Eight years ago at this moment, I had just arrived in Williamsburg. It was a Saturday night, the eve of Palm Sunday, 2001.

That morning, I had watched the dress rehearsal of "Godspell" in the sanctuary of St. Stephen's Lutheran Church, Wilmington, DE, my home congregation, where I had served for nearly 10 years. An outstanding group of high school youth were to perform the show the next morning. My daughter, Emily, did the choreography. Future Spinto Band lead guitarist and singer Nick Krill was in the band. (No one knew he could play the guitar at that point!) As I watched the rehearsal, my mini-van was parked outside on Broom Street, packed with clothes and books I would be taking south.

I missed the performance because the next day, April 1, was a Sunday and my first day on the job at St. Stephen Lutheran Church, Williamsburg, VA. How strange it was to drive away from that building in Wilmington, familiar since my childhood, alone. (Emily would not graduate from high school for another 10 weeks, so she and Patty stayed in Wilmington.)

I arrived in Williamsburg at dinner time and ate at Pierce's bar-be-que, because I knew where it was. (Strange: I haven't been back there since!)

Afterwards, it was dark. (This was in the old days, before Daylight Saving Time started so early.) I stopped by the church building to unload what would go into my office. Ellen Sandridge, of the Call Committee, had been by that afternoon to leave the outside door open. She had told me where to find a key for the office: behind the margarine door in the refrigerator, believe it or not! That's where it was hidden back then. At that time, there was the only kitchen in the building -- the one that still exists, off the Undercroft, now the Pre-School art room. I groped around for a light switch, found it, found the key in the butter dish, and carried boxes and vestments into the office I was to occupy for a couple of years, until it was demolished to make way for the new building addition.

Then it was off to Patty's parents' house, where I lived in a spare bedroom until Patty and Emily joined me in June. There I was alone, too, for a couple of hours, eight years ago tonight. The Cogles had long before agreed to go to a party! (They had left a key for me too.)

What strange feelings eight years ago tonight: excitement, uncertainty, loneliness, wondering if all of this was a good idea...

It's all worked out pretty well, huh?

Both newspapers that arrived at our house this morning carried the same lead headline: General Motors CEO Rick Wagoner has been forced out, as a condition of GM receiving more federal bailout money. The attempt is to shake up the corporate culture of GM. The hope is that GM can re-make itself ...

... into a company like Tesla Motors. Tesla Motors is a Silicon Valley start-up company that today has a next-generation electric car ready for production. The barrier is that they do not have the capital to begin production. (There are two other Silicon Valley companies very close to unveiling their own version of a next-generation electric car.) One wonders: should more federal bailout money go to GM at all? Or should we be accelerating the work of car companies that are already next-generation?

I've been wondering lately: does the Church have any greater chance of re-inventing itself to meet the needs of the future as does GM? (There are striking personnel parallels at both institutions: Alban Institute consultant Ed White forecasts, that in 10 years, staff at national Protestant denominational offices will be half or even one-third what they are now -- because innovation is now taking place at the local, congregational level, and the ponderous national structure is being left behind.)

I'm thinking of various ways that the church will have to re-invent itself before it will be interesting to many of those who are now in their 20s and 30s. The hardest thing will be to think in entirely new ways!

Let me think out loud of examples:

A building is not the church. A building is the house for the church. The church assembles on Sunday mornings and at other times of the week for worship and study and fellowship. The church is the people who comprise the Body of Christ in a local area. (So: We don't "go to church." We gather as church. No more throw-away comments such as I heard just a moment ago: "I can't say that. I'm in church.")

One thing that is obviously on the way out is the "membership" model of a congregation, for several reasons, at least:

1. It scares away many who are in their 20s and 30s, who see themselves to be on the journey of faith, but who aren't at all interested in the maintenance of an institution -- which requires committee meetings, reports, etc.

2. For all ages, the membership model is consumeristic. I join a "church," the same way I become a member of a club. I expect worship services and music and chaplaincy services that meet my needs. If the "church" doesn't meet my needs, then I find one that will. If there are people in the "church" who are doing something I don't agree with or that makes me uncomfortable, then I'll look for a "church" that makes me feel comfortable.

3. It's passive. I watch, while the paid staff does the work. (What a joy it is to be pastor at St. Stephen, where this is much less of a reality than at other congregations I have served and know of!)

A most succinct statement of a new way of thinking comes from Bryan Stone in his book, Evangelism after Christendom: “Salvation is impossible apart from the church, not because the church has received salvation as a possession and is now in a position to dispense it to or withhold it from others. It is instead because salvation is, in the first place, a distinct form of social existence. To be saved is to be made part of a new people and a new politics, the body of Christ.” (page 188)

So -- we assemble, as church, so that the Spirit can form us in the faith, so that we come to live in the resurrection. What does that look like? It's described by such passages as Galatians 5:22-23: "the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, generosity, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control." Here’s another description, again from Paul: "As God's chosen ones, holy and beloved, clothe yourselves with compassion, kindness, humility, meekness, and patience. 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." (Colossians 3:12-13)

(Note well: "meekness" means resisting retaliation. It means finding ways of fighting violence without resorting to violence. It takes tremendous courage and discipline to be meek!)

The assumption is that such a radical re-orientation of life is impossible for an individual to achieve on his own. Community is necessary -- the community of the church, those on the journey together, offering mutual support, nurture, challenge, accountability.

The Christian life is not primarily subscribing to a set of beliefs. The Christian life is just that: a way of life, in the community described just above. It is supported by beliefs, certainly. But it is seen in the actual living, as described three paragraphs above. And it is a way of living for the world that God has created! That's our mission as church.

So -- a first draft. A new way of thinking.

(I call it that. But, of course, this is simply a return to the way of thinking among followers of Jesus during the first centuries of the Jesus movement -- before the Constantinian establishment of the church as an institution.)

On Being a Religious Minority, in Suburban Richmond, Virginia

My job with the Virginia Synod Candidacy Committee is to be chaplain to the candidates -- those who are at various stages in the process of being granted initial seminary entrance approval through final approval for ordination. The committee meets three times a year. I provide hospitality (an ancient Christian practice) and a pastoral presence, sitting with the candidates before they go in to talk with the committee, then after the interview, while candidates wait for the committee to decide what their verdicts are, and then after they hear the committee's decision.

When I do this work, I always wear a black shirt with a clerical collar. That's for identification in the generic Comfort Suites lobby. New candidates will come in who I haven't yet met, and the collar helps them inow who I am, as they walk into the lobby, and to gravitate to my corner where I set up my "hospitality area" of a couch and chairs.

Yesterday, though, I felt self-conscious wearing the collar. That's because, as I sat there, men began coming in, singly, in twos or threes, a total of 50 or 60, heading down a hall to a meeting room right next to where the committee was meeting. As they assembled, I noticed a growing number of shoes, left in the hall outside. It was a congregation of Muslims, assembling for their Friday afternoon prayer.

My sef-consciousness came from the fact that many Muslims (as well as many Jews) have been treated badly by Christians. To those who have been treated badly, a man wearing a black shirt with a clerical collar is not a welcome sight.

So I took the initiative. "Are you here to pray?" I asked one of the men. Yes. He explained that they rented space in the motel for their weekly prayer. In conversation, I learned that they actually own land nearby. Recently, though, Henrico County authorities had denied the congregation permission to build a mosque. I rememberd the story about that decision, in the Richmond Times-Dispatch. There had been an unusual number of negative comments in the public forums before the decision. The inevitable question is the role religious discrimination might have played in the decision.

Be that as it may, the first part of yesterday's Candidacy Committee meeting featured this auditory experience: committee members interviewing a candidate for the Lutheran ministry, while the sounds of the Friday prayers of Islam penetrated through the adjoining wall.

In suburban Richmond, Virginia.

Hi. I'm just looking up for a moment. Is Lent over yet?

No.

Oh.

Well, is winter over yet? Is it warm and sunny, so I can get out on my bike? Please? Please?

No.

Oh. Well, I'm putting my head back down again, getting back to work. Let me know when things change, please.

Bicycling in this morning (Yes! BICYCLING!! It's not raining this morning!), I saw my all-time favorite bumper sticker:

"I'll bet Jesus would have used HIS turn signal."

Today has been the second cold, rainy, dreary day in a row. Yesterday I appreciated that -- because I had been working too hard, out six nights in a row, out of balance. Yesterday I spent reading, which energizes me. I finished the third of five sections in a book that's turning out to be as important as any I've read for my work: Evangelism After Christendom: The Theology and Practice of Christian Witness, by Bryan Stone. It's a brilliant description of the purpose of the church and the context in which the church finds itself. Not easy reading, but well worth the effort.

Yesterday, also, I went to my doctor for a routine physical -- and it looks like I'm back to excellent health. Blood pressure 110/70, pulse 52, body mass index 25, internal organs all feeling healthy. Hooray!

I haven't been out on my road bike for days because of rain or darkness, and I was especially disappointed by the weather today because on the second Saturday of each month I enjoy the ride Jack Huber leads, beginning in Waverly, VA, which is on the other side of the James River. We head out into rural areas for 45 miles or so before circling back to Waverly, and then enjoy a wonderful lunch at an Italian restaurant.

Two weeks ago it was rainy and 40 degrees. Last Saturday I got in 52 miles on a beautiful, sunny, 75 degree day. Today it's rainy and 40 degrees. That's March ...

(I remember, three years ago, on the Waverly ride in March, that it actually snowed on us during part of the ride!)

I did accomplish some important bicycle work today: I took the chance to overhaul both hubs (Ah! New ball bearings and grease!), clean the 10-speed cogs in the drive train, install a new chain, a new rear tire, and new brake pads. If the rain ever stops, it'll be like having a brand new bike, when I'm finally able to ride the most beautiful road bicycle in Williamsburg and the counties of James City and York.

Yesterday's New York Times ran a front page article about the sqeeze that the recession is puttingon even the affluent. The piece was entitled, "Extravagance Has Its Limits As Belt-Tightening Trickles Up." The reporter interviewed society types in Atlanta.

Here are the two first sentences. (Warning: prepare to be shocked.)

"It is a sign of the times when Sacha Taylor, a fixture on the charity circuit in this gala-happy city, digs out a 10-year-old dress to wear to a recent society party.

"Or when Jennifer Riley, a corporate lawyer, starts patronizing restaurants that take coupons."

(Good Lord!, I think. This has gotten serious!)

(It's hard to communicate sarcasm through the written word. Are you detecting it, though?)

Some of the socialites interviewed earnestly offer the opinion that their new frugality is not simply a temporary, emergency response, but a permanent change. They have reformed from their past behavior of buying much more stuff than they need.

Ms. Riley, though, does not agree. The reporter writes, "Just as she stopped carpooling when gas prices went down, Ms. Riley said, she predicted that eople would start buying again when the economy rebounded. 'That's just my own, maybe, cynical belief,' she said."

Well, call me a cynic too. I kind of suspect that greed is still part of the human condition.

Moving to Daylight Saving Time this early in March -- which means that we are waking up when it's dark, again! -- is cruel and unusual punishment.

Just talked with daughter Emily. She was walking along through Central Park because the temperature was in the 50s -- which is warmer than it's been. I had fun telling her that it was in the 80s today, here in the sunny South. In fact, it's been a glorious several days. It's been great weather to get out on the bicycle. A long ride (more than half-century) on the road bike Saturday, and a quick 16 miles this morning early; also commuting four days out of the past five by bicycle.

On Saturday, the five of us who were on the long ride paused for lunch. We were eating out on a deck, along the banks of the Chickohominy River (did I spell that correctly?), and talking about how, exactly seven days earlier, the high had been 40 degrees. In fact, a week ago today school was cancelled because of snow.

But now, Spring is here, right?

Yeah, right. March is a month that breaks our hearts. After a few days like this, the return of cold weather is cruel.

But I'm enjoying this downpayment on the coming warm weather. The only sign that we ever had snow is that the daffodils are bent over. (They had bloomed, and the snow weighed them down.)

One reason why I prefer owning books, rather than checking books out of a library, is because then they can sit on my shelf until the time is right to read them.

It is often true, of course, that I'll buy a book (almost always at a used book sale) and devour it. But it also happens that my first attempt at a book doesn't take, and it sits on the shelf for months with a bookmark somewhere around page 72.

That was true for Kathleen Norris' latest book, Acedia & Me: A Marriage, Monks and a Writer's Life. I actually spent the money to buy a newly-published copy. I saw it advertised in the New York Times one evening last summer, called Barnes and Noble to see if they had it, jumped into the car and bought it. And I tried to read it for several days. But within a week, the book began its period of languishing on the shelf.

I was shocked that I couldn't get into Acedia & Me, because, since the mid-90s, Kathleen Norris' writings have greatly deepened my concept of God. And she'd been in a hiatus. She hadn't written anything new for years. I was excited to read of a new book! Maybe, the first time trying to read it, I expected too much?

Fast-forward six months later -- to the day before yesterday. For some reason, I was looking through an old issue of Books and Culture, and I found a review of Acedia & Me -- and the reviewer loved it!

Which made me wonder, of course: what did I miss?

So I pulled the book off the shelf, blew the dust off it, opened it and, sure, enough, it happened. The past couple of days, Acedia & Me seems to me like the greatest thing written in the history of western civilization ...

Simply put: the time was not right, the first time I tried to read the book. Now, the writing is speaking to where I am, and it is necessary reading.

You experience the same thing, of course, when you use a daily lectionary, reading a short passage of Scripture each day and spending some moments in prayer over the words. A passage may connect -- but not according to our demand; instead as the connection is given by God. Something that you've read a hundred times (ho-hum) suddenly speaks with direct importance.

Someone with Christian sensibilities, who sees God active in all things, might even attribute this to the dynamic Holy Spirit.

A snow day! A day to read, pray, plan. (Yesterday, in anticipation of bad weather, I brought home a bag of books. I'm spending today working on Wednesday's Lenten service and Sunday's sermon.)

A snow day is also an opportunity to ponder those profound questions of science and economics, like --

How is it that the thermometer reads 26 degrees outside right now, but the snow is melting on the street and sidewalk in front of my house?

And how can our economy be strong in the future, when we don't produce much of anything material anymore in our country, and the only thing that has been driving the economy for years has been borrowing money from China, so we can buy stuff we don't need, that is manufactured in other countries?

And how come Manny Ramirez has turned down the Los Angeles Dodgers' contract offer of $25 million for this coming year (I repeat: twenty-five MILLION dollars), when no other team in baseball wants him?

I dunno. I'm just not smart enough to understand such things.