Luke 8. Some of the seeds fell on the path, where they were trampled by passersby, and the birds ate the rest. Some fell on rocky soil. They managed to germinate, but the plants couldn't develop a good root system in the rocky soil, and so they withered and died for lack of moisture. Some fell among the weeds and thorns and got choked out as they tried to grow. But some fell in good soil and produced bounteous crops, even a hundred times as many as the seeds that were planted. And Jesus said those famous words, "Let anyone with ears to hear listen."
But in case his listeners didn't get what he was trying to tell them, in Luke's account Jesus explains the parable to them ("Parables for Dummies"). The seed is the word of God. The seeds on the path go to those who hear but let the devil take the word away from them. The seeds on the rocky ground go to those who hear the message, get really excited about it, and then drift away when real life intervenes. The seeds that fall among thorns and are choked out go to those who are easily distracted by the diversions of life. But ah! those who receive the word of God as seeds in good soil will receive spiritual blessings by the hundredfold.
Hey, it's spring again in the North Country. This past winter was nowhere near as bad as our first. The snowblower only got a couple of runs all winter, as opposed to the year before, when it got a LOT of use, especially by the pastor's spouse early on Sunday mornings so ye olde pastor could get the Evacumobile out of the driveway and past the jagged mountains of frozen snow left along the curb by the plows. But this winter was nothing like last winter. Hello, climate change.
But I dutifully waited until mid-March to start my seeds in peat pots under the sunny windows in my office at the church; I put too much effort into getting these little guys started to lose them to an unexpected late frost. They seem to like the location, and it keeps them safe from marauding cats at home who would delight in digging them up or making salads out of them.
I keep seeds in a vegetable compartment in the refrigerator. I can usually get three or four seasons out of a pack of seeds. Most of the seeds I started this year came from packs I also used last year. The cherry tomatoes started to pop up after just five days. Last year's jalapeno peppers followed suit. But the other pepper seeds I got this season from a specialty supplier took their sweet time. Finally I saw a couple of leaves of a bell pepper variety supposed to be good for short northern growing seasons. Then a cayenne pepper cautiously peeked out of the soil, and then another with leaves of an interesting purple shade. But the four peat pots with seeds supposedly of the variety used to make Tabasco sauce are still stubbornly bare after four weeks. (Of course, that's the variety my husband wanted the most to grow. He is such a fan of Tabasco that he has several Tabasco ties; he even wore one for our wedding.)
Every morning I check the peat pots for signs of life. Now even the spinach I planted last week is quickly coming up. But no Tabasco peppers. I thought about the parable of the seed and the sower. But this is different. All these little plants got planted in the same kind of soil, and all of them are in the same physical location. They got lots of water and warmth and sun. They got turned every day so the seedlings wouldn't lean in one direction. And some are doing just fine. And some refuse to sprout.
Jesus didn't tell the parable like this. But I think there's a parable here about spiritual growth. We in the church can knock ourselves out trying to provide just the perfect spiritual climate for people to grow in their faith. We offer worship, music, art, study, prayer, fellowship groups, outreach opportunities, mission trips, everything we can think of to help nurture people in their faith in a way that has meaning for them. Some will find their niche right away and thrive. Some take a little longer, then something clicks and they get more involved. Some take a LOT longer, years and years, and you hope that someday, something somebody said or did will come back to them and have meaning for them. And some, well, nothing ever seems to happen in that little peat pot, and we never understand why.
So -- Jesus never told a parable about a bunch of seeds that all got the same good treatment but didn't all take root and thrive. But that's a parable, too.
In the meantime, the vegetable garden has been tilled and is waiting for the seedlings when the danger of frost is past. The sugar snap pea seeds got planted over the weekend. I'm hoping for another great gardening season this year.
And I've been watching some new Christians grow in their faith this winter. It's been neat. New seedlings.
But in case his listeners didn't get what he was trying to tell them, in Luke's account Jesus explains the parable to them ("Parables for Dummies"). The seed is the word of God. The seeds on the path go to those who hear but let the devil take the word away from them. The seeds on the rocky ground go to those who hear the message, get really excited about it, and then drift away when real life intervenes. The seeds that fall among thorns and are choked out go to those who are easily distracted by the diversions of life. But ah! those who receive the word of God as seeds in good soil will receive spiritual blessings by the hundredfold.
Hey, it's spring again in the North Country. This past winter was nowhere near as bad as our first. The snowblower only got a couple of runs all winter, as opposed to the year before, when it got a LOT of use, especially by the pastor's spouse early on Sunday mornings so ye olde pastor could get the Evacumobile out of the driveway and past the jagged mountains of frozen snow left along the curb by the plows. But this winter was nothing like last winter. Hello, climate change.
But I dutifully waited until mid-March to start my seeds in peat pots under the sunny windows in my office at the church; I put too much effort into getting these little guys started to lose them to an unexpected late frost. They seem to like the location, and it keeps them safe from marauding cats at home who would delight in digging them up or making salads out of them.
I keep seeds in a vegetable compartment in the refrigerator. I can usually get three or four seasons out of a pack of seeds. Most of the seeds I started this year came from packs I also used last year. The cherry tomatoes started to pop up after just five days. Last year's jalapeno peppers followed suit. But the other pepper seeds I got this season from a specialty supplier took their sweet time. Finally I saw a couple of leaves of a bell pepper variety supposed to be good for short northern growing seasons. Then a cayenne pepper cautiously peeked out of the soil, and then another with leaves of an interesting purple shade. But the four peat pots with seeds supposedly of the variety used to make Tabasco sauce are still stubbornly bare after four weeks. (Of course, that's the variety my husband wanted the most to grow. He is such a fan of Tabasco that he has several Tabasco ties; he even wore one for our wedding.)
Every morning I check the peat pots for signs of life. Now even the spinach I planted last week is quickly coming up. But no Tabasco peppers. I thought about the parable of the seed and the sower. But this is different. All these little plants got planted in the same kind of soil, and all of them are in the same physical location. They got lots of water and warmth and sun. They got turned every day so the seedlings wouldn't lean in one direction. And some are doing just fine. And some refuse to sprout.
Jesus didn't tell the parable like this. But I think there's a parable here about spiritual growth. We in the church can knock ourselves out trying to provide just the perfect spiritual climate for people to grow in their faith. We offer worship, music, art, study, prayer, fellowship groups, outreach opportunities, mission trips, everything we can think of to help nurture people in their faith in a way that has meaning for them. Some will find their niche right away and thrive. Some take a little longer, then something clicks and they get more involved. Some take a LOT longer, years and years, and you hope that someday, something somebody said or did will come back to them and have meaning for them. And some, well, nothing ever seems to happen in that little peat pot, and we never understand why.
So -- Jesus never told a parable about a bunch of seeds that all got the same good treatment but didn't all take root and thrive. But that's a parable, too.
In the meantime, the vegetable garden has been tilled and is waiting for the seedlings when the danger of frost is past. The sugar snap pea seeds got planted over the weekend. I'm hoping for another great gardening season this year.
And I've been watching some new Christians grow in their faith this winter. It's been neat. New seedlings.
Sunday, September 11, 2011
Ten years later
I offered prayers of remembrance in worship on the tenth anniversary of September 11, 2001.
Every person here today who is old enough to remember September 11, 2001, can tell you exactly what they were doing when they heard the news. It was an event that none of us will ever forget.
I was serving in my first parish, having been ordained earlier that year. The church treasurer, the chair of the finance committee, and I had scheduled a meeting that morning to begin work on the budget for the coming year. About eight a.m. Central time, the treasurer called me and said, "Turn on your television. Something has happened."
We had our meeting that day not at the church but across the street at the manse, where we could watch the unfolding story on television. Somehow we managed to come up with a preliminary budget for the coming year, even as we wondered if there would be a coming year.
In the days that followed, my own reaction was one of grief and horror. In that small Louisiana town where I was a pastor, people began leaving wreaths and bouquets of flowers at the door of the local fire station.
We had a prayer service at the church the following evening. That Sunday, I began my sermon with a question: "What do we tell the children?" And here's an excerpt of what I said that day, ten years ago:
For the Christian, in the end, it all comes back to faith. The God who created this world, the God who gave us life, is with us still. Our God is not a God who can be bombed out of existence by a terrorist.
God sent us his Son, Jesus the Messiah, that the world might be saved through him. Jesus lived among us, preaching a message of good news to the poor, while at the same time pointing out the shortcomings of those who lived only by the letter of the law and failed to fulfill its commands of caring for the poor, the widowed, and the orphaned. Jesus was seen as a threat to the authority of the religious leadership of his day, and they sought to do away with him. They succeeded. Or so they thought. But not even death could stop the power of God. In the face of the worst that evil could do, God triumphed. Jesus rose from the dead, and the world will never be the same again.
If you believe in the power of God to triumph over evil...
If you believe that Jesus through his resurrection has defeated death...
If you believe that all things are possible through the work of the Holy Spirit...
If your believe, in the words of the great hymn of Martin Luther,
"The body they may kill, God's truth abideth still, His Kingdom is forever"...
Then the worst any terrorist can do is still no match for God's power and might.
So much has happened in our world in the last ten years. But today, ten years later, we remember.
Let us pray.
Holy God, you are a God who remembers us. Through the risen Lord, Jesus Christ, whom you did not forget in the grave, and through the power of the Holy Spirit, we pray to you this day. Remember us, O Lord, as we remember those who died ten years ago today, on September 11, 2001.
2,977 victims, including:
246 people on the four planes:
40 aboard United Flight 93 that went down in Shanksville, PA.
87 aboard American Flight 11, the first plane to hit the World Trade Center.
60 aboard United Flight 175, the second plane to hit the World Trade Center.
59 aboard American Flight 77 that hit the Pentagon.
2,606 who died in New York City, in the Twin Towers and on the ground.
125 at the Pentagon, including 55 military personnel.
411 emergency workers who responded to the scene, including
342 firefighters, 10 paramedics, 223 New York City police officers, and 37 Port Authority officers.
And 236 citizens from 90 countries besides the United States.
Remember, O Lord, those who were there that day and survived. Be with them in the moments when the traumatic memories come back and threaten to overwhelm them. Be with the loved ones of those who died and those who survived.
[We remembered by name those known to members of the congregation who were there that day, those who died and those who survived.]
Lord God, remember us, even as we remember them. Be with us in our grief and confusion, even all these years later, as we face the reality of the depth of evil in our world. Comfort us, and remind us that you are still our God, and that we can trust in you.
The evil that thought it had triumphed one Friday afternoon on a hill outside Jerusalem was wrong. The evil that thought it had triumphed on September 11, 2001, was also wrong. Thank you, God, for your Son, Jesus Christ. Through him, death has been defeated. Thank you, God. Amen.
Every person here today who is old enough to remember September 11, 2001, can tell you exactly what they were doing when they heard the news. It was an event that none of us will ever forget.
I was serving in my first parish, having been ordained earlier that year. The church treasurer, the chair of the finance committee, and I had scheduled a meeting that morning to begin work on the budget for the coming year. About eight a.m. Central time, the treasurer called me and said, "Turn on your television. Something has happened."
We had our meeting that day not at the church but across the street at the manse, where we could watch the unfolding story on television. Somehow we managed to come up with a preliminary budget for the coming year, even as we wondered if there would be a coming year.
In the days that followed, my own reaction was one of grief and horror. In that small Louisiana town where I was a pastor, people began leaving wreaths and bouquets of flowers at the door of the local fire station.
We had a prayer service at the church the following evening. That Sunday, I began my sermon with a question: "What do we tell the children?" And here's an excerpt of what I said that day, ten years ago:
For the Christian, in the end, it all comes back to faith. The God who created this world, the God who gave us life, is with us still. Our God is not a God who can be bombed out of existence by a terrorist.
God sent us his Son, Jesus the Messiah, that the world might be saved through him. Jesus lived among us, preaching a message of good news to the poor, while at the same time pointing out the shortcomings of those who lived only by the letter of the law and failed to fulfill its commands of caring for the poor, the widowed, and the orphaned. Jesus was seen as a threat to the authority of the religious leadership of his day, and they sought to do away with him. They succeeded. Or so they thought. But not even death could stop the power of God. In the face of the worst that evil could do, God triumphed. Jesus rose from the dead, and the world will never be the same again.
If you believe in the power of God to triumph over evil...
If you believe that Jesus through his resurrection has defeated death...
If you believe that all things are possible through the work of the Holy Spirit...
If your believe, in the words of the great hymn of Martin Luther,
"The body they may kill, God's truth abideth still, His Kingdom is forever"...
Then the worst any terrorist can do is still no match for God's power and might.
So much has happened in our world in the last ten years. But today, ten years later, we remember.
Let us pray.
Holy God, you are a God who remembers us. Through the risen Lord, Jesus Christ, whom you did not forget in the grave, and through the power of the Holy Spirit, we pray to you this day. Remember us, O Lord, as we remember those who died ten years ago today, on September 11, 2001.
2,977 victims, including:
246 people on the four planes:
40 aboard United Flight 93 that went down in Shanksville, PA.
87 aboard American Flight 11, the first plane to hit the World Trade Center.
60 aboard United Flight 175, the second plane to hit the World Trade Center.
59 aboard American Flight 77 that hit the Pentagon.
2,606 who died in New York City, in the Twin Towers and on the ground.
125 at the Pentagon, including 55 military personnel.
411 emergency workers who responded to the scene, including
342 firefighters, 10 paramedics, 223 New York City police officers, and 37 Port Authority officers.
And 236 citizens from 90 countries besides the United States.
Remember, O Lord, those who were there that day and survived. Be with them in the moments when the traumatic memories come back and threaten to overwhelm them. Be with the loved ones of those who died and those who survived.
[We remembered by name those known to members of the congregation who were there that day, those who died and those who survived.]
Lord God, remember us, even as we remember them. Be with us in our grief and confusion, even all these years later, as we face the reality of the depth of evil in our world. Comfort us, and remind us that you are still our God, and that we can trust in you.
The evil that thought it had triumphed one Friday afternoon on a hill outside Jerusalem was wrong. The evil that thought it had triumphed on September 11, 2001, was also wrong. Thank you, God, for your Son, Jesus Christ. Through him, death has been defeated. Thank you, God. Amen.
Monday, September 5, 2011
Back to Syracuse University
Newhouse School of Public Communications in foreground; Crouse College in background.
Newhouse I, where I studied magazine journalismTook a quick trip to Syracuse this past weekend. It was my first trip back in 18 years, since the 1993 reunion. Went to the opening football game in the Carrier Dome, Syracuse vs. Wake Forest. Syracuse won in overtime.
It was quite an experience to see the campus again. A lot of the old Victorian houses have been torn down and there are sleek modern buildings in their place. Still a lot of beautiful old campus buildings, though. The Newhouse School of Public Communications (where I went to school) now is completed, with the third building of the complex opening in 2007. You can still major in magazines, but they have a lot of new majors like online journalism. Some of the students' work was displayed on the walls -- web page designs, storyboards for TV ads, magazine layouts. The future of journalism is in good hands with this new generation. Classes had been in session for five days, and late on a Friday afternoon of a holiday weekend, students were working in the news lab on giant Macintosh screens (you could see them from a glass window one story up) and huddled in meetings around their laptops working on group projects. The professors have them hitting the ground running, just like when I was a student there.
Over in Crouse College, the gorgeous red stone Victorian building with the stained glass windows, which looks like it belongs on a seminary campus or at Harry Potter's Hogwart's, the music students were practicing. Also hard at work on a Friday afternoon! I am sure some of the student body was down on Marshall Street lifting a few in the local bars, oops, you have to be 21 to do that now...anyway, some of the students were hard at work and no doubt some of them were hard at partying! College life.
A few trees were starting to turn in the Adirondacks on the way down to Syracuse. Fall will be here soon. With the amount of rain we've had this summer, I'm hoping the leaves will be gorgeous.
Sweetie the cat (18 pounds plus) is in my lap as I write. He sends his regards :-)
Wednesday, July 20, 2011
There once was a church...
We were traveling last weekend and stopped for the night at a hotel. Not knowing the area, we asked the desk staff where to find something to eat and were directed to a restaurant nearby. After checking out their website (doesn't everyone?) to see their menu, we went over there and had a very good meal.
It was one of those funky themed restaurants that caters to the young and hip. There was a bar in the center of the restaurant with tables and booths around the perimeter. It was a Friday night and the place was filling up fast, so we were seated upstairs, where from our booth we could look down at the bar and the decor. The restaurant theme was a woman aviator (aviatrix?) from the 1930s era: goggles and scarf and leather jacket. A plane of that time period (don't ask me what kind) was suspended from the ceiling and hung over the bar at a crazy angle, with the daring woman aviator seated in the cockpit.
Yeah, yeah, yeah. The summer menu featured lobster and it was quite good. We were more interested in the food than the decor. But sometime around the time my stomach was more full than the plate, I happened to focus on the rows of booths around us and noticed...they were pews. Real church pews. Oak, with the trinitarian three-lobed carvings on the ends. The numbered brass plates were still on the sides. Over toward the bar I saw a carved railing, mahogany, with the same three-lobed design: an altar rail, perhaps?
I took a closer look at the pew I was sitting in. Yes, it was the real thing, with old deep scratches in the wood. When the waiter came with the check, I asked him about the pews. Not surprisingly, he had no idea where they came from. The restaurant was quite busy by now, so I didn't bother trying to find the manager to ask for more information. But on the way out I noticed a round stained glass window on one wall. It had an inscription that it had been given in memory of someone. So it was real, too.
The aviatrix and the plane were fun, funky stuff. But why the salvaged pews, altar rail, and stained glass from a church? I hope some decorator didn't think that was old funky stuff too, that fit in with the decor because it was part of that era.
I thought of the people who had sat in those pews and prayed. Generations, probably. They had worshiped in those seats, sung hymns, sat through sermons (good and bad). They had attended weddings, baptisms, funerals in those pews. I wondered where the church had been and when it had closed, and how many people had been left at the end. (The possibility that it might have been torn down to build a bigger sanctuary, particularly in the Northeast, is slim to none.)
I suppose I can be a little bit glad that some parts of that sanctuary (and by extension, the people who worshiped there) have a new life, a new home, even in a restaurant. It is sad that it's hard to find someone who remembers who they were and what they did.
Will this new generation of young people remember going to church as a quaint old custom that their grandparents found important? Or will they have their own ways of worship? Plush theater seats in stadium-like auditoriums seating thousands? Alone at home (or in a coffee shop, an airport, anywhere) with a laptop/tablet/smartphone and an online "virtual church"?
I do think there will be a church in the future. But it may not be anything I recognize.
There is a huge discussion going on among mainline church leaders about the future of the church: whether there will be a future at all, and if so, what it will be like. But that subject would make a longer blog than I have time to write today. That would be a book. Or a series of books.
Psalm 90:
Lord, you have been our dwelling place in all generations.
Before the mountains were brought forth,
or ever you had formed the earth and the world,
from everlasting to everlasting, you are God.
It was one of those funky themed restaurants that caters to the young and hip. There was a bar in the center of the restaurant with tables and booths around the perimeter. It was a Friday night and the place was filling up fast, so we were seated upstairs, where from our booth we could look down at the bar and the decor. The restaurant theme was a woman aviator (aviatrix?) from the 1930s era: goggles and scarf and leather jacket. A plane of that time period (don't ask me what kind) was suspended from the ceiling and hung over the bar at a crazy angle, with the daring woman aviator seated in the cockpit.
Yeah, yeah, yeah. The summer menu featured lobster and it was quite good. We were more interested in the food than the decor. But sometime around the time my stomach was more full than the plate, I happened to focus on the rows of booths around us and noticed...they were pews. Real church pews. Oak, with the trinitarian three-lobed carvings on the ends. The numbered brass plates were still on the sides. Over toward the bar I saw a carved railing, mahogany, with the same three-lobed design: an altar rail, perhaps?
I took a closer look at the pew I was sitting in. Yes, it was the real thing, with old deep scratches in the wood. When the waiter came with the check, I asked him about the pews. Not surprisingly, he had no idea where they came from. The restaurant was quite busy by now, so I didn't bother trying to find the manager to ask for more information. But on the way out I noticed a round stained glass window on one wall. It had an inscription that it had been given in memory of someone. So it was real, too.
The aviatrix and the plane were fun, funky stuff. But why the salvaged pews, altar rail, and stained glass from a church? I hope some decorator didn't think that was old funky stuff too, that fit in with the decor because it was part of that era.
I thought of the people who had sat in those pews and prayed. Generations, probably. They had worshiped in those seats, sung hymns, sat through sermons (good and bad). They had attended weddings, baptisms, funerals in those pews. I wondered where the church had been and when it had closed, and how many people had been left at the end. (The possibility that it might have been torn down to build a bigger sanctuary, particularly in the Northeast, is slim to none.)
I suppose I can be a little bit glad that some parts of that sanctuary (and by extension, the people who worshiped there) have a new life, a new home, even in a restaurant. It is sad that it's hard to find someone who remembers who they were and what they did.
Will this new generation of young people remember going to church as a quaint old custom that their grandparents found important? Or will they have their own ways of worship? Plush theater seats in stadium-like auditoriums seating thousands? Alone at home (or in a coffee shop, an airport, anywhere) with a laptop/tablet/smartphone and an online "virtual church"?
I do think there will be a church in the future. But it may not be anything I recognize.
There is a huge discussion going on among mainline church leaders about the future of the church: whether there will be a future at all, and if so, what it will be like. But that subject would make a longer blog than I have time to write today. That would be a book. Or a series of books.
Psalm 90:
Lord, you have been our dwelling place in all generations.
Before the mountains were brought forth,
or ever you had formed the earth and the world,
from everlasting to everlasting, you are God.
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