Somewhere in the World

September 27, 2011

Dear St. Paul’s Family,

Stop me if you heard this one:  a Jewish rabbi, a Methodist minister, and a Missouri Synod Lutheran walk into a classroom….

Nope, it’s not a joke, but the setting for one of my favorite highlights of every fall. Under the invitation of Dr. Bruce Forbes, professor of religion at Morningside College, I participated in a panel discussion last week for his Science and Religion class.  On my left was Rabbi Guy Green, of the Congregation Beth Shalom.  On my right was Dr. Sharon Ocker, a retired professor of Education and lay member of the St. Paul’s Lutheran church.  And there I was, in the middle, both physically and ideologically, between a reformed Jewish mystic and a conservative, seven-day-creation literalist.

The students aptly identified our different perspectives on the relationship between faith and science, leading one woman in particular to ask what was, to me, the most poignant question of the night.

“I’ve listened to your positions,” she said, “and I’m wondering why there have to be such differences in what you believe.  It seems to me that Christians and Jews, conservatives and liberals, have so much more in common than different.  Why is there so much division among people of faith?”

My first response was to agree with her.  Yes, I affirmed.  Western religions all essentially come from the same family tree, as monotheistic descendants of Abraham that hold many of the same scriptures as sacred. And certainly within Christian denominations, it should not be unreasonable to expect more unity and less fractious debate.  Despite our denominational differences, we are one church, under one Lord, with one mission, even though our behavior and our rhetoric sometimes suggest otherwise.

I noted her nod of approval and even detected some relief, which she later admitted came from some difficult talks she has had with her somewhat dogmatic grandmother.  I was quite ready at that point to stop talking, allowing the other two presenters to have their say, when I blurted out an epilogue.

“But…” I said. “But, now that I think about it, I should say that it’s okay to have our differences, too.”

I explained that because religious convictions are so deeply personal, expressions of faith cannot help but be  influenced by one’s culture, geography, and ethnicity.  It would be difficult, even improper, to expect people around the world to worship and believe in God in exactly the same way.  And while we  may hold many of the same central doctrinal tenets, our nuanced positions can just as easily be a reflection of a God who is personally revealed to us in a variety of ways.

WORLD COMMUNION SUNDAY

This reminder comes on the threshold of yet another World Communion Sunday, when we observe our shared connection with Christians all around the globe.  We’ll gather around the communion table to celebrate our unity in Christ with people near and far, whom we will likely never meet. But we will also celebrate the wonderful differences throughout the church that make us the rich, textured tapestry that we are:

Think about it. This Sunday, as we gather to worship in the way we have become comfortably accustomed, people will be glorifying that same Jesus Christ in ways utterly unfamiliar to us:

Somewhere in Greece, an orthodox priest will walk down the aisle of the sanctuary swinging a censer, carrying burning, aromatic incense.  Its billowing waft will remind people that their prayers are being lfited up to heaven.

Somewhere in Siberia, a group of Sakha Christians will sing an olonkho, a heroic epic poem set to music that recounts the wondrous stories of the first three chapters of Genesis.

Somewhere in the Burgundy region of France, the Taize community will gather to sing the songs that have garnered them international intention:  simple melodic chants based on Scripture, and sung in canon.

Somewhere in Moscow, worshippers in a Russian Orthodox Church will sit in a sanctuary filled with beautiful icons, pictures that portray saints and sacred stories, drawing people into a focused celebration of the faith.

Somewhere in India, Christians will sing a bhajan, a beautiful devotional song repeated like a haunting, lyrical mantra.

And somewhere in Togo in western Africa, Christians celebrate the New Testament in a formation similar to country line dancing.   With their hips and torsos shaking in perfect synchronism, they worship God with passion and energy.

It is great to know that just as our common creeds unite us together, our rich differences speak of a God of wonderful variety.  World Communion Sunday is a vivid reminder of John’s vision recorded in Revelation 7:9-10: After this I looked, and there was a great multitude that no one could count, from every nation, from all tribes and peoples and languages, standing before the throne and before the Lamb, robed in white, with palm branches in their hands. They cried out in a loud voice, saying, ‘Salvation belongs to our God who is seated on the throne, and to the Lamb!’

So join us this Sunday, and let’s celebrate being part of that great multitude!

Grace and Peace,

Magrey

The Rev. Magrey R. deVega
St. Paul's United Methodist Church
531 W. Main St.
Cherokee, IA  51012
Ph:  712-225-3955
Email:  mdevega@sp-umc.org


NEW E-MAIL ADDRESSES
Once again, please note the new e-mail contacts for the church office:
Magrey’s email is mdevega@sp-umc.
Administrative Assistant Andrea Cook’s new e-mail is acook@sp-umc.org.
And the new address for the church inbox is church@sp-umc.org.
These changes took place effective last Wednesday, and the old addresses are no longer active.

PORK FEED THANK-YOU
Thanks to all of you who helped make last Sunday’s pork feed another great success.  The Parkers once again provided some delicious grilled pork tenderloins, and the Adult Class and Finance Committee did a wonderful job setting up and serving.  Thanks to all of you who provided salads, as we were able to raise close to $1,000 for the Building Renovation Fund.  Thanks!

Joy from the Balcony Seats

September 20, 2011

Dear St. Paul’s Family,

Rarely did a week go by during my childhood that I didn’t catch the latest episode of Siskel & Ebert’s At the Movies. The thirty-minute program featured critiques of the latest films by Gene Siskel, movie critic of the Chicago Tribune, and Roger Ebert, of the Chicago Sun-Times. If you ever watched their show, you know the entertainment value of their program was not just in hearing their thoughts on Hollywood’s latest offerings. Like hockey fans who enjoy the brawls and NASCAR spectators who love the crashes, I looked forward to the spirited, often heated debates between these two men who transformed the way we watched and evaluated movies.

When Gene Siskel died of complications from a brain tumor in 1999, the show went on hiatus, and, despite efforts to revive it with other critics, it was never the same. Recently, Roger Ebert has endured multiple cancerous attacks to his thyroid, salivary gland, and lower jaw, and the ensuing surgeries have left him facially disfigured and unable to talk.


“WE MUST TRY TO CONTRIBUTE JOY TO THE WORLD”

Recently, Ebert released his memoir Life Itself, which I promptly picked up on Friday and have been unable to put down. Though his speaking ability has vanished, his mastery of the language has not. He continues to write a column for the Tribune, and commands a growing audience for his online blog. His memoir is partly a collection of his blog entries, in which he remembers the first movie he ever watched, the Marx Brothers’ A Day at the Races (“I had to stand to see the screen. I’d never heard Daddy laugh more loudly.”) as well as his first job as a high school sports reporter for the Urbana News-Gazette (“To be hired as a real writer at a real newspaper was such good fortune that I could scarcely sleep.”). He recounts one of his three interviews with the legendary John Wayne (“He sounded the way he looked. He was a small-town Iowa boy, a college football player. He wasn’t a sex symbol. He didn’t perform, he embodied.”) and his memories of Gene Siskel (“He’s in my mind almost every day. He became less like a friend than like a brother.”)

Though he is currently free of terminal illness, his life has changed forever. This lifelong logophile and master of words is now unable to speak a single one of them. A man who became a television fixture in many homes is now virtually unrecognizable from his illness. Yet, the true beauty of his memoir is in the way it captures the amazing spirit with which Ebert continues to live out his days. In “Go Gently,” one of the final chapters of his book, he reflects on his own mortality and acknowledges that he has fewer years ahead of him than behind. Still, he chooses to live with an indomitable courage, an undaunted optimism, and an unfailing joy:

I believe that if, at the end of it all, according to our abilities, we have done something to make others a little happier, and something to make ourselves a little happier, that is about the best we can do. To make others less happy is a crime. To make ourselves unhappy is where all crime starts. We must try to contribute joy to the world. That is true no matter what our problems, our health, our circumstances. We must try. I didn't always know this, and am happy I lived long enough to find it out.


“JOY IN FAITH”

I can’t think of a better quote to use as an entry point into this Sunday’s worship service, as Ebert’s story has a pitch-perfect connection to our sermon series on Philippians. Paul, in a jail cell and facing what he very well knew could be his final days, managed to write a letter of unshakable joy. Though his message predates Ebert’s by more than 2,000 years, they jointly attest to the possibilities of unbridled enthusiasm and unwavering courage in the face of hardship:

For to me, living is Christ and dying is gain. If I am to live in the flesh, that means fruitful labour for me; and I do not know which I prefer. I am hard pressed between the two: my desire is to depart and be with Christ, for that is far better; but to remain in the flesh is more necessary for you. Since I am convinced of this, I know that I will remain and continue with all of you for your progress and joy in faith, so that I may share abundantly in your boasting in Christ Jesus when I come to you again. (1:23-26)

This Sunday, we’ll take a closer look at the conscious decision you and I can make to choose joy over our adversities. We will hear more about the life and witness of the Apostle Paul, and see how his unyielding commitment to the gospel gave him opportunities to minister even to the guards in his prison cell. I’ll share with you another story from my travels to the Philippines, about my mother’s cousin, Boy Rojas, and his ability to choose joy despite his circumstances.


“ATTRACTION, NOT PROMOTION”

One of last chapters in Ebert’s memoir is titled, “How I Believe in God,” in which he talks about his views on faith, Christianity, the church, and how his spiritual life has changed over time since his Catholic upbringing. Among his thoughts:

I prefer vertical prayer, directed up toward heaven, rather than horizontal prayer, directed sideways toward me. I believe a worthy church must grow through attraction, not promotion. I am wary of zealotry; even as a child I was suspicious of those who, as I often heard, were “more Catholic than the pope.” If we are to love our neighbors as ourselves, we must regard their beliefs with the same respect our own deserve.

It is in that same spirit, of becoming a church of “attraction” and not of “promotion,” that I invite us to come together in joy and be a witness for a world hurting and in need. Join us this Sunday and invite a friend, as we continue to journey through Paul’s remarkable letter to Philippi, and feel your soul uplifted for the living of your days.

Grace, Peace, and Joy!

Magrey

The Rev. Magrey R. deVega
St. Paul's United Methodist Church
531 W. Main St.
Cherokee, IA 51012
Ph: 712-225-3955
E-mail: mdevega@cherokeespumc.org
http://www.cherokeespumc.org




PORK FEED!
Yes, it’s that time of year again! Join us after church on Sunday, September 25, for our annual Pork Feed, featuring the delicious flavor-injected pork tenderloins from the Parker family. You are invited to bring salads to share, and desserts and beverages will be provided. A free will donation will be accepted, and all of the proceeds will support our building renovation fund.

DISTRICT TRAINING EVENT
Prospective small group leaders are encouraged to attend a training workshop on Small Group Ministry, either on September 23 at Wesley UMC in Sioux City or September 24 at Alta UMC. Registration is $5, and the schedule goes from 9:00 to 4:00pm. Lunch is provided. The event is led by a staff member of Ginghamsburg UMC in Ohio, one of the largest Methodist churches in the country.


To view past editions of the Mid-Week Message, visit http://mdevega.blogspot.com
For more information about St. Paul's United Methodist Church, visit our website at http://www.cherokeespumc.org
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A Life of True Joy

September 13, 2011

Dear St. Paul’s Family,

You don’t need to be a movie connoisseur to know that computer technology has dramatically changed the movie industry in the last twenty-five years. Gone are the cheesy plastic models and claymation figures, replaced instead with stunning computer generated imagery (CGI) that blurs the line between the real and the manufactured. Even animated films have veered away from traditional hand drawings and moved toward eye-popping scenes that look stunningly realistic. I’ll never forget watching Toy Story, Pixar Animation Studios’ first big blockbuster hit in 1995: when I wasn’t laughing at the jokes or enjoying the characters, I was scooping my jaw off the ground at the breathtaking animation.

CAPTURING THE FACE

But even as amazing as CGI can be, it has its limitations. It’s one thing to make cartoon toys look real, but industry experts would say that there is still one thing that computers cannot render realistically: the human face. Try as they might, computer animators have yet to draw a fully expressive, natural looking face. It remains the elusive holy grail of the animation world.

There are a number of reasons for this difficulty. For one thing, it is virtually impossible, even for the most powerful computers and most creative designers, to accurately capture the seamless interplay of the forty-four muscles used by a person to control one’s facial features. Those muscles are capable of creating some 5,000 different expressions, all in fluid, real time. That’s why the human faces in even some of the most stunning animated films still look more plasticized than personalized.

But human expressions are even deeper than muscles and skin. Emotions are not just described by how they are expressed on the surface; they are defined by one’s innermost feelings, responses, and convictions. The human face is beautifully complex, not because of the emotions it can express, but because of the deeply set feelings it can emit. And there’s no computer in the world that can accurately render that.

The great twentieth century French philosopher Jean-Paul Sartre took these considerations one step further. He said that a person’s face is not only an accurate reflection of one’s innermost feelings. It can also be, at its best, a reflection of the transcendent. In his essay “The Face,” Sartre wrote,

"If I watch his eyes, I see that they are not fastened in his head, serene like agate marbles. They are being created at each moment by what they look at….If we call transcendence the ability of the mind to pass beyond itself and all other things as well, to escape from itself that it may lose itself elsewhere; then to be a visible transcendence is the meaning of a face."

No wonder the human face has been the holy grail of the CGI industry. There are some expressions that simply cannot be manufactured.


A LIFE OF TRUE JOY

The Apostle Paul may have known this when writing to the church in Philippi about the spiritual attribute of joy. Throughout the four brief chapters that constitute the book of Philippians, Paul describes nearly every dimension of a Christian’s joyful life, separating joy from mere happiness, and encouraging people to live a life that leads to contentment, confidence, and courage. Many have called Philippians the most joyful book in the Bible, and as we use it as our guide over the next two months, you’ll discover for yourself the secrets to the elusive, “holy grail” kind of life that you have been craving. Paul’s lessons on joy will bring to you what no computer animator could ever create: a life of true joy.

And do you want to know the most amazing part of Paul’s writing? He wrote this whole letter – this entire treatise on true joy – from the confines of a dark, dank prison cell. How about that? He was able to describe joy in the most miserable setting imaginable. And right out of the gate, at the outset of the letter, Paul wrote with a gratitude utterly contradictory to his surroundings:

I thank my God every time I remember you, constantly praying with joy in every one of my prayers for all of you, because of your sharing in the gospel from the first day until now. I am confident of this, that the one who began a good work among you will bring it to completion by the day of Jesus Christ.

Just as Sartre declared that the transcendent can be visible on our faces, Paul proclaimed that Christ is at work in our lives, sanctifying us as individuals and drawing us together in community. And nothing – not even the traumas that befall us on the outside – can prevent Christ’s work from being completed. That’s good news!

That’s the subject of this Sunday’s sermon, the first in our new series, simply titled, “Joy! A Journey through the Bible’s Most Joyful Book.” We’ll begin with a sermon titled, “Why is This Man Smiling?” based on Philippians 1:1-11. I would invite you to prepare for worship by simply reading the four short chapters of Philippians for yourself, and experience the whole of this book’s message for yourself. It is filled with some of the most often memorized and quoted passages in the Bible, and it has the power to show you the kind of joyful life you’ve always wanted to live.

JOY!

A Journey Through the Bible’s Most Joyful Book

“Why is This Man Smiling?”
Philippians 1:1-11
September 18, 2011

“The Choice to Rejoice”
Philippians 1:12-30
September 25, 2011

“Rooted, Grounded, United”
Philippians 2:1-30
(World Communion Sunday)
October 2, 2011

“One Worth Knowing”
Philippians 3:1-11
October 9, 2011

“Soaring in Solidarity”
Philippians 3:12-21
October 16, 2011

Children’s Sabbath
October 23, 2011

“Living a Life of Joy”
Philippians 4:1-23
October 30, 2011

Certainly, this would be a great series for you to invite a friend or family member to experience with you. You and I both know people for whom joy – real, deep, biblical joy – is an elusive gift. Let’s experience that blessing together, and share it with others.

See you Sunday!

Grace, Peace…and Joy!

Magrey

The Rev. Magrey R. deVega
St. Paul's United Methodist Church
531 W. Main St.
Cherokee, IA 51012
Ph: 712-225-3955

Email: mdevega@cherokeespumc.org
http://www.cherokeespumc.org



PORK FEED!
Yes, it’s that time of year again! Join us after church on Sunday, September 25, for our annual Pork Feed, featuring the delicious flavor-injected pork tenderloins from the Parker family. You are invited to bring side dishes and salads to share, and desserts and beverages will be provided. A free will donation will be accepted, and all of the proceeds will support our building renovation fund.

THIRD-GRADE BIBLES THIS SUNDAY
Join us this Sunday as we celebrate a milestone in the lives of our third-graders. They will receiving their very own Bibles from the church, as a gift from the congregation and as a sign of our support of their continued spiritual maturity. They will also receive a beautiful, handmade, tatted cross bookmark made by Ellen Henderson.

YOUTH KICK-OFF EVENT
Attention, all youth, grades 7-12! We are going to be kicking off a great new year of youth activities with an event after church, September 18. You and your families are encouraged to join us for a time of free food and fun games. We’re looking to have badminton and ping-pong tournaments, and lots of pizza. You’ll also get a copy of the Fall youth schedule and learn about the two new weekly small groups we are offering this fall: one for mid-high and one for senior high! Don’t miss out on the fun!

DISTRICT TRAINING EVENT
Prospective small group leaders are encouraged to attend a training workshop on Small Group Ministry, either on September 23 at Wesley UMC in Sioux City or September 24 at Alta UMC. Registration is $5, and the schedule goes from 9:00 to 4:00pm. Lunch is provided. The event is led by a staff member of Ginghamsburg UMC in Ohio, one of the largest Methodist churches in the country.

Remembering 9/11

September 6, 2011

Dear St. Paul’s Family,

Do you remember where you were on Monday, September 10, 2001?

No? Me neither. In fact, most of that day was largely forgettable; just another day in the office. The news headlines at the time were also fairly unremarkable: Time magazine had done yet another story about disgraced senator Gary Condit and the mysterious disappearance of Chandra Levy. Michael Jackson had just rung the bell to open up a day of trading on Wall Street. And famed motorist Rodney King was pulled over and charged with drug possession.

Just another typical day in America.


A DAY TO REMEMBER

But then came Tuesday. I suppose it would take very little to jog your memory about where you were and what you were doing that morning. I was dropping my then 6-month old daughter Grace off at her daycare when her caregiver stopped me at the door to ask if I had heard the news. We gathered with other preschool workers around a grainy, black and white television to watch the unfolding saga.

I rushed off to the office and assembled with the rest of the church staff, spending a large part of the morning with them in the chapel in prayer. News updates trickled in as we gathered: a collision in the Pentagon, a crash in Pennsylvania. Like all of you, we felt stunned, heartsick, and numb.

Later that evening, we held a prayer service for the congregation and the community, and the chapel was filled with watery-eyed, shell-shocked people, who attempted to express the unutterable anguish they were feeling. Some prayed tearfully for the victims and their families, particularly those who were still missing. Others prayed for the volunteers and officials on the scene. A few confessed their own anger, searching for ways to stem their instincts for revenge. Someone even prayed for the Muslims in our city, that they would not be subject to unfair prejudice. The tears flowed freely that night.


JESUS CRIED TWICE

The task of preaching that first Sunday after 9/11 was a formidable one. I remember standing before a congregation in the chapel preaching on two texts: John 11:28-37 (the death of Lazarus) and Luke 19:41-44 (Jesus outside Jerusalem). The connection between the two texts was eminently clear: these are two of the only times in the gospels where Jesus is recorded as weeping. But the connection between those texts and the emotional burdens of 9/11 were even more profound.

When reflecting on Jesus’ tears upon hearing of the unexpected death of his dear friend Lazarus, I said the following:

It is appropriate to cry. Jesus’ weeping over the death of Lazarus suggests to us that weeping over the death of any part of God’s creation is itself a divine action. We need not suppress the tears, we need not cover up our deep feelings of anger, bitterness, confusion, or grief. To be emotionally open in the midst of suffering does not mean a lack of faith in God; indeed, crying with grief is a reflection of the Divine. God weeps even today, and so may we.

Jesus’ tears were real and raw, much like the grief shared by the congregation that day. But in John, we see Jesus crying for a very different reason. Rather than grieving the loss of innocent life, Jesus stood on the outskirts of a city in chaos, bemoaning their demise, and longing for the people to follow the path that leads to peace: As he came near and saw the city, he wept over it, saying, "If you, even you, had only recognized on this day the things that make for peace! But now they are hidden from your eyes. (Luke 19:41-42)

And so, in that same sermon, I offered these words:

God weeps today because we do not live in a place remotely close to the kind of place God is working to create. This world does not exist according to the kingdom values of peace, equality, justice, compassion, and love. The countries of this world have busied themselves with building up their self-aggrandizing, political, economic, and military machines. Without a hint of cooperation or compassion between them, nations have risen against nation, becoming guilty of that very thing which Jesus wept over outside Jerusalem: “If you, even you, had only recognized on this day the things that make for peace! But now they are hidden from your eyes.”

If Jesus’ tears in John were born of grief, the tears in Luke were forged from a deep desire for justice and peace. And in the immediate aftermath of 9/11, God shared both kinds of tears for both of those reasons. The people of faith came together to hear words that both comfort and challenge, from a God who both empathizes with our deepest anguish and calls us to a higher hope.

And now, as we gather ten years later, both kinds of tears are appropriate once again.


THIS SUNDAY: REMEMBRANCE AND RECOMMITMENT

Much has certainly changed in the past ten years. The raw anguish has largely abated, and our news headlines today are more about economics, politics, and celebrity tabloids rather than our wars in Iraq and Afghanistan. And as much as we shared the same feelings after 9/11, we are now a country quite polarized along multiple ideological fault lines. There will be those on this tenth anniversary who will want to criticize our country for its past and present decisions. There will be those on the other hand who will want to “wrap the cross with the flag” under the jingoistic notion of civil religion. And there are many, many people on the spectrum in between.

It is therefore quite appropriate that the tenth anniversary of 9/11 falls on a Sunday, and critically important for us to do what we did ten years ago: gather together. For though there now may be differences of opinion throughout the country on how to respond to 9/11, the church must do what it always does: come together, hear the biblical accounts of God’s activity throughout history, and remember our calling as God’s people to promote justice and work for peace in a hurting world.

This Sunday, we will turn to the book of Nehemiah, and hear the story of how the Israelites returned to the site of abject tragedy – the destruction of their beloved Temple by a foreign empire seventy years prior – and began the work of rebuilding both their lives and their sense of community. The contemporary connections to this passage are quite clear, and we will ask the question, “What have we learned since 9/11?” We’ll hear some valuable lessons from the great reformer Ezra, who led the Israelites to a sincere recommitment to God. It is a text that I believe has a profound message for us on this special anniversary.

Finally, on a personal note, let me tell you how much I am looking forward to rejoining you after an immensely rewarding, life-altering renewal period. Over the weeks and months to come, I’ll steadily share with you how the experience abroad will shape my life and our ministry together. In the meantime, I am deeply grateful for your support, prayers, and your warm welcomes as we return to St. Paul’s and the good people of Cherokee. (And, may I add, it feels great to be back in the rhythm of writing these Mid-Week Messages to you!)

Now, more than ever, it is good to be the church. Let’s gather together in solemn remembrance, and work together for peace.

Grace and Peace,

Magrey

The Rev. Magrey R. deVega
St. Paul's United Methodist Church
531 W. Main St.
Cherokee, IA 51012
Ph: 712-225-3955

email: mdevega@cherokeespumc.org
http://www.cherokeespumc.org

Look What I Can Do! (And You Can, Too!)

August 4, 2011

Dear St. Paul’s Family,

And how is it that we hear, each of us, in our own native language? (Acts 2:8)

Among my many epiphanies during our recent trip to the Philippines was the discovery of my latent ability to speak fluent Tagalog, the primary language of the Filipino people. The setting was mundane enough: a trip to the palengke, or marketplace, in Calapan City, where my mother and her family would sell fresh fish and other goods every day. Walking past numerous piles of exotic seafood, a handful of large, bright pink, doe-eyed fish sold by a little Filipino woman caught my attention.

Without pause, my curiosity seized my tongue, and I blurted out to her, in near pitch-perfect Tagalog: “Anong isda ito?” (“What is this fish?”)

I was so shocked that she understood what I was asking that I didn’t really hear her answer to my question. I was more surprised to realize the synaptic speed with which my brain translated my thoughts into the language of my ancestors.

I’m sure that ability has always been there since childhood. For years, my parents would speak Tagalog to me, but I would always respond to them in English, the language of my formal American schooling. It became a seamless, albeit complicated, conversational stream: my ears would receive their Tagalog words, my brain would process the meaning and formulate its English equivalents, and my mouth would respond.

My parents never really expected or required me to speak back to them in Tagalog, which made my recent discovery that much more surprising. My wife, who has known me for nearly twenty years, has never heard me speak conversational Tagalog. My girls, who have only known me for my English vocabulary, wondered who it was who had seized ventriloquist control of their dad’s mouth and started speaking in his stead.

But there was something deeper happening here, far beyond my ability to speak to a woman in a fish market. As I heard the collective hum of the Filipino people speaking in their native tongue, I could hear the voices of my ancestors, and could even sense the reverberant echoes of a deeply hidden part of myself. It became a pretty profound awakening, and I invented a phrase to capture what I was feeling:

My DNA was tingling.

Psychologists might suggest that what I’ve really been experiencing is part of a whole journey toward individuation: the process whereby one discovers one’s hidden, essential self in order to become a more integrated whole. It’s a recurring element throughout pop culture: Luke Skywalker finds out he’s a Jedi, Harry Potter realizes he can speak parsel tongue, Clark Kent discovers he can fly.

Author and screenwriter Michael Chabon, after writing the critically acclaimed Wonder Boys, once opened a sealed, dusty box of comic books he had been carrying around for fifteen years. “I found one remaining box of comics which I had saved,” Chabon said to an interviewer. “When I opened it up and that smell came pouring out, that old paper smell, I was struck by a rush of memories, a sense of my childhood self that seemed to be contained in there.” [1] Finding out I can speak Tagalog is no superpower, of course, but it certainly felt like Chabon’s comic books. The “rush of memories,” the rediscovery of childhood, and the re-acquaintance with my authentic self, all felt like how Sarah Ban Breathnach described it: “The authentic self is the soul made visible.”

Naturally, the preacher in me wants to recast my discovery in theological terms, viewing my experience as a kind of salvation metaphor for the redemptive process that ultimately reconnects us to God. Genesis reminds us that we’ve all been created with the same “essential self,” the image of God within us. We have been given that imago Dei with the potential to reflect the character and activity of a God who desires to be in full relationship with us. And that image enables us to speak a powerful language, whether we know it or not. It is the language of love: full, divine, healing love.

But you know the story goes. Rather than fully reflecting that love, the pervasive forces of a sinful world have corrupted our ability to speak that language, rendering us vulnerable prey to the kind of idolatrous, self-serving propensities that prompt the worst of our potential. Instead of living out the image of God, we live, as Augustine said, with the “heart turned inward upon itself.”

This diagnosis of the human condition became the basis for John Wesley’s understanding of the movement of God’s grace. From the moment we enter the world, God’s grace steadily and subtly makes us aware of the imago Dei within us, calling us to a new kind of life, and a revelation of who we were originally created to be. And just like the people of Pentecost, who were empowered by the Spirit suddenly to speak in their own native language, God’s grace enables us to articulate and embody a vocabulary that we have always had but never fully expressed: the language of God’s love, “shed abroad in human hearts.” Here’s the way Wesley described that transformation, in his famous sermon, “The New Birth:”

It is that great change which God works in the soul when he brings it into life; when he raises it from the death of sin to the life of righteousness. It is the change wrought in the whole soul by the almighty Spirit of God when it is "created anew in Christ Jesus;" when it is "renewed after the image of God, in righteousness and true holiness;" when the love of the world is changed into the love of God; pride into humility; passion into meekness; hatred, envy, malice, into a sincere, tender, disinterested love for all mankind. In a word, it is that change whereby the earthly, sensual, devilish mind is turned into the "mind which was in Christ Jesus." This is the nature of the new birth: "So is every one that is born of the Spirit."

Of course, my experience in speaking Tagalog in the palengke isn’t a perfect metaphor for grace. In no way do I consider the suppression of my Filipino heritage to be like the sinful corruption of our divine image. Being born in the United States and mastering the English language has been among the richest blessings of my life. But I do think there is no way I could have gotten in touch with my essential ethnic identity if I hadn’t left this country for ten days and been fully immersed among the Filipino people. Without seeing their faces, being surrounded by their voices, and hearing their language, I would not have discovered this part of me.

And that’s why, like John Wesley, I believe that the process of salvation is fundamentally communal in nature. There is no effective way for a person to be a growing, maturing Christian outside the context of Christian community, without the regular encouragement and reinforcement of people all practicing the rituals of Christian culture, and rehearsing the language of love together. If you try to make Christianity a solo enterprise, you’ll find it very difficult to stay true to your roots.

Whether you know it or not, you have an amazing hidden ability. It’s part of your essential self as one created in God’s image. You too can speak the language of God’s love, “shed abroad in your heart.” You can speak it on your own, but it’s best practiced in the context of fellow sojourning Christians. And that’s what makes our work together as a St. Paul’s family so important, and so beautiful.

I can’t wait to resume my pastoral work with you in September, and to see how we can better reflect God’s best intentions for each other and for the community we serve. Maybe I can’t say it any better to you than in Tagalog.

“Mabuhay!” (“Blessed Life!”)

Magrey


The Rev. Magrey R. deVega
St. Paul's United Methodist Church
531 W. Main St.
Cherokee, IA 51012
Ph: 712-225-3955
http://www.cherokeespumc.org


[1] http://www.randomhouse.com/boldtype/1000/chabon/interview.html


NEW BOOK BY JESSICA DEVEGA
Jessica is working this summer to complete her first book, due to be released in February of next year. It is a reference book of world religions and other popular belief systems, titled, All You Wanted to Know but Didn’t Think You Could Ask: Religions, Cults, and Popular Beliefs. It will be published by Thomas Nelson, and co-authored with her good friend Christine Ortega Gaurkee, a former teaching colleague in Tampa, Florida. You’ll want to check out more information about it and even consider pre-ordering a copy for yourself or a friend: http://www.amazon.com/Want-Know-Didnt-Think-Could/dp/1418549177/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1312399236&sr=8-1.

The Abbey and the Chapel

July 12, 2011

Dear St. Paul’s Family,

We are currently on a one-week break here in Iowa in between our summer travels. Last week, we returned from a ten-day tour from the Netherlands and London, to explore both Jessica’s ethnic heritage and our history as United Methodists. On Thursday, June 30, we visited two sacred sites: Westminster Abbey in the morning, and the John Wesley’s Chapel in the afternoon. I couldn’t help but draw contrasts between the two.

THE ABBEY

Walking through the grand, hallowed halls of Westminster Abbey was like stepping through the pages of a history book. With its high, gothic ceiling – the tallest in England – towering above us, the Abbey pulsed with pomp and glorious pageantry. After entering through the north doors and paying the requisite $51.00 admission fee, we circled back to the chambers behind the altar, where numerous monuments, tombstones, and floor markers pay tribute to dignitaries buried within the walls. The bodies of some of the most significant British historical figures, including Charles Dickens, Charles Darwin, and seventeen monarchs, are interred there, a graphic embodiment of Hebrews’ reminder that we are surrounded by “a great cloud of witnesses.” I participated in a 12:30 communion service in the nave, and our worshipping group of forty voices magnified in resonant echo against the walls of a sanctuary that has housed countless generations of Christians for the past one thousand years. It was hard not to be breath-taken as we soaked it all in.

There were several reminders that the Abbey is more than a worship space; it also plays a vital role in the national and political life of Great Britain. The twelve-gong peals of Big Ben signaled the noon hour as we entered the Abbey, reminding us of its proximity to the Houses of Parliament and the statuary tributes of Parliament Square. When we left, a swollen mob marched past us on the streets, protesting national cuts to teacher benefits. Clearly, the Abbey geographically locates its influence in the epicenter of national power, memory, and identity. In fact, Westminster Abbey is not officially under the jurisdiction of the Church of England, but is designated as a “Royal Peculiar,” placing it under the direct governance of the British monarchy. It has therefore been the site of royal coronations, stately funerals, and dazzling weddings, most recently between William and Catherine. Those who worship here regularly come not only to experience God, but to remember what it means to be a proud Brit.

The crowds both inside and outside Westminster Abbey underscored its trademark as a popular destination site. It is a place for tourists to visit, for politicians to be seen, for monarchs to be crowned, for protesters to march, and for history to be revisited. Oh, and it’s also a place to worship.


THE CHAPEL

Knowing that our trip to the Wesley's Chapel was later that afternoon, I prepared myself over lunch for what was sure to be a contrast from the grandeur and austerity of the Abbey. I wondered what John Wesley thought about Westminster Abbey, in all of its posh splendor. Was he critical of its luxurious accoutrements? Was he skeptical of its intrinsic ties to the monarchy? Did he see it as yet another example of the church focusing more on monuments, rather than on movements?

We traveled away from the heart of London, into a northeastern region of the city called Islington. Gone were the bustling crowds and murmur of government buildings. There were no sprawling grounds filled with imposing statues. In fact, Wesley’s Chapel was easy to miss, marked only by a small sign on a modest iron gate, tucked between clusters of office complexes and tall commercial buildings. It was a far cry from the dirt mounds and wind mills that Wesley saw when he first chose the site in 1777, originally a dump site for unearthed dirt excavated to build St. Paul’s Cathedral.

Today, it has become a pilgrimage destination for Methodists around the world, but we couldn’t tell when we first stepped into the church. In contrast to the massive crowds inside Westminster Abbey, my family was the only one there that afternoon, except for a handful of Methodists from South Korea. A lovely, elderly tour guide named Caroline met us the moment we entered the door, eager to assist what would be her only visitors that afternoon.

She told us that Wesley built the Chapel neither as affront to the Church of England or as part of a new, upstart denomination. John and Charles, after all, never severed their ties from the Anglican Church. Instead, Wesley built the Chapel merely to be a place for teaching and preaching, which explains the unavoidable prominence of the large, three-tiered pulpit and spiral staircase in the center of the chancel, and the subtle placement of a small altar behind it. There were originally no stained glass windows, just clear plate glass. The Chapel was built neither to undermine or rival Westminster Abbey. It was a reflection of Wesley himself: inspiring without being extravagant, austere without being excessive. “It is perfectly neat, but not fine,” Wesley described in his journal. [1]

But since Wesley's death, the Chapel has been modified by the movement that continues Wesley's legacy. Methodists around the world have purchased and dedicated stained glass windows that now adorn the walls and tell the stories of the Bible and of early Methodism. The baptism font was donated by a former slaveholder who was converted to Christianity by the Methodist movement. And plaques throughout the sanctuary bear the names of people whose lives have been touched by the "brand, plucked from the burning."

I can't help but see this as the greatest contrast between the Abbey and the Chapel. Whereas the Abbey tells over a thousand years' worth of stories about the great and mighty heroes of history, Wesley's Chapel serves as a testament to the work of grace in the lives of ordinary people like you and me. The Abbey was built to be a destination: the place one goes to experience God and the glory of the British empire. The Chapel, in contrast, draws little attention to itself, instead reminding us that God’s grace flows outwardly, beyond the walls of any one church. The Abbey stands tall and proud at the epicenter of Great Britain, but the Chapel declares Wesley’s maxim: “The world is my parish.”

Despite the contrast I’ve drawn here, I think there is something we can learn from both the Abbey and the Chapel. The geographic location of St. Paul’s UMC places us at the heart of the town and county of Cherokee. We can be the place that outsiders visit to experience God’s love and find a nurturing community of warm-hearted, grace-filled people. But we can also be the wellspring from which the movement of God’s love can be put into action, out into the places of brokenness and suffering all around us. It is through our ordinary means that we can point to an extravagant God.

Two hundred thirty-four years ago, John Wesley laid the first stone for the foundation of the chapel, along with a brass plaque. With the plaque soon to be concealed by ensuing layers of the foundation, it contained the following inscription:

“This was laid by Mr. John Wesley on April 21st, 1777.
Probably this will be seen no more by human eye,
but will remain there till the earth and the works thereof are burned up.”

Indeed, may our service to God bear that same inscription, neither for the observance or the admiration of the human eye, but for God’s enduring grace, at work until the end of the earth.

Grace and Peace,

Magrey

The Rev. Magrey R. deVega
St. Paul's United Methodist Church
531 W. Main St.
Cherokee, IA 51012
Ph: 712-225-3955 / E-mail: mdevega@cherokeespumc.org
http://www.cherokeespumc.org

[1] From Wesley’s Journal, November 1, 1778, the day the Chapel was dedicated. For the first service, he preached on Solomon’s dedication of the Temple.


OUR TRAVELS CONTINUE
Thank you for your prayers as we continue our travels. We leave this Saturday for the Philippines, where we will spend about ten days visiting my parents’ families and childhood neighborhoods. In the meantime, I hope you enjoyed the sampling of Dutch chocolate and brief photo montage shared in worship last Sunday!

PRAYERS FOR TOM KRUSE
The church office received word on Monday that Tom Kruse, now living in Weslaco, Texas, with Judy, has taken a turn for the worse and his kidneys are failing. Please pray for Tom and Judy during this time. The office has their address, if you wish to send them cards and letter.

Why I Shaved My Head Today

Dear St. Paul's Family,

A number of you told me this week that you weren't going to be in church today, and were hoping to receive a manuscript of this morning's message. So here is the sermon in full, including word about the "special change" that happened to me at the end of the service. Have a wonderful summer!

Magrey

“United, But Not Uniform”

June 19, 2011

Genesis 1-2

Trinity Sunday is the only holy day in the Christian year based on an idea, not an event. It is a biblical idea, even though the word trinity is not found anywhere in the Bible. Instead, church theologians have used passages like today's scripture lesson to develop some understanding of how three could equal one.

Notice the pronouns: When God creates human beings, God said “Let us make humankind in our image.” The church has traditionally interpreted those words as support for a God who existed in a plurality: one God in three persons. Somehow, at the beginning of the world, there was an "us"-ness to God, a quality which became infused into every human being.

The trinity is a part of all of us.

Of course, we don't fully understand how this trinity idea works. It is, by its very nature, irrational and mysterious. But what we do know about God is two-fold:

· First, each person in the Godhead is unique; each one is distinct from the other two.

· Second, they are all related to each other as one; they are one substance together.

They are unique, yet joined together; different, but the same. God the Creator is different from the Love revealed in Jesus, which is different still from the Spirit who guides and strengthens. Yet they are all the same God. All together as one.

Admittedly, this is all mind-numbing stuff, which is why I would prefer not to try to explain it you. Instead, I wish to look for ways for us to live it out. For if we are made in the image of God, as Genesis 1 suggests, then what does it mean to live in the image of the Trinity?

Here's the key: to live with the image of the Trinity is to live with that same kind of mysterious balance between 1) being distinct from everyone else, and 2) being related to everyone else as one. It is to see your life as one that is both “one of a kind,” but also just like the rest of humanity.

It seems to me that this is the critical question for us, and particularly for me, as I begin my renewal: How can you find the balance between celebrating your unique individuality and sharing yourself fully relationship with others?

First, a diagnosis. I think part of what ails our society today is that we tend to focus on of those ideas at the expense of the other. At the risk of sounding too simplistic, I think we might see people as fitting into one of two groups.

First, some of us work really hard to stand out from the crowd, to develop skills, personas, identities, and roles that draw attention to how distinctive we are. People like this know themselves so fully and so well that they don't take the time to learn about people who are different from themselves, to see how there might be commonalities among them.

Then, there is the second group of people. Those who just want to fit in. These are the people who seek out others who are just like themselves, to the point that they lose all knowledge of who they really are, where they came from, and what they can be. These are people who only associate with folks who look them, think like them, speak like them, vote like them, worship like them, and believe like them. All at the expense of finding what is truly unique about them.

I would suggest to you that so much of what makes our culture today so polarized, uncivil, and so segregated is that people, communities, and even churches fail to live in the image of the Trinity. They fail to celebrate both their uniqueness and their commonality. For in the Kingdom of a God who is Trinity, we don’t get to choose one or the other.

We are united, but we are not uniform.

That is the theological premise behind the next twelve weeks of my grant-funded study. It is a chance for me to explore how churches like St. Paul’s can be a congregation who welcomes a diversity of people by first appreciating themselves as unique individuals created in God’s image.

During this summer, that lesson for all of us begins with me. And I have to admit, that is the part that makes me both most excited and most nervous about the next twelve weeks.

I’d like to share with you some things about my childhood that I have never shared in public. I grew up in a predominately white, middle-class suburb of St. Petersburg, Florida in the 1970’s. We were one of the first ethnic minority families to move into our neighborhood, and I went to a school where I was basically one of a handful of ethnic kids in the entire school, and the only one in my class.

At first, I struggled to live a compartmentalized life. There was my life at home, where I ate rice at every meal, learned Filipino songs, and heard Tagalog, the Filipino language, all the time from my parents. Then, during the day, there was my school life, learning to speak, think, write, and live in English.

At times, that convergence of cultures was confusing to me. Sometimes my thoughts were in Tagalog, and I had to translate them into English. This often resulted in using both languages in the same sentence, usually with comical results.

It was clear to the other kids that I was very different. I didn’t quite fit in, with the way I looked, the way I acted, and the way I spoke. So it didn’t last long for other boys in the class to start teasing me. At times, it was harmless giggling. Other times, it became name-calling, taunting, and downright bullying. They would tell stories behind my back, not invite me to play games, or, worst of all, pretending I didn’t exist. It wasn’t all the kids who did this, of course, but there were enough of them.

And I still remember their names to this day.

It’s tough to go through that at any age, but especially when you’re a little kid, so I had to make a sad choice: if I wanted to fit in, then I had to lose what made me special.

From that moment on, I decided not to speak any more Tagalog. So, today, even though I can understand Tagalog fluently, I can speak English a lot better. Truthfully, this has served me very well in my career, as folks generally don’t complain about not being able to understand me. I have even debated changing my name to something more Americanized, which is something my dad did when he came to the states. Thankfully, I did not.

But talking like the other kids didn’t change the way I looked. I couldn’t change my skin color, and I couldn’t do anything about the shape of my eyes. But there was something that I believed I could change. Something that could help me fit in.

I could do something with my hair.

I have Asian hair. Hair that sort of flops down straight in every direction, like a mop head. We used to joke that my dad gave us haircuts by sticking a bowl on my head and trimming around it. I had bangs that hung down to my eyes, and it was something that none of the other kids had.

So, in third grade, I decided to start parting my hair to one side, sweeping my hair to the right, showing off as much forehead as I thought the white kids had. The problem, of course, is that my hair didn’t stay that way naturally. So I started using hair spray every morning and fussing with it for ten minutes. I wouldn’t get it wet in the showers after P.E. I was careful to adjust it throughout the day.

And that’s how I made it through school, college…

….and even today.

The bullying stopped somewhere around third grade. It had nothing to do with my hair, of course, but subconsciously I thought it did. I became not only accepted, but quite popular, not because of my hair, but because of my kindness, my with, my intelligence, and my charm.

But, even to this day, on a subconscious level, I keep my hair the same to ward off the bullies, to fit in, and to deny who I really am.

With all that said, I can’t tell you how important it is for me to go on these trips with my family. With the exception of a few weeks when I was two years old, I have never been to the country of my roots, immersed in the land where everyone looks like me. And Jessica has never been to the Netherlands. And the girls have never really been in touch with their ethnic roots as biracial children.

And that’s kind of sad. Sad for any one who wants so desperately to fit in that they forget that the first step in accepting people who are different is being comfortable with you are.

That’s why the Lilly Endowment fully funded this project for the church. If St. Paul’s is going to become open to people who are different from us, because they’re from another country or speak another language, or are even from another town, the place to begin is to celebrate what makes us each beautiful in God’s eyes.

The more you come to accept yourself as the unique person God has made you to be, then the less you will find others to be threat. And understand, even though my story has to do with a few white kids who were intolerant, I don’t see this at all as a “whites only” problem. There’s no need to blame just one group of people for this. I have prejudice in my heart that I have to work through, just as people of all skin colors can do a better job getting over their biases. The problem of prejudice really knows no skin color.

And this is not just about ethnicity. It is about getting along with people who think differently from you, act differently, worship differently, vote differently, and believe differently.

Ultimately, it all starts with each of us finding a balance between our uniqueness and our commonalities. To live the Trinitarian image within us.

So, there’s one more thing I need to do to be ready for these next twelve weeks.

(Take out hair clippers.)

I think it’s time to get rid of this hair.

There’s no need for any of us to try to earn our acceptance in God’s eyes. And there should be no reason for me to want to look like everyone else in order to feel accepted. That’s what I’ve done for years, hiding behind an obviously receding hairline and thinning scalp, pretending that I’m something that I’m not. So, in a few moments, during the Offertory, I’ve asked Karla Wilkie, one of our town’s hair stylists, to come up and shave me down.

And I hope this will be a reminder to all of us, especially myself, that we are each fearfully and wonderfully made. You do not need to be afraid of people who are different from you, because you can be comfortable in the way that God made you.

And when I come back, we’ll talk some more about what it means to be a church open and welcoming to new people, recognizing that all of us are God’s children, united, but not uniform.

In the name of our Creator, Redeemer, and Sustainer, Amen.